The Most Disgusting Diseases in the World (and How to Catch Them) – part 2

Following on from part one, and in the same vein for which Punch magazine was known, I bring you four more of the most disgusting diseases in the world.

I had to include acromegaly as the insistence of my son whose interest in endocrinology began at the tender age of four when we were on holiday in Switzerland and happened on a particularly florid case of the condition. By then, the diagnosis could have been made from a cable car 50 metres away (which it was).

“Mummy, why are that man’s hands so big? And why has he got pillows instead of shoes?” He pointed, I told him not to, and so on, until I noticed the man in question who really was sporting pillows strapped to his feet.

I explained about the pituitary gland and growth hormone, and my youngster thereafter abandoned Postman Pat books in favour of the British Medical Journal.

However florid acromegaly may become, the onset is invariably subtle, with coarse skin, greasy hair, an increase in hat size, a little deepening of the yodel, and difficulty making watches or doing up lederhosen. To avoid resembling our Alpine acquaintance, it’s best to seek help while you can still fit into your ski boots.

Even pillows may not be roomy enough if you’re infected with wuchereria bancrofti. Everyone seems to have heard of elephantiasis but there are two important things to note: you don’t catch it from elephants, and it usually begins with just a few enlarged lymph glands on the groin. Walking is therefore still possible, for a while. Swelling sets in later, often only in one leg, and sometimes in the scrotum too, should you possess one.

Eventually the skin develops rough folds and warty outgrowths, and the scrotum, if affected, can hang down to the knees, which poses problems at the tailor’s, and elsewhere. Prevention is key. Use a mosquito net, and avoid falling into Burmese septic tanks if you want to wear both legs of your trousers at the same time.

If you dislike rodents, you’ll hate Lassa fever. Transmitted by rats, it was discovered in the Nigerian village of the same name, which you might like to make a note to avoid on your travels.

After it was first described in 1969, the department of health send circulars so that no GP would miss this diagnosis.  As the years passed, I never saw a case, but the bumph was useful for wobbly dining tables.

Lassa has an insidious onset with symptoms that resemble other conditions, like fever, malaise, a flushed face, red eyes, nausea, and vomiting. Later, the nose, gums, mouth, stomach, and lungs bleed spontaneously – a plague of blood, with a high mortality rate. As I recall, Lassa is similar to other haemorrhagic fevers such as Marburg-Ebola, Green Monkey Disease, and Crimean-haemorrhagic-Congo-Hazara fever, though I’d have to check under the dining table to be sure.

Anyone who’s unconscious when arriving by plane from West Africa runs the risk of his drunken state being mistaken for Lassa fever, with the result that masked attendants whisk him off to a plastic tent in the nearest isolation unit until the tests are back. I need hardly add that the outlook is far worse when Lassa fever is mistaken for excess alcohol.

Next up is typhus, not to be confused with typhoid. Typhus is caused by germs called rickettsiae which breed in the gut of the louse, and spread to humans via louse faeces. Louse bites are itchy, and scratching them rubs infected droppings into the skin.

Weakness is one of the early symptoms, and it all goes downhill from there, eventually, if untreated, leading to multiple organ failure.

As alarming as typhus is, Tsutsugamushi fever (aka scrub typhus) is much more popular with medical students, because it has so many syllables and because it forms a painless but picturesque ulcer covered with a crust. More importantly, unlike other forms of typhus, an attack of Tsutsugamushi gives no immunity against further infection. Medics can therefore imagine repeated episodes of scrub typhus at each outbreak of acne, and some of them have been known to scratch for years after exposure to a single lecture.

In the next instalment of The Most Disgusting Diseases in the World (and How to Catch Them): head, shoulders, knees, and toes.

You may also like to catch up on The Most Disgusting Diseases part one.

The Most Disgusting Diseases in the World (and How to Catch Them) – part 1

Putting my decades of medical practice to use, I bring you the chance to brush up on all the gruesome diseases you don’t remember, especially if they’re ones you never knew about in the first place.

It’s tongue in cheek, but, if you’re squeamish or easily offended, you may prefer a blog about macramé instead.

