#lou gehrig's disease
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Neurotoxic Relationship
Lab-grown neural network model bearing dysregulated TDP-43 protein – a feature of neurons in certain neurodegenerative diseases – reveals accumulated NPTX2 protein, that is confirmed in the brains of patients with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis and frontotemporal lobar degeneration. NPTX2 could thus represent a novel therapeutic target
Read the published research article here
Image from work by Marian Hruska-Plochan and colleagues
Department of Quantitative Biomedicine, University of Zurich, Zurich, Switzerland
Image originally published with a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)
Published in Nature, February 2024
You can also follow BPoD on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook
#science#biomedicine#immunofluorescence#neuroscience#biology#brain#ALS#lou gehrig's disease#motor neurone disease#mnd#amyotrophic lateral sclerosis#neurons#organoid
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I have a paradox. I have this friend who is an identical twin. His bother has ALS. And I just... it's weird, because I used to be (and still kinda am) jealous of the fact that they got to grow up together, but at the same time, I can't imagine what it would have been like to have had that and then watch my sister slowly lose function of her body and fade away. It's horrifying, honestly. Anyway... please pray for my friend and his family. This is so hard on all of them. It's a horrible disease.
#prayer request#sunrise twin thoughts#vts#vts survivor#womb twin#womb twin survivor#als#als awareness#lou gehrig's disease
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Lou Gehrig’s Disease, or ALS: How a Neurologist Can Help
Lou Gehrig’s Disease is severe and extremely debilitating. While there is no cure yet for ALS, there are many systems in place for treating symptoms and managing its progression. Emerging medication is part of the process as are speech and physical therapy, nutritional support, breathing aids, and emotional caregiving.
Read more from Neurology Associates in Leesburg, Virginia: https://neurologyassociatesva.com/lou-gehrigs-disease-or-als-how-a-neurologist-can-help/
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1941-Lou Gehrig
A native of New York City and a student at Columbia University, Gehrig signed with the Yankees on April 29, 1923. He set several major-league records during his career, including the most career grand slams (23; since broken by Alex Rodriguez) and most consecutive games played (2,130), a record that stood for 56 years and was long considered unbreakable until it was surpassed by Cal Ripken Jr. in 1995. Gehrig's consecutive game streak ended on May 2, 1939, when he voluntarily took himself out of the lineup, stunning both players and fans, after his performance on the field became hampered by an undiagnosed ailment subsequently confirmed to be amyotrophic lateral sclerosis; ALS is an incurable neuromuscular illness, now commonly referred to as "Lou Gehrig's disease".
The disease forced him to retire at age 36, and claimed his life two years later. The pathos of his farewell from baseball was capped off by his iconic 1939 "Luckiest Man on the Face of the Earth" speech at Yankee Stadium. In 1969, the Baseball Writers' Association of America voted Gehrig the greatest first baseman of all time, and he was the leading vote-getter on the MLB All-Century Team chosen by fans in 1999. A monument in Gehrig's honor, originally dedicated by the Yankees in 1941, currently resides in Monument Park at Yankee Stadium. The Lou Gehrig Memorial Award is given annually to the MLB player who best exhibits Gehrig's integrity and character.
#Jun.2.1941#date of death#Lou Gehrig#American baseball player#amyotrophic lateral sclerosis#Lou Gehrig's disease#history today
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things are rough lately :/
#a friend is in icu and i don't think he's gonna make it#my childhood friends mom has lou gehrigs disease and is losing motor functions rapidly#the icu friend just buried his dad last month#a lot of death it's looming over me at this point in my life and im not particularly strong enough to handle it
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#RIP Rest in peace 🕊️ #BryanRandall.
#SandraBullock's longtime boyfriend Bryan Randall passed away after 3-year battle with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (#ALS) aka Lou Gehrig's Disease, a rare neurological disease. He was 57.
