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Parents urged to get kids vaccinated after Liverpool death

Parents urged to get kids vaccinated after Liverpool death

Yahoo19-07-2025
Parents in Wiltshire are being urged to ensure their children's vaccinations are up to date after a child in Liverpool died from measles.
Measles is highly contagious and the effects can be fatal, medics warn.
Measles, Mumps, and Rubella vaccinations are offered to children in two stages.
The first dose, MMR1, is typically given around 12 months of age, while the second dose, MMR2, is usually administered around three years of age.
Both doses are necessary for optimal protection against these three viral diseases.
The World Health Organisation says at least 95 per cent of children in a community should be vaccinated to ensure herd immunity because measles is so contagious.
In Wiltshire, vaccination rates are well above the South West and UK averages, but still dip below the 95 per cent target for the MMR2 jab.
In the year 2023-24, 96.3 per cent of children in the county had received their MMR1 jab by the age of five, while 92 per cent had received the MMR2 vaccination.
In Wiltshire, vaccination rates climbed to an all-time high in 2020-21 and 2021-22 before declining slightly.
MMR 1 vaccination rates increased marginally between 2022-23 and 2023-24 but MMR 2 vaccination rates declined slightly.
In the South West, there were 112 laboratory confirmed measles cases in 2024, with 40 of those cases being reported in children aged five and under.
In 2025 so far, there have been 58 laboratory confirmed measles cases, with children under five accounting for 29 cases.
Fewer than 10 cases were reported in Wiltshire, so the county does not feature individually in health statistics.
The UK Health Security Agency is responsible for monitoring the disease, promoting vaccination, and responding to outbreaks.
In a statement, the UKHSA South West said: 'Measles is highly contagious and can cause serious complications.
'It is preventable with the MMR vaccine, so parents should make sure their children are up to date and catch up on any missed doses.'
Symptoms to look out for include cold-like symptoms, followed by a rash a few days later. Some people may also get small spots in their mouth.
This progresses with a distinctive rash that starts on the face or behind the ears and then spreads to the rest of the body.
Measles can leave people seriously ill and even be fatal.
While the incident in Liverpool is only the second reported death of a child from measles in the past five years, health authorities are concerned about the UK's low vaccination rate.
In Liverpool, only 73 per cent of children aged five have received the necessary two shots, while in parts of London – where over 1,300 cases of measles were reported last year – vaccine uptake is below 65 per cent.
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Former nurse loses legal challenge over registration of private gender clinic
Former nurse loses legal challenge over registration of private gender clinic

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time36 minutes ago

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Former nurse loses legal challenge over registration of private gender clinic