Feeling out of sorts lately? If friends think you look tired, colleagues call you burnt out, and Great-Aunt Frieda reckons you need a tonic, better check out your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Are your fancy new glasses slipping down your nose? If so, either you’ve been too busy to pop into Specsavers to get them adjusted, or that jaunt to South America didn’t agree with you.

You may have got New World Leishmaniasis. Don’t let the name fool you. It’s as old as the hills, and it’s still a neglected disease. The parasite finds a sandfly to hang out in, until the sandfly finds you. Within 18 months or so, the bridge of the nose collapses. Leishmaniasis also destroys the mouth and tongue, so that bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin you’ve been saving tastes just like British sherry. Soon, however, you will no longer care.

The cause of all the trouble is the innocent-looking leishmania parasite with a cute little tail. Rather like a spermatozoon, actually. But, unlike pregnancy, leishmaniasis can be avoided by simple measures such as sleeping on the roof. Sandflies can’t fly much higher than three metres. 

What could be worse than leishmaniasis, apart from income tax, baldness, and wheel clamps? It’s the infection so dreadful that doctors often refer to it as Hansen’s disease to avoid inducing panic in the waiting room. The condition starts with a bit of catarrh then progresses to muscle pains, enlarged lymph nodes, and sometimes a patchy rash.  If you’re any kind of hypochondriac at all, you’ll suspect from the very first sneeze that this is leprosy.

Soon you lose a little pigmentation, then a few fingers because they’re numb and you chop them up with the celery. By the time leprosy bacilli gets into their stride, the face is covered in boils and bumps, and friends are apt to be too busy to see you. There may be other complications including inflamed testicles and a spleen the consistency of sago. But enough. More details might be in poor taste.

Leprosy is highly infectious. Or else it isn’t. The experts don’t all agree. If your doctor rushed out of the consulting room, you’ll know which school of thought she favours. One study showed that the only sure way of contracting leprosy is to share a bed for twelve years with a leprosy patient. So there’s really no need to avoid waiting rooms, though you might want to steer clear of lactating ladies with leprosy because they shed the bacilli like there’s no tomorrow.

Actually, there is a tomorrow because leprosy is curable. Too bad that treating an entire village for a month costs nearly as much as a good lunch for four, not including service. 

In the next instalment of The Most Disgusting Diseases in the World (and How to Catch Them), I’ll be talking about conditions affecting hands, feet, and other members.

My earlier version of this series originally appeared in Punch, an iconic magazine that eventually succumbed to circulation problems.

How Was IKEA for You?

The thing with going to IKEA is that it invariably takes three hours, which still isn’t enough to shop and to scoff a bargain plate of meatballs or fish and chips in the café.

IKEA Wednesbury was no different. The shop has everything, mostly things my son and I didn’t know we needed yet soon realised we couldn’t live without.

PS 2014 light. Image from ikea.com

The PS 2014 light is a case in point. By pulling its strings, you can make it open and shut, just like a transformer. Although, unlike a transformer, it is still a lampshade whatever you do. Bargain at £60 and would look great in my son’s new home. Now, what were we here for?

I get distracted by a couple arguing about the configuration of wardrobes and whether they really need a sofa bed (and which set of in-laws they can stand having as guests). Meanwhile, their kids have a pillow fight.

The cognoscenti may take crafty shortcuts through the store, but my son and I prefer not to miss anything, and the trolley soon filled up.

I’d brought my IKEA Family Card, which is why I got an email a week or so later asking for feedback on TYSNES, VILDKAPRIFOL, FLITIGHET, and TOKIG.

I’m not sure where IKEA get their product names, but then I don’t know a word of Swedish except Volvo and that’s Latin. Turns out they use many Scandinavian languages and place names in naming their wares, as this post explains

TYSNES. Image from ikea.com

TYSNES is a village in Norway. It’s also perfect for the bathroom windowsill, especially at just £19. As for the VILDKAPRIFOL, sorry, but, despite the attractive blue pattern, they’re still in the carrier bag.

VILDKAPRIFOL. Image from ikea.com

The FLITIGHET are great, but then what could go wrong with plain white side plates? Alas, I can’t comment on the TOKIG. I’d wanted a salad spinner for ages, but had forgotten that I’d taken the train, so the thing had to stay at my son’s in Birmingham instead of coming home with me.

