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"A detailed historical narrative of the U.S. energy crisis in the 1970s and how policymakers responded to the turmoil"--
This book is a comprehensive guide to Targeted Drug Delivery (TDD), also known as Intrathecal Drug Delivery (IDD), and offers an overview to this unique form of treatment. The medication is delivered by intrathecal pumps and is less common than some other techniques for interventional pain management, but is essential in conditions such as refractory pain, cancer pain, multifocal pain, severe spasticity, and in patients who are not candidates for surgical correction of their underlying condition. This book is the first source to describe both the optimal surgical implantation and patient management aspect of this therapy, and thus will be a valuable single reference guide for interventional radiologists, anesthesiologists, physiatrists, oncologists, neurologists, spine surgeons, palliative care physicians, and primary care physicians.
Pain at the pump : policies that suppress domestic production of oil and gas : hearing before the Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, House of Representatives, One Hundred Twelfth Congress, first session, May 24, 2011.
Pain at the pump: policies that suppress domestic production of oil and gas: hearing before the Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, House of Representatives, One Hundred Twelfth Congress, first session, May 24, 2011.
While there has been increasing interest in recent years in the welfare of farm animals, fish are frequently thought to be different. In many people's perception, fish, with their lack of facial expressions or recognisable communication, are not seen to count when it comes to welfare. Angling is a major sport, and fishing a big industry. Millions of fish are caught on barbed hooks, or left to die by suffocation on the decks of fishing boats. Here, biologist Victoria Braithwaite explores the question of fish pain and fish suffering, explaining what we now understand about fish behaviour, and examining the related ethical questions about how we should treat these animals. She asks why the question of pain in fish has not been raised earlier, indicating our prejudices and assumptions; and argues that the latest and growing scientific evidence would suggest that we should widen to fish the protection currently given to birds and mammals.
Books on how to improve gas mileage for cars are everywhere. But here is one that you will always keep, for it is not a cut and dry listing of do's and don'ts that is merely a rehash of what is common knowledge. The author is a certified car nut who is totally into things automotive and he can get carried away when it comes to squeezing the last ounce of go-power out of a gallon of gas, and so his book goes beyond just the theoretical. All the fun of a road-trip is here. The cruise night, with all the cars pictured are illustrated free hand by him to add to the rollicking fun. And the show-and-tell covering the things he has done to his Corolla to make it go the distance like a Prius alone will get you excited. His little microcar, a 1958 Berkeley, gets over 60 miles per gallon. It has got him excited about getting the word out that small cars can be big in that they can free us from having to depend on foreign oil. With today's technologies they can make them better, stronger and more durable. Until we can ride around in the new generation of gas-sipping microcars, we will have to do what we can to make every gallon of gas go as far as possible. This book will show you how. Let all the pain Big Oil is causing you to dissipate into the desert dust, as you pack up and go on this imaginary road-trip. And you can leave your gas can at home.
This textbook provides an overview of pain management useful to specialists as well as non-specialists, surgeons, and nursing staff.
She exhaled deeply and grinned from ear to ear. Christy Arlington had always been the center of attention. The most sought after girl in her school, ever since puberty that is, and she knew it. She never had a problem finding a date for anything, and she never had to ask. That was a good thing too because she would never ask. She was Christy Arlington after all. She couldn’t remember a day when a boy hadn't at least attempted to ask her out. Not a single day. She used the word “attempted” because a good portion of the boys became nervous and began to stutter when they approached her with the intention of asking her out. They would smile stupidly and carry on in another direction. Usually, mumbling under their breath. Even the most popular boys couldn’t keep their attention on anything else when Chisty was around - she knew that too. But… this ASSHOLE, this nappy-toothed, nappy-haired, nappy-skinned, grotesque clothed, creepy degenerate freak of a human male had the audacity to pretend that she didn't even exist. As if she was not standing there, at that precise moment, pestering him to turn on the damn gas pump so she could get some friggin’ gas. Actually, she thought, he hasn’t completely erased me from his reality. Because, since she approached the counter, he hadn’t looked at anything other than her breasts. She hadn’t even seen him blink. She was used to boys staring at her breasts. It made her uncomfortable every time, but it was one of those things that she couldn’t escape. She had no intention of dressing like an old lady. So, she weighed the pros and cons and decided she would have to learn to deal with immature boys trying to look down my shirt sometimes. She had learned to use this to her advantage. Usually, boys would just give her anything she asked for. Hoping to be rewarded with her phone number. Sometimes they wanted more than that. It made her think less of them, but she didn’t refuse the special treatment. This loser definitely isn’t getting my number. Evidently, he was lingering in some deep subconsciousness and had no grasp on the here and now anyway. No matter what she did she couldn’t break his trance. He just stood there lightly swaying side to side and back and forth, not making a sound, just staring blankly at her chest. Or, maybe, not at my chest. “Hey”, she hadn’t been paying attention to the clerk. She had been in a daze of her own. There was a certain amount of shock on her brain. Residual confusion from the movie she had watched before stopping for gas. Something about a COP investigating a school bombing. It turned out to be some type of supernatural occurrence. Along with some psycho sacrificing children in an attempt to open a doorway to the dark dimension. She still hadn’t completely grasped the whole concept. She was definitely going to have to watch it again. It was one of those types of movies. She wouldn’t mind. He was still staring at her chest and it was becoming increasingly annoying. She crossed her arms over her breasts. This did nothing to deter his stare. She leaned out of his direct line of sight and he didn’t follow her. She wondered if he had been staring at her at all. For a moment she thought that he actually did not know she was there. Was he simply staring at nothing, she wondered, have I simply stood in his way? She shoved that epiphany aside quickly. Her fragile self-esteem couldn’t handle such a realization. She could not accept going completely unnoticed. Especially by someone so far beneath her on the social scale. “Hey, loser. What is wrong with you? Are you retarded or something? Did you forget to take your pills? Am I speaking too quickly for you?” She finished the sentence miming sign language and drawing out the words for added context. She found it hilarious. “Fffoooooooooorrrrrr yyyyyooooooouuuuuuu”. She giggled out loud. He offered no response. She removed one arm from across her chest and brought it to within inches of his face. She snapped her thumb and middle finger together making a clicking sound. “Hey” Click. “Hello” Click, click. “Loser,” she clenched her jaw hard. Her patience had worn thin. She had become extremely irritated. I could just leave and get gas down the road, or tomorrow. Something in her subconscious wouldn’t allow her to leave. Perhaps her father didn’t give her enough attention and now she couldn’t accept any boy not giving her theirs. Or, maybe her father had given her too much attention and she had become so accustomed to it that she couldn’t accept any boy not giving her theirs. No matter what the explanation, she was intrigued by this weirdo and against her better judgment she ignored her inner voice and did not go. “Are you on drugs asshole?” She screamed directly into his face.