📱Edited by #AirBrushApp
#RIP#bryan randall#sandra bullock#Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis#ALS#ALS aka Lou Gehrig's Disease#Instagram
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3 Golden Pearls and why they are important
3 Golden Pearls and why they are important
Today’s guest is Dr. Allen Lycka who is a highly successful dermatologist and cosmetic surgeon, International Keynote Speaker, TedxSpeaker, Life-changing coach, 3x Best-selling Author, and International Best-selling Author, Virtual and In Person Program Provider, Mentor, and Trainer, and Host of “How to live Fantastic Life Podcast.
Dr. Lycka co-authored the book, “THE SECRETS TO LIVING A…
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#3 Golden Pearls#ALS#Author#Betsy Wurzel#cosmetic surgeon#dermatologist#Dr. Allen Lycka#Given a diagnosis of no hope#Harriett Tinker#Lou Gehrig&039;s Disease#lymes disease#mindfulness#Spirtuality
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Singer Roberta Flack has ALS and can no longer sing, rep confirms
Singer Roberta Flack has ALS and can no longer sing, rep confirms
A representative for Roberta Flack announced Monday that the Grammy-winning musician has ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, and can no longer sing.
The progressive disease “has made it impossible to sing and not easy to speak,” Flack’s manager Suzanne Koga said in a release. “But it will take a lot more than ALS to silence this icon.”
The announcement of the amyotrophic lateral…
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Problems with Excitability
Details of the structure and functional changes that underlie neurons' impaired excitability characteristic of the neurodegenerative disease amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (motor neuron disease)
Read the published research article here
Image from work by Peter Harley and colleagues
Centre for Developmental Neurobiology, Kings College London, London, UK
Image originally published with a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)
Published in Cell Reports, November 2023
You can also follow BPoD on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook
#science#biomedicine#immunofluorescence#biology#neuroscience#neurodegenerative diseases#amyotrophic lateral sclerosis#Lou Gehrig disease#motor neurone disease#MND
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Three brothers help mom with ALS fulfill her dream of sharing a dance with son at his wedding
Three brothers help mom with ALS fulfill her dream of sharing a dance with son at his wedding
A woman diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) is inspiring many after standing and sharing a dance with her eldest at his wedding, with support from all three of her sons.
Three years ago, Kathy Poirier, 55, was diagnosed with the disease. Ever since, she has lost the use of her arms and legs. She also experiences breathing difficulties, but she still has her voice.
Kathy has three…
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Former Toronto maple leaf Börje Salming was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrigs disease) very devastating news
#hockey#als#lou Gehrigs disease#Lou Gehrig#Börje Salming#leafs#Toronto maple leafs#vintage hockey#vintage#hockey history#old time hockey#history#retro hockey#retro
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Legendary Pilot Bob Pardo, Who Pushed A Damaged F-4 With His F-4 Over Vietnam, Has Died
December 20, 2023 Military Aviation
Bob Pardo
Bob Pardo in a 2017 photo by Senior Airman Ridge Shan. In the background, Pardo's Push in an artwork by S.W. Ferguson.
Bob Pardo passed away earlier this month at the age of 89. With his Phantom, he pushed a crippled F-4 outside the enemy airspace in one of the most heroic missions in the history of military aviation, known as “Pardo’s Push”.
“Pardo’s Push” is the name of an incredible maneuver carried out during the Air War over North Vietnam that, over the years, has become the symbol of heroism and a demonstration of courage and contempt for danger.
March 10, 1967.
Captain Bob Pardo is flying in an F-4C with Weapon Systems Officer 1st Lt Steve Wayne. Their wingman is the F-4C flown by Captain Earl Aman with Weapon Systems Officer 1st Lt Robert Houghton. The two Phantoms of the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing, based at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base, Thailand, are assigned the task to attack a steel mill in North Vietnam north of the capital Hanoi.
During the approach to the target, both F-4 is hit multiple times by enemy’s anti-aircraft fire. The North Vietnamese flak causes significant damage to Capt. Aman’s aircraft whose fuel tank begins to leak fuel forcing the crew to abort the mission. While hit too, Pardo’s F-4 is able to continue its mission.