The thing is, you can forget a lot after 90 minutes in IKEA, and common sense goes out the window. Perhaps that’s why, when nearly leaving the store, it’s almost impossible to ignore the Bargain Corner. The trolley is never quite laden enough to resist the charms of knock-down prices for knocked-about products, like a coat rack with a couple of hooks missing.

IKEA neglected to ask for my views of the humble RӦRT, a fine wooden spoon with endless possibilities. Have you never made spoon dolls? Admittedly my children have long grown out of such rainy day activities, but all you need for this wholesome fun is a Sharpie (or, better, a Magic Marker with a scent that takes me right back to the sixties), and then some fabric for a dress. Why, I could even use one of those pretty VILDKAPRIFOL tea towels.

IKEA also forgot to solicit my opinion of the BӒSTIS. I deem it 75p well spent as it prevents everything I own from turning ginger. It’s well named, too, as Bast was the Ancient Egyptian goddess of cats and her cult centre was Bubastis.

MISHMISH. Not available from IKEA

Far and away my best buy was, on that occasion as on most others, only 50p. Aptly named, the FRAKTA is generally purchased by the checkout when everyone is a bit fractious, even they’ve managed not to drop a BILLY bookcase on their foot.

The FRAKTA after deployment

It may not look much, but it is a workhorse. As the catalogue has it, Be it shopping, doing laundry or going to the beach, it goes wherever you go.”

Except it doesn’t. I always leave mine at home and having to buy another carrier bag at the store.

We caught up at the checkout with the quarrelling couple and the bouncy children, by then pacified by the promise of ice cream. Shopping at IKEA can be stressful, but it doesn’t detract from the chain’s iconic status.

Do you have a great IKEA story? Perhaps you even know someone who met their partner there, as opposed to just arguing with the one they went shopping with. I’d love to hear from you.

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You may also enjoy this post on Feedback Frenzy.

Is Your Classic Car a Sex Symbol?

On a sunny summer day, the grounds of Burghley House proved a good place to ponder this question. The occasion was the annual rally of the Rolls Royce Enthusiasts’ Club on the 100th anniversary of the marque, no less. Some of the visitors seemed of similar vintage. But, if the setting of England’s greatest Elizabethan House didn’t evoke lust, the Flying Lady (aka the Spirit of Ecstasy) probably would. 

FreeImages.com/Artur Szeja

Arriving in my neighbour’s Arnage, I thought we fitted in rather well. OH and I posed in front of cars like this classic green Bentley.

If you’re wondering about the definitions of classic, vintage, and veteran, here’s one widely accepted version. Classic is over 20 years old, while vintage is 1919-1930, and veteran is pre-1919.

Some of the motors we saw were for sale, but most were for show, closely guarded by their owners as if their charges were entrants in a teen beauty pageant.

Some, like this Corniche, were watched over by dogs.

The atmosphere seemed designed to prompt extravagance. Sunshine, free fizz, and John Timms’ Jazz Band make such an intoxicating mix that a 1962 Silver Cloud begins to look a steal at just £395,000.

I had my eye on a sky blue Bentley, but doubt I could have afforded its dinky little brother.

Exploring stalls with items for sale, we admired shiny cylinder heads, members’ spares, and picnic sets for a mere £3,000.  I turned away from a perfectly lovely Louis Vuitton suitcase. It was £2,800 and it didn’t even have wheels!

Perhaps the less car-related merchandise would be within my budget. I tried on a splendid coat by Gabriela Rose Ltd. The mirror told me it fitted perfectly. The label told me it was £995.

In the Gallery Marquee, I enjoyed an affordable piece of fudge before wandering off again among the rows of cars. We traipsed as elegantly as one can in a field. Turned out to be easier without shoes. Who knew?

Owners were only too happy to tell everyone about their pride and joy. As it happens, I know something of their fervour. I did own a classic 1973 Beetle for over 25 years. It might not have swanned about stately homes, but Sauerkraut and I clocked up plenty of miles on camping trips to France and Spain.  And Wales. Mustn’t forget Wales. The speedometer gave up the ghost on the way back.

Lacking even the most basic cocktail cabinet, Sauerkraut was a tad low-tech by Rolls Royce/Bentley standards. Did it have air con? Only if you opened the quarter-lights as far as they would go and kept up a steady speed of 70mph. As for heating, what’s wrong with a coat and gloves? My very first Beetle didn’t even have a fuel gauge. Instead there was a lever for deploying a reserve tank when you were out of petrol.

