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themovieblogonline · 3 months ago

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Melissa Etheridge: I'm Not Broken at Nashville Film Festival

Melissa Etheridge appears in a series streaming on Paramount Plus as of July 7th, entitled “Melissa Etheridge: I’m Not Broken.” The two episodes are being shown on Sunday, September 22, from 7 to 9 p.m. as part of the Nashville Film Festival. A native of Leavenworth, Kansas, Etheridge is shown visiting the Topeka Correctional Facility for Women, after corresponding with many of the inmates for 9 months prior. It was a homecoming of sorts. Like Johnny Cash, she had performed at a Kansas prison when she was only 12 years old in 1973. Brian Morrow and Amy Scott directed the series. Five inmates of the prison (Andrea, Cierra, Jessica, Kristin and Leigh) are shown reading the letters they wrote to Etheridge. Saying that their letters inspired her, Melissa wrote original music for the concert. She said, “I realize I can’t save anyone, but I’m looking to inspire.” Ms. Etheridge composed a song, especially for the inmates of the Topeka Prison. The actual creative process is seen as Etheridge discusses the genesis of the song. Band member Joe Ayoub tells us that they worked up the band’s part from Friday to Sunday. HIGH POINTS Jermaine Wilson, Mayor of Leavenworth. The Mayor of Leavenworth, Jermaine Wilson, who did 3 years in prison himself, talks with Etheridge about the upcoming concert. Wilson and Etheridge stressed that they wanted to inspire and encourage the imprisoned felons, saying, “Mistakes don’t define you. You are not a failure, You are not a mistake, You were created on purpose for a purpose. The best I can do is to be an example, a light that holds you up and says you matter.” PRISON STATISTICS Meghan Davis, an employee of the facility, said that the likelihood of a woman being the victim of a crime never drops for women as it does for men. Women do not grow up and become less likely to become victims of crime. In fact, over the last 40 years, there has been an 84% increase in women convicted of crimes and imprisoned, many of them crimes that originated with a drug habit. Of the 760 women incarcerated in Topeka, 500 are mothers or grandmothers. Prison employee Dani Essman talked about the problem of many of the imprisoned women losing their identity. One of the women interviewed onscreen expressed gratitude for Etheridge’s actions, saying, “We were just grateful that she gave a shit.” POIGNANT SHARE Melissa and her then-partner Julie Cypher had 2 children, Bailey Jean and Beckett. Cypher became pregnant via artificial insemination using sperm donated by musician David Crosby. Cypher and Etheridge separated in 2000. On May 13, 2020, Etheridge announced on Twitter that Beckett, her son with Cypher, had died of causes related to opioid addiction at the age of 21. (Her daughter, Bailey Jean, graduated from Columbia in 2019). Etheridge said, “I miss him here, but I know he is here (gesturing upwards).” Etheridge opened up about her son Beckett’s May 13, 2020 death. Beckett was born on November 18, 1998. Etheridge explained Beckett’s addiction as stemming from Vicodin he was administered after a snowboarding injury. His addiction quickly spiraled out of control. Beckett was 21 when the police found him dead after a wellness check that Melissa and her former partner Julie Cypher requested. THE ODD I found Melissa Etheridge’s sharing of her personal trauma brave, but odd. She said, “I do not let it take me out of my own sense of well-being. You can accept a person’s choices and it doesn’t have to destroy you.” She seemed remarkably calm and distanced from grief at the death of her son. I couldn’t help but wonder if, like the devotees of the new meditation start-up Jhourney, Etheridge has internalized the life rule “True peace comes from accepting things just as they are.” I admit that I was taken aback at the dispassionate way Etheridge discussed the tragedy of her 21-year-old son's death. It was shocking and surprising; she seemed almost clinically detached. The death had taken place three years prior. That may explain the low-key dispassionate discussion that the film showcases. THE GOAL The goal of bringing hope to the incarcerated women of the Topeka Correctional Facility for Women was worthwhile and deserving of support. The plea for accepting drugs for therapeutic purposes is also a progressive step forward, just as Etheridge’s original song “I Need to Wake Up,” written for Al Gore’s 2007 documentary “An Inconvenient Truth,” won the Academy Award in service of that cause. I couldn’t help but think of how our weather patterns might be different if Florida and the candidate’s brother (Jeb Bush) had not prevailed in placing George W. Bush in the White House in 2000, the year of the hanging Chad. Instead, a candidate was installed whose party had no plan at all to address global warming---and still does not. Our weather reflects this when we could have had 25 years to attempt to head off the tornadoes, hurricanes, floods, and fires that are now routine. Al Gore, unlike the GOP candidate of 2024, stepped aside with decorum rather than subject the nation to the long drawn-out process of challenging a loss that was never conclusively proven to everyone's satisfaction. FINAL THOUGHTS The 2 part serial look into Melissa Etheridge’s life and creative process was interesting but became visually repetitive. There were many shots of Etheridge performing on the temporary stage set up outside the prison walls. There were many interviews with the five inmates, Andrea, Cierra, Jessica, Kristi, and Leigh. What the women shared was truly engrossing, but there may have been a better way to translate their heartfelt words onto film, rather than having the women read them, over and over. What comes through loud and clear is that Melissa Etheridge is a time-tested talent. At one point she asks the assembled women if they are familiar with her music. Some are not. For them she described her audience as those aged 50 and up. Her Grammy-winning years were approximately 1993 through 2007. This series is a tribute to a true talent trying to bring redemption and empowerment to the incarcerated female prisoners. It was a wonderful humanitarian concept. The visual repetition was the weak point of the two-episode series, which will screen at the Nashville Film Festival on Sunday, September 22nd, from 7 to 9 p.m. It's a pleasure to watch a Top-Notch Singer/Songwriter writing and performing her work and even tracing the birth of a new song. Etheridge’s social conscience cannot be denied. She has established the Etheridge Foundation to promote worthy causes. This two-part Paramount Plus series is a testament to her efforts. Read the full article

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mvdbutler · 9 months ago

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THE 10 MLDC WORST PEOPLES

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rejuvenatehrt · 2 years ago

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Hormone replacement therapy (HRT) is a medical treatment that aims to balance hormones in the body, typically by supplementing with synthetic hormones that mimic those naturally produced by the body. This therapy is commonly used to address symptoms of menopause, such as hot flashes, vaginal dryness, and mood swings. If you are looking for hormone replacement therapy in Nashville Tn, there are several clinics and providers that offer this service. One such provider is RejuvenateHRT, a brand that specializes in hormone replacement therapy for both men and women.

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menshealthnashville-blog · 5 years ago

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Men’s Clinic of Nashville

Address: 5515 Edmondson Pike Suite 119, Nashville, TN 37211

Phone: (615) 450-4233

Website: https://menshealthnashville.com

Description: Men's Clinic of Nashville was founded on a simple set of ideas. Take care of men's issues in an environment designed specifically for a man's comfort and consideration. Focus on providing restorative and performance based medical treatment. Combine experience with the latest medical advancements in men‘s sexual health. Problem solving is what we do, and it's what we are good at. Treat patients as individuals; we don't believe in one size fits all programs. With 40 years of experience in sexual health, you can rest assured you've found the right men's clinic.

While other men’s clinics tend to make a joke about these issues, we take a more professional approach. When it comes to sexual performance, low testosterone, and other men’s issues; we believe that respect for our patients is paramount. Men already battle a society attempting to shame and guilt them for these issues. At Men’s Clinic of Nashville, we have worked hard to create an environment you’ll feel comfort resolving these issues.

We also believe a person should practice what they preach. The owners, doctors and staff, utilize the very same therapies our patients do. We have had the opportunity to have our own lives changed by these very same therapies. It has become a passion of ours to create positive change and growth in the lives of our patients.