On their egress route, at 20,000 feet, Aman and Houghton determine that they do not have enough fuel to reach a tanker or Laos, where they could eject and avoid capture. Although his F-4 is still efficient and has enough fuel to reach a tanker, Pardo decides to remain with his wingman.
At a certain point, while still inside North Vietnamese airspace, Aman’s Phantom flames out. To save Aman and Houghton, Pardo decides to do something he believes no one has ever done before: he attempts to push the other F-4 to Laos.
Initially, Pardo tries to push the other F-4 by gently making contact with the drag chute compartment. However, turbulence interferes with the maneuver and after several failed attempts, Pardo opts for an extreme solution: he instructs Aman to lower his tailhook, then he positions his F-4 behind the other Phantom leaning his windscreen against the tailhook. The contact is made but the “solution” is quite unstable and, as a consequence of turbulence, Pardo needs to reposition his F-4 every 15 to 30 seconds. Nevertheless, the push works and rate of descent of Aman’s Phantom is considerably reduced.
As if the situation was not complicate enough, Pardo’s F-4 suffers an engine fire, forcing him to shut it down.
Try for a second to visualize the situation: a flame-out F-4 is somehow pushed by means of its tailhook by another F-4 powered by a single engine. In enemy airspace. Incredible.
Ezoic
Pardo pushes Aman’s F-4 for another 10 minutes until his Phantom runs out of fuel too. With both planes safely inside Laotian airspace, at an altitude of about 6,000 feet, the aircrews of both F-4s ejects (they will be rescued by SAR helicopters and evade capture).
Although he saved another aircrew, Pardo was initially reprimanded for not saving his own F-4. Until 1989, when the episode was re-examinated and both Pardo and Wayne were awarded the Silver Star.
Retired Air Force pilot Lt. Col. Bob Pardo poses in front of a static display model of an F-4 Phantom II, one of the many fighter aircraft he has flown, at Luke Air Force Base, Ariz., Dec. 12, 2017. (U.S. Air Force photo/Senior Airman Ridge Shan)
Pardo and Aman both continued serving and retired from the U.S. Air Force in the rank of lieutenant colonel. Years later, after learning that Aman had lost his voice and mobility because of Lou Gehrig’s disease, created the Earl Aman Foundation that raised enough money to buy Aman a voice synthesizer, a motorized wheelchair, and a computer. The foundation later contributed to raise funds to pay for a van, which Aman used for transportation until his death. In other words, Pardo never left his wingman behind, not even after retiring.
Ezoic
Noteworthy, as told by John L. Frisbee in his 1996 article for Air Force Magazine, Pardo’s push was not the first time a U.S. pilot pushed another jet out of enemy airspace: in 1952, during the Korean War, fighter ace Robbie Risner pushed his wingman out of North Korea in an F-86. However, pilots were ordered to refrain from attempting the hazardous maneuver again, and the episode had faded from memory and was almost completely unknown within the Air Force by the time Pardo and Wayne pushed Aman and Houghton outside of North Vietnam’s airspace.
Bob Pardo passed away aged 89, on Dec. 5, 2023. His courage and ingenuity, along with the legendary “Pardo’s Push“, will be remembered forever.
About David Cenciotti
David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.
@Aviationist via X
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Out chapter 2
Hello! Here is chapter 2 of this fic! Beta'd by @fish-bowl-2! Read it here or on ao3!
The Logical Ed
120 days, 14 hours, 32 minutes.
120 days, 14 hours, 33 minutes.
Deep breath. He rubs his eyes.
120 days, 14 hours, and 34 minutes.
Edd finally tears his eyes away from the digital clock on his bedside table, staring up at the ceiling instead; a marginal improvement, he’ll be more motivated to actually get out of bed if he’s not being held captive by the slow march of time. Now he just has to keep his eyes off the clock and focus on building momentum. Curse Newton’s first law of motion.
His eyes burn. His fingers twitch. He glances to the side.
120 days, 14 hours, 36 minutes.
