Deans' stroke musings: I'm a Neurologist, Hear Me Roar

Changing stroke rehab and research worldwide now.Time is Brain! trillions and trillions of neurons that DIE each day because there are NO effective hyperacute therapies besides tPA(only 12% effective). I have 523 posts on hyperacute therapy, enough for researchers to spend decades proving them out. These are my personal ideas and blog on stroke rehabilitation and stroke research. Do not attempt any of these without checking with your medical provider. Unless you join me in agitating, when you need these therapies they won't be there.

What this blog is for:

My blog is not to help survivors recover, it is to have the 10 million yearly stroke survivors light fires underneath their doctors, stroke hospitals and stroke researchers to get stroke solved. 100% recovery. The stroke medical world is completely failing at that goal, they don't even have it as a goal. Shortly after getting out of the hospital and getting NO information on the process or protocols of stroke rehabilitation and recovery I started searching on the internet and found that no other survivor received useful information. This is an attempt to cover all stroke rehabilitation information that should be readily available to survivors so they can talk with informed knowledge to their medical staff. It lays out what needs to be done to get stroke survivors closer to 100% recovery. It's quite disgusting that this information is not available from every stroke association and doctors group.

Wednesday, December 7, 2022

I'm a Neurologist, Hear Me Roar

Why become a neurologist if this is your future?

Are Neurologists Respected? Read and weep.

The latest here:

I'm a Neurologist, Hear Me Roar

If I wasn't believed when seeking care, what chance do non-physicians have?

by Ilene S. Ruhoy, MD, PhD December 6, 2022

A photo of a male radiologist attaching an immobilization to a woman laying under a blanket prior to radiotherapy

As I sit with a wired mask across my face and bolted to the cold steel table beneath me, watching the arm of the CyberKnife System robotically move around my head delivering beams of radiation, I try hard not to move. I try hard to make myself focus on something other than my anxiety, my fear, and my anger. My anxiety over my future of playing whack-a-mole with these tumors. My fear surrounding the delayed and terrifying effects of repeated, albeit focal, radiation therapy and repeated craniotomies. And my anger because if only someone had listened to me, or if only I had stood my ground, perhaps I would not be here today.