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daily-spanish-word · 23 days

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doctor, physician el médico, la médica

Remember: medical, Medicare, medication…

I don’t know if he is a doctor. No sé si él es médico.

Picture by Nelson Santos on Flickr

#doctor #doctor house #medico #medica #medical #Medicare #medication #physician #spanish #vocabulary #vocab #español #hint #mnemonic #wotd #word of the day

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loveisinthebat · 10 months

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Sending gentle hugs and healing vibes your way.

Aye cheers. I appreciate it ^-^ I'll be fine, just take a while to get back up to speed.

#Batmun answers #Medica #I'll be alright

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lepasfe · 5 months

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ATENÇÃO, GATILHOS DE V|0LÊNCI@

Eu sou uma mulher parda, b!ssexu@l, ateia, gorda, com doenças em tratamento e estáveis físicas e psicológicas, da classe trabalhadora, com crenças em ideias de €squ€rd@ (como o f€minismo, @ntif@scism0, @ntirr@cism0, antib0nson@rism0, anti-xen0fobia e afins), 29 anos e completamente cansada emocionalmente de todos os preconceitos que vivo por ser quem sou, mesmo quando estou em silêncio, sem expressar ideias. Eu sei que sou privilegiada pois em grande maioria essas violências são veladas e em geral tenho uma vida confortável e com os mínimos direitos gerais descritos na constituição. Mas como é de conhecimento de todos eu falo bastante...

Pessoas ao redor acreditam que pelo fato d'eu ser obesa, ou simplesmente não padronizada, é liberdade suficiente para palpitar sobre a única coisa que realmente tenho de minha (meu corpo) sem nenhum pudor. Essa é minha morada, e ninguém tem o direito de falar sobre ela disfarçando com o pretexto de estar preocupado com a minha saúde, afinal, e minha mente? Há preocupação se os comentários violentos (e sutis) gordofóbicos podem desencadear dor e sofrimento? A obesidade pode ser o sintoma de uma doença ou a moléstia em si, mas uma coisa é certa: suas causas são inúmeras e apenas uma equipe multiprofissional pode diagnosticar corretamente.

Eu passei uma pré adolescência, adolescência e juventude com crise de ansiedade, problemas com a minha imagem, dificuldade para ter relacionamentos amorosos com outras pessoas por isso (além de mais alguns outros motivos). E nessa grande parte da minha vida onde eu estava magra, com o famoso (e desatualizado) IMC em dia, recebia elogios mil, entretanto com rara pergunta de como eu estava, de verdade, sendo que estava passando por depressão e crises de ansiedade constantemente. Entenda, não romantizo, obesidade é uma doença crônica, que desencadeia outras doenças graves, mas você não sabe o motivo, se ela não é por causa, se tem cura, se está sendo tratada, entre milhões de outra peculiaridades. E pior, o pré julgamento pode dizer que uma pessoa está obesa (o que acontece quase que sempre) mas ela está saudável e só os padrões de beleza que estão desfigurados, tortos, levando até mesmo pessoas não obesas a serem consideradas assim. Hoje eu estou caminhando para ficar bem dentro de mim, e não é por eu estar emagrecendo, que eu vou mudar de opinião.

Todos os dias de trabalho eu tenho que respirar fundo depois que alguém questiona, de forma disfarçada ou direta, se eu sou mesmo a médica em atendimento, porque eu "não tenho cara de médica" ou "que pareço uma enfermeira" (aliás, beijo para essa categoria linda, e é só uma honra ser comparada, se não fosse os preconceitos embutidos). Usualmente estou em uma sala de atendimento, sozinha, usando um jaleco (escrito meu nome e embaixo "médica"), as vezes com estetoscópio 🩺 no pescoço, com um carimbo /bloco de receita / caneta / computador na minha frente sobre a mesa, porém com cabelos cacheados, olhos marrons, pele naturalmente pigmentada de tom bege claro, testa larga e lábios amplos. E novamente adultos (nunca crianças -que por vezes entram gritando ao me ver, temendo uma injeção - e adolescentes) com poder de dedução intacto questionam "quando o médico chega?", "É aqui que faz o exame? Ah... Você é a médica...", " entendi, então depois eu volto tá?" , entre outras frases que podem não parecer racistas, e sim implicância minha ou teoria da conspiração. Mas veja, isso não acontece de vez em quando. Eu repito: é rotina. E o que escuto de alguns da branquitude é " o que importa é que vc é uma boa médica", "eles não tem nada a ver com a sua vida, não liga, eu não ligaria", "você lutou tanto, não precisa provar nada pra ninguém"... Mas aí é que tá, eu tenho, senão eu não entro em hospitais e ambulatórios pra trabalhar ou até estudar, e eu amo minha profissão (apesar de trabalhar muitas vezes de forma culposa: sem intenção de trabalhar haha). Se pessoas falassem constantemente que você é similar a um sapo, um dia você não se indignaria (se a resposta é não, sinto em dizer que está mentido pra si próprio e está apenas esperando pela princesa pra te beijar)?

