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Daily Mail
an hour ago
- Daily Mail
Hidden two-letter code reveals if your plastic containers are toxic
A hidden two-letter code stamped on plastic food containers reveals just how toxic it may be. Consumers are advised to check for labels marked PP (polypropylene) or PE (polyethylene), plastics deemed safe for food contact. These codes, often found near the recycling triangle, help identify which types of plastic are safe to use and which should be avoided, especially when exposed to heat. Polypropylene (PP) is widely used in takeout containers and food storage. It is heat-resistant, BPA-free, and generally microwave-safe, making it one of the safest plastics for reuse. Polyethylene (PE) comes in high-density (HDPE, labeled 2) and low-density (LDPE, labeled 4), which are used in items like milk jugs, plastic bags, and squeeze bottles. Another form, PET (polyethylene terephthalate, labeled 1), is commonly found in water bottles and condiment containers, but it is intended for single use only. The recycling number stamped inside the triangle on the bottom of a plastic container provides another critical clue. Numbers 1, 2, 4, and 5 are generally considered safe for food use, while 3, 6, and 7 should be avoided due to concerns over chemical leaching. Plastic labeled with a number 5 and the letters 'PP' is considered one of the safer types of plastic because it's heat-resistant and BPA-free. BPA, or bisphenol A, is an industrial chemical BPA, or bisphenol A, is found in many everyday products, including food and beverage containers, and can leach into food and drinks, especially when heated. 'Every single time that they're used, they're leaching small amounts of BPA out of them,' warned Laura Vandenberg, a professor of environmental health sciences at the University of Massachusetts Amherst BPA exposure has been linked to hormone disruption, increased risk of breast and prostate cancers, heart problems, and developmental issues in babies and children. Even small exposure to BPA can be linked to infertility, behavioral issues in children and hormone disruption, according to the National Institute of Health (NIH). Despite growing awareness, most Americans continue to use plastic containers daily, many without checking the tiny code printed on the bottom. While Tupperware has claimed all products made after March 2010 in the US and Canada are BPA-free, many households still use older containers that may not meet modern safety standards. According to Vandenberg, containers made over a decade ago, especially those that are clear, hard, and shatter-resistant, are most likely to contain BPA. Number 3, PVC (Polyvinyl Chloride), can release toxic chemicals such as lead and vinyl chloride when heated or starts breaking down. These chemicals are linked to serious health problems, including hormone imbalances, fertility issues, and cancer. Lead exposure can harm brain development, especially in children. Long-term exposure to vinyl chloride is also linked to cancer and liver damage. Number 6, Polystyrene (PS), a commonly used plastic in foam cups and takeout containers, can leach a chemical called styrene. Styrene is known to affect the nervous system, potentially causing headaches, fatigue, or memory issues with long-term exposure. It's also linked to lung and respiratory issues when inhaled or ingested over time. Number 7, Others, is a mixture of various plastics, and many of them contain bisphenol A (BPA), a chemical that can act like estrogen in the body. Experts also warn against microwaving food in plastic containers, even those marked microwave-safe, due to the increased risk of chemical leaching. 'Some plasticizers and chemicals can transfer from the plastic containers into the food during heating,' said James Rogers, director of food safety research at Consumer Reports. Other everyday practices, like scrubbing plastic containers with abrasive pads, washing them in harsh detergents, or storing acidic foods like tomato sauce or citrus, can degrade plastic and accelerate chemical release. Over time, aging plastic may also shed microplastics, raising further health concerns. Experts strongly recommend replacing older plastic containers with ones labeled BPA-free, or switching entirely to glass or stainless steel for safer long-term storage. And while recycling numbers 1 through 5 are generally safer, it's best to avoid reusing single-use plastics, such as water bottles, which were never designed to withstand repeated use.


