Life as an Extreme Sport

Long-term Antipsychotics May Be a Medical Mistake

I’ve debated whether or not to post this since seeing Robert Whitaker’s lecture slides and heard about the results of his talk to NAMI from friends who were there, but ultimately decided that since this is an actual personal issue for many people, due to your own health or those of people you love, it’s worth making sure the information is available as far and wide as possible. Consent to medication needs to be informed, blah blah bioethics stuff. Before the TLDR, the gist is this: evidence suggests that the best treatment for schizophrenia is not continual medication, and that a significant percentage of those with schizophrenia who did not receive antipsychotics or took them for a very limited time had better long- term outcomes than those who took them on an ongoing basis. And perhaps even more importantly, there’s significant evidence that the long-term use of antipsychotics creates a

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Shame, Stigma and Angelina Jolie’s Breasts

As reactions continue to race around the internet about Angelina Jolie’s double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery – the actual discussions, not the Monday-morning quarterbacking of her decision or the utterly vile “but what about her boobies” reaction from that particular subgroup of men who manage to amaze me by their continued ability to manage basic functions like breathing – I’ve been sent links. And more links. And then a few more. Most are relatively easy to dismiss because they’re quarterbacking a personal decision or they’re vile, but then you get the ones that tiptoe closer to decent – and they still have problems. One that’s been flying around the internets today is the Maria Konnikova piece on Salon. I’m actually not terribly fond of this piece, or other pieces that hinge their complaint on the cost of testing and Jolie’s supposed privilege by virtue of her wealth. For one, let’s

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A Shift in Expectation of Self

I really like this post on body policing, and in particular, how people seem to feel qualified to tell someone with a chronic illness that if they just did X – largely either adopt some quack routine or exercise – that all their problems would go away. In particular, I really liked this: You’d never run a marathon with pneumonia, but a man with CFS needs to, because expending all that additional energy will make his problems go away? You hear someone say that their life is awful. You hear them say that they’re in pain. You hear them talk about the medications, the doctor’s appointments, the flare-ups, the feeling of never being able to escape. You hear these things and you say “laziness”, but it never occurs to you that your own illnesses- a cold, the flu- make everyday tasks difficult- difficult enough that, quite often, you will complain

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Not a Privilege but a Right

A version of this post should have been up before Christmas, but technology decided to take a holiday a bit before the rest of us. …and then there was the time the WordPress wasn’t actually publishing posts, and things got behind, and then it all just seemed like such a big mountain to crawl out from under. Also known as “what I like to call the last two weeks.” First and foremost – and with apologies, since I did really drop the ball on notifying people – I did receive word that my biopsy results were negative and I am, thankfully, cancer-free. My doctor was also able to rush the results, so I found out prior to the holidays, which was also a relief. It was a very strange experience, though, in that it forced me, for a week, to once again contemplate mortality and the specific desires I have

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Found Those Million-odd Pieces

Oh, I was doing so well until I wasn’t. But at least when I wasn’t, I was really committed to it. I’m not sure what threw the anxiety into overdrive today, but by about 10am I was a quivering mess. And once again, it wasn’t so much the potential diagnosis as it was not knowing what was going to happen in the afternoon. I suppose my primitive brain assessed threats and figured that not knowing this afternoon was a more immediate concern than what may come from that test. As for the biopsy itself – well, I had been tempted to live tweet it. Let’s all be grateful I didn’t, as I would have had to expose you to proof I’m a sailor’s daughter (I certainly swear like it), and then probably just would have slipped into somewhat mindless screaming. It seems that my cervix is as contrary as the

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