A former nurse has lost a High Court legal challenge over the health watchdog's decision to register England's first private clinic offering gender treatment to young people. Susan Evans and a mother known as XX took legal action against the Care Quality Commission (CQC) over its decision to register the Gender Plus Hormone Clinic (GPHC) in Birmingham in January last year. The two also challenged the regulator's decision last December to continue the clinic's registration and to allow it to prescribe cross-sex hormone treatment to 16 and 17-year-olds without conditions. The clinic, which was rated outstanding by the watchdog last year, treats people aged 16 and older, including through prescribing gender-affirming – masculinising or feminising – hormones, but, in line with the NHS, does not prescribe puberty blockers. Lawyers for the women told a hearing in June that the CQC had acted 'irrationally' and made decisions that were 'simply not open to it', given the NHS's stance on hormone treatment for children aged 16 and 17 in light of the Cass Review. The CQC and GPHC opposed the challenge, with barristers telling the hearing in London that the legal challenge was 'fatally flawed' and the clinic was found to be 'committed to the safety and best interests of its patients'. In a ruling on Thursday, Mrs Justice Eady dismissed the claim, saying there was 'no irrationality in the decisions reached' and they were within the 'rational range' of options available to the watchdog. Hormone treatment was previously provided on the NHS at the now-closed Gender Identity Development Service (Gids) run by Tavistock and Portman NHS Foundation Trust, where Ms Evans worked. But a review published by Baroness Cass in April last year said 'extreme caution' should be demonstrated when deciding to prescribe the treatment to 16 and 17-year-olds, and that there should be 'clear clinical rationale for providing hormones at this stage rather than waiting until an individual reaches 18'. The NHS has opened three specialist children's gender clinics and has plans for a further five covering the seven NHS regions in England by the end of 2026, but has said that all recommendations for hormone interventions must be endorsed by a national multi-disciplinary team (MDT). It is understood that the MDT has not yet received any recommendations for hormone treatment for 16 and 17-year-olds since the Cass Review. GPHC was set up by Dr Aidan Kelly and is led by nurse consultant Paul Carruthers, who both worked at Gids, and has previously said it primarily treats patients aged between 16 and 25, using its own MDT. Tom Cross KC, for Ms Evans and XX, said in written submissions that there were 'a number of key differences' between GPHC and NHS safeguards, including that referrals to the former came from Dr Kelly's company, Kelly Psychology, which is unregulated. He said in court that the CQC had 'not factored in' parts of the treatment process on the NHS, which 'serve as important safeguards' and were 'obviously material'. He said consideration of these points would have led to the treatment of under-18s being halted. Jamie Burton KC, for the CQC, said that there was 'ample evidence' that Kelly Psychology 'did not pose an unacceptable risk' to patients, and that a 'significant number' of those assessed by the company were not referred for treatment at GPHC. The court was told that the CQC found no evidence of 'improper decision making or anything that might flag a concern', and that the CQC 'had regard' to NHS processes. Peter Mant KC, for Gender Plus Healthcare Limited, said that there was no legal requirement for a private provider to mirror NHS care and that the clinic's model was 'entirely consistent' with the Cass Review and NHS policy. In a 64-page ruling, Mrs Justice Eady said: 'Accepting that (GPHC) could neither access the NHS national MDT nor precisely replicate it, but keeping in mind the purpose of the NHS model, I cannot say that the CQC's finding of sufficient alignment was outside the reasonable range of conclusions open to it.' She continued: 'The range was set by reference to the substance that underpinned the NHS structures, not merely the choices made as to the form that those structures should take. 'Applying that approach, as I am satisfied the CQC did, the decisions reached fall within the rational range, and the CQC was entitled to conclude that no further conditions were required.'

When I Was 7, I Stopped Feeling Any Kind Of Pain. Years Later, I Finally Learned Why.
When I Was 7, I Stopped Feeling Any Kind Of Pain. Years Later, I Finally Learned Why.

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timean hour ago

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When I Was 7, I Stopped Feeling Any Kind Of Pain. Years Later, I Finally Learned Why.

