But researchers found that nearly two-thirds of study cases walked again within 3 months
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الاثنين، 29 فبراير 2016
Cheers! 6 Surprising Reasons Beer Is Actually Good For You
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FDA Orders 'Black Box' Warning Label on Essure
Agency says device remains 'appropriate' for many women but also cites reports of serious complications
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Daylight Saving Time Tied to Spike in Stroke Risk
But overall increase was only 8 percent higher in the first two days after a clock change, researchers said
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'Female Libido' Pill May Not Be Worth It: Report
Addyi carries host of serious side effects without delivering much more sexual satisfaction, review suggests
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7 Science-Backed Weight Loss Tricks That Have Nothing to Do With Diet or Exercise
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16 Mind-Blowing Facts About the Month of March
1. It’s March—Happy New Year, ancient Romans!
Welcome to the third month of the year—or, if you were born before 150 B.C., the first! According to the oldest Roman calendars, one year was ten months long, beginning in March and ending in December. It may sound crazy, but you can still see traces of this old system in our modern calendar: because December was the tenth month, it was named for the number ten in Latin (decem), just like September was named for seven (septem). So, what about January and February? They were just two nameless months called “winter,” proving that winter is literally so awful it doesn’t even deserve a spot on the calendar.
2. It’s the best month for basketball (but worst for productivity)
For civilians, on the other hand, March is known for one thing above all others: brackets. March Madness, as the NBA calls it, runs from March 15 to April 4th this year, and the safest bet you can make is that lots and lots of people will be distracted. One number-crunching firm predicted last year that American companies would lose $1.9 billion in wages paid to unproductive workers spending company time on betting pool priorities. How to recoup these costs? Go into gambling. According to the American Gaming Association, fans wagered more than $2 billion on March Madness brackets for the 2015 tournament. Each one of those 70-million-or-so brackets has a one in 9.2 quintillion (that’s 9 followed by 18 zeroes) chance of predicting the correct winners of every game. Good luck!
3. It’s also the best month for vasectomies
March Madness is a cherished time to reacquaint oneself with the couch, especially during the early tournament days when dozens of games unfold consecutively. In other words, it’s the perfect week to recover from a vasectomy!
According to doctors at the Cleveland Clinic, the number of vasectomies surge by 50 percent during the first week of March Madness. Why? Patients typically need “at least a day with ice” to keep swelling down, says urologist Stephen Jones, MD, “So if they’re going to spend a whole day doing nothing, it’s not hard to figure out that they’d want to do it on a day they’d like to be sitting in front of the television.”
Smart clinics even offer incentives, like the Cape Cod urologists who offered a free pizza with every vasectomy in March 2012. That deal is certainly a cut above the rest!
4. March was named for war—and lives up to its title
So, if so many months were named for their Latin numbers, why wasn’t March called… unumber? Firstly, because that sounds ridiculous, and secondly, because the Gods had dibs on it. March was actually named for the Latin Martius—aka Mars, the Roman God of war and a mythical ancestor of the Roman people via his wolf-suckling sons, Romulus and Remus. With the winter frosts melting and the ground becoming fertile for harvest again in the Northern hemisphere, March was historically the perfect month for both farmers to resume farming, and warriors to resume warring.
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Incidentally, the Pentagon still seems to agree with this Roman tradition: with the exception of the recent War on Afghanistan, almost all major US-NATO led military operations since the invasion of Vietnam have begun in the month of March. You can see a full list here, but to name a few: Vietnam (initiated March 8, 1965), Iraq (March 20, 2003), and Libya (March 19, 2011) all follow the trend.
5. Beware The Ides of March unless you’re a cat
We’ve all heard it uttered, but what does “beware the Ides of March” actually mean? On the Roman calendar, the midpoint of every month was know as the Ides. The Ides of March fell on March 15th. This day was supposed to correlate with the first full moon of the year (remember, winter didn’t count then) and marked by religious ceremonies, but thanks to Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar we know it for another reason. Supposedly, in 44 BC, a seer told Julius Caesar that his downfall would come no later than the Ides of March. Caesar ignored him, and when the fated day rolled around he joked with the seer ,“The Ides of March have come.” The seer replied, “aye, Caesar; but not gone.” Caesar continued on to a senate meeting at the Theatre of Pompey, and was summarily murdered by as many as 60 conspirators. Ironically, the spot where Caesar was assassinated is protected in today’s Rome as a no-kill cat sanctuary.
So, if someone tells you “beware the Ides of March,” they are probably just being a jerk, or letting you know they’ve read Shakespeare.
Need more reasons to love March? Here are a dozen.
6. March 1: As the saying goes, March comes “In like a lion, out like a lamb.” That was certainly true on March 1st, 2007, when a detachment of 170 Swiss infantrymen accidentally invaded neighboring Liechtenstein when they got lost on a training mission.
7. March 2: NASA astronaut Scott Kelly will return from space after one full year, setting a new record for the longest uninterrupted trip to space.
8. March 5: Thirsty bros observe Cinco De Marcho, initiating a 12-day drinking regimen for anyone who wishes to “train one’s liver for the closing ceremonies on St. Patrick’s Day.”
9. March 6: The Day of The Dude encourages participants to honor The Big Lebowski by takin’er easy all day, man.
10. March 13: Daylight saving time begins, freeing American city-dwellers from the constant refrain of “it’s dark before I even leave work.”