What therapies does Men’s Clinic of Nashville offer? Traditional testosterone therapy, bio-identical hormone replacement therapy, PRP (platelet rich plasma), Wave Therapy, erectile dysfunction medications, and premature ejaculation medications/therapies.

Traditional testosterone therapy is made up of specially compounded testosterone cypioate in grape-seed oil. We have our testosterone compounded this way to maximize absorption. Patients undergo a comprehensive consultation that includes bloodwork. One of our Physcians will then work with you to customize a weekly plan, inclusive of testosterone injections.

Bio-identical hormone replacement therapy is exactly that; its biologically identical hormones, mirroring what our bodies produce naturally. This comes in the form of specially compounded pellets, smaller in size than a tic-tac. This therapy lasts between 3-6 months. Patients report feeling more energetic, better sleep, waking up feeling rested, focus throughout the day, fuller/firmer erections, increased sex drive, and feelings of happiness. This is the very best hormone replacement treatment available today.

PRP (platelet rich plasma), is the cutting edge procedure that utilizes platelet rich plasma for regenerative cellular growth. PRP can increase penile girth and length by up to 20%.

Wave therapy uses sound waves to help enhance blood flow, encourage tissue and vascular growth.

Erectile dysfunction medications are compounded for both daily and episodic use. We prescribe and dispense for patients right here in the office. In addition to ED medications, we have formulations and therapies for premature ejaculation.

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txemrn · 4 years ago

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Catalyst

a Prequel to the Nanny Affair

Chapter 2: Covalence

Need to catch up? Chapter 1: Acquiesce

Rating: 18+ (Mature Audiences only)

Word count: 3255(+/-)

Warning: language; sexually suggestive language; mention of physical abuse, drug abuse, assault and adoption

"Alright, Pine Shadow family, here are your finalists!" Principal Larson's voice booms over the gym speakers. One would think he's announcing a night of rough and rumble with the WWE rather than announcing the award winners for a middle school science fair. Regardless, his enthusiasm is contagious much to the science departments delight. "Let's give them a big Wildcat round of applause for all of their hard work!"

As the audience abrupts into cheers, there she sits, melting into her chair as her knees bounce feverishly in fear. Her French-braided hair accompanies a denim headband, keeping the stray strands of brilliant wheat out of her gray eyes. Against her mother's disgust, she picks at the rubberbands attached to the hardware in her mouth. In her young 12-year-old mind, the audience seems to be doubling--no, tripling in size.

She worries if her hard work will payoff with a shiny blue ribbon--if any ribbon at all. Mrs. Ferguson and Coach Kincaid gave her nods of approval when she created elemental silver from the glucose mixture and Tollen's reagent-- who wouldn't be impressed with a 6th grader with an advanced passion for chemistry? But still, she worries.

"And," the principal continues, "our first place winner is--" The anticipation thickens the air as every movement seems to propel through space in slow motion. Like a dramatic montage of Rudy sacking the Georgia Tech quarterback to clutch the W for Notre Dame, or an injured Danny LaRusso crane-kicking Johnny Lawrence to become the All-Valley Karate Champion: this was her field; this was her stadium; this was her Hail Mary. All of the hours of research at the library; all of the frantic trips to the hobby store; the redundant presentation practices; the late evenings followed by the early mornings accompanied with the inevitable break downs. It all came down to this.

"Our first place winner is… Brynn Schuyler!" The applause is defeaning as time seems to stop. Did she hear the principal correctly? The name sounded very familiar--like her own name!

"Brynn Schuyler!" Did she really just win the coveted first place ribbon at the science fair? She froze, her tiny little body unable to process the abundance of emotion she was encountering all at once.

"Where is Brynn?" Outside of being gifted her hamster and her mom letting her wear clear lipgloss, this is the most incredible day of her life--

She feels a tap on her shoulder. "Ma'am?" The veiled-look from her eyes washes away; the clouds around her head vanish. Reality hits. "Are you Brynn Schuyler?" She feels the warmth of rose flood over her fair complexion as the barista interrupts her morning ritual: reminiscing.

"Uh--yes," as she brushes her fingers over her brow, as if to create a shield to her embarrassment.

Smooth. Real smooth, Brynn.

She quickly brightens, extending her hands, "I'm sorry. That's--"

"Iced venti white mocha latte with a blueberry muffin… and two mini cinnamon maple scones?"

I don't know what would be nicer: reading out my order for everyone to hear or calling me a 'fatass'.

"--me. Yes, thank you," she whispers with gnashed teeth behind a courtesy grin. As she slithers back down into her seat at the local coffee house, Brynn hides the pastries in her backpack, keeping them well within her reach as she continues to work: scouring the wanted ads.

Next Tuesday makes four months of no job and no steady income. She has been on seven 'promising' interviews with no avail. She is able to keep her bill collector's away with her savings account, but even that was beginning to dwindle like her existence.

Brynn is a scientists, a chemist to be exact--or at least she was. Her love for science led her from the suburbs of 'the City of Brotherly Love' to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst where she studied education. Her dream was to impose the wonders of science on young minds as they experienced the physical world around them. But, after her personal observation of the devastation of Alzheimer's disease with her grandmother, she took an unexpected internship with the Massachusetts's Alzheimer's Disease Research Center. She realized she didn't want to just teach science; she wanted to do science. One Master's degree in Chemistry later, she was well on way to making a real difference in the world. Or so she thought.

'Benson's BBQ: Host needed'--maybe. 'Browning Steel: Welder with experience'--no. 'Bus Depot: driver wanted, great benefits'--no. 'Cutshall Clearance Store--stalker needed'-- surely they don't mean 'stalker', but they may need an ad editor.

She had scored the chance of a lifetime when she was hired on as one of the first female level I Chemists at the Lincoln Laboratory at MIT. She quickly graduated from fetching coffee, dry cleaning and business lunches for her superiors--also known as a research assistance--to finally being a project manager of her very own, very first multi-million dollar research study. But after twenty-months with no success, the funding was pulled on the project, the wind knocked out of her sails. The punches didn't stop there: her team of men threw her under the metaphorical bus and it was 'off with her head,' her moment of glory now over. She often feels foolish that she thought she could actually make a difference in the world; even worse, she felt agonizing guilt for being a woman that couldn't hang in a man's world, feeling as if she was responsible for a sudden shift backwards in equality.

'Danny's Barber Shop: receptionist'--maybe. 'Danny's Cake Decorating: baker'--no. 'Danny's XXX videos: call for details'-- uh, Mr. Danny has his dick in one too many pies.

Bzzt.

Saved by the text.

She giggles to herself in seeing she has a message from her roommate Jenny. Knowing that this is about to become a full-on text conversation, probably more suitable for an actual phone call, Brynn folds up her marked-up paper, and stretches her legs. She grabs her second scone, placing it into her mouth to hold as she piles her greasy hair into messy bun on top of her head, secured with a pen.

She swipes across her spider-cracked screen; the message: 'Turn around whore! ;-P'

"Brynny!" Brynn ducks as if she is about to be hit. "I thought that was your Corolla parked outside!"

"Jenny! You scared me!" She exhales loudly. "What are you doing awake? It's--" Brynn looks at her phone, "holy shit! Is it really almost noon?" She has no place to be; she just hates the feeling of time slipping by unnoticed, especially with her not being an active participant in life these days.

"I'm sorry, girl--"as she sits her coffee cup down at Brynn's commandeered table, "And you're right--I should probably still be asleep." She stifles a yawn, "I had a very busy night--"

"At the bar?" Brynn raises an eyebrow, "Or with Xavier?" her lips curling into a knowing grin.

Xavier is the first intact penis Jenny had ever been with--and she was loving it. It had been the topic of conversation during their 3AM chats this week, but when Jenny didn't come home from her shift at the bar last night, Brynn automatically knew Jenny must be exploring the new uncharted territory at his place.

"I didn't--I mean--" Jenny let's out a scoff. "Fine. Both."

