The kidney of a 3-year-old Israeli boy was successfully transplanted to a 10-year-old Palestinian child.
Minutes after a terrorist attack killed three at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, doctors and nurses at the city’s hospitals faced a harrowing scene — severed limbs, burned bodies, shrapnel buried in skin.
Nazi war criminal John Demjanjuk's death was not hastened by medication administered at a nursing home in Bavaria, prosecutors said.
There are many admirable values. The list includes, of course, goodness, integrity and compassion.
U.S. military doctors stationed in Germany will continue to perform circumcisions despite a ruling that has roiled the country’s medical and political establishments.
Beverly Hills cardiologist and internist Dr. Reed Wilson — a former member of the Republican Jewish Coalition who helped found its Los Angeles chapter — called the mandate "an amazing breach of the American trust." Moreover, he said, the law's finer print contains "rules and regulations" pertaining to doctor reimbursement rates that will threaten physicians' private practices and health care quality.
A veteran physician diagnosed with leukemia is hoping to find a compatible bone marrow match within the Jewish community to help him beat back the life-threatening disease. Be The Match, the National Marrow Donor Registry, is holding a donor screening on Thursday at USC’s Rand Schrader Health and Research Center.
In the constant argument that is Middle East politics it is very rare to achieve anything like universal agreement, but no one can begrudge what Hazem Chehabi did. He quit. Since Chehabi resigned last week as honorary consul general of Syria in Southern California, he has received hundreds of e-mails and phone calls. All positive. For 18 years, Chehabi, an oncological radiologist in Newport Beach, has volunteered to act as Syria’s consul general here. His office handled travel documents and birth, marriage and death certificates for the thousands of expatriate Syrians living in the Western states.
An Israeli military doctor saved a 12-day-old Palestinian baby girl who had stopped breathing.
Martine Ehrenclou, 51, first noticed her lower abdomen pain in January 2010. She experienced severe discomfort if she sat at her desk for even 15 minutes, when she drove her car or any time that she pitched forward. Ehrenclou, who lives in Brentwood, describes the pain as “brutal.”
In a family of prominent Jewish educators, Norman Spack could be called the rebel. He became a doctor. “I'm the only one who didn't go into Jewish education,” quips Spack, a senior associate in the endocrine division at Boston's Children's Hospital, where he has worked for 39 years.
The Israel Medical Association has barred its member physicians from participating in an infertility conference geared for haredi Orthodox men and women that did not invite female speakers.
For 29-year-old Dr. Rania El Hativ, the distinction of being Israel’s first female Arab plastic surgeon has its downsides. “I feel a lot of responsibility. Many people have expectations of you — other doctors, patients and people in my community.”
The walls of Dr. Bernard Lewinsky’s office resemble the pages of a National Geographic calendar: sweeping lake vistas and verdant forests brush up against sculptured rock formations and sun-mottled Yosemite hills. Looking at his photographs, patients remember vacations, times when they felt relaxed and at peace. It takes their minds off their cancer.
Job one: Contact the hospital or mortuary so that you can fill out any paperwork, i.e., death certificate, as soon after the death as possible
Interview with Jerome Groopman, a physician and clinical scientist at Harvard University, a specialist in AIDS and cancer. He's also a writer for The New Yorker, with a successful and thought-provoking series of books on such topics as the intersection of spirituality and medicine and the importance of a physician's intuition.
When Dr. Rick Hodes prepares a to-do list, it doesn't look like anybody else's.
As the doctor predicted, the breath-holding eventually subsided. By the time my second son came along, my child-rearing methods had evolved considerably.
In this week's double Torah portion, Tazria-Metzorah (Leviticus 13, in particular), God instructs Moses and Aaron on the role of priests when people take ill.
The pain and anguish of infertility has been passed down from matriarchs Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel to women today. But while our traditions have given us words to say and ways to act during other lifecycle events -- death, birth, marriage -- there is little guidance for how to help a friend or loved one deal with the loss of a pregnancy or the pain and despair of infertility.
Much of the literature against Proposition 73 correctly emphasizes that many teenage girls will seek underground abortions, rather than have their parents (or guardians, foster parents or other legal designees) learn that they are pregnant.
I'll never play the violin in high heels again. OK, I'll be back in sticks in six weeks, and I never played the fiddle. But I did play an important game of volleyball.
Listening to Howard Dean reminds me of going to a doctor who starts out the visit by saying, "Bill, you really look sick."
Maybe I do, but I don't want to hear it expressed quite so bluntly. Just like I didn't want to hear Dr. Dean saying in Los Angeles Dec. 15, "The capture of Saddam has not made America safer."
Dean's pessimism was hard to take, especially right after the bearded villain was hauled out of the ground by American troops.
Is our national health care system beyond cure? Rabbi David Saperstein, director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, and Dr. Alexandra M. Levine, medical director of the USC/Norris Comprehensive Cancer Center and Hospital, believe that the Jewish community can take a role in advancing remedies for our nation's health care ills.
Dr. Yonatan "Yoni" Peres acknowledges that being the son of former Israeli Foreign Minister Shimon Peres can be a mixed blessing.
"The name helps open some doors," he said, "but sometimes it closes them."
It's hard to imagine that I could have been less delectable.
As I write this, I look like James Coburn eating a lemon in a windstorm. Drunk. Not only does my face look red and crackly, it must be covered at all times with a Vaseline-like lotion, thick and greasy, giving me the appearance of someone who has just eaten a pork chop with no hands. And I lack Mr. Coburn's panache.
The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has condemned governments, clergy and parents who encourage children to participate in violent protests and pitched battles in the Middle East, Asia and Africa.
It is a bright, sunny day at Vista Del Mar Child and Family Services. In her office, medical director Dr. Susan Schmidt-Lackner is sitting on the floor with one of her young patients -- not an easy feat for a tall woman in a long skirt, but the doctor is more interested in the little boy than in her own comfort. The child's mother, seated nearby, recounts her concerns, such as how her son can't tolerate the texture of most foods and is subsisting on a diet of McDonald's Happy Meals.
The reason I am limping is because of a small man named Shen Hsu. That's not entirely accurate. I went to see Hsu because I was limping. He performed a variety of ancient Chinese medical practices on me, including acupuncture and a form of massage that could easily be mistaken for torture. I'm still limping. Now I'm limping a little differently, on what used to be my good side.
For as long as she can remember, Dr. Beth Karlan has been driven to answer one elusive question: what is the difference between a normal cell and a cancerous cell? While the question is common among medical researchers, Karlan's progress in discovering at least a partial answer has been both heartening and a continuing stimulus to continue the search.
My mother called to give me an update on my aunt Ruthie's condition. She had a cancer-spotted kidney removed a few days ago,and the family Jew-Ex was hot with medical reports. My mother, whose curse it was to be the firstborn, was cursed a second time by havinga daughter who she used to liken to her sister Ruth whenever I stepped out of line -- which was often, according to my mother.Ruthie's curse was to be born two years after my mother and to neverhave had a daughter.