11. March 14: Pi Day celebrates the annual occurrence of 3/14 with math jokes, pi-reciting competitions, and (of course) fresh baked pie.
12. March 17: St. Patrick’s Day turns the Chicago River green, and too many livers cirrhosis-damage-brown. And on this day in 1973, Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of The Moon” first hits the Billboard Top 200 chart at number 95. A mere 14 years later (736 chart weeks, to be exact), it finally leaves the top 200 for the first time, setting a still-unbroken world record. (You’ve got a long way to go, Adele.)
13. March 20: The sun shines on the equator for the Vernal Equinox, giving us a near 50-50 split of day and night.
14. March 21: The 10th anniversary Twitter founder Jack Dorsey inaugurating the social media site with its profound first tweet: “just setting up my twttr”
15. March 27: Easter Sunday
16. March 28: Gorge Yourself on Discount Easter Candy Monday
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7 Good Carbs for Diabetes Nutritionists Want You to Eat
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Can You Exercise With Atrial Fibrillation?
Your heart needs exercise, even when you're living with AFib. A few simple tips from WebMD can help you do it safely.
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Diabetes-Friendly Breakfast Ideas
Start your day off on the right foot with these healthy breakfast recipes.
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More Americans Opting for Butt Implants, Lifts
New data on plastic surgery trends also finds men increasingly undergoing breast reductions
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Urinary Incontinence Risk Up After Vaginal Birth
But the risks that come with an elective C-section must be considered as well, experts say
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6 Supplements That Fight Inflammation
Inflammation can occur in response to trauma, illness and stress. However, it can also be caused by unhealthy foods and lifestyle habits. Anti-inflammatory foods, exercise, good sleep and stress management can help. In some cases, getting additional support from supplements may be useful as well. Here are 6 supplements that have been shown to reduce […] The post 6 Supplements That Fight Inflammation appeared first on http://ift.tt/1aS7CX7
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الأحد، 28 فبراير 2016
10 Evidence-Based Health Benefits of Magnesium
Magnesium is the fourth most abundant mineral in the human body. It plays several important roles in the health of your body and brain. However, you may not be getting enough of it, even if you eat a healthy diet. Here are 10 health benefits of magnesium that are supported by modern scientific research. 1. […] The post 10 Evidence-Based Health Benefits of Magnesium appeared first on http://ift.tt/1aS7CX7
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السبت، 27 فبراير 2016
الجمعة، 26 فبراير 2016
Pregnant Travelers, Tough Choices on Zika Testing
Pregnant women who recently traveled to areas where the Zika virus is being spread by mosquitoes are facing a dilemma -- whether or not to get a blood test to check for the infection. WebMD has the details.
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What the Oscars Used to Be Like: The Humble Beginnings of the 5 Major Awards Shows
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4 Types of Pancreatic Cancer Identified: Study
Scientists say there are four types of pancreatic cancer, a discovery that could lead to new treatment opportunities. WebMD has the details.
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Surgeons Perform First U.S. Uterus Transplant
'Life-enhancing' procedure offers womb-less women a chance at pregnancy
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Transgender Kids: Support Key to Emotional Health
Study did not find higher depression levels when parents backed children's choice
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Mindfulness Might Help Older Adults With Back Pain
Mind-body program was also linked with short-term mobility gains, study finds
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13 Secrets to Better Sleep Doctors Want You to Know
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Pot Habit Early in Life May Alter Brain
Regular marijuana users who started smoking before 16 had marked differences on MRI scans
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Cranberry Juice for Urinary Tract Infection?
Specialist says grocery-store varieties aren't strong enough for the job
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Anxiety in Women May Mask Heart Disease Symptoms
Reduced blood flow 75 percent more likely in those who feel anxious, study finds
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Double Up on Acne Treatments, New Guidelines Say
Skin doctors say combining two or more medications is often the best option
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Low-Carb/Ketogenic Diets and Exercise Performance
Low-carb and ketogenic diets are extremely popular. These diets have been around for a long time, and share similarities with paleolithic diets (1). Research has shown that lower-carb diets can help you lose weight and improve various health markers (2). However, the evidence on muscle growth, strength and performance is mixed (3, 4, 5). This […] The post Low-Carb/Ketogenic Diets and Exercise Performance appeared first on http://ift.tt/1aS7CX7
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الخميس، 25 فبراير 2016
Clean Your Closet! 16 Things to Finally Get Rid Of
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7 Simple Eating Habits Your 80-Year-Old Self Will Thank You For Having Today
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1 in 3 Americans Drinks Sugary Soda or Juice Daily
These beverages linked to greater risk of obesity, type 2 diabetes, researchers say
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Zika's Effect on Fetus May Be Worse Than Thought
But some scientists say link is still inconclusive
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16 of the Trickiest Job Interview Questions, and How to Nail Them
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Be a Folding Genius: 5 Folding Hacks That Will Probably Change Your Life
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Are Women the Key to Unlocking Alzheimer’s?
Not only are women more likely to get Alzheimer’s than men, but recent studies suggest the disease does its work more swiftly in women, causing them to decline faster -- and farther -- than men do, at least in the beginning. WebMD has the details.
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Alzheimer's Risk: Do You Want to Know?
If a test could tell whether you’ll get Alzheimer’s disease someday, would you want to know? And if so, what would you do with that knowledge? Learn more from WebMD.
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New Treatments for Alzheimer's Disease
Researchers are testing over 100 potential Alzheimer’s drugs in people. Experts tell WebMD which meds are showing promise.