A giddy Brynn scoots her chair closer. "Ooooo do tell."

"I--" Jenny pauses for dramatic effect, "happen to have a very--"

"Insatiable appetite? Ferocious needs?" Brynn giggles as she wraps her delicate fingers around her straw, gradually sliding them up and down its length.

Jenny clears her throat, straightening out her overall posture. "I was going to say, 'healthy sex life,' but since you have to be a thirsty bitch about it--" she leans in closely to Brynn, grabbing the remains of her scone. She flanges her lips around the breakfast pastry, fluttering her eyes closed, finally letting out a soft moan when she takes a nibble. "Oh honey, he was ferocious." She draws a sip from her hot coffee before lowering her voice. "And he satiated my appetite very… very… well."

Brynn jokingly sticks her fingers in her ears, pretending to be disgusted, yet squealing in excitement. Jenny playfully hits her arm as the two women uncontrollably giggle as they continue to enjoy each other's company.

Jenny Browder and Brynn Schuyler were a very unlikely pair. They met in undergrad in a entry-level sociology course during their first semester freshmen year. Of the two, Brynn was mature and focused, especially when it came to her education. Often times, she had to be the voice of reason with a newly uncaged and untamed Jenny who was more concerned with socializing and drinking.

Jenny was brought up in a strict, Fundamentalist household, the kind that saw dancing and playing cards as evil. She somehow convinced her parents that God was calling her to attend UMass after a life-long career of being homeschooled. It was 'Goodbye, long dresses,' and, 'Hello, Bombshell Bra.'

She never returned back home. Even when she failed out after Sophomore year, she packed up her guitar and headed for Nashville to become a star. The two friends had quickly turned back into strangers.

Brynn will never forget they day Jenny stumbled back into her life. In the midst of grad school, Brynn had volunteered at a free/low-cost community health clinic offered to lower-socioeconomic families. Jenny was waiting outside the facility, chain-smoking her last four cigarettes. Brynn was unloading testing equipment when she recognized a very familiar purple butterfly tattoo.

"Jenny?" Hearing her name, she instantly responded. She looked so different--older even, weathered. Her once-lustrous auburn hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush--or soap, for that matter-- in weeks. Her eyes had lost their glow, surrounded by gray bags. Even though she kept her arms crossed in an attempt to hide it, her stretched-tight shirt boasted a growing bump. But, perhaps the most bothersome was the severely picked scabs, scratches, and bruises, littering her entire body.

They made cordial small talk until Greg, her alcoholic and abusive fiancé, honked his horn from his rusty Ford Ranger, notifying Jenny it was time to leave. Before she could run out on her again, Brynn quickly dug a pen and Post-It pad from her white coat, and wrote down her cell number. Truth be told, she never expected her to call.

Two o'clock in the morning about 3 months later, Jenny called. In his usual anger fueled by Wild Turkey, Greg had beaten her and forced himself on her until he passed out from the exhaustion of his stuper. But, something was different this night; something snapped in Jenny's brain. Enough. Her body was frail and bleeding; but her spirit was kindled, coming alive with courage, telling her she was not broken, telling her to fight. Fueled with what could easily be described as courage--or insanity--she stole $12 from his wallet and packed an old duffle bag with a change of clothes and a water-stained Post-It note.

At a gas station outside of Boston, Brynn picked up a very pregnant Jenny. They sat in the darkness, the cabin filled with silence and stillness; but the conversation was loud and clear: Jenny was terrified. Terrified to talk, terrified to act, terrified of her past and terrified to even imagine a future. Brynn reached over and grabbed Jenny's hand as they both quietly sobbed. They weren't freshmen anymore.

All of a sudden in the quietness of the car amongst all of the chaos, a baby began to dance. Waves and ripples fluttered across Jenny's abdomen; flips and tumbles quickly ensued, becoming stronger and stronger. They took her breath away for a moment, but quickly returned in the form of tiny giggles. Brynn's eyes sparkle with wonder as she gently places her hand on her friend's belly, gently rubbing circles with her thumb and fingers. Jenny places both her hands on Brynn's, guiding her around her bump, occasionally pressing deeply until finally they are greeted with a kick.

For the first time in a long time, Jenny wasn't terrified. Her head wasn't pounding from an incessant ache, a craving for just one more hit. Her body was breathing, healing in between the throws. For the first time in a long time, Jenny had clarity. And she was ready to talk.

Jenny got the necessary help she needed. She spent time at a battered women's shelter where she was safe and protected; she was able to receive prenatal care and some deeply therapeutic counseling. She even painfully detoxed from her methamphetamine addiction. But her biggest victory: she was beginning to forgive herself, allowing herself to heal.

Six weeks later, a very round and overdue Jenny gave birth to a beautiful red-headed, 9 pound 8 ounce boy. Her heart swelled with love--a love she had never experienced before--as they placed him right on her bare chest. Overcome with joy and tears, the new mom kept him safe and sound, snuggled in a blue receiving blanket in her healing arms. She had already missed so much--she didn't want to miss another moment: she wanted to remember how his chunky cheeks felt against her lips as she kissed him. She wanted to remember the gentle smell he had after his first bath. She wanted to remember that tiny, fierce grip around her finger, a grip that would extend past her finger and right around her heart. A grip that would never let go, even well-after she laid him into his new mother's arms.

Jenny Browder is the strongest woman Brynn knows--and probably will every know. Even while she was still rummaging through the train-wreck that was her former life, Jenny had the selfless spirit of a saint and the bravery of the finest medieval warrior. She had nothing of value to her name except for her battered heart; but being the mother of all mother's, she gave her last possession away. She knew that in order to give her son the world, she had to place him in a new world.

Jenny celebrated five years of sobriety last month, and has empowered many women throughout the New England area with her story, speaking at meetings and volunteering part-time at a crisis center. She reconnected with her cousin Sean and his husband Charlie a few years back; feeling a pull to be near family, she moved to Newark, a few blocks away from the happy couple. She now has a home--an apartment--of her own, a car, and a steady income, bartending at a local, lively bar called Annex. As an added benefit, she also gets to perform twice a month with the house band. Going back to school might even be in her future; but for now, she is happy to be living life again--even if that meant hosting a squatter on her couch in the form of her best friend.

"Any luck on the job front?"

Brynn blows a raspberry with pressed lips in her exacerbation. "Well, today's options include wearing daisy duke's at a BBQ joint, or becoming a baker--possible porn star--with a man named Danny--"

Jenny laughs, "Ewww, gross. Do I even want to--"

Brynn waves her hand in front of her face, erasing the air of the horrid idea, even if it was a joke.

"Well, the perfect job is out there."

Yeah, yeah, yeah…

Brynn sighs, "Oh, Jen, you have to say that--"

Before she can hang her head down, Jenny interrupts the pity party, grabbing the remains of massacred muffin from Brynn's hand. "No, I don't. And believe me--" She stares warmly into Brynn's stormy eyes, "You are a catch. You are one in a million--"

"Are we still talking about jobs, or--"

"The perfect job is out there for you--trust me! We are one day closer to it." Not missing a beat, "Speaking of which--" Jenny rocks back and forth in excitement as her heart-shaped lips spread into a smile.

Oh, God…

"What are you doing tonight?" The words almost slur together like a waterfall crashing out of her mouth.

Don't invite me out. Don't invite me out.

"I think I'm gonna--you know--stay in, order out. Look for more jobs--"

"And feel sorry for yourself?"

Damnit, she's good.

Brynn sighs deeply as she lays her head down on her crossed arms.

"Well, it's a good thing we're not going out. You are just--" she lies, "accompanying me to work--"

"Jenny!"

"Brynny," Jenny fires back as both women compete in a staring--moreso glaring contest. She gives in first to the silly gesture, her look warming with affection. "Look, I-I know things have been have sucked recently--"

That's an understatement.