“Gah!” Edd lets out an exasperated cry, spurring himself into motion and raising off the bed, keeping the kinetic energy flowing until his feet hit the floor and he can stand. Once he’s up on his feet, he quickly tucks himself back into his pants and places his dirty tissue into his trash bin, then fast walks out the door of his bedroom and into the hallway. He keeps his eyes trained straight ahead, staunchly refusing to look at the layers of unexcavated sticky notes lining the walls, marching through his own home like a horse with blinders on. He keeps those blinders on in the bathroom as well, ignoring not just the sticky notes within, but also the mirror, unwilling to see his own reflection. It gave him quite the fright last time.
Turn on faucet with elbow. Wet hands first. Dispense soap. Scrub for 20 seconds.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” He mumbles the lyrics under his breath as he scrubs his palms and then cleans each digit, gets under each nail, brings the soapy water all the way up to his elbows. He’s gone through the song twice now.
Satisfied, but not really, but almost, he rinses and dries, then quickly absconds back to the safety of his bedroom. Predictably, irritably, his eyes immediately turn to the clock.
120 days, 14 hours, and 39 minutes since he last saw either of his parents.
Not that they haven’t been home—they clearly have if the ever thickening layer of sticky notes clinging to every surface of his house is anything to go by. Edd assumes they must come home during the night, maybe grab a nap or something to eat before rushing off to their next destination. No reason to wake up their only child to say hello. Places to be, things to do. All very important. Far more important than him, in any case.
‘Their work truly is important ,’ Edd reminds himself. His father is an anthropologist, and a renowned one at that. The work he’s done to research and preserve cultures on the brink of extinction under the hands of imperialism is admirable and necessary, and Edd often imagines himself doing something similar. His last published research on the Gamilaraay language of Australian Aboriginals was an enlightening read, and he couldn’t help but feel jealous of his father’s freedom to travel the world and meet people from different cultures. His mother travels, too, often as a guest speaker on her years of medical research into Lou Gehrig’s disease. Sometimes her talks get uploaded online, and he watches each one with rapt attention.He’s proud of the work his parents’ do. He’s proud to be their son. And soon, he’s going to use the financial support they’ve graciously blessed him with to educate himself in a field of equal import; willing and eager to stand alongside his parents in their quest to better the world.
It would just also be nice if they had any interest in having a relationship with him at all.
It would also be nice of him to obey his parental sticky notes and keep the house they let him live in tidy, but tit for tat and all that.
He still cleans his bedroom, the upstairs bathroom, and the kitchen , but the rest of the house can go to rot for all he cares. This place has been rotten for a long time, anyway. He feels a fool for never noticing it before. Especially when Eddy tried so hard to convince him of it.
Loneliness creeps up his spine like a winter chill, and he hugs himself tightly in an ineffective effort to stave off the cold. Desperate for some form of connection to the outside world, he walks over to the warm glow of his computer monitor and takes a seat in the same small wooden chair he’s had since he was a kid. Most of his bedroom hasn’t changed much since then, though a few modernizations have been made to his . Everything still has its neatly labeled place, from his socks to his Legos to his chemistry set; an old salve on the ever fraying nerves within his skull. The one major change he made was moving his drafting table under the window and putting his steel pedal guitar in the garage to make room for the desk he borrowed from the auxiliary bedroom. That’s where he and his computer sit now, under his cork bulletin board and butterfly collection, pressed neatly behind the glass, dead and dry and stuck through with pins. The only other change of note is the empty plant pot labeled ‘Jim’ whose resident died months ago once he outgrew the confines of his small soil home and had nowhere else to go.