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Are Women the Key to Unlocking Alzheimer’s?
Not only are women more likely to get Alzheimer’s than men, but recent studies suggest the disease does its work more swiftly in women, causing them to decline faster -- and farther -- than men do, at least in the beginning. WebMD has the details.
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Alzheimer's Risk: Do You Want to Know?
If a test could tell whether you’ll get Alzheimer’s disease someday, would you want to know? And if so, what would you do with that knowledge? Learn more from WebMD.
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New Treatments for Alzheimer's Disease
Researchers are testing over 100 potential Alzheimer’s drugs in people. Experts tell WebMD which meds are showing promise.
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'Preemie' Babies May Face Long-Term Anesthesia Risks
Study tracked higher rate of complications up to age 22
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Flu Season Continues to Be Mild: CDC
But, infections expected to increase and peak some time in March
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Ebola May Leave Lasting Neurological Problems
Six months after active illness, headaches, memory loss, depression were still being reported
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'Pot Tourists' Linked to Surge in Colorado ER Visits
Many out-of-state users overindulge with marijuana, particularly the edible version, researcher says
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2 Experimental Ebola Vaccines Show Potential
Both produced high levels of antibodies to the deadly virus, researchers say
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Half of Gay Black Men May Become Infected With HIV, CDC Says
New national report highlights groups most at risk for the AIDS-causing virus
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Decline in Senses Affects Nearly All Seniors, Study Finds
Researchers say losses in taste, touch are most common
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13 Most Anti-Inflammatory Foods You Can Eat
Inflammation can be both good and bad. On one hand, it helps your body defend itself from infection and injury. But on the other hand, chronic inflammation can lead to weight gain and disease (1). Stress, unhealthy inflammatory foods and low activity levels can make this risk even worse. However, some foods can actually help […] The post 13 Most Anti-Inflammatory Foods You Can Eat appeared first on http://ift.tt/1aS7CX7
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الأربعاء، 24 فبراير 2016
9 Things All Highly Organized People Do on the Weekend
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Active Mind, Body May Not Help Curb Alzheimer's
Study suggests that, for most people, this kind of lifestyle does not curb markers of disease in the brain
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Brain Cancer Common, Deadly in Teens, Young Adults
But types of tumors start to vary as people age, researchers add
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Get Clear, Healthy Skin: 11 Secrets Your Skin Wants to Tell You
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11 Daily Morning Habits of Highly Organized People
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Those Dings, Tones, and Strange Phrases You Always Hear on Airplanes: A Quick Decoder
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$72M Awarded in Johnson & Johnson Baby Powder Case
$72M Awarded in Johnson & Johnson Baby Powder Case
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Salmonella Outbreak Linked to Alfalfa Sprouts: CDC
Alfalfa Sprouts Likely Cause of Salmonella Outbreak: CDC
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This Small-Town Cop Set a Prisoner Free. Here’s the Heartwarming Reason He Came Back.
Reader’s Digest is proud to partner with the Moth on storytelling “Grand Slam” events in 19 cities across the country, with the best stories appearing in the July/August issue of Reader’s Digest. Click here to score free tickets to a Moth event near you.
My dad’s name was George Bullard. He was born in a rural area, right up in the northeast corner of Mississippi that most folks call British County and the locals just call paradise. My dad was about 50 when I was born, but I was very fortunate to have had him.
He raised and trained bird dogs his whole life. If the bird dog business got a little slow, he’d paint a house or two, but after he got up in his 60s, someone persuaded him to get into politics. He ran for the board of aldermen, and he was elected by a landslide. Everybody loved him.
His assignment was fire commissioner. Now, the only things the previous fire commissioners had done were go to meetings and make political decisions. My father liked to get involved, though, so he went to the telephone company and said, “Can’t y’all hook my telephone up with the one at the fire department?”
So they did, and every time the fire department telephone rang, our phone rang—one long, continuous ring until you picked it up—and then you didn’t talk; you just listened to see where the fire was so he could go. And he went to all the fires, day or night. He knew almost nothing about firefighting, but he knew how to encourage young men, so he’d go and encourage ’em.
I got involved because my father had almost stopped driving at night because of his age, and as a teenager with a driver’s license, I’d drive him at three o’clock in the morning.
After his few turns as board alderman, several people, myself included, persuaded him not to do that anymore. But when he left, he found that he missed the camaraderie he had formed with the firemen, and because the firemen and the police department were in the same building, he missed the policemen too. So he would just go down there to visit every now and again. And this being a small town, they worked out something which might not have been real legal, but they taught him how to operate the police radio, and anytime anybody wanted a day off or was sick, he’d go in and work an eight-hour shift.
But one day, he got to his job down at the police department, and he discovered, to his amazement, they had a prisoner!
I did say it was a small town. It was most unusual.
And that morning, he really didn’t have much to do. He’d wander back and talk to this young man, and when he went out for lunch, he brought a couple hamburgers back for him. Well, by one or two o’clock, he had made a decision about this young man, and he always trusted his instincts about people. He had decided that in spite of being long-haired—way down to here, which my father hated—he was a decent young man, so he’d see if he could help him.
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He started to inquire of him, “Why are you still here? You seem like such a nice young man. Won’t anybody come get you out of jail?”
And the young man told him, “Well, I had a little too much to drink last night, and they arrested me for drunken disorder, and here I am.”