I got my wisdom teeth pulled without anesthesia or laughing gas. When the dental surgeon sent me home with a packet of prescription-strength Advil, I didn't take it. Instead, I drove to the community center and taught my weekly guitar class, my cheeks swelling into grapefruits as my students practiced their D-G-A chord progressions. Ego-wise, calling out wasn't an option (I was only lovable because I was reliable, I told myself) and this didn't warrant a sick day, anyway. I barely felt a thing. I also don't remember feeling discomfort when my knee popped out in gym class, or when I fainted during a sweltering marching band parade, or when my appendix almost exploded. My high pain tolerance didn't just apply to physical wounds, either; it also dulled the emotional ones. Fear, guilt, awkwardness, jealousy, grief, heartache — I could numb it all. I learned this skill when I was 7 years old. My older brother had undiagnosed bipolar disorder. Emotions swelled inside of him, too big to contain, so he'd punch holes in the walls, or burst into our rooms at 3 a.m., or threaten to end his life. Reactions only fueled the fire — my mother's anxiety and my father's guilt like kindling below the log. Coaxing my brother up from a low or down from a high required a calm, collected presence — someone who could stifle their reactions and use logic to mediate the situation. Someone whose own emotions didn't get in the way. I was the ideal candidate. By middle school, my parents had started relying on me to deescalate his episodes. When I succeeded, I was called all of the things I wanted to be: a good girl. The easy one. Such a blessing. Twice, the dispatchers on the other end of the 911 call complimented my maturity and bravery. So did the cops who took my brother to yet another inpatient facility. Eventually, I wore my robotic mask into the world to see how other people responded. Teachers loved that I got straight As and never spoke out of turn. Friends stopped calling me bossy. Adults deemed me 'one of the most well-mannered children they'd ever met.' It seemed that everyone else liked me better when I had no needs of my own, so somewhere along the line, my emotional suppression went from a temporary tactic to a permanent state of being. By the time my best friend died by suicide when we were 19, I felt almost nothing. This skill had its perks, but it also had its detriments: all logic and no emotion makes Maria an abysmal girlfriend. The only thing I could feel was the hit of dopamine that accompanied a new love interest, so I sabotaged relationship after relationship in pursuit of it. Yes, I was incapable of feeling pain — but I was also incapable of empathy, vulnerability, and connection. At 28, I ended a three-year relationship with a good guy so I could pursue an impulsive fling with a not-so-good one. Something had to give. I was tired of being a romantically inept robot. Desperate to figure out what was wrong with me, I booked an appointment with a psychologist who specialized in childhood trauma. Right off the bat, she diagnosed me with a dissociative disorder. If I were capable of feeling anything, I would've felt relief. My high pain tolerance suddenly made so much sense. According to WebMD, 'Dissociation is a break in how your mind handles information,' and that includes sensory inputs from your body. One study in The Journal of Pain found that those with PTSD-induced dissociation exhibited hyposensitivity to pain. Basically, the higher the dissociation, the higher the tolerance. An overload of trauma can cause the nervous system to shut down entirely. In one of our intake sessions, I asked my therapist why I felt so addicted to my numbness. Her response was fascinating. 'Your body has its own pain-relief system, and it actually produces opioids,' she said. 'When you're dissociated, the endogenous opioid system is in overdrive. You're pumping out endorphins all the time to protect yourself from emotional or physical pain. Like any drug, it's addictive.' In other words, I didn't need anesthesia because I was constantly making my own. I wanted to be human again. I wanted to feel love, joy and gratitude — but, like a bottle of Vicodin, dissociation was my coping mechanism. So much of my identity was tied up in my numbness. I believed I would no longer be fiercely reliable. I'd have to call out sick from work. I'd have to stop answering my phone at all hours of the night for the people who loved me because I lacked boundaries. I'd be susceptible to illness, anxiety, stress, and worst of all, heartbreak. I would no longer be the girl who could handle anything. I didn't know who I was without my dissociation, but I wanted to find out. Four weeks after my diagnosis, I started Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, or EMDR. It's a psychotherapy technique that uses bilateral eye movements to stimulate memory processing, which helps the brain recover from trauma. Essentially, you focus on your worst memories and move your eyes back and forth. My hopes were not particularly high. How could something as small as eye movements fix something as big as depersonalization-derealization disorder? But EMDR worked, and it worked fast. In my first EMDR session, my therapist told me to focus on my earliest negative memory while I watched a blue square bounce back and forth on my computer screen. I did it once: Nothing. Twice: Nada. Three times: Nope. And then the dam broke open. Sensations poured into my cells. I could feel everything, all at once. One emotion loomed especially large, casting a shadow over the rest: I was terrified of being unlovable. That's why I left everyone else before they could leave me — before they could sense the messiness underneath the cold, polished armor. This odd therapy technique completely overrode my body's hyperactive pain-relief system. Over the next 48 hours, I experienced all of the hurt, grief, abandonment and heartache I had blocked out for the past two decades. It was excruciating, and I wanted nothing more than to turn back into a robot. But with the help of EMDR and this knowledgeable, compassionate therapist, I kept going. We spent the next four years sifting through these memories and emotions, finally processing them so I could let them go. When pain arose, I felt it. I let the messiness settle in my body, making peace with its presence. Despite the raw discomfort of vulnerability, the hurt of rejection, the guilt of past mistakes, and the occasional panic attack, I resisted the foggy, familiar lure of numbness. I'm still tempted by it — I'm sure all addicts are — but I've never gone back. Now, I'm in a healthy relationship with a kind, supportive man. He slept over one night two years ago and never left, but I don't feel the urge to jump ship. I no longer want to chase the dopamine hit of someone new. I want this man to know and accept every part of me, the way I've come to know and accept every part of myself. While I'm not cured (healing is a nonlinear, never-ending road), I've learned that pain is a fundamental part of life. Without it, you're not truly living. It's the catalyst for transformation. It's the compass that leads you toward growth. It's the contrast that illuminates all the beautiful parts of being a fractured, feeling human being. Maria Cassano is a writer and editor whose work has appeared in Bustle, CNN, Food & Wine, Allure, NBC, The Daily Beast, Elite Daily, and YourTango, among dozens of other publications. Represented by Emma Fulenwider at WordServe Literary, Maria's memoir about healing from dissociation, 'Numb, Party of One,' is currently out on submission to publishing houses. Learn more about it at Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@ Related... I Suddenly Have 4 Severe Dents In My Head And I'm Trying To Accept My New Appearance When My Husband Died, I Did Something That May Shock And Disturb You. I Hope This Explains Why. I Thought Coming Out To My Mom Would Bring Us Closer. Then I Received Something Shocking In The Mail. Solve the daily Crossword