Looking up, he sees the acceptance letters he pinned to his cork board. Cornell, Columbia, and the University of Pennsylvania have all sent praise for his grades and SAT scores. Using excessive flowery prose about how their own school will be the best to assist him in making an impact on the world. Offering full rides in a bid to snag him first. He supposes he should feel happy about all this adult and academic approval; it used to be what kept him sane, after all. But now he just feels paralyzed with indecision, worrying his lip as he clicks through the folders on his desktop, neatly aligned and organized and labeled and filled with .html files leading him to relevant web pages of the different programs offered by each school. He’s torn between the humanities, sciences, and a pre med track. Re-reading all the same course offerings he’s been reading for the past few months. Etymology, climatology, biology, archeology, geology, and all the other ologies rattle around in his head, pinging mercilessly against the bruised sides of his skull. What would best allow him to join his generation’s greatest minds in saving our dying world? What would take him the farthest away from home? What would carry him a few rungs higher on the always unraveling ladder between him and his parents?
He exits all applications and pinches his eyes shut. Holding the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep, frustrated breath, as if he could blow that last thought out of his head if he filled his lungs deeply enough. After some irritated mumbling and pinching the skin of his nose tighter between his fingers, he allows his eyes to drop towards the top desk drawer, leering at it wearily. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he reaches forward to open it, pulling out the opened envelope within, taking out the letter and letting his eyes settle on the header at the top .
UB interlocked together in giant blue text. Neatly typed next to it in the same shade of blue, University at Buffalo.
He still remembers just how morose he had started to feel when the three of them started their freshman year in high school. Adulthood was fast approaching, and with it decisions that he couldn't see not fracturing their friendship, considering the very different paths they all were on. It wasn’t until fall break that Eddy was able to pry out what his ‘pissy mood’ was about . He can recall the smell of decaying leaves mixed with Eddy’s cologne and Ed’s joint easily, as if he were still there under the oak tree, sweating and tearing up and trembling in the tight grip of Eddy’s fists. It came out of him mixed with choked sobs, panic finally reaching its peak as he blubbered about the inevitable dismemberment of their found family once it came time for higher education. Cardigan sleeves soaking through with the salty deposits of his lamentations. Once he had calmed enough to show his snotty face again, all he found was his two best friends giving him equally bewildered looks.
‘What the hell are ya talkin’ about? Me n’ Ed are just gonna come with you, ain’t we?’
The relief was so powerful, it took all of his strength to prevent himself from grabbing his straight best friend’s square face and smashing it into his own.
Well. Presumed straight. It’s one of the few things he was thrilled to be wrong about. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have been. Just look where pursuing a relationship got them.
Before his and Eddy’s break-up, SUNY Buffalo had been his top choice . It’s not Ivy League , but it is an R1 research school. Besides, these are his undergraduate studies. As long as he's in the Ivy League for his graduate studies, an undergraduate degree at a state university is perfectly adequate. The real advantage is that it’s only an hour drive away from Peach Creek. It seemed the easiest location for the three of them to move into together out of high school, and even if Ed and Eddy couldn't come right away, the short ride to and from made it ripe for weekend visits.
SUNY Buffalo holds no allure now. If anything, its close proximity to Peach Creek has become a disadvantage. He tastes something sour at the very idea of staying in a place where people he knows might see him.
A bell chime rings from his speakers, the sudden sound combined with the red flash he sees on his monitor startles him into dropping the letter and choking on nothing, throat closing in panic. He relaxes marginally when he realizes he just got a notification, moving his mouse down to the trillian application in his taskbar and clicking on it. Relaxing even further, a small smile graces his lips when he sees who is messaging him.
sn@zzyn@zzy: hey dd! can u help me w/ smth?
Edd.Mar.Eid: Certainly, Nazz. What do you require assistance with?
sn@zzyn@azzy: cool ty dude! my final paper for this smmer course is kiiiiiiiillin me
sn@zzyn@azzy: can i email it 2 u 4 editing
sn@zzyn@zy: i ttly kno what i wanna say but figurin out HOW 2 say it is bleh
sn@zzyn@zzy: u kno how it uslly is w/ me -_-
Edd.Mar.Eid: I do indeed. Not a problem, Nazz. Attach it to an email and send it to my hotmail account and I will get to it as soon as I am able. :)
sn@zzyn@zzy: ur da best!
sn@zzyn@zzy: hey hav u picked a school yet?
