Here all night…

A man walks into a bar and asks for a pint of adenosine triphosphate.

“Certainly, sir,” says the barman, “that’ll be 80p.”

Holiday!

I’m off on holiday for a week. This is a monumentous occasion for me – I haven’t actually had a real holiday since the “vacation” following my second year, the majority of which I spent doing my mapping project, and it’s the first non-family based holiday since touring the Broads at the end of first year.

I’m so looking forward to it.

In the meantime, I leave you with a complicated and difficult decision. A or B?

A or B. The toughest decision since steak and ale or steak and kidney pie.

Dead famous

In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m not that fussed about Michael Jackson’s death. Actually, I am in a way, because it has lead to a good week’s worth of tasteless jokes, especially good when aimed at the girlfriend’s housemate who not only broke the news of his passing at the most inopportune moment, but also really likes (liked?) the guy and so gets extra annoyed at them.

Anywho, I found this cartoonvia a trawl from blog to blog to blog, which I feel properly sums up the most momentous event this decade:

Put a "BBC News" logo on and it could pass for the real thing

Mildly (by which I mean not at all) interesting genetics news

The BBC News are reporting that “scientists” have uncovered a genetic basis for schizophrenia. Ish.

Scientists have identified thousands of tiny genetic variations which together could account for more than a third of the inherited risk of schizophrenia (BBC News)

So there is a genetic basis to schizophrenia, a strongly heritable condition. Whoda thunk it? But wait, there’s more!

A similar pattern was found in people with bipolar disorder – indicating a previously unrecognised overlap between the two conditions…. “If some of the same genetic risks underlie schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, perhaps these disorders originate from some common vulnerability in brain development.”

So the two are pretty similar in terms of diagnostics and brain behaviour, and so are rather unsuprsingly genetically similar too? Again, quelle suprise!

To be fair, I’m being deliberately anti this article, just because it is almost entirely real content free. Here’s the Real Thing, but unfortunately most people won’t be able to get at it, so I’ll stick with taking the piss out of the sugar coated, genetics for morons BBC version. However, poking fun at bad science reporting aside, this research is pretty interesting (for a limited value of interesting), as although it was guessed that the two illnesses were a) similar and b) at least partially genetic in cause, it’s nice to actually have some solid evidence towards this, and fingers crossed it may help figure out better treatment and management of the two.

More excitingly (again, using the word slightly out of context), is the location of the genes involved.

All three studies highlight genes found on Chromosome 6 in area known as the Major Histocompatibility Complex, which plays a role in the immune system, and in controlling when other genes are switched on and off.

Now my very basic (I didn’t even do A-level biology, remember) knowledge of genetics suggests that there is something more complicated going on that what I’m about to say, but I’ll go with it anyways: Could this have something to do with my allergies (or vice versa)? Immune disorder andmental health issue that is, apparently, at least caused by an immune problem… Any geneticists out there fancy helping out here?

On a side note, while searching for pictures to illustrate this diatribe, I found this – PET scans of someone with type II bipolar switching from depression to hypomania:

Pretty brain scan things

Nothing really to say about them, they’re just pretty. I want one.

Because I can’t resist a cheap shot

The BBC News, as with every media channel, are running with the story that Michael Jackson’s personal doctor may be responsible for his death. Not only are they questioning the drugs he prescribed and his standard of care, they’re even going so far as to question how he behaved after he found the plastic figurine in arrest:

Paramedics were called to Jackson’s Los Angeles mansion while Dr Murray was performing CPR, according to a recording of the 911 call. Because Jackson was so frail, Murray “administered with his hand behind his back to provide the necessary support,” Chernoff said. He denied claims that the doctor may have botched the resuscitation attempt: “He’s a trained doctor,” Chernoff said, “He knows how to administer CPR.” (BBC News)

Really? Erm… he’s a GP, yes?

*ducks*

Perspective, anyone?

So, apparently someone famous died last night*. I’m not sure which I’m more impressed by – the fact Wikipedia had already updated with his death before the BBC News had even reported it, or the speed with which the jokes hit Twitter.

But seriously guys, he was only a pop singer. Ok, so he was a rather famous one, who despite his eccentricities made quite a contribution to music. But this behaviour: the wailing in the streets, the desperation to be near his place of death, the panic and mass hysteria – is it really necessary, let alone proportionate?

Believe it or not, other things did happen yesterday. Things that actually impact people, that might make more of a difference to the world. Corus cut 2000 jobs – big impact on the local economy. China started censoring Google again – massive issues for the Chinese and the openness of the web. Evidence was found for water on Enceladus, one of Saturn’s moons – a huge leap in the search for extraterrestrial life. The protests in Iran are ongoing. The oil refinery strikes continue. The list goes on… And these are just the big headlines, things still happened on a smaller scale that made far more of a difference to more people than the death of “Wacko Jacko”.

So guys, feel free to be upset that Michael Jackson has died, but wonder whether all this effort that you’re putting in mourning the loss of this one guy is really proportional to the effect on the world this event has, and maybe take a moment to think of all the other people suffering far worse.

*Oh, and “died of a cardiac arrest”? Grrrrr….

It’s a miracle!

“Chase survived in part because hundreds of people prayed to Father Emil Kapaun to intercede on his behalf. It was absolutely a miracle.”…  Prompted in part by what the Kear family has said publicly, and partly by a preliminary investigation begun by the Catholic Diocese of Wichita, a Vatican investigator named Andrea Ambrosi will arrive from Italy in Wichita on Friday.