Eu não conheço uma mulher que negue ter sofrido violência por ser mulher (mesmo que essa tente suavizar ou justificar a ocorrência). Recebo queixas de pacientes que são chamadas de histéricas ou que são aconselhadas a tratar suas supostas crises de ansiedade apenas por se impor em seus postos de trabalho. Conheço mulheres que precisavam abortaram (até mesmo hipócritas e julgadoras) por diversos motivos (principalmente por doença) e não tiveram nem o direito a assistência de saúde. Outras que sofreram violência doméstica, quase sempre de familiares próximos. Aquelas que sofreram assédio sexual se calando e sendo caladas. Então porque seria diferente comigo? Pra mim, os assédios sexuais foram mais marcantes que graves: um "colega" de faculdade se sentava ao meu lado, mesmo eu tentando evitar, colocava a mão sobre minha coxa e apertava, como se fosse um ato íntimo e despretensioso entre amigos; um canalha que se dizia estudante de odonto me beijou forçadamente e sem permissão, machucando meu rosto e pescoço; um médico, em um hospital dedicado ao cuidado de mulheres, roçou sua perna mesmo que eu me afastasse. Todos brancos, ricos, bem instruídos, que estão em posição de cuidar de pessoas. "Você devia ter denunciado". Como? Nas mesmas esferas e tempo eu via mulheres com dinheiro, advogado particular, brancas e estruturadas denunciando tais lixos radioativos humanos e as instituições, que deveriam estar em nossos lados, ignoravam num piscar eterno de olhos. Imagina eu, ainda mais naquela época. Cuidei de mim e tentei cuidar das que estavam ao meu redor.

Eu peço também desculpas a qualquer pessoa que tenha sido violada por mim em uma situação em que você estava vuneravel. É fato, que possivelmente, o que eu fiz não se compara a agressões por aqueles que estão em todas as situações de poder (biopsicoeconomicossocial), nem por isso eu deixo de assumir e tentar mudar. Procuro usar dos meus pequenos privilégios para erguer os que estão a margem, pra falsa/inconscientente compensar meus passados e futuros erros.

A bissexualidade é absurdamente engraçada e sensível, chamada de "indecisão", "fase", "confusão", na tentativa desesperada de enfiar esse indivíduo novamente para a heter0ssexu@lid@de. O LGBπQ|@+ é um monstro de letras, algo difícil de mais pra decorar, "não existia isso antes". Minha vó de mais de 90 anos, vai discordar de você: "oxe, sempre teve, mas antes era escondido minina". Porque a gente não lê um pouco sobre? Vê tiktok ou reels sobre! Talvez assim, vc não diga erroneamente que eu não sou BI por eu ter casado com um homem. Foi coincidência, porque se amar alguém fosse escolha, eu ia dar preferência pra mulheres ou não b!n@rios, pois gostar de homem chega até ser castigo ( te amo Adri).

E para os reacionários, por favor, entendam: ser de esquerda não significa ser vagabundo, comunista comedor de criancinha, ser adorador do d€mônio, a favor do atual presidente ou de qualquer corrupção política... Talvez vc seja de esquerda e não sabe. Vc gosta de ver o meio ambiente limpo e sonha em comer sem agrotóxicos? Tem desejo de ver todo mundo com escola, saúde, comida na mesa, um teto sobre a cabeça, sendo amado pela sua família e amigos, que não exista medo de andar na rua, que crianças inocentes não m0rr@m de bala perdida.... Se vc disse que não, vc é cruel e patife. Se você disse que sim, não se preocupe, não vai precisar concordar com @b0rt0, libertação de dr0g@s, casamento h0m0ssexu@l (mas eu concordo) . Dentro de pessoas não há necessidade de ser igual com todos. As diferenças também ajudam a pensar sobre as desigualdades.