Edd.Mar.Eid: Not officially. I am getting closer to making a decision, however.
sn@zzyn@zzy: awsum :D hooooow aboouuut SUNY buffalo??? :D :D :D
Edd.Mar.Eid: The State University of New York at Buffalo is still one of my top considerations, I assure you.
sn@zzyn@zzy: gud! i miss havin u as a study buddy lyk bad
sn@zzyn@zzy: alot of freshmen here r soooo immature
sn@zzyn@zzy: its not all that diff from PC high
sn@zzyn@zzy: PLUS ill b a junior next year and ill be ur cool junior friend and then ull be the coolest freshman on campus B)
Edd.Mar.Eid: All very good points in favor of me attending the same university as you, Nazz. Don’t forget, I still have my senior year to get through. Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch, shall we?
sn@zzyn@zzy: pssht as if itll be a prob 4 u
sn@zzyn@zzy: ull breeze thru senior year lyk u did evry other year
Edd.Mar.Eid: Your continued faith in me is invigorating and much appreciated.
sn@zzyn@zzy: just picture me followin u around school w/ a pair of pompoms ^_^
sn@zzyn@zzy: hows evry1 doin btw? gotta admit 1 of the reasons ive been pesterin u bout comin here is that im a lil homesick
sn@zzyn@zzy: could use a familiar face round here @_@
Edd.Mar.Eid: I am delighted to inform you that everything is peachy keen over here in Peach Creek. Kevin and Eddy still work at the candy store together. Last I heard from Ed, he was adjusting well at his new school. He misses home, but is “soldiering on” one might say. Sarah and Jimmy are still tight bedfellows, and recently went to some extravagant event called “Aaron Carter’s Jukebox Tour” in Michigan. They’ve been in quite the tizzy about it since. Rolf is the same as always, reliably working away on his family’s farm. Him, Kevin, and Eddy gallivant about on occasion. No one’s moved into Jonny’s old house yet, but the neighboring cul-de-sac is almost finished being constructed and has quite a few new families. The Turner twins miss you and ask about you quite frequently. You had quite the impact on them as their babysitter.
sn@zzyn@zzy: awww
sn@zzyn@zzy: gr8 glad evry1s doin gud
sn@zzyn@zzy: wbu? i hope ur not just in ur room mumbling 2 urself about school all teh time
sn@zzyn@zzy: the*
Edd.Mar.Eid: I am touched by your concern as always, Nazz. Not to worry, though. Eddy would never let me fall too far behind in my “social cred” as he puts it.
sn@zzyn@zzy: gud im glad the 2 of u have each other
sn@zzyn@zzy: NE way ive got debate club
sn@zzyn@zzy: l8er!
Edd.Mar.Eid: Adieu, Nazz. Just picture me there with a pair of pom poms, cheering you on. Laughing out loud.
sn@zzyn@zzy: XD
“Filthy, filthy, filthy.” The smile on his face has long since been replaced by a scowl, blunt nails digging deep as he scratches the top of his hand. Filthy liar. Cowardly cur. What did dear, sweet Nazz ever do to deserve his mouthful of empty words? Empty like him. Emptied out then filled with filth. He reaches for his bottle of hand sanitizer, squirting some in his palm in what he knows is an irrational attempt to kill the deceit on his guilty hands, rubbing to distribute it evenly over them. Air hisses sharply through his teeth when he feels a sharp pain, looking down to find that the scratching had broken his skin, stinging alcohol and small specks of blood mixing together in a pink hue. He swallows and looks up at the ceiling, eyes closing as he rubs his hands together through the pain.
“Filthy, filthy, filthy…”
He doesn’t stop until his hands are bone dry. His scaly, over-washed skin rubbing together unpleasantly. After taking a deep breath and clearing his throat one, two times, he bends over to collect the letter and envelope he dropped earlier. It brings him to eye level with the bottom drawer of his desk, squinting his eyes and frowning when he notices it’s crooked.
