Formerly The Year of Death, http://theyearofdeath.blogspot.com/

On the eve of The Day of the Dead, I've changed the name of The Year of Death.

It's Halloween.

And Karla keeps stealing the Milk Duds and the Skittles.

Trick or treat.

Tomorrow is El Día de los Muertos. It's shorter than The Year, but it keeps coming back.

Exercise Makes You Happy, Even if You're a Radiated Mouse

ScienceDaily (Oct. 19, 2009) — Exercise is a key factor in improving both memory and mood after whole-brain radiation treatments in rodents, according to data presented by Duke University scientists at the Society for Neuroscience meeting.

Now wouldn't you know it? Memory and mood can be helped by exercise. Even after radiation. Even in rodents.

So saith the neuroscientists; thus saith the lord.

"This is the first demonstration that exercise can prevent a decline in memory after whole-brain radiation treatment," said lead researcher and graduate student Sarah Wong-Goodrich of the Duke Department of Psychology and Neuroscience.

Exercise appears to actually protect against the loss of memory and the increase in depressive-like behaviors, Wong-Goodrich said.

"Once a patient gets a doctor's clearance, I think exercise is a good thing during whole-brain radiation," he [Researcher Lee W. Jones, Ph.D.] said. "I think telling patients to take it easy is the worst advice we can give, because we know they will become deconditioned physically, and this study shows exercise potentially could provide cognitive and psychological benefits."

This work was supported by grants from the National Institutes of Health and the Duke University Comprehensive Cancer Center.

We had to study mickey on a grant and we couldn't just survey human patients?

Yes, I think this was a mousy project and I hope too much money wasn't wasted on it. (There was an article in the New York Times this past summer saying projects had to be silly like this to win the lottery.)

How'd I remember that?

I tell you this: I was about to get on the elliptical. And I's gwanna get on it anyways. Cuz I wanna remember things like a rat.

Can You Really Be Friends With Your Neuro-Oncologist?

I don't think I can be friends with my neuro-oncologist. You think I'm being silly?

She's saved your life, you say? She's intelligent; she's pretty. Why can't she be your friend?

Because I don't think we could really be friends.

When we're together, in the same room, like we were today, just hours ago, I'm so focused on the images of my brain that shine behind her that I can't pay attention to the words she says.

I mean, I can only pay attention to my brain. All 16 images of them. This hole here, that hole there, the white, the black, the white, and so on.

If we ever bumped into each other at a Cubs game or a play, my words would stumble. And she'd think it was a seizure.

But it wouldn't be the kind she was used to reading about, no, it would be an outrotextbook kind but she wouldn't accept that as an excuse.

She called me a boring patient today, I think. Because I had a stable MRI. And that was the sweetest thing she ever said.