MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS

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No One Deserves To Die The Way My Mother Did

Though assisted death is now officially legal in our fair country, we have yet to formalize a national framework and the debate over the specifics of the regulations seem to omit the most critical voice -- that of the individuals and families who have and continue to be subject to archaic mindsets that deny certain patients the right to end their own life, and control their own destiny. It is imperative we hear these voices -- and so here is mine.
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Does Cancer or MS Trump Mental Illness?

Health is health. One disease does not trump another. But support goes a long way in raising spirits and causing one to feel less alone; less isolated. Depression is a state which has for its purpose to gnaw away at your mind bit by bit, until you have given up completely. And when that happens, the outcome is the same for someone battling from depression as someone fighting cancer.
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Think We're Rid of Measles? Think Again

In the case of measles, the introduction and widespread use of the vaccine should have allowed us to put our fears away and look forward to a measles-free world. But now that future is at risk. The reasons are varied and will be explored over the coming years but in the meantime, the best way to be prepared is to be informed.

Part 2: I'm the New Face of Multiple Sclerosis

A few days before I was to fly back to Canada a small ad in one of the morning newspapers caught my eye. The words Multiple Sclerosis Society of Chennai jumped out at me. Apparently there was a local chapter and it was throwing a fundraiser. The ad took me by surprise. There were others like me dealing with the disease. And they lived in a vitamin D rich country like India. Everything I had read about MS suggested it was a chronic condition which is much more pervasive in temperate climates like Canada, the U.S., Scotland, England

Part 1: My Struggle With the White Man's Disease

I was 33 years old and working the local news beat with the CBC's supper hour news cast when the universe hurled a wicked curve ball my way. On the Tuesday morning after the Canada Day holiday, I tripped and fell in the newsroom, scraping my knee. Forty-eight hours later I was admitted to Emergency in a Toronto hospital. And I learned that something was terribly wrong with my health. In the days and weeks following my diagnosis non-white friends, even my childhood pediatrician who was Indo-Canadian, wondered how it was I'd come down with what many considered to be a "White Man's Disease." By the end of the summer the initial diagnosis was confirmed by the neurologist who would become my MS doctor at St. Michael's Hospital.