My dad said, “Well, what would it take to get you out?” And he said, “Well, I have to pay a two-hundred-dollar fine.” My dad said, “Well, why can’t your family pay the two-hundred-dollar fine?” He said, “Well, I think if I could talk to my father face-to-face, I could get the two hundred dollars from him, but I don’t know how he’s going to react to a collect call from the Boonville jail.”
My dad mulled this over a little while, and he said, “Well, do you think if I turned you loose, you could go find your father and get two hundred dollars and come back?”
I’m going to remind you that my father’s only duty was operating the police radio that talked back and forth with the cars.
So the young man said, “Well, see, I’m from Corinth, Mississippi, and that’s about 20 miles north. They impounded my car. I got no way up there.”
And my daddy said, “Well, is it a blue Chevrolet?” And he said, “Yes, sir.” And then my daddy said, “It’s parked out in the parking lot. I can probably find the keys.”
So he scrounges around in the desk drawers and finds the keys, and he not only releases the prisoner, over whom he has no authority, he gives him a getaway car.
“What happened to the prisoner?” asked the policemen. “I turned him loose,” Dad said.
Well, as the kid leaves, my father says, “Now, son, I believe if I could borrow two hundred dollars from my daddy, I’d borrow another five to get me a darn haircut.”
At about four o’clock, the policemen started coming back to change shifts, and as they came in, they check in on the prisoner. And they discovered, to their dismay, that they didn’t have one. And they said, “Mr. George, what happened to the prisoner?”
My daddy was busy doing his closing-up paperwork, and he said, “Oh, yeah. I turned him loose.”
And the police officer said, “You did what?”
“Turned him loose.”
“Mr. George, why did you do that?”
Daddy said, “Well, he just seemed like a nice young man, and he’ll be back in a little while with his two hundred dollars.”
And the police officer was kind of taken aback. He’d known my father all his life; my father was like a grandfather to most of those guys. The officer said, “OK, well, we’ll take care of this,” and he went back to the other policemen to try to figure out how they were gonna get out of this without my father losing his unofficial job, and one of them says, “Well, we ought to remind the chief that George Bullard helped get him elected.” But another of ’em said, “Oh, I got a better idea. Let’s just tear up the paperwork, and we’ll just pretend we never arrested that boy.”
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Well, my father wouldn’t hear of it. He said, “Oh, no. I know that boy’s coming back. I know he is.”
And the police officer said, “How can you be so sure? You don’t even know him.”
And my father’s answer was simple: “He told me that he would.”
They waited around, and 4:30 came and five o’clock, and of course, no young man returned. And at about 5:15, they’re trying to get my dad to go home, ’cause his shift ended at five.
He’s kind of stoic, and he says,“No, I’m gonna wait around until he comes back.”
One of ’em observed, “Might be kind of a long wait.” But no, my dad didn’t get discouraged.
All of a sudden, the door opens, and the young man walks in—shaven, short hair—walks up to the counter, and they don’t even acknowledge him, ’cause they’re still mulling over what they’re gonna do to save my dad, and finally the young man says, “Excuse me; I’d like to pay my fine.” And that kind of got their attention, but they still didn’t recognize him, and one of ’em walked to the counter and said, “What fine is that you’re talking ’bout?”
He said, “Well, you guys arrested me last night—locked me up. I owe two hundred, and I’m here to pay it.” Started counting out 20-dollar bills. When he got to 200, the police didn’t say a word, but they wrote him out a receipt. They thanked him. The boy started to leave. When he got to the door to go out, he turned around and—almost as if he knew what the situation was like there in that office with my dad—said, “Oh, by the way, Mr. Bullard, I’m sorry I was late getting back, but I had to wait in the line at the barbershop.”
A teacher for more than 42 years, Wanda Bullard worked with emotionally disordered kids in Brunswick, Georgia. Her famous Sunday-afternoon cookout included the Moth’s founder, George Dawes Green, among many others. Telling stories on Wanda’s porch inspired him to launch the Moth.
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These Volunteers Rush to the Scenes of Deadly Accidents to Comfort Victims Left Behind
They wanted a midnight snack. Marlene Alatorre and her sister, Michelle Gonzalez, drove to a taco truck in the parking lot of a nearby strip mall on a June Saturday night in Los Angeles in 2012. Michelle, 22, sat in the car, while 19-year-old Marlene waited in line. Moments later, during a high-speed chase with police, a drunken motorist careened into the food stand at 62 miles per hour, killing Marlene and a second woman on impact.
A few miles away, Joe Avalos was settled in at home when his cell phone started buzzing. He was on call for a shift with the mayor’s Crisis Response Team (CRT), volunteers dispatched with police, firefighters, and other emergency responders to scenes of deadly accidents and crimes. He got in his car and rushed to the site.
The first thing Joe, 47, remembers is the screaming. Marlene’s mother, Holivia, was on the ground wailing in the intersection, a few feet away from the yellow crime-scene tape she was not allowed to cross. Joe kneeled next to her and introduced himself. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you get through this,” he said, speaking softly but firmly.
In the aftermath of horrific trauma, the CRT serves an unusual civic duty: supporting victims no one thinks about—friends and family left behind.
“We wake up at all hours of the night to be with people at the worst moment of their lives,” says Joe, who spent nine years as a volunteer before becoming the group’s director in 2013. “Victims feel helpless, confused, and out of control. We let them know that we’re there to be their advocate.”
