How Microbes Defend and Define Us: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/13/science/13micro.html?src=me&ref=general
Boggles the mind, no?
Quick precis of article: Lady has massive, uncontrolled Clostridium difficile infection. Antibiotics don't seem to have an effect. Doctors take a small amount of feces from the husband, mix it up in the saline drip that they have on her and voila! Diarrhea stops, woman recovers. Long discussion on the role of microbes in the human body follows.
Ja wohl?
I do not understand the rationale for this fecal transplant. I mean, if they mixed fecal samples into the saline drip, the bacteria would enter the bloodstream, not the gut. How did she NOT end up with sepsis?
Could her existing C.difficile condition have caused some kind of gut permeability, which then leaked C.difficile into her blood stream, leading to initial inflammation and then an exhaustion of the immune system?
Or could it have something to do with the fact that it is not a single strain of bacteria that is being injected but an immensely complex population of bacterial species, which could somehow detract the body from going into septic shock?
If the underlying rationale was to provide competition to the C.difficile, why didn't they use lactobacillus as a safer option to begin with?
Point to note, appreciate and ponder about: they used her husband's fecal samples. Why do I think this is important? Not because I detect (an admittedly dubious) romantic angle to this business, but because of another point of compatibility. If two people live together and cook and eat together, chances are that their gut flora are similar (or at least, more similar than two randomly selected people). So even if this woman had her gut flora cleaned out by the C.difficile, chances are that her husband's flora might be better "suited" to her.
[Of course, this is a big assumption: for all I know, they may not have been together that long, or perhaps they don't eat together, or perhaps one is a vegetarian and the other, a die hard carnivore. Okay, the last point is not so probable- after all, most times, people marry other people who share their value systems, especially when it comes to food. A hard core vegetarian and a carnivore may live together temporarily, but it cannot be a happy coexistence.]
Coming back to the point, I think it is important that they used someone to whom this woman would have continual, long term exposure to. This is a belief not substantiated by any data.
Technicalities: How did they decide just how much feces to add, I wonder? Was it a one shot bolus, or was it a continual drip? How fresh should the feces have been? How in the world did they mix up a bit of feces to a fine enough suspension that it passed through the tiny needle? Maybe they used a low intensity sonicator?
This is a whole new twist on the Morarji Desai angle. Now somebody should shoot some pee into another person and see what happens. Then, we can vindicate Desai saab's beliefs.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
A promise
One day, I will live in an apartment that is either
a) On the ground floor with NO steps or
b) Has an elevator.
Am TIRED of climbing 50 steps to my flat every day!
a) On the ground floor with NO steps or
b) Has an elevator.
Am TIRED of climbing 50 steps to my flat every day!
More things
This blog shall be in the form of bullets, because today, I have a neat and orderly mind.
a) I find myself intensely bored with the same old sambar, rasam and boiled veggies, which form my cooking repertoire. These same things were awesome when mom cooked them for me. Now I loathe the very thought of having to cut up radishes for radish kozhambu, I dislike having to make the "vogarNe" with mustard and hing for the rasam and so on.
b) The foods that make me drool right now: a) fettunicini alfredo and b) risotto.
F/A is soooo bland that I cannot understand why I have this hankering for it. Perhaps I only want some cheese. Anyway, both recipes are there on http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/ which used to be my number 1 reference for non-Indian recipes. Now, after nearly 12 months of relatively healthy eating, just the amount of butter and cheese that lady uses makes me shudder. It's okay for her- she's on a cattle ranch, no doubt she can work off her fat somehow. It is different for me, when the only exercise I get (or am willing to do) is walk, somewhat slowly, to lab (~2.5miles. Not bad, right?) and that too, only on some days.
c) In effort to make something, ANYthing new, I turned to "Regina's International Vegetarian Favorites", which, when I had bought it some two years ago promised to open up a vast world of new and interesting things to cook. Unfortunately, all her truly interesting recipes require a visit to the grocery store (or many grocery stores). And of course, the only stuff I have readily available are those suited for (bah!) humbug Indian cooking. Anyway, I chanced upon this recipe called "Curried Cauliflower Soup" in her book. It is your normal Gobi sabji, which she then purees.
I should have just made my stupid sabji and eaten it. But no, I went ahead and pureed it and now all I am reminded of is my grandfather. My grandfather, during the year before he died, decided that he was thoroughly bored with chewing food (he later became thoroughly bored of eating itself). During this year, he made the cook puree every single vegetable that she would make for the rest of the family. This way, he would say, he got the nutrition and the taste without the effort.
Curried Cauliflower Soup is depressing. I need to repair it somehow before Ram comes home.
d) I can no longer reliably use the rooting reflex of my baby to check how hungry he is :(
For those not in the know, the rooting reflex in newborns is when you gently stroke the side of their mouth, and if they are hungry, they will open their mouth and root for your finger. Depending on how eagerly Ani would root at a finger, my parents and I could predict how much time we had before he started bawling uncontrollably for his food.