"You need this. It's time to join the world again. You can't just stay cooped up in the apartment all the time--"

"Um," Brynn clears her throat. "I do believe I am in a coffee shop right now." She smirks while delicately fanning her arms out in the air, as if she was showcasing a brand new car on a game show.

"C'mon, girl," Jenny whines, "You know what I mean. Just come up to the bar. Sit and talk with me. Keep me company. Meet some of my regulars. You will feel so much better about yourself--"

"You know I have nothing to wear."

12 pounds, fucking 12 pounds, and my entire wardrobe seems to have shrunk overnight.

"We'll figure something out--I promise! C'mon!" Jenny quickly bounds to the door with a sluggish Brynn in tow. "Besides," Jenny whirls around to continue, "You have a lot of miles left in this thing--" spanking Brynn's butt. Reflexively, Brynn immediately shields her pained bottom, her mouth gaping open. Jenny continues. "I've gotch'ya with shots all night. At least come window shop--it's Thursday night, which means the corporate hotties are shopping for some young ass--"

"Oh, yes. Because a one-night-stand and a raging case of chlamydia will cure my problems--"

"Hey, a shot in the ass, and you're good as new," Jenny jokes, making her apprehensive bestie crack a smile. "That's why I said, 'window shop.' Plus they're rich and love flaunting that they are rich. So--" Jenny shrugs her shoulders, "More free drinks for you!"

Brynn folds her arms across her chest, averting her gaze into the bustling traffic. She starts chewing on the sides of her mouth while letting out a long-winded sigh, clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea. The fact is she was embarrassed of herself, of what had become of her life. There she was, merely existing, living on her best friend's couch with no prospects--job-wise and love-wise. And now that her former-slender body sprung unwelcomed curves, she feels more comfortable in hiding--from the world, and from herself.

Jenny steps back out of her black sedan. She pushes her sunglasses back into her short hair, the sunshine illuminating her scarlet layers. She places her hands on her hips as she silently challenges her friend to a battle of wills.

Brynn feels her piercing gaze, but she can't bring her self to match it. Jenny never pushes her to do anything--and now, all she wants to do is help pull her depressed house-guest out of her mucky misery. And Brynn knows that she will be grateful for the night, especially tomorrow morning. She just needed the little shove.

Brynn breaks their silence with a long, drawn out sigh. "Okay."

"Yes, yes, yes!" squeals Jenny. She slides back into the driver's seat, adjusts her sunglasses and bellows across the parking lot: "Get in loser! We're going shopping!"

Brynn could only hope it was for a new life.

@choicesficwriterscreations

#the nanny affair #choices #choices stories you play #choices tna #pixelberry #tna sofia #tna mc #tna jenny #tna sam #tna robin

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prinzessmetal · 5 years ago

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Welcome to my blog. I want to write about some things that I don’t feel comfortable getting into on other platforms as often as they are happening. I want a place to talk about my health struggles in hopes that it will help people choose themselves and their bodies. If I had known 10 years ago the medications and episodes that are part of my life now it might have helped. If someone hurts you and tells you that you can handle something you don’t feel like you can please seek help even if you just tell a friend rather than internalize that. Trigger warning ahead: abuse and health problems. When I was in elementary school I asked my parents to homeschool me. I wanted to do acting full time and I wanted to do music when I was old enough. This is what Judy Garland did according to a bio pic so it was probably a good plan. I had a lot of crazy almost moments. I auditioned for Hannah Montana and Hermione and got pretty far in call backs. I got called in by the guy who signed Britney. My old manager dated Lana Del Rey before she released anything and told me my music was too depressing like his girlfriend’s and I would need to be more uplifting or I would end up like her. I worked from when I was a kid until now. I enjoy telling stories and making art so that some insignificant feeling of mine can blossom into something beyond me. I think a lot of entertainers have a similar set of needs. There’s people who happen upon it and there’s people who live and breathe and die for it. Maybe there’s a hole to fill or they feel things so deeply they want to get it out and set it free. This was the complete focus of my life. Except for love. I wouldn’t trade my work for anything except for a man threatening to leave. I have always been scared of that feeling and I have done some pretty predictable things to avoid it. Dyed my hair, paid for parts for a moped, moved across the country, and allowed another human with a lower iq and no job to break my heart over and over again. I did that several times, I mean, what are your 20’s for? I think a lot of women spent their 20’s feeling like they were raising their boyfriends. But, I stayed when men crossed lines that aren’t just normal and routine and those things ended up hurting me. When I was 19 I moved to Nashville to record an album. My music manager and my boyfriend were both control freaks with a lot of rage. I was “not like the other girls.” At 19 I was a manic pixie repressed dream. I was terrified to be too much or not enough and I was raised to be sweet and soft. I couldn’t imagine yelling back or ruining someone’s wants with my needs. My inner child actor didn’t know how much adult was too much adult. I looked about 13 and I felt about 60. One day my boyfriend was screaming at the top of his lungs and I was concerned about the neighbors hearing it. I had recorded with session players that day in the studio and I didn’t explain to him (as he found from my posts online) that some of them were more attractive than I had let on. I am not sure what level of graphic I will get into on this blog but I will say for now it “got worse.” My mom happened to be calling when this was going on and my pocket answered and she overheard. She flew out a few days later and wanted to know if I was okay. I lied and I told her that he was never like that and he had been under a lot of pressure trying to find a new job. I didn’t want to lose him for whatever reason at the time felt like the end of the world. Some nights I would go for drives to get away and cry to “Razzle Dazzle Rose” by Camera Obscura (great song to drive and cry to) until I had a headache and I would head back home when he had fallen asleep. In the mornings he was always extremely sorry and a completely different person who “would change.” At the end of this relationship I started getting chest pains. I think I went to an ER and was sent home with anxiety. I thought it was weird how badly anxiety hurt my physical heart and odd that it was deemed okay. But it seemed likely true as I was 19. Over the next few years I dated different people some like the first guy and some gentler. I was raised around anger and big highs and lows and angry people thought me to be comforting. I tried my best to avoid mistakes and things that caused problems because I didn’t feel I had the stamina i just wasn’t sure why. It often caused that chest pain I didn’t understand. At 24 my body started not feeling like itself more consistently. I often had chest pain and missed heart beats (pvcs and pacs) and my body hurt a lot for no reason. I felt rushes and I would feel dizzy and faint and out of breath. I was given a variety of names for all this. I had dysautonomia, POTS, autonomic dysfunction, “a weird nervous system” or just anxiety. I read all about different conditions but I didn’t know what I had but I knew my body wasn’t well anymore. I spent the next couple years being known as a hypochondriac. “Nothing is wrong with your heart Molly.” I still associate the hospital’s hold music with the mantra “it’s not your heart” that was routinely on the other end of it. I eventually gave up. I must have had some psychosomatic issue and I was probably crazy and I wanted to start living again. I was tired of chest pain with no cause and angry boyfriends ruling my life. I wanted my music to have a chance and I worked harder than ever. I also experimented with night life and smoked a cigarette or 2 or 3 and I got a few hangovers. I was a normal 20-something. Finally the homeschooled neurotic girl was kind of fun or I became some version of myself I was meant to be had I not taken some wrong turns or slept with the wrong people. I remember people would say to me “I can’t keep up with her she’s wild” and I was thrilled I had never been particularly fun I had always just been working or isolating myself with some guy. Neither cause helped the other and I had nothing to show for the last few years but I felt alive for the first time since maybe grade school. I let myself be free. One day I ate a friend’s edible and I had what I thought was a traditional panic attack. My heart was racing and I wanted to run away from it. A normal bad reaction to edibles. But my heart hurt for days. I couldn’t keep up with my (tall) boyfriend at the pace we normally walked and it was hard wearing the shoes that I did and I started avoiding the stairs. I was out of breath and in a lot of pain and it kept shooting down my left arm. I went back to my (famous and respected) cardiologist and she said not to come back to the clinic anymore as it was causing her team and myself to falsely believe that my problems were cardiac in nature. Except it turns out that I have heart disease. It took 6 cardiologists and a lot of ER visits to get any answers. I’m a young woman trying to get her life set up and I have heart disease. I hear over and over “it’s not your heart” and the hold muzak playing louder and louder and my boyfriends telling me to stop making up chest pain to get away from their rage and my music manager telling me it was stage fright and my old therapist telling me it would go away if I did the work inside my mind. I have Prinzmetal Angina. It got out of control after a bad car accident and a traumatic and stressful month last December. My coronary arteries were spasming shut and I spent January-June getting a lot of stern looks and speeches about anxiety from doctors and nurses all while I really just needed Calcium Channel Blockers and various forms of Nitroglycerin. I intend to pursue my music and art. I’m in a band and I am not going to change and become the normal picture of chronic illness which generally neuters people. I’m still young and intend to stay in touch with that the best I can. Some days I can take over the world and some days I have to stay in bed and some days I need to go to hospital for extra nitro and morphine. A lot happens behind the scenes I don’t always know how to share on instagram and twitter so I made this blog. I like to share my art in those places which I consider to define me more than how my body is not working. But, it’s a huge part of my experience and I would like somewhere to share it. I don’t normally feel comfortable talking about my bad dating choices and abuse but I think it’s important for people to know that the damage from it can be very real. Prinzmetal Angina was just studied with relationship abuse as being traumatic enough to cause it. I think we downplay how bad abuse hurts us and tell people to just get a grip. Maybe if I had read this when I was younger I would have treated myself differently and chose more carefully who I let near me. I hope you enjoy this blog and take care of your body and appreciate the days you feel free. Xo Joon