Na função de profissional da saúde eu tenho que respeitar as crenças religiosas, se é benéfico ao meu paciente, eu vou estimular a buscar o seu norte espiritual, pois é mais que provado por pesquisas que ajuda e muitas vezes é necessário em tratamentos e curas. Eu não sou do d€môni0, não cutuo coisas maléficas, eu me considero, de forma geral (nunca de manhã), um bom ser humano. Só porque eu não acredito nas mesmas divindades que você, eu não mereço ser respeitada (principalmente dentro da sua mente)?

Eu acredito que pessoas são um misturado intenso de coisas boas, ruins e indiferentes, com tendências pra cada uma em cada momento. Também penso que não existe essa história de que as pessoas não tem capacidade de mudam: somos massa de modelar, só que dá trabalho fazer uma nova forma de si próprio, quando acreditava que já estava pronto e endurecido; somos barro, não mármore.

Se o que digo te afasta, tudo bem, nada agrada a todos, nem Nutella. Mas não significa que não estou aqui pra conversar quando quiser e eu puder. Não é frescura o que eu digo, se pensa assim, seu afastamento é uma via dupla de conveniência, seguiremos mais saudáveis.

#comunismo #melanina #mulher negra #ateismo #medica #medicina #religião #lgbtqia #lgbt #esquerda #gordofobia #racismo #violência #feminismo

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rntomdjourney · 1 year

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I’m back!

A lot has happened in my absence from this platform, but I’m back! I’m currently one year into my two-year post-bacc program, and I’m very excited for the journey ahead.

Since my last post, I graduated with my BSN, passed the NCLEX, and started my post-bacc program. I’m currently building my application for medical school, and it’s undoubtedly been tough to juggle class, work, extracurriculars, and self-growth. There’s a lot of things I used to enjoy, but simply don’t have the time for-- reading, running, climbing . . . but as I head into the summer season, I’m looking to better balance myself as an individual and as an applicant for medical school.

I can’t wait to share my journey, and until next time,

#rntomdjourney #rntomd #nursetodoctor #blog #journal #medica #medical #medicine #nursing #post-bacc

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malapropisms-and-nonsequiturs · 9 months

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EXIT (No. 1)

DISCLAIMER:

This is my first attempt at freewriting after many years of inactivity. A friend provided me with a prompt, and I just let it develop. I edited so it is easy to read, but it's mostly whatever unfiltered crap came out of my head in the moment. So feedback and criticism is more than welcome. Please tear me a new one.

PROMPT: Crimson sky, gun, person sitting by a brown leaved tree.

WARNINGS: Mental health/mentions of suicide/ interaction with psychiatrist/hospitalization/guns/anxiety/medication

Word count: 3.5k

Rating: 18+

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End of day, finally. The wind blows and it’s drying my lips. I chew them relentlessly like my thoughts chew away at my mind. I come to a stop, finally. Something inside allows me to rest.

“You walked enough,” echoes in my head, “you’ve managed enough.”, “Enough.”, “Enough.”

I groan out loud in an effort to shut the loop up before it induces another attack. I sometimes get stuck in these thought loops, they’re like TV commercials, loud and on repeat, and they never sell me what I need.

I stop by a tree, and I am so stuck in my head that I don’t even realize the color of the leaves. I slide down the trunk, onto my bottom, collecting a considerable number of bugs on my back in the process. The ground is soft, and I don’t feel the cold or damp yet.

The loop stops as I start looking around, finally. Trees, ground, mushrooms, moss, one, two, three, trees. Good.

As I’m calming down, I rummage through my backpack and find I brought food. I take a sandwich out of my bag and take my time unpacking it. My teeth sink slowly in the bread. “I make good sandwiches.” I think. I chew less than I should, faster than I should, all patience out the window, and I start feeling it in my chest when I swallow a few superficially masticated mouthfuls. I try to eat slower.