Was my classic car a sex symbol? It was probably more of a fertility symbol, especially with three child seats across the back, a double buggy shoved haphazardly into the front, and a random assortment of toys meant to keep little boys quiet on long journeys.

You won’t find my beloved Beetle standing in front of Burghley House, but it has graced some of the finest NHS hospitals in the land. Here it is at the Canadian Red Cross Memorial Hospital, in Taplow, Berks.

When I went into general practice, Sauerkraut and I got to know every single street in Borehamwood. I recall one particular patient who called for a visit for back pain. When I examined him, I told him his back didn’t seem too bad. “I know,” he replied. “But I want to buy your car.”

Many years later, I sold Sauerkraut to a lovely family from Liverpool who renamed it Carol.

Go on. Give it a wave if you see it.  

Happy Birthday to Hope Hospital

April 5 is the end of the tax year, but, if you’re hoping for a side-splitting post about ISAs and tax returns, you need to look elsewhere. This week it’s a serious message about sick kids.

Just over two years ago, the People’s Convoy set off from London on an overland journey, taking with it supplies to build a new children’s hospital in Syria.

War has devastated Syria

After six years of war – with the deliberate and outrageous targeting of hospitals – the humanitarian situation was dire. There was no children’s hospital left in Eastern Aleppo, leaving about 250,000 people without medical care.

Hope Hospital, enabled by the People’s Convoy and run by the Independent Doctors’ Association, literally rose from the ashes of oblivion. As the world’s first crowdfunded hospital in a war zone, Hope is a triumph of humanity.

It took 8 dedicated organisations, over 5,000 generous people and £246,505 to open Hope Hospital. When the hospital was damaged by a car bomb, it was repaired. And when funding ran low last year, people raised an additional £480,505 to keep the light of Hope on.

Hope Hospital has now provided 98,707 consultations, checked 26,309 children for malnutrition and given specialist treatment to 52,846 children – children like Hanan, shown here.

Young Hanan’s story

Hanan’s mother suffered hugely during Hanan’s birth in October last year, not least because she had to travel for more than 60 km to reach hospital. Then, at 10 days old, Hanan developed a fever which wouldn’t respond to initial treatment.

Dr Hatem, Hope Hospital’s Director and lead paediatrician says, “Hanan came to the hospital suffering from convulsions… A CT scan showed cerebral oedema, which can cause irreversible damage and even death.” 

Thanks to Hope Hospital’s specialist care, Hanan improved enough for her to be discharged, to the great relief of her mother. She needs to continue with treatment and have ongoing hospital check-ups at the hospital, but is expected to make a full recovery.

Thousands of children need medical care

Dr Hatem says, “We receive dozens of cases like Hanan’s monthly. We are so grateful for the unique presence of this free hospital. Despite the dangerous environment, we are able to save the lives of thousands of children annually.”

Friday 5th April will mark two years since Hope Hospital officially opened its doors. To celebrate, CanDo – one of the lead organisations of the crowdfunding campaign – and the Independent Doctors Association of Syria are sending messages of thanks, hope and humanity.

Dr Rola Hallam, co-founder of CanDo who travelled with the People’s Convoy, says, “Hope Hospital is a shining beacon of what we can do when we believe in our shared humanity. The amazing staff there are saving lives every day thanks to people-to-people care, action, and hope.”  

Hope Hospital is a beacon in a dark world

My grandmother’s family was Syrian, and I’m often glad so few of them are left to see what the conflict has done. But, in a war that has been raging for over eight years, has killed hundreds of thousands and displaced over six million people, the story of Hope Hospital is a rare and precious positive. So I thought you’d like to hear this uplifting story.  You can watch a short video celebrating two years of Hope Hospital.

And here’s where to find out more from CanDo

You too can send a message

Many happy returns to Hope Hospital. If you too would like to send a personal message for #2yearsofHope, it’s easy to do on this link Happy Birthday to Hope

A Cambridge Christmas (and this year Carol’s at King’s!)

This year marked the 100th anniversary of The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at King’s College Chapel. And, before the grammar Nazis pick me up on the extra apostrophe in the title, this Carol was there too.