#prinzmetal #heart disease #dysautonomia #lupus #joon glume

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sciencenewsforstudents · 5 years ago

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When doctors and scientists come to his table at national cancer meetings, Michael Singer says he feels a bit like a caged specimen. “They look at me with that bewildered look, ‘oh, so this is what a male breast cancer patient looks like,’ ” quips the retired 59-year-old from the Bronx, N.Y.

With many diseases, women receive procedures and drugs that were largely tested in men. Breast cancer has the opposite problem: Men make up less than 1 percent of breast cancer cases and often receive treatment based on data collected in women.

What’s more, breast cancer in men has been rising. Diagnoses have gone from 0.85 per 100,000 men in the United States in 1975 to 1.21 per 100,000 in 2016. This year, an estimated 2,670 U.S. males will develop the disease. And a new analysis confirms what smaller studies have suggested: Men with breast cancer fare worse than their female counterparts.

The study, published September 19 in JAMA Oncology, is the largest of its kind. It analyzed registry data on 1,816,733 U.S. patients — including 16,025 men — who were diagnosed with breast cancer from January 2004 to December 2014. At three and five years after diagnosis, as well as at the end of the study period, men had lower survival rates than women. The disparity remained “even after we adjusted for known contributing factors including clinical predictors, socioeconomic status and access to care,” says Xiao-Ou Shu, an epidemiologist at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville who led the research.

To Laura Esserman, a breast oncologist at the University of California, San Francisco, who wasn’t involved with the study, “the most striking thing is that there was a difference in treatment.” Case in point: Although 84.5 percent of the male breast cancer patients were “hormone-receptor positive” — meaning their tumors grow in response to estrogen or progesterone — only 57.9 percent of those men received standard-of-care endocrine therapy — drugs that stop hormones from helping breast cancer cells grow. By comparison, only 75.8 percent of female breast cancer patients were hormone-receptor positive, yet 70.2 percent of them got endocrine therapy.

Consistent with past analyses, the new study also found that male breast cancer patients were older when diagnosed, and more likely to have advanced disease, compared with women.

Singer isn’t surprised. Unlike women, who are taught to do breast exams on themselves and advised to have regular mammograms, “guys never touch themselves there,” he says. “We’re never trained to look for early warning signs.”

When Singer noticed a lump below his left nipple, months passed before he brought it up with his doctor in December 2010. “I was embarrassed,” he says. “I was ignoring it and hoping it would go away.” Weeks later, he learned it was Stage 2 breast cancer and got a mastectomy.

About 2,670 men in the United States will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year. Michael Singer (shown) was diagnosed with the disease in 2010. CREDIT: TOM PICH PHOTOGRAPHY

“There are some real barriers for lesions to be found in a timely way,” says Esserman, who heard Singer speak at a breast cancer charity event in September. “His talk really made me more aware of that, and how important it is to make people feel comfortable bringing this to the attention of their physicians and not be embarrassed.”

In addition to shame about having a “woman’s disease,” Esserman says routine screening, which is done only in women and tends to detect earlier-stage disease, could explain some of the gender disparity in treatment outcomes.

Another contributing factor could be compliance with follow-up treatment. After primary treatment, many breast cancer patients get assigned a 5- to 10-year regimen of tamoxifen. This daily pill reduces the risk of cancer recurrence, but also carries side effects such as mood swings, nausea, hot flashes and loss of sex drive. “Right there, you’re going to lose most men,” Singer says.

Even if compliance were not an issue, some experts note that the molecular pathways that produce endocrine’s effects differ between the sexes, and male breast cancer patients could have alternative pathways to drive tumor growth. That means hormone therapies might not work as well in men, says Xiaoxian Bill Li, a breast pathologist at Emory University in Atlanta whose smaller 2017 study indicated that male breast cancer patients have worse outcomes than females, especially for early-stage disease.

To expand treatment options, the Food and Drug Administration issued a draft guidance in August encouraging drug companies to include men in breast cancer studies. (Last year, the FDA released a guidance document to motivate inclusion of pregnant women (SN: 5/30/18) in clinical trials.) And when clinical trial data is scant, the agency occasionally considers other sources of information. In April, for instance, the FDA expanded the indications for the breast cancer drug palbociclib to include men, based on electronic health records and post-marketing data related to patients’ real-world experiences.

Recently, the agency approved several breast cancer drugs for both men and women even though the clinical trials had no male participants, because the drugs weren’t expected to behave differently between genders, says Richard Pazdur, director of the FDA’s Oncology Center of Excellence.

“This is huge,” Singer says. This is “proof that the tide is turning, that we matter.”

#science #scied #sciblr #breast cancer #male breast cancer #breast cancer awareness #health #medecine #cancer

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youcantunringthebell · 6 years ago

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Welcome to my uterus. Here’s my story. Now get out.

I wasn’t an irresponsible teenager or a single twentysomething or a victim of rape or incest or carrying a nonviable fetus when I had my abortion.

Arguably, I’d never been in a better position for motherhood, except I was pretty old for it at 42. I was married to a good, responsible man and working a high-stress but high-paying job.

I say all this knowing it’s none of your business that I had an abortion or why. But I tell you because my right to have one is under attack, and you need to know that people YOU know had abortions, and they had their reasons, and there aren’t certain people whose right to an abortion should be protected and those whose shouldn’t. My uterus, my choice, to be made with my partner, my doctor, my pastor and whoever I wish to gather data from. Normally, I’d tell you to stay out of it, but this damn country right now is prompting me to invite you into it for a little storytime.

My birth control, taken in pill form and missed probably three times in 20 years, had failed me. Turns out St. John’s wort, which I took to deal with that stressful job, interferes with the pill. (You may want to make a note of that, fertile women.) When my period hadn’t arrived a week after its scheduled time and I felt nauseated every morning, I took a pregnancy test just to calm myself down, because I KNEW there was no way I’d be pregnant.

