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What this man did was wrong.

We all know that killing civilians during war is wrong.

Does it happen?  Absolutely, all the time.  Unfortunately, punishing one officer will not stop it.  It will continue as long as we train and send soldiers into war.

If you or I were sent to a place where terrorist and guerrilla type warriors wanted to kill us, we would be scared.  Moreover, we would be deemed “crazy” if we were not scared. Read more on Thrill Killers In The Military…

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I am not the sort of woman who runs around saying “I told you so,” or trying to impress people with how clever I am.

However, I am clever.

It’s no secret – a lot of people know it. Read more on The Worst Family To Get Involved With…

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As a fan of classic films, my husband knows he can keep me spellbound for a couple of hours with a great masterpiece from cinema history.

Recently, knowing my proclivity for French films and the city of Paris, he found a newly-restored version of “Paris brûle-t-il?” You might know it better by its English title – Is Paris Burning?

I don’t like war movies.  I’m an Army veteran (peace-time) and I’ve seen enough gung-ho and charge! In my time. Read more on Beware Of The Rescuer…

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To paraphrase some recent political campaigns, the FDA was against Qnexa before they were for it.

I’ve written about this diet drug compound before –  HERE And HERE.

Last time I wrote about this “drug,” I thought it was down for the count. Aauugghh!!!!

Like a scene from “Night Of The Living Diet Drugs” – it is back from the grave.

You bet your life! (Literally if you take this) – our protective government watchdogs at the FDA originally said this was too dangerous to unleash on the public.  Then – as the politicians say – they did a “Flip Flop.” This No-Vowel remedy QNEXA (ok, it has a couple of vowels, but not enough) is not actually a drug – it is a combination of two drugs.

This is of course, the cheapest way to get a new product on the market and eliminate R&D costs as well as testing for safety and efficacy. The company takes two separate FDA-approved agents and combines – kind of like making Frankenstein out of left-over body parts.

(This is turning into a Halloween column, isn’t it?  Sorry.) Read more on They’re Ba-a-a-a-ck!!! Zombie Diet Drugs!!!…

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Many people are proud of the state from which they came. But I value the state they (we, all of us) can go to.

It’s called a “Resource State.”

Don’t bother looking on a map – unless it is a map of the cerebral cortex.  Yet, it isn’t clearly defined as a location in the brain either.

I know it sounds mysterious, but it is easy to access and the benefits once you get there are astronomical.  I think I need to give you some illustrations to make my point.

Once when I was in prison (that always gets attention – but actually I was employed as a prison psychiatrist and not serving time for criminal activities) I treated a young man of 28 who was doing time for armed robbery.  His problem was depression with occasional suicidal ideation. Read more on The Resource State — Your Magic Ticket To Happiness…

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When I was little, my Grandfather-of-Blessed-Memory (maternal) came to visit us at 6 am every Sunday morning, arising very early to drive about two hours from Springfield to our Boston suburb of Chelsea.

Springfield would be considered “way out west” as compared to civilized and urbanized Boston, so it is like the country mouse coming to the big city.

He said the road was not busy and drive was relaxing and pleasant for him. But his visits were anything  but relaxing and pleasant for us, who would much rather have tried to sleep in on Sunday.

The exception was my paternal Grandmother-of-Blessed-Memory – who was also an early riser. Older folks often seem to get up early.

(That’s how I know I’m not old yet – I still love to sleep late). These two senior members of our family seemed to get along well.  Grandfather called her “Mother Goldstein,” and even brought her a nice bottle of (coincidentally named) “Mother Goldstein” brand kosher wine. There was one incident that I recall that upset a peaceful Sunday morning when I was about five. I came downstairs in my best baby blue lace dress to hear Grandfather yelling at Grandmother never to serve him that “horrible drink” again. Read more on Chicory, Belgian Endives And Me…

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The car was parked but the engine was running.  Just like me – My body was idle but my brain was running.

As I’ve mentioned before, I love to accompany my husband to various stores, but prefer to let him run in to pick up whatever we need while I wait in the car.  I have another companion while he is gone – Public Radio.

I have a friend who is a talented stand-up comic.  She’s not in the “big time” but plays the circuit of comedy clubs across the country. One of her routines is about the time she and her then-husband (you’ll see why they divorced in a few moments) stopped at a convenience store for gas during a cross-country trip.

While husband was inside paying for the gas, my friend decided to go inside for a cold drink or a candy bar.  She wasn’t dressed formally, by any means – her hair was up in rollers to prepare for the evening’s performance, and she was wearing sweats. Read more on Funding Science Should Be A Priority…

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I have seen more than I can count of them, veterans with chronic pain symptoms.  Nobody who serves our nation should be left to suffer.

In my world – nobody at all should be left to suffer.

I’ve worked in the Veterans Affairs system in many cities in several states and in various positions.  I’ve been the doctor who sits in the office and sees them one by one, diagnosing them and prescribing treatment.  I’ve been the evaluator who examines them and decides what kind of pension or how much disability they get.  I’ve been the director of day treatment centers where we try to give these noble servants of the people everything from activities to fill up their days, to continuing therapy for problems such as PTSD, and even food and shelter. Read more on How To Help A Veteran In Pain…

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I don’t care if Dylan Thomas was drinking himself to death while that was being written.  It is a sentiment close to my heart, and undoubtedly the stanza of poetry I quote most often.

Dylan ThomasDo not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rage at close of day
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I will not accept  the allegedly inevitable cognitive loss of age.” 

I suppose my mother did me a service at age 10, when she dragged me fairly close to the oversized window of an oversized ladies room, and told me never to linger trying to make myself attractive, for it would be a waste of time.  I was – in the opinion of my parents – destined for brains, not beauty.

Time lost in fixing my appearance would be noted sardonically by my father, and bother him, as we wasted his time. 

But my strong suit was my brains, and even I agreed that I should work on them — working very hard in school — and that way I could win in life. I actually took my mother seriously, for a very long time. It was not until my late fifties that I started to be anywhere near a fashionable woman’s size, finding to my amazement that people found me attractive, and taking more notice myself than ever in my life.

But even now, I don’t give a damn if they call it “cognitive loss for age” or “dementia,” I want nothing of it.

Nothing at all. 

Read more on Memory Problems Can Be Prevented And Treated…

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California is known as “The Golden State” and some have called it “The Land of Milk and Honey.”

The Beverly Hillbillies noted that it was the home of “Swimming pools – Movie stars.”

That should be encouraging for people like my 27 year old, freckled, red-headed patient.   After all, he had a pool cleaning business. But he was nervous — really nervous.

He did not have full-blown panic attacks, though he certainly fit the criteria for generalized anxiety attacks. Sometimes he did get a “heart in the throat” kind of feeling; something which some people would have called a “truncated anxiety attack.” But he had a lot of them and they really didn’t cramp his style very much.

He did not sleep very well, confessed that concentration was poor, and had great difficulty trying to find any interest in collegiate academics. As a result, his grades suffered considerably. And while I could potentially chalk this up to him falling into a category of males who may be better equipped for trade school than an actual 4-year college (based on patience; not necessarily intelligence), I didn’t believe this to be his case at all.

This guy was anxious. Read more on Stuck On The Treatment Treadmill…

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