In the incident that inspired the founding of the CRT, two couples had finished dinner at a San Pedro restaurant and were crossing the street when three of the people were hit by a speeding car. One died immediately; another, a few days later. The third was in critical condition for many days.
“[The ambulance crew members] did what they had been trained to do for the three victims who had been hit by the car,” explained LAPD captain Tim King in a letter he wrote a couple of weeks later, recruiting the group’s first volunteers. The police, he explained, fulfilled their responsibilities, protecting the crime scene and investigating the accident.
“Unfortunately,” King went on, “there was no one to respond and assist the uninjured party who had watched the terrible incident happen before his eyes. His needs, although not physical, were as important as the three victims who had been hit by the car.”
King suggested a solution: a volunteer group that could provide emotional assistance to victims’ loved ones. Nearly 24 years after the CRT was founded, groups of its 320 volunteers show up at almost every tragic death in the city of Los Angeles, from shootings to suicides to fires. Ready at a moment’s notice, they each keep their car trunk stocked with a “war bag,” a duffel packed with items as diverse as blankets and teddy bears. Volunteers liaise between families and investigators, crossing crime-scene tape to share information and answer questions. They might notify schools that kids will be absent or give families referrals for therapy.
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Their most important job is just being present. “Standing there and handing someone a bottle of water can be pretty powerful. Victims just want to tell us their story, especially if they witnessed [the incident],” says Joe, who credits the 20 years he spent as a social worker for teaching him how to listen. “We don’t have to say much. We call it sacred silence.”
Not long after Joe arrived to help Marlene Alatorre’s family that June night, another car pulled up. A young woman jumped out, trying to rush the crime scene—the daughter of the other woman killed. “‘She kept saying, ‘I was pissed off at my mom. I ignored her calls,’” Joe says. “Now her mother was lying several feet away from her under a white sheet.”
“It broke my heart,” he continues. “No matter how upset you are, let it go, because tomorrow, or even the next hour, is not promised to us.” The CRT, Joe says, “constantly reminds me how precious life is.”
Visit lacrt.org for more information.
Read more: This Choir Sings to People on the Verge of Dying, and It’s Just Beautiful
Read more: These Hero Pilots Volunteer to the Very Sick to Help Save Their Lives
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Perks of a Plant-Based Diet: 12 Powerful Nutrients That Slay Disease
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Exercise + Classwork May = Better Math Scores
Dutch study also found bringing exercise to the classroom boosted spelling grades
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Botox-Like Injection Might Ease Runners' Knee Pain
British researchers used Dysport to bring long-term relief for common ailment of physically active people
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How Artificial Sweeteners Affect Blood Sugar and Insulin
Sugar is a hot topic in nutrition. Cutting back can improve your health and help you lose weight. Replacing sugar with artificial sweeteners is one way to do that. However, some people claim that artificial sweeteners aren’t as “metabolically inert” as previously thought. For example, it’s been claimed that they can raise blood sugar and […] The post How Artificial Sweeteners Affect Blood Sugar and Insulin appeared first on http://ift.tt/1aS7CX7
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الثلاثاء، 23 فبراير 2016
These Hero Pilots Volunteer to Fly the Very Sick to Help Save Their Lives
Larry Camerlin knows what desperation sounds like. Each week, his small Massachusetts office answers dozens of frantic phone calls from families of very sick people who hope Larry and his team can help. What they need are flights—to a liver or kidney transplant, to receive ongoing chemotherapy and radiation, or to treat severe burns or other crippling diseases at medical centers far away from home.
As the founder of Angel Flight Northeast, a group that connects patients in need with volunteer pilots who shepherd them, Larry, 68, has never turned away a request.
“People come to us at some of the most frightening times of their lives—they’re running out of money, out of time, and out of faith,” says Larry, who pilots some trips himself while also overseeing scheduling, fund-raising, and other administrative responsibilities. “We help replace that fear with tremendous healing and hope.”
Larry, a father of four and grand-father of six, has spent his entire career providing hope during trauma. He and his wife, Ruth, built a successful ambulance company, and after they sold the business in 1994, Larry got his pilot’s license. Then he read a magazine article about a pilot in California who flew a ten-year-old boy to receive cancer treatment and immediately knew what his next chapter would be.
“This enormous emotional wave hit me,” Larry says. “This is what God wants me to do.”
The first Angel Flight NE trip took to the skies on May 31, 1996. Today, Larry relies on a network of nearly 500 volunteer pilots who donate their own time, planes, and fuel. Larry’s crews on the ground, Earth Angels, drive patients to and from the airport. To date, Angel Flight NE has helped 65,000 people. Bonds between patients and pilots can last for weeks, months, or longer. One cancer patient took more than 585 trips over ten years. And every single one—for every single patient—is free of charge.
“Sometimes patients can’t talk to their family about their fears, but being up in the heavens, it’s therapeutic to talk to a pilot helping you get better,” Larry says. “Mothers, if their children are asleep, may break down about how difficult it is to see their kids so badly hurt.” Not every journey, of course, has a storybook ending. Larry had been flying a boy with a life-threatening genetic disorder from Maine to Boston for years.
“He was witty, fun, and insightful—an 11-going-on-40-with-a-PhD-from-Harvard type,” says Larry. One day, he got a call from the boy’s mother: “Benjamin [name has been changed] is dying, and he would like to see you.” Larry flew there the next day.