I sat in our tiny downstairs bathroom with my pee stick and my phone, counting the minutes, and there it was: the second stripe. I worked up another pee for the second test. Double stripes. A tiny pinprick-stabbing sensation started at the top of my head and traveled to my fingertips. A child was something I wanted for literally one day when I was turning 35 and afraid of missing out on an experience most of my friends were treasuring. On THAT occasion, I skipped the pill and had sex with my first husband, only to fearfully gulp down two pills the next morning and start watching the calendar. That’s how opposed to motherhood I’ve been. Why? Probably because I’m the oldest of five children and was helping Mommy by the time I started kindergarten. Or maybe I think my screwed-up lineage should end with me. It doesn’t matter. That’s who I am.

I felt panicky. Without ever leaving the toilet, I looked up abortion clinics on my phone, and scrolling through my whole two options, it finally occurred to me I should tell the other person involved in this situation. I pulled up my underwear and opened the bathroom door. JJ was playing a video game, which he paused when he saw my face.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m pregnant,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment. “Well, I told you my family’s sperm could overcome anything.”

I didn’t laugh. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do. I want to get an abortion. We also have gay friends who want a baby. Maybe we should consider that. But that would mean me going through a pregnancy and trying to figure out whether the baby would be healthy, and I don’t know if I could stand it.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t watch people we know raising my child.”

“I saw online where I could have an abortion on Tuesday. It’s $600,” I said.

We sat in silence until he turned the video game back on. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME? You’re going to PLAY A VIDEO GAME RIGHT NOW?” I yelled.

Later, I figured out that was his way of numbing himself before he had a panic attack.

I took a sick day that Tuesday, and the two of us drove to a clinic in South Nashville. The woman on the phone told us to leave everything in the car except a method of payment. We couldn’t carry anything in — for security reasons. No books. No phones. Just a credit card carried on a short walk from the car, listening to protesters across the street shouting, “We can help you save your baby! Don’t do this! Think about it!”

As though I hadn’t thought about it. As though I hadn’t spent 30 years of fertility trying to avoid it. As though I would cross the street to people who were making a hard day even harder, asking them to save me.

A stern, beefy man at the door gave us the once-over and let us in. I wore a pencil skirt and a suit jacket, as though dressing up somehow put me more in control over the procedure. The shabby, dated waiting room was absolutely packed, every seat taken by women of all races, old, middle-aged and young, sitting next to their boyfriends and sisters and moms, watching a game show on a small, fuzzy TV or flipping through faded women’s magazines, finding summer looks and risotto recipes and not talking.

At that time, 7 years ago, Tennessee required fetal viability tests but not a 48-hour waiting period, so I had a vaginal ultrasound, but at least I didn’t have to leave and come back after it. The embryo was 5 weeks, the size of an apple seed. It was not life. It was a mass of cells with the potential for life, existing because of my life. It wasn’t a person any more than an apple seed is an apple tree.

So I was allowed to join the other women having medical abortions -- as opposed to surgical abortions, the other option -- and they took us back in groups of six to watch the required video. I don’t remember much about the video, but I remember well the “what are you in for” conversation we had. One woman was married and pregnant by her husband, who would beat her if he found out she’d gotten pregnant again. She lied to him so she could be at the clinic that day. Another woman got pregnant by her boyfriend while her husband was out of the state on a six-month work assignment. Another said she was there for her third abortion. I couldn’t imagine having to come back to that place once I’d been.

I paid my $600, minus a $20 coupon from the clinic’s website. I had a physical exam and took the first pill of a two-pill process — once you take the first one, you MUST take the second to flush out the uterine wall or risk infection, the doctor warned. They told me to come back in a few weeks to be sure I’d totally passed the embryo.

By Thursday, the day I was supposed to take the follow-up pills, I was in a regular hospital for a deep vein thrombosis and bilateral pulmonary embolism that had actually started weeks before I knew I was pregnant -- manifesting as a persistent calf cramp and the occasional shortness of breath I attributed to being fat and stressed. Likely, the combination of birth control pills and being pregnant caused a clotting disorder. I didn’t know about it until, dressed for work and walking out the door, I couldn’t breathe while I noticed my leg turning purple.

My primary care doctor at the time was the sweetest human on the face of the planet, so when he met me in the emergency room, he didn’t bat an eye at the news I was in the middle of a medical abortion process. “Just take the second dose of pills, and we’ll keep an eye on you here, overnight,” he said. He told me about a dear friend who died on a treadmill from this very clotting disorder, and how relieved he was that I’d come in when I did. Not an ounce of judgment or blame.

I’m not sure how I would have dealt with a pregnancy and treatment for my clotting disorder at the same time. I didn’t have to find out, because Tennessee law allowed me to make that decision about my own medical treatment, and an abortion clinic was available to me. That very clinic is closed now, regulated out of business by men and their self-hating women enablers bent on turning America into a theocracy. Neither JJ nor I regret our decision, and we are grateful for the men and women who risked their safety so we could make it. Some of them have been gunned down in the street for their roles in helping women like me.

I absolutely respect people who are pro-life, as long as they don’t attempt to regulate my medical care and they do demonstrate a love for life already in the world. (Hello, Tim Kaine.) To those who would take away my rights: Ending abortion access wouldn’t have made me carry that embryo. I’d have spent my last dime traveling for an abortion, and I had dimes to spend. Women who don’t will do like a friend from the Kingdom Hall’s daughter, who punctured her uterine wall with a wire hanger when we were teenagers.

So I’ve told my story. If you can, tell yours. If you can’t, I completely understand. And I mean you too, men. Now get out of my uterus.

P.S. Apropos of nothing: The closest I came to losing it over having my abortion was when my editor at the paper assigned me to go back and cover a special protest IN FRONT OF THE SAME CLINIC only a month or two later. It was a bunch of teenagers led by a priest who taught at a Catholic school. I kept my composure and did the job. A few months after THAT, the priest called me up wanting a story done about the fact he was releasing an album, so I met him at a Music Row studio and wrote up a religion column about him. I asked if we could use a clip of one of his songs to run online with the column. He said no, because “someone might steal my licks.” In my opinion, the licks were not stealable, and to my knowledge, few people ever heard them, never mind stole them.

#abortion #women's rights

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capesierrafamilyclinic · 3 years ago

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How can you prevent Chronic Diseases?

Chronic diseases are one of the leading causes of death in the U.S. Hence doctors advise making healthy lifestyle choices to prevent and manage chronic diseases. You need not make major lifestyle changes. However, bringing small changes in your lifestyle and being cautious about your diet will go a long way in helping you live a healthy life. You may consult a family clinic Nashville to learn about reducing the risk of chronic diseases. In addition, this blog will share a few helpful lifestyle tips to help in chronic disease prevention and management.

Lifestyle changes for chronic disease prevention and management

Including the following lifestyle changes in your daily routine can help prevent and manage chronic diseases. Let’s discuss them further.

Quit smoking

There is no reason to start it now if you do not smoke. However, if you smoke, it's time to get over this harmful habit. Quitting smoking can help reduce the risk of heart diseases, lung diseases, cancer, and many other smoking-related health concerns. If needed, consult the doctors at a medical clinic in Nashville to receive help for smoking cessation.

Healthy diet

Follow a balanced diet including essential nutrients to help you stay healthy. It further reduces the risk of obesity, heart diseases, Type-2 diabetes, etc.

For children, healthy eating is critical for the first two years of life for their growth and development. Breastfeeding infants can provide them with the needed nutrition. It further reduces the risk of Type 1 diabetes, asthma, ear and respiratory infections, sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS), etc. Early eating experiences in children play a critical role in determining how they eat when growing older. Therefore, parents and caregivers must introduce healthy foods to children early. Children of 6 months can start consuming food and drinks other than breast milk.

Doctors advise adults to include various fruits and vegetables in their diet. They should also consume whole grains, lean protein, and low-fat dairy products. Besides, you should limit the consumption of processed foods, saturated fats, added sugar, etc.

Physical activity

It is one of the best ways to improve your overall health. Adults can get involved in two types of physical activities – aerobic and muscle-training. Aerobic activities involve brisk walking, cycling, swimming, etc. These exercises help you breathe harder, and your heart beat faster.

