查看更多>>摘要：The centenary of the discovery of insulin is being marked this year by publications and commemorative events across Canada and around the world. Without doubt, the advent of insulin is worthy of celebration. What bears closer inspection, however, is our use of the term “discovery” in describing the events at the University of Toronto from 1921 to 1923. Michael Bliss’ 1982 book, The Discovery of Insulin, is acclaimed as the definitive account. Until its publication, any Canadian schoolchild likely would have said insulin was discovered by Banting and Best. In painstaking detail, Bliss reconstructed the investigations day by day, dog by dog, and made the case that the insulin discovery actually resulted from the teamwork of Frederick Grant Banting, Charles Herbert Best, James Bertram Collip and John James Rickard Macleod. In the decades since 1982, the less alliteratively appealing, but more accurate formulation of “Banting, Best, Collip and Macleod” has become accepted by scholars. All 4 figures are now reflected in popular accounts, ranging from the graphic on the World Diabetes Day website to the tightly scripted new Heritage Minute video created by Historica Canada.
查看更多>>摘要：A shrill flat line flutters on the heart monitor. She is dead. I stand slump shouldered, head bowed. My daughters wail. A nurse rushes in. A chaplain and social worker follow. They want to cradle our loss. “Would you like to say a prayer?" “Can I get you anything?” “She’s in a better place.” Their words intrude. “No, I don’t want a prayer.” “No, there’s nothing you can get.” “No, she’s not in a better place.” A knock on the door. A medical intern enters. His coat is stained, his body rumpled. He smells of stale coffee. He is here to pronounce her dead, a legal necessity. He steps to the bed. He listens to her heart, one minute, maybe two. He searches for a pulse. His first death? He scribbles on the palm of his hand (time of death?), then clicks his pen. He clicks and clicks. Sweat gathers on his forehead. He glances at my wife. “Would you like an autopsy?” An autopsy, a cutting open of the body to determine cause of death. “No thank you.” We know the cause; we want her home, home from a hospital in Los Angeles to a crematorium in Phoenix. The nurse approaches and grabs my arm, gently. “Spend as much time with her as you want. ” I want 30 more years.
查看更多>>摘要：I’m a social but studious 20-year-old studying health sciences in Toronto. I’m the oldest of 3 siblings. I was a competitive figure skater and I loved to coach other kids. I was 9 when I was first formally diagnosed with anxiety. I think I had anxiety much earlier, but I was too young to understand what I was experiencing. My first admission to hospital was in grade 12. I hadn’t been sleeping. I ditched all my classes, was very impulsive and would do things like run to the CN Tower from midtown and back in the middle of the day. But I also had severe depression with suicidal ideation. It’s a dangerous combination when you have the impulsiveness to act on your thoughts. My family was nervous to leave me alone. My mom slept in bed with me at night. I eventually went to the emergency department and it was a long wait. I was told I couldn’t be admitted because I had gone to the wrong hospital. I was under 18 and they didn’t have adolescent care. But they also said I did not need admission and was safe to go home with some adjustments to my medication. I tried to manage at home but ended up in a different emergency department 2 days later, from which I was admitted to hospital. My discharge diagnosis was a mixed episode of hypomania and depression caused by antidepressants.
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