He will investigate on behalf of the church in Rome whether 20-year-old Chase Kear’s survival qualifies as a miracle; whether he survived a severe head injury last year in part because his family and hundreds of friends successfully prayed thousands of prayers to the soul of Father Emil Kapaun, a U.S. Army chaplain from Pilsen, Kan., who died a hero in the Korean War. (Wtchita Eagle)

Erm, what? Let’s review…

Chase Kear fell on his head while pole-vaulting, and was knocked clean out. 911 was called immediately, and rapidly evaced to hospital. This, to me seems like the appropriate first steps in saving Chase’s life. No, apparently, what started him on the road to recovery was his family praying, not to God, but to a dead chaplin.

By the time a helicopter delivered him to Via Christi Regional Medical Center-St. Francis Campus, his family was already frantically praying as they watched the helicopter land… And she was calling Sacred Heart Church in Colwich, asking people there to get everyone in the church praying to Father Kapaun for help.

The pressure in Chase’s brain was relieved by removing a section of his skull, and an agressive antibiotic treatment was started to prevent infection in the hole left. It was touch and go, as it always is with traumatic brain injuries, but weeks later Chase walked out of the hospital.

“There is no doubt in anyone’s mind in our family that Father Kapaun helped save our son,” Paula Kear said of Chase, who is making a full recovery. “We were told at least three or four times in those first two days that Chase wasn’t going to make it.

Of course, that’s exactly what happened. Nothing to do with the excellent care and assessment by the first on-scene, the skill of the helimed crew and ER doctors, the surgeons and anaethetists who handled his swollen brain, and the nursing staff who oversaw his recovery. It was only through the power of prayer that he survived? That power of prayer which has on multiple occasions been shown to not have an effect on recovery.

Sure, the doctors said it was “a miracle”. But this is a different definition of the word, one which means unexpected, against the odds. Not due to divine intervention. Just because you don’t understand how something worked doesn’t mean that God needs to, or was, involved. Personally, I say if you want to claim this, then prove that your prayers did the job? Because my money is on the skill and hard work of the medical staff, and they’re the ones who should be getting the credit.

Oink oink

I’ve spent most of the day so far telling swine flu jokes over Twitter, but this one made me laugh more than most (and is too big to send in 140 characters):

This little piggy went to market
This little piggy stayed at home
This little piggy had roast beef for dinner
This little piggy had none
And this little piggy went “cough, sneeze” and the whole world’s media went mad over the imminent destruction of the human race, and every journalist found out that they didn’t have to do too much work if they just did “Find ‘bird’, replace with ’swine’” on all their saved articles from a year ago, er, all the way home.

By the power invested in me by the hysterical uneducated masses...

How to disappear completely?

I have a dilemma with regards to blogging. I’ve always been proud of myself for blogging under my real name about things that may well get (and in fact have got) me into “trouble”: behaviour that some, especially prospective employers, may deem unpleasant; problems with organisations I’m part of; and in particular trying to be blunt about medical issues and how they effect me.

Unfortunately, as readership of this blog has grown, so has the number of people I love and care about reading it. And this is making me reluctant to post such frank descriptions of the effects of bipolar disorder on me, for fear of upsetting and offending those who I come into contact with every day, and in a way also biasing the view people will have of me on my attempts to enter a medical career.

Now I still want to blog about mental health. It’s excellent cathartic therapy for me. And I also feel that I’m making some form of difference, that by being honest about the effects on my relationships, jobs and education someone else may be able to get something from my experiences and mistakes. But my worries are stopping me doing this to such an extent as I’d like to.

Right now, the question is this: Do I turn Dysphoric Mania into an “about me, minus the unsavoury parts” and adventure into medical school blog, and move the ranting of a lunatic off somewhere else like The Icarus Project where I can moan away to my heart’s content? Or do I keep my mentalist ravings here, and hope to hell it doesn’t upset people? Perhaps maybe there’s a middle ground?

Both options have their merits – moving would allow me to feel much more free to let go, and hence be better writing therapy for me. But then I would lose the altruistic aspect of wanting to help others, which is something I feel I could really do, especially embarking in medicine and having to overcome the mental health stigmas there. Plus I like the feeling of actually knowing a bit about bloggers, their names and personalities, so I guess that people must appreciate that bond with me and my writings.

So I’m opening this up – what do you think I should do then?

Get in your car?

As soon as we were passed the job, I knew it was going to be a waste of time. “Back pain, unable to move, requires a chair”. Sometimes, just sometimes these do actually require some medical assistance – more often than not, it’s only sheer laziness that needs treating.

Driving through the very exclusive looking village, we spot the house name (never a number) at the foot of a wooded driveway, leading to a rather grandiose house. In front were parked two Chelsea tractors that we manoeuvred around to park up as near to the front door as possible.

We were met at the door by a perfectly manicured woman. “He’s upstairs,” she told us abruptly, followed by the classic, “we’re not ready, the doctor said you’d be four hours.” No dear, up to four hours. If you wanted precise timings, you can always book a taxi.

“Of course,” she continued, “he only needs you to take him to hospital. There’s nothing wrong with him, and even then, I’m ILS trained and so better qualified than you.”

Are you indeed? Obviously I have no idea how to use the defib and resus gear in the emergency ambulance parked outside your house. Damn my lack of training! Good job you’re here isn’t it?

We went upstairs, to find the patient sat on the edge of his bed. “How’s that pain?” I asked, to which he replied it wasn’t too bad. As in, he could stand up and walk downstairs on it. Walk out to the ambulance in fact, then sit down into the distinctly uncomfortable and cramped seat in the back of the van, without even a grimace on his face. His pain score was negligable – I didn’t even bother offering pain relief.

“I’d rather follow him in the car, then we can get back,” said the wife when I asked if she’s be travelling with us.

*sigh*