“Why does God hate me?” Benjamin asked Larry. “I’m only a little boy, and I’m dying. I shouldn’t be dying as a little boy.” Larry thought for a second. “Look how smart you are, how good you are, how many people you’ve touched,” he said. “God needs you to be one of his special angels. He loves you so much; that’s why he wants you.”
That flight home from Benjamin’s house felt different from usual. “The closer I got to home, the sky became more flushed with yellow and orange,” Larry remembers. “The sun dipped below the horizon as I touched down my wheels. Everything was so ethereal. It was like God was telling me everything was going to be OK.”
Visit angelflightne.org for more information.
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This Choir Sings to People on the Verge of Dying, and It’s Just Beautiful
Her friend was dying of AIDS, and Kate Munger didn’t quite know how to help. She volunteered for a shift at his Petaluma, California, home. “When it was time to sit by his bedside, I was terrified,” says Kate, 66. He was agitated, thrashing under the sheets. So Kate did what she always did when she felt afraid—she began to sing:
“There’s a moon / There’s a star in the sky / There’s a cloud / There’s a tear in my eye / There’s a light / There’s a night that is long / There’s a friend / There’s a pain that is gone.”
Kate repeated the lyrics over and over, singing for two and a half hours. “It calmed me down, which calmed him down,” she recalls. “I knew I had given him the very best gift that I could. And by the time I finished singing, I knew this was something that would be shared.” And the Threshold Choir was born—now a group of 1,300 volunteers in 120 chapters around the world who provide comfort through song to people on the threshold of life.
“We’re death– and tear-phobic in our culture,” says Kate, who lives outside San Francisco, where the first choirs were founded in 2000. “We tend to make ourselves busy when we should sit down or pray or hold someone’s hand.” Singing gives a patient’s family “permission to be authentic with their tears, their laughter, their sorrow, their grief,” says Kate.
When invited to a bedside, choir volunteers select from a repertoire of about 300 songs, many written by Kate and other choir members specifically to convey presence, peace, and comfort. “We sing very softly and quite close,” says Kate. “We’re trying to re-create the distance between a mother’s mouth and a baby’s ear.”
Kate, who has sung at hundreds of bedsides, recalls singing to a newborn daughter of a Cuban musician two days before the infant died at 17 days old. The choir started with all the Spanish songs its members knew but finished with an original piece whose last line was “May you find all the love that you needed was here.”
“It inspired the mom and dad to recognize that they had given this baby everything they could,” says Kate. “They heaped love on her and received love from her. That really helped them grieve and heal.”
Choir singers join to make a difference but remain dedicated volunteers because of the group’s deep sense of community, which is especially apparent when a volunteer’s own loved one falls ill. Kristin Masters asked her Santa Cruz choir members to sing nearly every day throughout her partner Claudette’s final months (she died of brain cancer in 2013). “I didn’t have to hold everything together,” Kristin says. “Being surrounded by love and support let my heart relax.” Claudette’s last days were rich, warm, and sweet. “It was like a sanctuary in there,” Kristin says. “I got to give her that kind of death.”
Visit thresholdchoir.org for more information.
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Meet 7 Extraordinary Kid Heroes Who Will Give You Hope
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Romancing a Terrorist: I Posed Online as a Young Woman Interested in ISIS
“Salaam alaikum, sister. I see you watched my video. It’s gone viral—crazy! Are you Muslim?”
It was ten o’clock on a Friday night in April 2014.
I was sitting on my sofa in my one-bedroom Parisian apartment when a terrorist based in Syria contacted me on Facebook. I’d been studying European jihadists in the Islamic State and was interested in understanding what it was that made someone give up everything and brave death for this cause.
Like many journalists, I had a fictional Facebook account I’d created to keep an eye on current events. My profile picture was a cartoon image of Princess Jasmine from the Disney movie Aladdin. I claimed to be in Toulouse, a city in southwestern France. My name on this account was Mélodie. Mélodie’s age: 20.
During my research, I came across many propaganda films on YouTube filled with images of torture and charred bodies laid out in the sun. The juvenile laughter accompanying these horrific scenes made the videos all the more unbearable.
That Friday night, I came across a video of a French jihadist who looked to be about 35. The video showed him taking inventory of the items inside his SUV. The man in the video wore military fatigues and Ray-Bans and called himself Abu Bilel. He claimed to be in Syria. The scene around him, a true no-man’s-land, didn’t contradict him. In the back of his car, his bulletproof vest sat beside a machine gun. I would later discover that Abu Bilel had spent the past 15 years waging jihad all over the world as a confidant of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the leader of ISIS.
Soon after I shared this video, my computer alerted me to three messages sent to “Mélodie’s” private inbox … all from Abu Bilel. “Are you thinking about coming to Syria?” he asked in one of them.
“Walaikum salaam. I didn’t think a jihadist would talk to me,” I replied. “Don’t you have better things to do? LOL.”
In my message, I told him I’d converted to Islam but didn’t offer any details. I deliberately included spelling mistakes and used a teen’s vocabulary. I waited for his reply, a knot in my stomach: I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Of course I have a lot of things to do! But here it’s 11 o’clock at night and the fighters are finished for the day. We should talk over Skype.”
I waited for his reply, a knot in my stomach: I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Skype was out of the question! I ignored his proposal and suggested we talk another time. Abu Bilel understood; he’d make himself available for Mélodie tomorrow whenever she wanted.
“You converted, so you should get ready for your hijrah [emigration]. I’ll take care of you, Mélodie.” He didn’t know anything about this girl, and he was already asking her to join him in the bloodiest country on earth.
