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jane sarluis
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The Art of Medicine and the devolution of bedside manner
On the phone to the doctor’s
surgery, I speak with a receptionist. ‘I have a repeat
prescription, but I have to come every three months to renew it. I wonder if I could
have it on a six-month repeat?’ The dragon at the gate
shoots me down with the flames sh...

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Bitches, besties and the female clique
When I was a teenager, I was one of the Sydenham Six. While the
label would be more fitting for a band of fugitives than a collective of girls
from the same school, the meaning it imparted was nonetheless immediate: we
were a clique.   We didn’t give oursel...

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Turn back the clock
Social media is wielding an uncomfortable yet addictive brand
of torment for me: facebook has begun colluding with my midlife crisis. These days, it is impossible to close the door on any chapter of my life due to the surviving evidence - ever present and a...

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It's the thought that counts
There’s no avoiding it any longer, Christmas is coming. I am
braced for shopping, wish-lists are circulating, beleaguered mothers are
arriving late at the school gates after shopping expeditions, and the shops are
full of tat that will end up in a local cha...

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One boob or two?
If you’d told me when I was a teenager that I’d have a
breast amputated in my 30s, I would have gawped and wailed in horror. Back then,
looks meant so much. They certainly weren’t everything, but at the time I felt
that my appearance would dictate my fortun...

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It's a gift
Inspired by some online-friends from Breast Cancer Care, I thought I'd say it with poetry for a change.  It's a gift It’s a gift, this life. Shame I didn’t realise Before this wretched compromise. The news was not tangible. I was invincible Fearless by yout...

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A birth story
At 1.15am on a windy November night, at 36 weeks gestation, our baby daughter began to make her transition from womb to
world. It was with the ice cold stab of dread I woke,
paralysed while I made sense of the feeling: my waters had broken. This wasn’t supp...

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Living with mortality: the legacy of cancer
Oncology season is approaching again. Next month, I will
arrive with sweaty palms and dry mouth at the hospital which summons supressed fear
the moment the A-road heralds the big ‘H’ signpost. While I perch restlessly waiting
my turn alongside fellow cancer...

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Every mother loves a birth story
It is my belief that it's the privilege of every new mother to tell the
story of her labour in as much gory detail as she wishes, and for her audience
to listen politely, if not appreciatively. This was not my understanding before
I had children myself, but...

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The self-fulfilling prophecy of social media
What a pretty picture summer painted this year. If social
media is to be believed, my friends and acquaintances have spent their summers
smiling, whether they were crossing continents or raising a glass beneath the twinkly
lights of a garden party. As for w...
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