Muscle training exercises involve working different muscle groups, such as exercising with resistance bands, squats, push-ups, etc. If you are unsure how much physical activity you should get, consult healthcare professionals at a sierra family healthcare clinic. If you suffer from any health condition, your doctor might recommend suitable exercises accordingly.

Limit alcohol consumption

Excess alcohol consumption can cause high blood pressure, heart diseases, liver diseases, etc. It also increases the risk of stroke. Ideally, men should not consume more than 2 drinks a day. As for women, it is better to limit alcohol consumption to 1 drink per day.

Sleep

You must get seven to nine hours of restful sleep to prevent the development of chronic diseases. If you experience difficulties in sleeping, the following tips might help you.

· Maintain a consistent bedtime and waking time for all days of the week, including weekends

· Exercise regularly

· Limit alcohol and caffeine consumption

· Avoid digital devices for at least 90 minutes before bedtime

· Sleep in a cool, dark, quiet room

Screening tests

Screening tests can help diagnose chronic diseases early. It further helps you take appropriate preventive measures to manage your conditions. Patients, who have a family history of chronic diseases, are at a higher risk of developing them. You can share your family history with your doctors to help them suggest appropriate steps for chronic disease prevention in Nashville.

Therefore, with the help of the lifestyle changes mentioned above, you can prevent chronic diseases to a great extent. If you suffer from higher blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood glucose levels, you must consult your doctors for necessary medications and needed medical assistance to manage your condition.

#medical clinic nashville #Medical Services #Healthcare #healthcare services in Nashville #medical tips

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tennesseemensclinic · 4 months ago

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Preparing for Tennessee's Popular Running Events and Marathons with Tennessee Men's Clinic

Get Ready to Conquer Tennessee's Running Events and Marathons with Expert Guidance from Tennessee Men's Clinic

Preparing for Tennessee's premier running events and marathons requires a well-rounded approach, combining effective training schedules, smart nutrition, and strategic planning. Whether you're gearing up for the Rock 'n' Roll Nashville Marathon or the Chattanooga Marathon, these expert tips will help you perform at your best.

Craft a Training Schedule that Suits You

Consistency is Key: According to Tennessee Men's Clinic, you must establish a regular training routine that gradually increases in intensity. Start with shorter runs and progressively build up your mileage. This allows your body to adapt to the demands of long-distance running without risking injury.

Incorporate Variety: Mix up your training with different types of runs—tempo runs, interval training, and long-distance runs. This not only keeps things interesting but also improves your overall endurance, speed, and strength.

Rest and Recovery: Don't underestimate the power of rest. Allow your body time to recover with at least one rest day per week. Active recovery, such as light yoga or stretching, can also help keep your muscles flexible and prevent injuries.

Prioritize Nutrition and Hydration

Balanced Diet: Fuel your body with a balanced diet rich in carbohydrates, proteins, and healthy fats. Carbohydrates are your primary energy source, so focus on whole grains, fruits, and vegetables. Proteins help with muscle repair and recovery, so include lean meats, beans, and legumes in your meals.

Hydration is Crucial: Staying hydrated is essential, especially during long runs. Drink water throughout the day and consider electrolyte-rich drinks during intense training sessions to replenish lost minerals.

Pre-Run Fuel: Eating a light meal or snack an hour before your run can provide the necessary energy. Opt for easily digestible options like a banana, a piece of toast with peanut butter, or a smoothie.

Gear Up with the Right Equipment

Invest in Quality Running Shoes: Your running shoes are your most important gear. Invest in a pair that offers proper support, fits well, and suits your running style. Replace them every 300-500 miles to avoid wear and tear that could lead to injuries.

Comfortable Clothing: Choose moisture-wicking fabrics to keep you dry and comfortable during your runs. Dressing in layers can help you adjust to Tennessee's variable weather conditions.

Plan Your Race Day Strategy

Familiarize Yourself with the Route: Knowing the race course can help you mentally prepare for the terrain and any challenging segments. Study the elevation map and plan your pacing strategy accordingly.

Pace Yourself: Start slow and gradually increase your pace. It's easy to get caught up in the excitement at the beginning of the race, but conserving energy early on will pay off in the later miles.

Mental Preparation: Running a marathon is as much a mental challenge as it is a physical one. Develop a positive mindset, set achievable goals, and visualize crossing the finish line.

Listen to Your Body

Address Pain Early: Don't ignore any signs of pain or discomfort. Early intervention can prevent minor issues from becoming major injuries. Consult a professional if you experience persistent pain.

Adjust as Needed: Be flexible with your training plan. If you're feeling overly tired or under the weather, it's okay to take an extra rest day or adjust your workout.

Preparing for Tennessee's top running events and marathons requires dedication, planning, and a holistic approach to training and nutrition. Tennessee Men's Clinic says that by following these expert tips, you'll be well-equipped to tackle any race and achieve your personal best. Remember, the journey to the starting line is just as important as the race itself. Enjoy the process, celebrate your progress, and embrace the thrill of race day. Happy running!

#Tennessee Men's Clinic #Running #Marathon

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themovieblogonline · 3 months ago

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Melissa Etheridge: I'm Not Broken at Nashville Film Festival

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addictiontreatmentemmaus · 3 years ago

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Addiction Treatment at Emmaus Medical and Counseling

If you need addiction treatment, consider Emmaus Medical and Counseling. This Nashville-based clinic provides hope where there is none, and light where darkness reigns. Our addiction recovery center offers individual, group, and family counseling to help individuals get back on track with their lives. When you need help with an addiction, we're here to help. Contact us today to learn more about how we can improve your life.

Emmaus Medical and Counseling is a substance abuse treatment center with five members. It offers services for addiction, including individual therapy, group sessions, and medication-assisted treatment. It also provides counseling for family members of patients, and the staff is compassionate and supportive. Its services are available to both men and women, and its compassionate staff will make the transition to recovery as easy as possible Emmaus Medical and Recovery suboxone clinic in Nashville.

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Emmaus Medical and Counseling

Address: 341 Wallace Rd Suite A, Nashville, TN 37211

Phone: 615-321-1201

Email: [email protected]

https://goo.gl/maps/tZ7TZRENK1tNX6YX8

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natwolf · 3 years ago

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xtruss · 3 years ago

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The Black Mortality Gap, and a Document Written in 1910

Some clues on why health care fails Black Americans can be found in the Flexner Report

— By Anna Flagg | August 30, 2021

If Black Americans died at the same rates as white Americans, about 294,000 Black Americans would have died in 2019. Each dot represents 10 people

Black Americans die at higher rates than white Americans at nearly every age.

In 2019, the most recent year with available mortality data, there were about 62,000 such earlier deaths — or one out of every five African American deaths.

The age group most affected by the inequality was infants. Black babies were more than twice as likely as white babies to die before their first birthday.

The overall mortality disparity has existed for centuries. Racism drives some of the key social determinants of health, like lower levels of income and generational wealth; less access to healthy food, water and public spaces; environmental damage; overpolicing and disproportionate incarceration; and the stresses of prolonged discrimination.

But the health care system also plays a part in this disparity.

Research shows Black Americans receive less and lower-quality care for conditions like cancer, heart problems, pneumonia, pain management, prenatal and maternal health, and overall preventive health. During the pandemic, this racial longevity gap seemed to grow again after narrowing in recent years.

Some clues to why health care is failing African Americans can be found in a document written over 100 years ago: the Flexner Report.

In the early 1900s, the U.S. medical field was in disarray. Churning students through short academic terms with inadequate clinical facilities, medical schools were flooding the field with unqualified doctors — and pocketing the tuition fees. Dangerous quacks and con artists flourished.

Physicians led by the American Medical Association (A.M.A.) were pushing for reform. Abraham Flexner, an educator, was chosen to perform a nationwide survey of the state of medical schools.