My head leans back on the trunk. I glance up and I notice with a smile that the leaves of the tree are brown. “Odd.” I look around but everything else is green. I look around, then back up. Brown. The sky creeps between thick, full branches, specks of crimson, alive and playful, seem to be dancing among the leaves.

My eyes shift perspective and now only the branches and leaves are moving, the sky becoming a static, yet colorful background “I liked it better before.”

I try to recreate the moment and I succeed briefly before my mind fixates back on my sandwich. “It’s an OK sandwich. Actually, ‘could have been better.”

I don’t notice right away how pathetic my train of thoughts becomes. I should have continued to stare at the tree and so my food would have continued to taste delicious. Alas, I finish. I am pleased but tormented, nonetheless. Why must I suffer?

The crimson of the sky darkens, I start to feel ants on my neck. Tiny feet marching on my sweaty scruff. It’s my cue to start walking again. I shake off the bugs, pat at the dampness on my butt and leave. My steps are heavier, but I keep a steady pace. At this point you may wonder who I am and where I am going. “It’s getting late”. I shouldn’t be out, right?

Right.

While on my way, I pick some mushrooms and stash them in my backpack.

The way ahead is darker but quiet still. I slip back into my head where I find you. You’re still there hanging around, curious. The rhythm of my steps, the constant shuffle of the leaves, provides a good immersive environment. Not that I need it anymore, my daydreaming is pathological at this point. “Maladaptive, maladaptive, maladaptive., mala-…"

We engage in conversation; you take the form of whatever human figure I need in that moment. You’re a friend, or a familiar presence, or so I think.

I trip and stumble on a patch of raised ground. It’s pitch black, hours must have passed. What did we talk about again?

I have a flashlight and so I use it. I can finally see where I am going. I become wary and my focus shifts to my surroundings. I tread carefully to not wake whatever’s hiding in the darkness. Like a fox or a bear, I don’t believe in monsters.

It’s getting colder but I must go on. I must keep moving for now, as dark as it may get. Nothing can make me stop now. I move my flashlight around to peer at what's in my path. Trees, but these are slightly bent at the trunk, they lean into one another, they’re hunched back, like old people.

My boots keep me warm into the night, my feet thankful in them, snuggled up in two pairs of socks, and covered in Band-Aids. There is no end in sight, no indication of change ahead, and if I met a brown-leaved tree before, now all of them are black, beside the line of sight lit by my flashlight that serves as a ray of emerald hope.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

It starts to rain, heavy drops hit my shoulders and the top of my head. I pretend not to notice yet as if that makes me waterproof.

“I’m not an interesting person.” I respond to the curious character in my head: you.

“I'm just walking around, looking for the exit.” I tell you nonchalantly, you pretend to care or... I make you seem like you pretend to care.

“Exit?” you ask bemusedly, as if you did not know already, but you do. How could you not?

“Well, yes, I’ve been stuck here for a while, and I would like to go back.”

You pause.

Have I finally had enough? I realize I am soaked, and the rain is still falling. I swipe a warm hand on my face, brushing off the wetness. Maybe a little bit more.

Although it’s much colder in the woods at night, it’s still summer, therefore I can endure this slight discomfort for a little bit longer. Moments like these make me wonder if I am relentless at the wrong time.

“What’s back?” You ask suddenly. “Where is back?”

I shift in front of you, as if hesitant to answer. Even in my head I have trouble formulating a sincere answer.

“Well, back. Back is before...” I start but falter and fail to continue, to finish.

Is the rain dying down?

“So, back is still here only back in time?” You’re a prick.

“No, no, I meant, back is where I was before.”

I swear I hear you scoff at me. It makes me snarl and I become self-conscious.

The air smells deliciously of wet moss, dirt, and mountain flowers. I inhale deeply and feel fixed for a moment. Not enough. But it does smell pretty in comparison to me. I reek of wet dog, which is ODD because I am human?

“Before what?” I start to dislike you, but I cannot bring myself to tell you. Maybe I really am ridiculous.

“Before...” I begin with confidence, but my thoughts freeze in my synapses. “I am not sure.”

The rain stopped.