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The next time we spoke, Bilel asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?” “No, I don’t,” I said, speaking as Mélodie. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with a man. It’s haram [forbidden]. My mother will be home from work soon. I have to hide my Koran and go to bed.”
“Soon you won’t have to hide anything, Insha’Allah [God willing]! I want to help you lead the life awaiting you here. Before you go to sleep, answer me something: Can I be your boyfriend?”
I logged off Facebook. We’d exchanged 120 messages in the space of two hours. That Monday, I rushed to the magazine where I freelance. My editor agreed that this was a unique opportunity, but he reminded me of the dangers. Urging caution, he assigned me a photographer, André. I would agree to Bilel’s request to meet over Skype, and André would take pictures.
To become Mélodie, I needed to look ten years younger and find a veil. Another editor lent me a hijab [veil] and a djellaba [long black dress]. I was glad to wear them. The idea of a terrorist becoming familiar with my face didn’t thrill me, especially not when the man in question could return to France, his home country, at any moment.
André arrived at my apartment that night around six o’clock. We had an hour to prepare before Bilel “got home from fighting” and contacted Mélodie. I pulled on Mélodie’s floor-length black djellaba over my jeans and sweater. I removed my rings and covered the small tattoo on my wrist with foundation, assuming Bilel wouldn’t appreciate such frivolousness.
It was time. I sat cross-legged on my sofa. André positioned himself in a blind spot behind the sofa. The Islamic State is brimming with counterespionage experts and hackers. It was safer if Bilel didn’t know my phone number, so Mélodie had her own. I’d also created a Skype account in her name.
The Skype ringtone sounded like a church bell. I took a moment to breathe, then clicked the button, and there he was. Bilel’s eyes smoldered as he gazed at the young Mélodie, as if trying to cast a spell. Bilel was Skyping from his car. He looked clean and well-groomed after his day on the front.
“Salaam alaikum, my sister,” he said.
I smiled. “It’s crazy to be talking to a mujahid in Syria. It’s like you have easier access to the Internet than I do in Toulouse!”
“Syria is amazing. We have everything here. Masha’Allah [God has willed it], you have to believe me: It’s paradise! A lot of women fantasize about us; we’re Allah’s warriors.”
“But every day people die in your paradise …”
“That’s true, and every day I fight to stop the killing. Here the enemy is the devil. You have no idea. Tell me, do you wear your hijab every day?”
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Mélodie recited what I’d heard from girls I’d met during my career who had secretly converted to Islam. “I dress normally in the morning. I say goodbye to my mom, and when I’m outside the house, I put on my djellaba and my veil.”
“I’m proud of you. You have a beautiful soul. And you’re very pretty on the outside too.” Bilel peered lecherously at Mélodie. Suddenly, men’s thick voices broke the mournful silence.
I dress normally in the morning. I say goodbye to my mom, and when I’m outside the house, I put on my djellaba and my veil.
“Don’t say anything!” Bilel ordered. “I don’t want anyone to see or hear you! You’re my jewel.” I listened to the conversation and could distinguish the voices of two other men. They greeted Bilel in Arabic, then switched to French. They laughed a lot, congratulating themselves for having “slaughtered them.”
The dried blood I saw on the concrete was evidence of the attack. ISIS’s black flags with white insignia floated in the distance. The other men seemed to treat Bilel with respect. Their way of politely addressing him suggested my contact was higher in the ranks than they were. A minute later, he said goodbye to his fellow fighters and spoke into the phone.
“Oh, you’re still there! And just as beautiful—”
“Who were they?”
“Fighters who came to say hello. Anyway, you’re not interested in all that. Tell me about you! What guided you to Allah’s path?”
I began to stammer—I hadn’t had time to invent a “real” life for Mélodie. “One of my cousins was Muslim, and I was fascinated by the inner peace that his religion gave him. He guided me to Islam,” I said.
“Does he know that you want to come to al-Sham?”
Bilel assumed that everything had been decided—Mélodie would soon arrive in Syria.
“I’m not sure that I want to go—”
“Listen, Mélodie. You’ll be well taken care of here. You’ll be important. And if you agree to marry me, I’ll treat you like a queen.”
Marry him?! I logged off Skype as a kind of survival reflex. Pulling the hijab down to my neck, I turned toward André, who looked as dumbfounded as I was.
How was I to respond to Bilel’s proposal? André suggested explaining that since Mélodie wasn’t married, she didn’t want to arrive in Syria alone. If she decided to go at all.
Bilel called back.
“My friend Yasmine is Muslim,” I said, changing the subject. “I could invite her to come with me, but she’s only 15.”
“Here, women are supposed to get married when they turn 14. If Yasmine comes, I’ll find her a good man.”
Yasmine didn’t exist, but I wondered how many real Yasmines were being lured at that very moment by men like Bilel.
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“Bilel, I have to hang up. My mom is getting home.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow after the fighting, as usual, at seven. Insha’Allah… Good night, my baby.”
My baby? As soon as Abu Bilel announced his plan to marry Mélodie, her list of virtual friends grew. Girls began asking Mélodie for advice on the safest route to Syria. Some of the questions were both technical and strange: “Should I bring a lot of sanitary pads or can I find them there?”; “If I arrive in Syria without a husband, it’s probably not a good idea to draw attention to myself by bringing thong underwear; my future husband might think I’m immodest. But will I be able to find them there?”