“Oh for goodness sake.” He complains, tucking his acceptance letter away in the appropriate drawer before getting down onto the floor (the floor where his feet go and now his knees are there where his feet usually are but he’s trying not to think about that) to better assess the problem. After uselessly jiggling the hunk of wood, he gives a frustrated grunt and opens it, full pill bottles rattling inside as he lifts the drawer off of the rails and removes it completely from the desk. He mumbles a ‘darn it’ to himself when it’s too dark inside for him to see the problem, getting up and returning quickly with the small flashlight he keeps in his toolbox. Neither track is bent or blocked, so hoping the drawer simply fell off the track at some point, he carefully places it back in, making sure everything is aligned. He sighs in relief once he’s able to slide it in and out smoothly a few times. He does it a few more times for good measure, listening to the wheels glide along the metal track. Frown carved deep into his face, he lifts up one of the orange plastic pill bottles and reads it.
EDDWARD EID
215 RETHINK AVE PEACH CREEK, NY 14273 (716) 7491736
TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH DAILY
SERTRALINE 25MG TABS
Jaw set, he puts the bottle back in its place, neatly lined up with all the other unopened bottles in the drawer. ‘ Sedatives. That’s all they are ,’ he thinks to himself sourly as he slides the drawer shut.
DING DONG.
He jumps, forever easily startled as he clutches his chest and lets out a garbled squeak. He doesn't move from his place on the floor, breathing shallowly as he waits to see if he was just hearing things or not.
BANG BANG BANG. DING DING DING DONG.
There’s only one person Edd knows who tries to enter other people’s homes that rudely.
He’s up on his feet and out his bedroom door in a matter of seconds, tunnel vision guiding him to the stairs and the front door . He glances at the phone in the hallway, confirming it's there and plugged in, just in case it’s not who he thinks it is and he has to call the police. He’s sure, though. He’s so sure. With a twist of his gut, he realizes he’s been waiting for this.
There’s no sense of smug satisfaction at being right when he sees who is on the other side of the peephole; just deep seated pain from seasons of yearning coiling in his chest like thick thorny vines, wrapped tight around his heart and lungs. His sweaty palm slides uselessly against the doorknob before he’s able to get a decent grip and pull the door open, calling the name that hasn’t touched his tongue in months out into the muggy evening air.
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On May 2, 1939, Lou Gehrig took himself out of the Yankees' lineup, ending his consecutive string of 2,130 games. He was suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), a neurodegenerative disease that would take his life two years later.
Photo: Associated Press via MLB.com
#vintage New York#1930s#Lou Gehrig#NY Yankees#baseball#ALS#2 May#vintage baseball#baseball streaks#May 2
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Infamous Poisoning Cases: Solved and Unsolved
In November 2014, a Pennsylvania jury convicted Dr. Robert Ferrante of the April 2013 cyanide murder of his wife, neurologist Autumn Klein. Prosecutors were able to establish that Dr. Ferrante bought cyanide, ostensibly for stem cell experiments related to his research into ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) and that he had come up with a plan to kill his wife because she wanted to have another child. He also may have believed she was planning to divorce him. Robert Ferrante was sentenced to life in prison in February 2015.
In April 2003, 16 members of Gustaf Adolph Evangelical Lutheran Church in the small farming community of New Sweden, Maine, fell gravely ill after a meeting where they'd had coffee brewed in an urn. Walter Reid Morrill, age 78, died from the side effects, and 15 other parishioners were seriously ill. Just five days after the fateful meeting, congregation member Daniel Bondeson, age 53, committed suicide. Bondeson killed himself with a rifle. He allegedly left a suicide note that read like a confession to the mass poisoning. The contents of Bondeson's note have never been made public, and the case is still considered unsolved.
He had moved on with life and was reporting for a Missouri radio station when James Keown was arrested for the 2004 antifreeze poisoning of his wife, Julie. The couple was living in Waltham, Massachusetts when Julie died, and that was where Keown went on trial in 2008. In court, jurors learned Keown had crippling debt and wanted the $250,000 payout from Julie's life insurance policy. His solution was a steady diet of antifreeze in her Gatorade.
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