I entertain this entire dialogue as if it’s not completely insane and continue walking through the pitch-black forest that could kill me very easily, yet here I am not acknowledging the possibility.

“Before I started feeling like this, I guess. Before you.” A confession. I sigh out loud and stop again. I stop because my anxiety tells me to stop, because it makes me physically react. I cup my face in my own hands and groan, the pads of my fingers dip into my skin, my jaw is clenched. I stop for good by a tall tree.

I am done. I decide to wait out the night. I sit down, knees to my chest, arms around them. My forehead rests against my legs and I try to wait it out.

I try to wait it out, because, unlike the rain, anxiety feels like death, like walking around with rot in your chest and brain. The rain weighs down its wetness on you like a blanket, but the fear, the dread, seeps into your blood and circulates inside you round and round and round and ...round and round.

I don’t sleep when your voice finds me again, pinned to the tree. I’ve lit a small fire and I’m toasting my fingers and feet over the flames.

“You stopped.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I got scared.” I feel shame pool in my stomach. It’s a different kind of rot, shame.

“Of animals?” You so innocently ask, making me chuckle. I think about the nature of my fear, and it is indeed irrational.

“No, I don’t know why. I just feel scared.” My fingers reach closer to the fire, welcoming a pleasant burn.

“Are you lost?”

“I most certainly am. Forwards and backwards don’t mean anything anymore.”

“I know where the exit is.”

My forehead leans against my knees again. I pretend not to hear what you just said because I cannot entertain this madness further without spraining my brain.

Hours pass probably, morning breaks over the endless rows of trees. Birds, insects, rustling, hums, sploshes, the fire dying at my feet.

Deep into the woods the sun doesn’t reach so easily in the morning. It feels colder than last night.

I raise my head, feeling nauseous. I glance up and my heart stops, then I hear you looping in the background of my mind.

“I know where the exit is.”

Above me, brown. At my feet heavy, black, a gun. Did I even move? Did I ever start walking?

“Please tell me where I am” I plead gutturally. I stoop so low into my own melon and start negotiating with my imagination. My thoughts convey a rapid response.

“At your feet, at your feet, pick it up and pack it in.”

I gawk at the gun. Filthy, phallic object. I often dreamed of it, kissed it, warm mouth on cold steel one and then fireworks, celebration, followed by pitch black sky. I feel sick to my stomach. I refuse. I will not reduce myself to spilled guts.

“I will not.” I protest.

“It’s not for you. Christ, you’re pathetic. I did not just bend the very fabric of your mind to materialize a gun at your feet so you can off yourself.”

And for the first time, you don’t sound like me anymore. Your voice is no longer my imagination, imitating the feel of sound, your voice is sound, genuine vibration, prickling the hairs in my ears and traveling up my spine into my head. And it’s the most you’ve said since we’ve started talking.

I think I can see you even, you look farther away than you sound. But no, it's not you, no. I swallow the dryness in my throat. I am losing it.

The gun sits by my ankle, real as me and the trees around. I know you said not to, but what if? What if I would? And this feeling, I learn now, is not new. This feeling does not surprise me, the more I let it play in my mind. It’s familiar, like I’ve thought it a million times before.

Oh.

“Stop, just pick up the gun and do what I say.”

“Is it true?”

“Do what I say.”

“But is it?”

Radio silence. I feel bad, it seems like you know more than me. What happened? I pick the gun up to weigh it in my palm. I abandon any attempt at communicating with you, as it seems you only like to give orders. I’m mad at you. I’m mad.

Sudden jolt of pain in my temple, sudden ringing in my ears, sudden metal taste on my tongue. I stand up and start running, still holding the gun. I run in frequent strides.

I stop, the ringing is still there but distant. I look at the hand holding the gun, my finger pressed on the trigger. I gag. My retching echoes through the woods. I start yelling.

“Where are you?” I search around.

“Just say something, please. Say anything.”

I look up, I curse myself for the nth time. Crimson sky again. I toss the gun away. It’s impossible, it was morning just a moment ago.

There is deep hunger in my gut, sharp pain in my legs, I look unkept, like I’ve been in the woods for days. My palm cramps when I try to straighten my hand, like I’ve clutched the gun for hours.