The Independent
an hour ago
- The Independent
Expert says Adriana Smith's case goes beyond abortion politics
Adriana Smith, a 30-year-old woman from Georgia who had been declared brain-dead in February 2025, spent 16 weeks on life support while doctors worked to keep her body functioning well enough to support her developing fetus. On June 13, 2025, her premature baby, named Chance, was born via cesarean section at 25 weeks. Smith was nine weeks pregnant when she suffered multiple blood clots in her brain. Her story gained public attention when her mother criticized doctors' decision to keep her on a ventilator without the family's consent. Smith's mother has said that doctors told the family the decision was made to align with Georgia 's LIFE Act, which bans abortion after six weeks of pregnancy and bolsters the legal standing of fetal personhood. A statement released by the hospital also cites Georgia's abortion law. 'I'm not saying we would have chosen to terminate her pregnancy,' Smith's mother told a local television station. 'But I'm saying we should have had a choice.' The LIFE Act is one of several state laws that have been passed across the U.S. since the 2022 Dobbs v. Jackson decision invalidated constitutional protections for abortion. Although Georgia's attorney general denied that the LIFE Act applied to Smith, there's little doubt that it invites ethical and legal uncertainty when a woman dies while pregnant. Smith's case has swiftly become the focus of a reproductive rights political firestorm characterized by two opposing viewpoints. For some, it reflects demeaning governmental overreach that quashes women's bodily autonomy. For others, it illustrates the righteous sacrifice of motherhood. In my work as a gender and technology studies scholar, I have cataloged and studied postmortem pregnancies like Smith's since 2016. In my view, Smith's story doesn't fit straightforwardly into abortion politics. Instead, it points to the need for a more nuanced ethical approach that does not frame a mother and child as adversaries in a medical, legal or political context. Birth after death For centuries, Catholic dogma and Western legal precedent have mandated immediate cesarean section when a pregnant woman died after quickening, the point when fetal movement becomes discernible. But technological advances now make it possible sometimes for a fetus to continue gestating in place when the mother is brain-dead, or 'dead by neurological criteria'– a widely accepted definition of death that first emerged in the 1950s. The first brain death during pregnancy in which the fetus was delivered after time on life support, more accurately called organ support, occurred in 1981. The process is extraordinarily intensive and invasive because the loss of brain function impedes many physiological processes. Health teams, sometimes numbering in the hundreds, must stabilize the bodies of 'functionally decapitated' pregnant women to buy more time for fetal development. This requires vital organ support, ventilation, nutritional supplements, antibiotics and constant monitoring. Outcomes are highly uncertain. Smith's 112-day stint on organ support ranks third in length for a postmortem pregnancy, with the longest being 123 days. Hers is also the earliest ever gestational age from which the procedure has been attempted. Because time on organ support can vary widely, and because there is no established minimum fetal age considered too early to intervene, a fetus could theoretically be deemed viable at any point in pregnancy. Postmortem pregnancy as gender-based violence Over the past 50 years, critics of postmortem pregnancy have argued that it constitutes gender-based violence and violates bodily integrity in ways that organ donation does not. Some have compared it with Nazi pronatalist policies. Others have attributed the practice to systemic sexism and racism in medicine. Postmortem pregnancy can also compound intimate partner violence by giving brain-dead women's murderers decision-making authority when they are the fetus's next of kin. Fetal personhood laws complicate end-of-life decision-making in ways that many consider violent, too. As I have seen in my own research, when the fetus is considered a legal person, women's wishes may be assumed, debated in court or committee, or set aside entirely, nearly always in favor of the fetus. From the perspective of reproductive rights advocates, postmortem pregnancy is the bottom of a slippery slope down which anti-abortion sentiment has led America. It obliterates women's autonomy, pitting living and dead women against doctors, legislators and sometimes their own families, and weaponizing their own fetuses against them. A medical perspective on rights Viewed through a medical lens, however, postmortem pregnancy is not violent or violating, but an act of repair. Although care teams have responsibilities to both mother and fetus, a pregnant woman's brain death means she cannot be physically harmed and her rights cannot be violated to the same degree as a fetus with the potential for life. Medical practitioners are conditioned to prioritize life over death, motivating a commitment to salvage something from a tragedy and try to partially restore a family. The high-stakes world of emergency medicine makes protecting life reflexive and medical interventions automatic. Once fetal life is detected, as one hospital spokesperson put it in a 1976 news article in The Boston Globe, 'What else could you do?' This response does not necessarily stem from conscious sexism or anti-abortion sentiment, but from reverence for vulnerable patients. If physicians declare a pregnant woman brain-dead, patienthood often automatically transfers to the fetus needing rescue. No matter its age and despite its survival being dependent on machines, just like its mother, the fetus is entirely animate. Who or what counts as a legal person with privileges and protections might be a political or philosophical determination, but life is a matter of biological fact and within the doctors' purview. An ethics of anti-opposition Both of the above perspectives have validity, but neither accounts for postmortem pregnancy's ethical and biological complexity. First, setting mother against fetus, with the rights of one endangering the rights of the other, does not match pregnancy's lived reality of 'two bodies, sutured,' as the cultural scholar Lauren Berlant put it. Even the Supreme Court recognized this entangled duality in their 1973 ruling on Roe v. Wade, which established both constitutional protections for abortion and a governmental obligation to protect fetal life. Whether a fetus is considered a legal person or not, they wrote, pregnant women and fetuses 'cannot be isolated in their privacy' – meaning that reproductive rights issues must strike a balance, however tenuous, between maternal and fetal interests. To declare postmortem pregnancy unequivocally violent or a loss of the 'right to choose' fails to recognize the complexity of choice in a highly politicized medical landscape. Second, maternal-fetal competition muddles the right course of action. In the U.S., competent patients are not compelled to engage in medical care they would rather avoid, even if it kills them, or to stay on life support to preserve organs for donation. But when a fetus is treated as an independent patient, exceptions could be made to those medical standards if the fetus's interests override the mother's. For example, pregnancy disrupts standard determination of death. To protect the fetus, care teams increasingly skip a necessary diagnostic for brain death called apnea testing, which involves momentarily removing the ventilator to test the respiratory centers of the brain stem. In these cases, maternal brain death cannot be confirmed until after delivery. Multiple instances of vaginal deliveries after brain death also remain unexplained, given that the brain coordinates mechanisms of vaginal labor. All in all, it's not always clear women in these cases are entirely dead. Ultimately, women like Adriana Smith and their fetuses are inseparable and persist in a technologically defined state of in-betweenness. I'd argue that postmortem pregnancies, therefore, need new bioethical standards that center women's beliefs about their bodies and a dignified death. This might involve recognizing pregnancy's unique ambiguities in advance directives, questioning default treatment pathways that may require harm to be done to one in order to save another, or considering multiple definitions of clinical and legal death. In my view, it is possible to adapt our ethical standards in a way that honors all beings in these exceptional circumstances, without privileging either 'choice' or 'life,' mother or fetus.