Now, however, he turns towards my finger even when he not hungry, because he wants to chew my finger. I think he is teething, though 11 weeks seems a tad young for that. Nevertheless, he grabs on to anything he can find- his fists, my shoulder, Ram's knuckle etc and chews studiously upon them and makes really loud sucking noises.
Anyway, I guess my little baby is no longer quite as newborn as he was.
e) Ram and I watched "The Judgement at Nuremberg" recently and it is a brilliant movie. I love stories that I can keep recollecting and brooding on for months and months after initially coming across them and this one promises to be in that category.
a) I find myself intensely bored with the same old sambar, rasam and boiled veggies, which form my cooking repertoire. These same things were awesome when mom cooked them for me. Now I loathe the very thought of having to cut up radishes for radish kozhambu, I dislike having to make the "vogarNe" with mustard and hing for the rasam and so on.
b) The foods that make me drool right now: a) fettunicini alfredo and b) risotto.
F/A is soooo bland that I cannot understand why I have this hankering for it. Perhaps I only want some cheese. Anyway, both recipes are there on http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/ which used to be my number 1 reference for non-Indian recipes. Now, after nearly 12 months of relatively healthy eating, just the amount of butter and cheese that lady uses makes me shudder. It's okay for her- she's on a cattle ranch, no doubt she can work off her fat somehow. It is different for me, when the only exercise I get (or am willing to do) is walk, somewhat slowly, to lab (~2.5miles. Not bad, right?) and that too, only on some days.
c) In effort to make something, ANYthing new, I turned to "Regina's International Vegetarian Favorites", which, when I had bought it some two years ago promised to open up a vast world of new and interesting things to cook. Unfortunately, all her truly interesting recipes require a visit to the grocery store (or many grocery stores). And of course, the only stuff I have readily available are those suited for (bah!) humbug Indian cooking. Anyway, I chanced upon this recipe called "Curried Cauliflower Soup" in her book. It is your normal Gobi sabji, which she then purees.
I should have just made my stupid sabji and eaten it. But no, I went ahead and pureed it and now all I am reminded of is my grandfather. My grandfather, during the year before he died, decided that he was thoroughly bored with chewing food (he later became thoroughly bored of eating itself). During this year, he made the cook puree every single vegetable that she would make for the rest of the family. This way, he would say, he got the nutrition and the taste without the effort.
Curried Cauliflower Soup is depressing. I need to repair it somehow before Ram comes home.
d) I can no longer reliably use the rooting reflex of my baby to check how hungry he is :(
For those not in the know, the rooting reflex in newborns is when you gently stroke the side of their mouth, and if they are hungry, they will open their mouth and root for your finger. Depending on how eagerly Ani would root at a finger, my parents and I could predict how much time we had before he started bawling uncontrollably for his food.
Now, however, he turns towards my finger even when he not hungry, because he wants to chew my finger. I think he is teething, though 11 weeks seems a tad young for that. Nevertheless, he grabs on to anything he can find- his fists, my shoulder, Ram's knuckle etc and chews studiously upon them and makes really loud sucking noises.
Anyway, I guess my little baby is no longer quite as newborn as he was.
e) Ram and I watched "The Judgement at Nuremberg" recently and it is a brilliant movie. I love stories that I can keep recollecting and brooding on for months and months after initially coming across them and this one promises to be in that category.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A lot of random things
a) The Jewish school, which my apartment overlooks, has a summer "camp" every year. I think it's to turn the not-so-Jewish kids who go to normal schools the rest of the year into the ultra-orthodox types that Sq.Hill specializes in.
The kids who attend it are about 8-10 years old. The camp instructors are in their mid to late teens. Okay so far?
Then get this: every morning, between 9:04 and 9:06 am, they start their prayers to the tune of "You are my sunshine", followed by counting in Hebrew, and then, another prayer, set to the tune of "Row, row, row your boat". Because they can't help themselves, after the Hebrew prayer, they segue automatically into the English songs.
So, first you hear this
"He vo patti, ke he seera
hehopatma lavote
teke phero, nanote-eeyah
thanananananana
you're my sunshine, my only sunshine,
you make me happy when skies are grey"
etc etc
Then the older chaps pick on some little kid who has to go up to the front and lead the counting. Each number is punctuated by a punch in the air (which the kid in the front always does with great enthusiasm... punches kind of look like the "Heil Hitler" salute hahahaha)
Then comes the "Row your boat" song.
What really astonishes me is how earnest everybody is. How ridiculous must you feel to sing a prayer set to a nursery rhyme? Aren't teens supposed to be surly and sullen and rebellious? Not these ones. They must be mutants. Or maybe ultra-orthodox Jews are like that only.
Oh wait. Actually, I just remembered. Back in Bangalore, in the Jain temple next door, they sing prayers set to Bollywood songs. Specifically, to "Ek Do Teen" and "Dhak dhak".
So it's not just a Jewish thing.
I ought to become a prophet and start my own religion. I would call it "Rational Religion" (an oxymoron, if I've ever heard one). It would be like the Free Mason society of this age.
b) Breastfeeding is HARD. I have no doubts as to why two generations of women in America decided to toss the whole thing out and stick to bottles. And at the end of all that hardship, there is no award at the end of it. You, as a hardworking mom, may feel like you have a halo around your head, but it is visible only to you. And your child, though he may (or may not. Who can tell with babies?) care now, probably won't give a shit about it a few months from now.
