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Carol Mortensen

Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy Association - Is your child or loved one at risk for Sudden Cardiac Arrest SCA? - 0 views

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    The loss of many of our young students and athelets is due to this. Please take a minute and read. "This form will help you identify those who may be at risk and who will benefit from additional testing to look for conditions that cause SCA. The HCMA offers the Sudden Cardiac Arrest Risk Assessment Form, SCARAF, This form should be distributed to all school age children and families. This 2- page form has the AHA 12 point items addressed and written in a manner that a parent is more likely to provide as clinically relevant data to a physician. This document was created with the assistance of Dr. Robert Campbell and the HCMA. It offers 3 options Yes - No - Unsure. Should the parent/you answers Yes or Unsure to any question they are offered 3 steps to follow: 1. Bring this form to your personal physician and discuss cardiac screening. 2. Seek an evaluation from a cardiac professional including appropriate testing (ECG, echocardiogram and additional if warrented) and consultation. 3. Share this information with your family. This tool creates a clinical indication for testing should the parent identify a risk factor; therefore, the clinical evaluation and testing should be covered by all major insurance programs in the USA. This tool also has the power to move beyond the child and to the parent as it is far more common to see a death under the age of 54 and over the age of 24, therefore the parents are at a similar risk as the child."
Michelle Kassorla

Faces of Meth - 3 views

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    Good for Anti-Drug Education. Eight years ago, the Multnomah County Sheriff's Office launched a campaign called "the Faces of Meth" to address Oregon's methamphetamine problem. The images showed the jarring effects of meth on addicts' faces through before-and-after pictures from their arrest records. Rehabs.com recently followed suit with this infographic. Warning: these images are disturbing.
jmcminn0208

There's No Place Like Home - 22 views

    • jmcminn0208
       
      This is literally two sentences. I found it very difficult to read through the first one... as it was itself one whole paragraph
  • And it is distressing to come home and not know where I am
  • Superimposed over that geography, like a Jackson Pollock painted on a fishnet, is the geography of a man’s life, the griefs and pleasures of various streets,
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  • We attended church at the Grace & Truth Gospel Hall on 14th Avenue South, where a preacher clutched his suspenders and spoke glowingly of Eternity, and I grew up one of the Brethren, the Chosen to whom God had vouchsafed the Knowledge of All Things that was denied to the great and mighty. The Second Coming was imminent, we would rise to the sky. We walked around Minneapolis carefully, wary of television, dance music, tobacco, baubles, bangles, flashy cars, liquor, the theater, the modern novel—all of them tempting us away from the singular life that Jesus commanded us to lead.
    • jmcminn0208
       
      What did he get from this? How has he lived his life based on this childhood staple?
  • There were the neon lights of Hennepin Avenue and the promise of naked girls at the Alvin Theater, which our family passed on Sunday morning on our way to church, but that was lost on me, a geek with glasses, pressed pants, plaid shirt, a boy for whom dating girls was like exploring the Amazon—interesting idea, but how to get there? Writing for print, on the other hand—why not? And then came the beautiful connection: You write for print, it impresses girls, they might want to go on dates with you.
  • For days after Frankie drowned, I visited the death scene, trying to imagine what had happened. He was paddling a boat near the shore, and it capsized, and he drowned. I imagined this over and over, imagined myself saving him, imagined the vast gratitude of his family. I don’t recall discussing this with other boys. We were more interested in what lay ahead in seventh grade, where (we had heard) you had to take showers after gym. Naked. With no clothes on. Which turned out to be true. Junior high was up the West River Road in Anoka, the town where I was born, 1942, in a house on Ferry Street, delivered by Dr. Mork. That fall of seventh grade, he listened to my heart and heard a click in the mitral valve, which meant I couldn’t play football, so I walked into the Anoka Herald and asked for a job covering football and basketball, and a man named Warren Feist said yes and made me a professional writer. Ask and ye shall receive.
  • down to work at 4 a.m. to do the morning shift on KSJN in a basement studio on Wabasha and then a storefront on Sixth Street, the house where I lived next to Luther Seminary and the backyard parties with musicians that inspired A Prairie Home Companion at Macalester College, the dramatic leap to home ownership on Cathedral Hill in St. Paul, where I’ve lived most of the last 20 years, where you drive up from I-94 past Masqueray’s magnificent cathedral, whose great dome and towers and arches give you a momentary illusion of Europe, and up Summit and the mansions of 19th-century grandees and pooh-bahs in a ward that votes about 85 percent Democratic today.
  • Pride goeth before a fall, so deprecate yourself before others do the job for you
  • I drive down Seventh Street to a Twins game and pass the old Dayton’s department store (Macy’s now but still Dayton’s to me), where in my poverty days I shoplifted an unabridged dictionary the size of a suitcase, and 50 years later I still feel the terror of walking out the door with it under my jacket, and I imagine the cops arresting my 20-year-old self and what 30 days in the slammer might’ve done for me
  • She was a suicide 28 years ago, drowned with rocks in her pockets, and I still love her and am not over her death, nor do I expect ever to be.
  • “There’s no point in a bunch of rubberneckers standing around gawking.”
  • That’ll be the day, when you say goodbye / oh, that’ll be the day, when you make me cry,”
  • She says, “Tell me a funny story”—my daughter who never had to fight for a seat. I say, “So ... there were these two penguins standing on an ice floe,” and she says, “Tell the truth,” so I say, “I like your ponytail. You know, years ago I wore my hair in a ponytail. Not a big ponytail. A little one. I had a beard too.” And she looks at me. “A ponytail? Are you joking?
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