The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
When the time comes to die, what end-of-life care would doctors choose for themselves?
The uncustomary quiet of a Sunday morning in the emergency department is broken by a universally relevant question. 'And if your heart were to suddenly stop beating, what would you like us to do?' Standing outside, all I hear is a garbled response. 'That's right,' the voice reassures. 'You wouldn't want us jumping on your chest, would you?' It seems to me that the doctor is having a one-way conversation, the kind I am about to have with my patient. Following a bad fall months ago, my patient can't speak or move. I wonder what 'further functional decline' could possibly entail but her nursing home has sent her to emergency. She has pneumonia and a high sodium level not compatible with life. Yet, when I stand next to her and take her hand in mine, she smiles at me, displaying not an iota of distress. The mild pneumonia might not take her life, but the untreated sodium level almost certainly will. What to do? Antibiotics and fluids or not? 'What would you like me to do?' I muse, hoping she will magically answer. She smiles benignly. I am torn. The doctor in the adjoining cubicle clearly doesn't want her patient undergoing CPR. I can't see how 'saving' my own patient from death would accord her better quality of life. Each doctor is making an irrevocable decision about a patient, its enormity compounded by the fact that both patients have limited capacity to participate in the conversation. But what if the patient asked, 'Doctor, if you were in my situation, what would you do?' Do doctors treat patients in the same way they would want to be treated at the end of life? A new study sheds some light on this issue. Researchers surveyed 1,157 doctors including GPs, palliative care physicians and other medical specialists working in diverse areas including Canada, Belgium and Italy, as well as the American states of Oregon, Wisconsin and Georgia, and the Australian states of Victoria and Queensland. These communities range from being socially progressive to religiously conservative to secular, with varying laws around assisted dying. The study presented doctors with two end-of-life scenarios. In one, they have Alzheimer's disease. They don't recognise loved ones, refuse oral intake and are more withdrawn. In the second, they have advanced cancer not amenable to treatment. They are experiencing severe pain and agitation, have a prognosis of no more than two weeks, and are competent to make decisions. In each case, a palliative care provider and the option of inpatient hospice is available. With preferences for end-of-life decisions including CPR, hydration, tube feeding, intensifying symptom alleviation, deep sedation until death and, where legal, assisted dying, doctors were asked to rate their own preferences from 'a very good option' to 'not at all a good option'. Across all jurisdictions, physicians universally rejected the idea of CPR and mechanical ventilation (preferred by less than 1%), tube feeding (less than 4%) and intravenous hydration (about 20%). Of all physicians, over 90% considered it important to intensify symptom relief and just over half considered euthanasia a good or very good option. Notably, a third of physicians would consider using medications at their disposal to end their own life. There are many interesting findings (regrettably, behind a paywall) but the bottom line is that when it comes to their own end-of-life care, doctors use their lived experience of medicine to choose differently, and arguably, more wisely. This should give patients and doctors food for thought. We are living in an era of medicine that often conflates more with better, an especially vexed issue at the end of life. In my own field of oncology, despite real concerns about time toxicity, overtreatment is believed to be a professionally sanctioned approach. No oncologist wants to be seen to 'do nothing' even if eschewing aggressive and harmful treatments in favour of quality of life is the opposite of doing nothing. But the more I look around, I can't help thinking that oncologists are unfairly cast as the worst offenders when evidence of futile interventions is rife across healthcare. How do grossly impaired patients end up being tube-fed? Why are frail, elderly people attached to ventilators? Why do unconscious patients receive antibiotics in their final days? Frankly, these events happen because patients or relatives demand them, and doctors find themselves unwilling or unable to say no. The desire for a good death is as universal as the fact of dying. The researchers of this study should be commended. If I were a patient, here is how I might use the study findings to help myself. Instead of directly asking my treating doctor(s) what they would do in my situation (and risk a non-answer), I would inquire what factors they would consider in reaching a crucial medical decision. I would acknowledge that personal preferences vary and explain that their library of experiences might deepen my understanding of what to do. As a physician, this study reminds me of the privilege of my role which gives me a sound basis for making highly consequential decisions. The question is how to use my knowledge and experience to empower my patients without blurring the line between personal bias and professional guidance. I believe this is possible by listening carefully to patients' stated goals and including the views of their loved ones. These conversations need time and trust, which is what underpins good doctor-patient communication. End-of-life decisions are a sensitive and complex situation, but one thing is evident to me. If doctors clearly favour less aggressive measures at the end of life, their patients deserve to know why. Ranjana Srivastava is an Australian oncologist, award-winning author and Fulbright scholar. Her latest book is called A Better Death