I'll give this whole business till the kiddo is 6 months old. After that, goodbye breast milk! I'll rub my hands together in glee and regain control of my life and my hormones. October, I await your arrival.
c) Speaking of halos around one's head, I deserve an extra big one, for reasons other than breastfeeding. It has now been 4 days and 21 hours since my parents left for India and I think that the kiddo has been taken good care of by the man and me. In addition to taking care of the kid, I have cooked at home every day (except last night when I broke down and ate a couple of slices of pizza for dinner), done groceries, laundry & utensils, kept the house from descending into shambles, mustered up energy to play a game of badminton with the man nearly every day and oh yes, let us not forget, go to lab for a bit every day. To be honest though, lab work has been relegated to a very low position on list of priorities. Oh well. It will not be for too long.
d) Ram and I have devised a new game with the kiddo. We call it "The Adventures of Captain Cute Litte" and make up new adventures involving the baby. So Captain Cute Little wins the hearts of his unruly crew at sea (by threatening to cry or pee on them) and then discovers new lands and tames its barbaric people. And the next day, he climbs a tall summit (me or Ram, depending on whose story it is) with great difficulty and surveys the landscape. Then he makes friends with the bees and butterflies of the land (toys from the floor gyms) and tells them his story. Stuff like that. Captain Cute Little also changes his name to Sweet Little or Naughty Little or Beautiful Little depending on the fancies of his parents.
Okay, Captain Pee Pott just wet himself, me and the bed. Time to end this blog post.
The kids who attend it are about 8-10 years old. The camp instructors are in their mid to late teens. Okay so far?
Then get this: every morning, between 9:04 and 9:06 am, they start their prayers to the tune of "You are my sunshine", followed by counting in Hebrew, and then, another prayer, set to the tune of "Row, row, row your boat". Because they can't help themselves, after the Hebrew prayer, they segue automatically into the English songs.
So, first you hear this
"He vo patti, ke he seera
hehopatma lavote
teke phero, nanote-eeyah
thanananananana
you're my sunshine, my only sunshine,
you make me happy when skies are grey"
etc etc
Then the older chaps pick on some little kid who has to go up to the front and lead the counting. Each number is punctuated by a punch in the air (which the kid in the front always does with great enthusiasm... punches kind of look like the "Heil Hitler" salute hahahaha)
Then comes the "Row your boat" song.
What really astonishes me is how earnest everybody is. How ridiculous must you feel to sing a prayer set to a nursery rhyme? Aren't teens supposed to be surly and sullen and rebellious? Not these ones. They must be mutants. Or maybe ultra-orthodox Jews are like that only.
Oh wait. Actually, I just remembered. Back in Bangalore, in the Jain temple next door, they sing prayers set to Bollywood songs. Specifically, to "Ek Do Teen" and "Dhak dhak".
So it's not just a Jewish thing.
I ought to become a prophet and start my own religion. I would call it "Rational Religion" (an oxymoron, if I've ever heard one). It would be like the Free Mason society of this age.
b) Breastfeeding is HARD. I have no doubts as to why two generations of women in America decided to toss the whole thing out and stick to bottles. And at the end of all that hardship, there is no award at the end of it. You, as a hardworking mom, may feel like you have a halo around your head, but it is visible only to you. And your child, though he may (or may not. Who can tell with babies?) care now, probably won't give a shit about it a few months from now.
I'll give this whole business till the kiddo is 6 months old. After that, goodbye breast milk! I'll rub my hands together in glee and regain control of my life and my hormones. October, I await your arrival.
c) Speaking of halos around one's head, I deserve an extra big one, for reasons other than breastfeeding. It has now been 4 days and 21 hours since my parents left for India and I think that the kiddo has been taken good care of by the man and me. In addition to taking care of the kid, I have cooked at home every day (except last night when I broke down and ate a couple of slices of pizza for dinner), done groceries, laundry & utensils, kept the house from descending into shambles, mustered up energy to play a game of badminton with the man nearly every day and oh yes, let us not forget, go to lab for a bit every day. To be honest though, lab work has been relegated to a very low position on list of priorities. Oh well. It will not be for too long.
d) Ram and I have devised a new game with the kiddo. We call it "The Adventures of Captain Cute Litte" and make up new adventures involving the baby. So Captain Cute Little wins the hearts of his unruly crew at sea (by threatening to cry or pee on them) and then discovers new lands and tames its barbaric people. And the next day, he climbs a tall summit (me or Ram, depending on whose story it is) with great difficulty and surveys the landscape. Then he makes friends with the bees and butterflies of the land (toys from the floor gyms) and tells them his story. Stuff like that. Captain Cute Little also changes his name to Sweet Little or Naughty Little or Beautiful Little depending on the fancies of his parents.
Okay, Captain Pee Pott just wet himself, me and the bed. Time to end this blog post.
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