The sky bleeds over me, bringing forth cold air and uneasiness. I am yet to find out what happened, who died if not me? I haven’t found a corpse yet. I’ve swept the area several times. I even looked for freshly dug dirt in case I buried whatever poor creature I ended. Maybe I did not shoot anyone, maybe the gun just went off by itself and startled me into a state of confusion. Am I even capable of such an act? I don’t remember many things about myself. Or rather, I don’t know if I don’t remember or there is nothing to remember. Maybe there is no edge to my existence that’s worth forming memories of.

Maybe I’ve been surviving, entered auto pilot and remained stuck in it until right now when the system failed or realized I am not supposed to be here and kicked me out like a virus.

Am I out?

There were no feelings before, but now I ache in and out. Is this what it means to be present? I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be here, it’s been 5 minutes and I’ve already shot someone.

I remember you asking about me and I gave you a flavorless response, and then you tried to be polite and entertain the nonsense. Then...

I must be mad because I start looking for a faceless, voiceless bundle of electrical and chemical signals that once passed through my piss poor excuse of a brain. You could be anything from the worm in the dirt, to the leaf on the tree, to the crimson of the sky, and I wouldn’t know because there is no way I can recognize you, there is no familiarity to you.

I frown when I look for the gun and fail to locate it. I dropped it behind me and now it’s air.

That damned gun, something ripped when it appeared, when you...

“…bend the fabric... to materialize”, “I know the exit.”, “...the exit.”

Exit.

Something ripped open. The pain, the ringing in my ears. I pat at my ache but find nothing.

I see the brown leaved tree again and I go sit under it. This I remember, I assume the same position as last night, however now my body feels no tension, and there are no bugs on my back. There probably weren’t any insects to begin with.

I still don’t remember anything else, but as I stare ahead, I feel my gut warm up in anticipation of remembering every single detail from this point on.

Stupid. It feels stupid and cheesy.

What if I fall into the other extreme? I don’t want to remember everything.

I shut my eyes; I try to forget that I ever wished for something like this. I chase back the darkness, the absence, but I am present, forced to change, too settled in this newfound reality, something is different.

My fingers comb through the dirt under me, my hand gets covered in mud and worms. It’s cold but comforting, soft almost. I play with it but suddenly it’s thick, hard, no longer malleable and friendly. My fingers meet resistance. My back sinks into softness, the trunk of the tree morphing into plush.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

I look down and find my fingers dug into leather cushion armrests. I stare ahead and I am met by a scrutinizing stare. I shift in and out of focus, re-entering the space at different times during the conversation. Some words stick to me like smoke.

“Catatonia”, “psychosis”, “epilepsy”.

“Who are you?” I interrupt.

“Your doctor.” A crooked finger points towards a pretentious name tag. Right. But then I see, on the white lab coat, under the tag, a silhouette embroidered in shiny brown thread: a tree. On the wall, behind the doctor, painted on texturized surface, a brown tree. On the file, sat on the desk, printed brown on white, a tree.

Found you.

“You’ve got epilepsy. But you’ll live.”

“I remember you.”

“I highly doubt it.” Yeah, it’s you. Prick.

“You were mute, nonresponsive, stuck. Until we medicated you.”

“You kept telling me about the exit.” Your ears perk up, eyes slightly widen.

A beat.

You smile genuinely. “Guess you found it, then, huh?”

“What was it?”

You chuckle. “Intravenous antipsychotics and electroconvulsive therapy.”

“Explains the gun and the rain.” I note. You note...in writing.

“So, tell me about that.”

...

#writers #writeblr #writers on tumblr #free writing #suicide #mental h #mental il #medica #psychiatry #guns tw #fiction #writing prompt

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mintleavees · 1 year

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Couple quick sketches of my ocs, Lariena and Medica!

(they are gay and dumb)

I haven't drawn either of them in ages so this was a welcome breath of fresh air

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salah-dafri · 1 year

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you have an emergency at home and no doctor can come by, this is the solution !!! The home doctor book !

for more info click here!

#medcine #emergency #save life #medica #médico #medico #médicos #medicos #medicossemfronteiras #medicina #medicodosmedicos #cardiologista #cardiologia #biomedicina

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tony-the-seventy-third · 19 hours

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"Are you okay?"