I was bewildered by the mundane fixations of these girls who were signing up for death. How was I supposed to answer their questions? I wasted a lot of time playing along with Bilel’s game of seduction in order to gain his trust. No one, not even André, could comprehend the level of controlled schizophrenia that this exercise demanded. No matter what he said, Bilel was terrifying.
I was bewildered by the mundane fixations of these girls who were signing up for death.
“Oh, there are you are, my wife!” he said one night. “Good news. I spoke with the qadi [judge] in Raqqa [ISIS’s stronghold in Syria]. He’s looking forward to marrying us.”
Stunned, I didn’t know what to say. “What are weddings like there?”
“Actually, we’re already married.”
“Excuse me?”
“I thought I’d already spoken enough about the idea of marriage with you. I asked you to marry me a while ago, and I talked about it with the judge, who drew up the papers. We’re officially married, my wife! Masha’Allah. You’re really mine now.”
It had been nearly a month. André feared that the longer we let Mélodie exist, the more I was at risk. I agreed with him. Together with my editors, I planned the investigation’s end. I had told Bilel that Yasmine and I would meet him in Syria. He instructed me to go to Amsterdam and then on to Istanbul. Once I was there, he would send further instructions. “You’re my jewel, and Raqqa is your palace. You’ll be treated like a princess,” he assured me.
It was true. I was really going to Istanbul, but André—not Yasmine—would accompany me. The plan was simple: Bilel had told me an older woman known as Mother would meet us there. André would surreptitiously capture Mother on film for the article. While she looked for Yasmine and Mélodie, André and I would continue on to Kilis, a city near the Syrian border. Turkey controlled it, and it would be safer than other places.
The story would end there, with a photograph of Mélodie looking out at the Syrian border from behind. The journalist would stop at the doors to hell, and Mélodie would step through them. We were finally wrapping this up. At least that’s what I thought. A few days later, I was in a tiny hotel room in Amsterdam when Bilel Skyped.
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“Salaam alaikum, my darling; are you really in Amsterdam? I can’t believe it. You’ll be here soon. I’m the happiest man on earth. I love you, my wife.”
I’d never seen him look so happy. Bilel was alone in an Internet café. He’d just finished “work.”
“Tell me about your trip. How did you pay for the tickets?”
“I stole my mom’s debit card.”
“You’re so strong, my wife! If you still have the debit card, feel free to buy me some stuff.”
What do you get for a man who talks about beheading people in one breath and how much he loves you in the next?
“What do you want?”
“Well, cologne! I love Égoïste by Chanel or something nice from Dior.”
“OK, baby. Can we talk about tomorrow? What is going to happen after we meet Mother?”
“Actually, nobody will be there to meet you.”
“But that wasn’t the plan, Bilel,” I said, my voice genuinely frayed with anxiety. “You were adamant—as was I—that a woman come to meet us. You told me we would be safe.”
“Listen to me,” he said, his tone hardening. “You’re going to shut up for a minute and let me speak. When you arrive at the airport in Istanbul, buy two one-way tickets for Urfa.”
Urfa? Urfa was infiltrated by the Islamic State. Going there was suicide.
“All I ask is that you respect what you’ve promised me.”
“You can’t talk to me like that! I’m the one who gives orders around here, not you. From now on, you’re going to shut up. Don’t you know who I am? I command a hundred soldiers every day. I haven’t even told you a quarter of the truth!”
When the conversation ended, I tore off the hijab. Everything was falling apart. I phoned my editor in chief, who gave me orders to wrap up this story. To put things in perspective, she reminded me that two French journalists sent to the Urfa region had just been freed after ten months of captivity at the hands of ISIS. The next morning, we flew home.
Mélodie sent Bilel a Skype message from the airport informing him that a “strange” man had questioned the girls. Yasmine and Mélodie felt they were being watched, and they decided to return to France until better circumstances presented themselves.
Back home, my editors were realizing just how much information I had: Bilel had revealed many details about the structure of ISIS and the way new recruits were treated. I began writing. A week later, the magazine published my article under a pseudonym. Out of fear that the terrorists could trace me, I moved out of my apartment and twice changed my phone number.
I stopped counting the number of statements I’ve given to various branches of the police when it reached 254. An antiterrorist judge also asked to hear my testimony after my real identity started appearing in a number of their files. According to those files, Bilel has three wives, ages 20, 28, and 39. They’re all with him in Syria. He is the father of at least three boys under the age of 13. The two eldest are already fighting on the front in Syria.
I never had direct contact with Bilel again. But recently, a journalist friend called to tell me he’d learned there was a fatwa against me.
I found a video on the Web that showed me wearing Mélodie’s veil on my couch. It was taken, I imagine, by Bilel. There’s no audio, but it does include cartoon characters of a devil and bilingual, French and Arabic, subtitles. I’ve seen the video only once, but I remember every word:
“My brothers from around the world, I issue a fatwa against this impure person who has scorned the Almighty. If you see her anywhere on earth, follow Islamic law and kill her. Make sure she suffers a long and painful death. Whoever mocks Islam will pay for it in blood. She’s more impure than a dog. Rape, stone, and finish her. Insha’Allah.”
I don’t think I’ll watch it again.
From the book In The Skin of a Jihadist by Anna Erelle. Copyright © 2015 by Anna Erelle. Reprinted with permission by HarperCollins Publishers, harpercollins.com Buy the book here.
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