He did not like what he saw.

Published in 1910, the Flexner Report blasted the unregulated state of medical education, urging professional standards to produce a force of “fewer and better doctors.”

Flexner recommended raising students’ pre-medical entry requirements and academic terms. Medical schools should partner with hospitals, invest more in faculty and facilities, and adopt Northern city training models. States should bolster regulation. Specialties should expand. Medicine should be based on science.

The effects were remarkable. As state boards enforced the standards, more than half the medical schools in the U.S. and Canada closed, and the numbers of practices and physicians plummeted.

The new rules brought advances to doctors across the country, giving the field a new level of scientific rigor and protections for patients.

But there was also a lesser-known side of the Flexner Report.

Black Americans already had an inferior experience with the health system. Black patients received segregated care; Black medical students were excluded from training programs; Black physicians lacked resources for their practices. Handing down exacting new standards without the means to put them into effect, the Flexner report was devastating for Black medicine.

Of the seven Black medical schools that existed at the time, only two — Howard and Meharry — remained for Black applicants, who were barred from historically white institutions.

The new requirements for students, in particular the higher tuition fees prompted by the upgraded medical school standards, also meant those with wealth and resources were overwhelmingly more likely to get in than those without.

The report recommended that Black doctors see only Black patients, and that they should focus on areas like hygiene, calling it “dangerous” for them to specialize in other parts of the profession. Flexner said the white medical field should offer Black patients care as a moral imperative, but also because it was necessary to prevent them from transmitting diseases to white people. Integration, seen as medically dangerous, was out of the question.

The effect was to narrow the medical field both in total numbers of doctors, and the racial and class diversity within their ranks.

When the report was published, physicians led by the A.M.A. had already been organizing to make the field more exclusive. The report’s new professional requirements, developed with guidance from the A.M.A.’s education council, strengthened those efforts under the banner of improvement.

Elite white physicians now faced less competition from doctors offering lower prices or free care. They could exclude those they felt lowered the profession’s social status, including working-class or poor people, women, rural Southerners, immigrants and Black people.

And so emerged a vision of an ideal doctor: a wealthy white man from a Northern city. Control of the medical field was in the hands of these doctors, with professional and cultural mechanisms to limit others.

To a large degree, the Flexner standards continue to influence American medicine today.

The medical establishment didn’t follow all of the report’s recommendations, however.

The Flexner Report noted that preventing health problems in the broader community better served the public than the more profitable business of treating an individual patient.

“The overwhelming importance of preventive medicine, sanitation, and public health indicates that in modern life the medical profession” is not a business “to be exploited by individuals,” it said.

But in the century since, the A.M.A. and allied groups have mostly defended their member physicians’ interests, often opposing publicly funded programs that could harm their earnings.

Across the health system, the typically lower priority given to public health disproportionately affects Black Americans.

Lower reimbursement rates discourage doctors from accepting Medicaid patients. Twelve states, largely in the South, have not expanded Medicaid as part of the Affordable Care Act.

Specialists like plastic surgeons or orthopedists far out-earn pediatricians and family, public health and preventive doctors — those who deal with heart disease, diabetes, hypertension and other conditions that disproportionately kill Black people.

With Americans able to access varying levels of care based on what resources they have, Black doctors say many patients are still, in effect, segregated.

The trans-Atlantic slave trade began a tormented relationship with Western medicine and a health disadvantage for Black Americans that has never been corrected, first termed the “slave health deficit” by the doctor and medical historian Dr. W. Michael Byrd.

Dr. Byrd, born in 1943 in Galveston, Texas, grew up hearing about the pain of slavery from his great-grandmother, who was emancipated as a young girl. Slavery’s disastrous effects on Black health were clear. But by the time he became a medical student, those days were long past — why was he still seeing so many African Americans dying?

Dr. Linda A. Clayton had the same question.

Her grandfather had also been emancipated from slavery as a child. And growing up, she often saw Black people struggle with the health system — even those in her own family, who were well able to pay for care. Her aunt died in childbirth. Two siblings with polio couldn’t get equitable treatment. Her mother died young of cancer after being misdiagnosed.

By 1988, when Dr. Byrd and Dr. Clayton met as faculty members of Meharry Medical College in Nashville, he had been collecting data, publishing and teaching physicians about Black health disparities for 20 years, calling attention to them in the news media and before Congress.

In their decades-long partnership and marriage that followed, the two built on that work, constructing a story of race and medicine in the U.S. that had never been comprehensively told, publishing their findings in a two-volume work, “An American Health Dilemma” (2000 and 2001, Routledge).

Much has changed since the publication of the Flexner Report.

Racial discrimination is prohibited by law. Medical schools, practices and hospitals are desegregated.

In 2008, a past A.M.A. president, Dr. Ronald M. Davis, formally apologized to Black doctors and patients. The association has established a minority affairs forum and a national Center for Health Equity; collaborated with the National Medical Association, historically Black medical schools and others in Black health; and created outreach and scholarships.

But Dr. Clayton and Dr. Byrd have questioned whether the field is working hard enough to change the persistent inequalities. And they aren’t the only experts wondering.

To Adam Biggs, an instructor in African American studies and history at the University of South Carolina at Lancaster, Flexner’s figure of the elite physician still reigns. That person is most likely to have resources to shoulder the tuition and debt; to get time and coaching for testing and pre-medical preparation; and to ride out years of lower-paid training an M.D. requires.

Evan Hart, an assistant professor of history at Missouri Western State University, has taught courses on race and health. She said medical school tuition is prohibitively expensive for many Black students.

Earlier this year, an A.M.A. article estimated there are 30,000-35,000 fewer Black doctors because of the Flexner Report.

Today, Black people make up 13 percent of Americans, but 5 percent of physicians — up just two percentage points from half a century ago. In the higher-paying specialties, the gap grows. Doctors from less wealthy backgrounds and other disadvantaged groups are underrepresented, too.

This disparity appears to have real-world effects on patients. A study showed Black infant mortality reduced by half when a Black doctor provided treatment. Another showed that Black men, when seen by Black doctors, more often agreed to certain preventive measures. Data showed over 60 percent of Black medical school enrollees planned to practice in underserved communities, compared with less than 30 percent of whites.

The limits of progress are perhaps clearest in the continuing numbers of Black Americans suffering poor health and early death. Millions remain chronically uninsured or underinsured.

According to Dr. Clayton, a key problem is that the health system continues to separate those with private insurance and those with public insurance, those with resources versus those without, the care of individuals versus the whole.

During the Civil Rights movement, Medicare and Medicaid — which were opposed by the A.M.A. — passed in part because of the advocacy of Black doctors, extending care to millions of lower-income and older Americans. But the A.M.A.’s long battle against public programs has contributed to the United States’ position as the only advanced nation without universal coverage. When a social safety net is left frayed, research shows, it may hurt Black Americans more, and it also leaves less privileged members of all races exposed.

“It is basically a segregated system within a legally desegregated system,” Dr. Clayton said.

In February, Dr. Byrd died from heart failure in a hospital in Nashville at 77. Dr. Clayton was holding his hand.

Before his death, the two doctors had given hours of interviews to The New York Times/The Marshall Project over the course of six months.

Dr. Byrd said he wanted to spread awareness to more American doctors — and Americans generally — about the Black health crisis that slavery began, and that continues in a health system that hasn’t fully desegregated.

The doctors’ work showed that never in the country’s history has Black health come close to equality with that of whites.

“We’re still waiting,” Dr. Byrd said.

— This article was published in partnership with The Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization covering the U.S. criminal justice system. Sign up for its newsletter, or follow The Marshall Project on Facebook or Twitter. Anna Flagg is a senior data reporter for The Marshall Project.

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themovieblogonline · 3 months ago

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Melissa Etheridge: I'm Not Broken at Nashville Film Festival

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