"Yeah" I say as I take another pill that is supposed to improve my mental health.

#mental illness #medica #medication #depressed #neruodivergent #shit post #blah

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cosasmedstudent-arg · 2 months

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1° Rotación Semiología medica. Marzo 2024

Hay muchas cosas que aprender en esta etapa, espero poder comprender todo lo que nos dicten y llevarlo a la práctica de la manera más efectiva posible.

#medicine #cosas que escribo #estudiantes #medicina #argentina #en español #latino #america #tendencia #libros #semiología #medica #clinica #salud #cuerpo humano #anatomia #fisiologia

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daily-spanish-word · 1 year

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doctor, physician el médico, la médica

Remember: medical, Medicare, medication…

I don’t know if he is a doctor. No sé si él es médico.

Picture by Nelson Santos on Flickr

#doctor #doctor house #medico #medica #medical #Medicare #medication #physician #spanish #vocabulary #vocab #español #hint #mnemonic #wotd #word of the day

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avvychris · 3 months

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Medical Weight Loss In Schaumburg

Losing Weight is a lifelong commitment, and it can be difficult to do it alone. Medical weight loss, or medically supervised weight loss, is a non-surgical treatment option for people who need help with more than diet and exercise to lose weight. There are multiple medical weight loss clinics in Schaumburg to lose weight in the fastest way. This weight loss option is preferred over many because it specifically focuses on each body's metabolism, body composition, and fat percentage. Medical Weight loss programs were created because Obesity is a condition that is one of the leading causes of heart disease in the nation, science has proved that obesity is curable, and it is treated with the proper medical attention. A medical weight loss program, it is primarily a number-based game on calories and exercise. The more you exercise, the fewer calories you consume will equally decrease body fat.

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#health #medical weight loss #fitness #medica

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drnishupandey · 4 months

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Best Sexologist in Patna || Best Sexologist in Bihar

Dr. Nishu Kumar Pandey is the best sexologist in Patna with his expertise in providing ayurvedic treatments for the sexual treatment in Patna. Dr. Nishu Kumar Pandey has a vast experience of doing treatment for Sexual Disease.

Dr. Nishu Kumar Pandey, one of the famous sexologist in Patna has bagged many awards such as Acharya Charak Award Sexologist award and many more which makes him the top sexologist in Bihar. For More Informatio Visite Us:- Website:- http://www.drnishupandey.com Facebook:- https://www.facebook.com/ishanclinicpatnabest Instagram:- https://www.instagram.com/ishanclinicpatna/ Youtube:- https://www.youtube.com/c/ishanclinic Pinterest:- https://in.pinterest.com/drnishupandey/ Tumblr:- https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ishanclinic Quora:- https://drnishupandeybestsexologistinpatna.quora.com/ Linkedin:- https://www.linkedin.com/in/nishu-pandey-325359239/

Contact No:- 072502 59685

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paulibarcenas · 4 months

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BIOSCANER

¿Qué es el Bioscáner? El Análisis Cuántico de Resonancia Magnética o también conocido como Scanner Cuántico Biomagnético, se basa en el principio de que el cuerpo humano es un conjunto de numerosas células, que se están continuamente desarrollando, dividiendo, regenerando y muriendo. Al dividirse, las células se renuevan a si mismas. En los adultos, alrededor de 25 millones de células se dividen…

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#BENEFICIOS #BIOESCANER #ESTUDIOS #INTERPRETACIÓN #MEDICA #MEDICINA #SALUD

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pathologylab · 5 months

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G2M: A Global Triumph!

Last week, #G2M booths at #Medica Germany, #AMP USA, and Lung #Conference Paris became the epicenter of innovation and #collaboration! Scientists, industry experts and researchers flocked to witness groundbreaking discoveries in the field of molecular #diagnostics, genetic research and explored the future of #healthcare.

The energy was electrifying as minds united, sparking new ideas and shaping the next era of healthcare advancements. Thank you to everyone who contributed to the success of these #events. Together, we're pioneering a healthier world.

Stay tuned for more updates as we continue to lead the way in healthcare innovation!

#genes2me #germany #usa #paris #lungcancer #exhibition #rtpcr #ivd #kits #solutions #ngs #poc #panels