While I normally watch Carols from King’s on TV, glass of fizz in hand, this Christmas we made an early start to attend the real thing. 

Mishmish

Why are the hoomins up at 2.30am?

Because, dear Mishmish, this is what the queue for tickets looked like at 3 am.

Yes, it really was that early, and tickets weren’t going to be handed out till 7am.

Not that I’m complaining. Some people had camped outside the college for three days, despite the rain.  The weather was fine when I got there, if a little chilly. No wonder people had their warmest coats, hats, sleeping bags, sheets of tin foil, etc.

The motley crowd had more than a touch of the Canterbury Tales, with people from all over. Originally a gift to the people of Cambridge, the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols is now a gift to the world.

The queue is finally on the move.

And here’s where the precious tickets are handed out, but only if you remembered to bring ID.

Now it’s time for the hardy types to pack up and go home for a few hours’ rest.

It’ll be a doddle.

Totes got the hang of this.

It must all fit.  Although…  could be worth turning the bike around.

Maybe a couple of minor adjustments.

Nailed it!

And here’s yet another happy camper, complete with dining chair.

No idea who this was, but they were a lot more stylish.

Outside King’s Chapel around 2pm.

Building started on the chapel in 1446 under Henry VI and took over a century to build.

It has the largest fan vault ceiling anywhere, and some of the finest medieval stained glass.

Just before the service began, it looked like this.

As always, the opening carol is ‘Once in Royal David’s City’, starting with a spine-tingling solo voice from the back of the chapel. There’s always a new, specially commissioned carol. The 3pm service is not the Carols from King’s, which is pre-recorded for BBC TV earlier in December, and broadcast a couple of hours later on Christmas Eve.

You can see the 1918 Order of Service here.

The crowd files out into the dusk.

Mist had already descended over the Backs.

By contrast, we slept well into Christmas Day.  Christmas dinner was at Six, a restaurant with 360⁰ views of the city.

This view shows Charlotte and Harriet asking the waiter whether the gravy is vegetarian.

This shot of St John’s Chapel didn’t turn out quite as planned, but it’s jolly all the same.

Here’s hoping you all had a wonderful Christmas. See you in the queue next year?

#TBT Coping with Summer Heat in the 1960s

If you consider summer a tad too warm in the UK, spare a thought for those who spend this time of year in Washington, DC.  The suburbs are tolerable but the city is hot and humid, as I well know from the years my mother and I lived there in a cramped apartment in Foggy Bottom.

Nobody much considered the environment in the Sixties, and most buildings were fiercely air conditioned at the time. The outside, of course, is not, until evening sets in and the scent of honeysuckle fills the air.

It was just as the Lovin’ Spoonful described in their 1966 hit Summer in the City.

The mercury regularly hit the mid to high 90s, or about 34⁰-37⁰ C. I took my driving test one August around midday in a VW Bug aka Beetle (no air con). The Dept of Motor Vehicles takes your photo for the licence just after you pass, and for the next five years my sweaty physiog was a glamorous reminder of the occasion.

FreeImages.com/Jeramey Jannene

The Potomac may look inviting, but it’s polluted. If you wanted to cool down, you had to head to a pool. One of our favourites was the public pool on Volta Place, Georgetown, which is still open. The queues were often long, but entry was free though I think the rudimentary lockers required a dime. There wasn’t much there about from the pool and concrete all around. I remember a couple of Egyptians who loudly admired my 14-year old derrière, until my mother yelled at them in fluent Arabic.

Rock Creek Park runs across the NW segment of DC. It now has a lot more organized leisure facilities than it did back then, when it was little more than a haven of shade. My best memory of the park was a summer day camp run by the recreation department. It was free for city kids and my mother wangled three consecutive placements for me, so I spent six happy weeks identifying leaves, creating shoe racks out of fallen branches, and singing the campfire classic We Ain’t Got the Money for the Mortgage on the Farm.  Inexplicably, we also put on a nativity play. Yes, in August. It was as hot as hell wearing the Virgin Mary’s cloak.

I don’t plan to go back to DC just yet, but I will be visiting my US family as usual later this summer.

Meanwhile I’d love to hear your summer memories and great suggestions for keeping cool.

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You may also enjoy The March on Washington.