'I'd bet my house' on treatment for Alzheimer's, says Nobel prize winner
'I'd bet my house' on treatment for Alzheimer's, says Nobel prize winner

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time2 hours ago

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'I'd bet my house' on treatment for Alzheimer's, says Nobel prize winner

A Nobel Prize-winning Scottish chemist has told the BBC he thinks drugs to treat Alzheimer's disease will be available within five years. Princeton University's Prof David MacMillan, who is originally from North Lanarkshire, said "phenomenal things" are happening within medical research into neurological diseases. "I would bet my house that within five years that we have marketed drugs for Alzheimer's," Prof MacMillan told the BBC's Scotcast podcast. "My father died of vascular dementia and my aunt had dementia. I think that's such a horrible way to go." The Scottish scientist was awarded the 2021 Nobel Prize in Chemistry alongside Prof Benjamin List after developing a new way of building molecules. Their work has led to developments in drugs for Alzheimer's, cancer and heart disease. Prof MacMillan, 57, said the award had made a massive impact on his life "On a Tuesday morning, I was a chemist that nobody, including half my pals, had been interested in talking to," he said. "Then on the Wednesday, I was talking to like the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. "It was crazy - and I thought it would slow down but it just keeps on going." Prof MacMillan was awarded a half share of 10 million Norwegian krona (£842,611). He used it to set up The May and Billy MacMillan Foundation, named after his parents, where he funds Scottish students, providing educational opportunities to underprivileged young people. He said education and learning was always good and gaining more experience was incredibly important. It is something he knows about from his own life. He grew up in New Stevenston, near Bellshill, and gained his undergraduate degree in chemistry at the University of Glasgow before moving to the US for postgraduate studies. "I realised that education is your passport to the world," he said. After studying in California in the early 1990s, he moved to Harvard and the University of California at Berkeley before becoming a professor at Princeton in 2006. He said working in the US had been great because its "research is the infrastructure that drives the health of the world". The possibilities of the people he was able to collaborate with had been "mind-boggling", he said. However, recent developments in US universities are causing concern, he said. President Donald Trump and his Vice-President JD Vance have long railed against higher education institutions and they have been putting pressure on them over funding. For the first time in 25 years, Prof Macmillan's research group at Princeton has received no funding for the first seven months of the year from the US government. He said: "Americans still care about the Nobel Prize. "If that could happen to somebody like me, it could happen to anybody." The scientist said that academics were now the resistance as they try to deal with the politics of the current US administration "without selling their soul". Prof MacMillan said the cuts were "quite sinister" because it seemed like a way to control universities and the narrative by deciding who they can hire. Higher education has become a hub for progressive thinking, which in his opinion, he said the Republicans don't like. "What they care the most about is retaining power," he said. Despite the pressure in the US, Prof MacMillan is not planning a return to Scotland just yet but he does regularly come back to see family - and some newfound friends. He told the podcast he had become good friends with a Scottish legend who phoned to congratulate him after he won the Nobel prize. Most people would ignore a call that said 'No Caller ID' but he answered to find Sir Alex Ferguson on the other end of the line. The professor, who was himself knighted in 2022, said he thought one of his friends had been joking with him by pretending to be Sir Alex. But he recognised that the voice sounded too similar to the former Manchester United football manager. The two spoke about their common ground of growing up in Glasgow and the pair are now good friends who will be watching Manchester United play Chelsea together later in the year. Prof MacMillan not only sits next to Sir Alex at football games, the two will now feature together in the National Portrait Gallery of Scotland as the Scots chemist has had his portrait unveiled. The Scots scientist said he was "blown away by it". The painting by Christabel Blackburn depicts the chemist sitting in his office with a white lab coat in the corner. Prof MacMillan said it was actually a lab coat that he was "quite proud of" because it had been presented to him from his old school Bellshill Academy - which now sits in his office in Princeton University. 'Being Scottish helped me win Nobel Prize' Captain Kirk calls me for science lessons Nobel winner gives prize money to Scots students

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