Latest news with #stigma
Independent Singapore
4 hours ago
- Health
- Independent Singapore
‘We're not just a doctor's helper' — SG nursing student says nurses are so poorly regarded despite how hard they work
SINGAPORE: 'Why is the stigma surrounding nurses so bad?' a local Reddit user who has chosen to study nursing asked in a June 3 (Tuesday) post. U/mashpotatoesarecool wrote on r/askSingapore wrote that every time she tells someone that she's studying nursing at a Polytechnic, they give her a 'judgy look.' Moreover, the 'nicer ones' ask her if nursing had been her first choice. 'F or anyone wondering, yes! It was my first choice,' she wrote, adding that she could have gone to a Junior College with the scores she got on her O-levels but chose not to, deciding instead to go into nursing. She also wrote that the past couple of weeks have been 'nothing but amazing so far' and that for now, she has no regrets over her decision. The post author also wondered why the cut-off point for nursing is so 'crazily high' and noted that the entry point into studying nursing at the National University of Singapore is 'so low,' adding that 'this just makes the stigma surrounding nurses SOO bad.' While others have the idea that nursing is for people who did not do well at school and have no other options, she wrote that what she's learning at the moment is quite difficult. She also touched on the low pay nurses receive, which adds to the perception that nurses are merely 'helpers for doctors,' who earn much more. 'Nurses aren't just helpers, we do so much more,' she wrote, adding that even if she could go on to study medicine, she wouldn't want to do so because of how much she loves the interaction nurses have with patients. 'Nursing is so versatile, there are so many different pathways to go to after you start working, and every day is something different,' she wrote, also noting that she would like to hear how other Singaporeans feel about nurses. Many Reddit users have weighed in on her post, and the top comments have involved thankfulness for nurses and the opinion that nurses should be paid more. Others, however, answered the post author 's question about why nurses are poorly regarded. 'Because a society like Singapore pegs admiration and respect accordingly to how much $$$ one earns, instead of integrity, dignity, and character or morality,' wrote one. Another wrote that if a nurse earned at least 75 per cent of what a doctor makes in the same number of years of experience, 'You'll see nurses being a highly coveted career in SG.' 'People are ignorant of the fact that nurses are the ones who take care of them in spite of how poorly regarded they are. It is a crime that healthcare workers are treated badly, and there needs to be a change in our society where hard physical work is looked down upon, and worse, derided for being low-class when they are the foundations of every society. And it should start with the leaders to put their money where their mouths are and start recognising and paying our nurses their worth.' /TISG See also How I used data analytics to weed cancer out of my Telegram group Read also: Nurse offered $2000 salary plus $500 housing allowance asks, 'Will I be able to survive on that?'
Telegraph
2 days ago
- General
- Telegraph
Leprosy never went away – here's proof
Leprosy, as Oliver Basciano notes in his fascinating and humane book Outcast, is more than an illness. It's a byword, a 'cultural artefact' that functions as 'a receptacle for nightmares and prejudice'; a kind of 'Ur-stigma' that has run through our collective nightmares for two millennia. Those who suffer from leprosy aren't just sick, but unclean. They were infectious and contagious long before infection or contagion were understood, and they still are, long after the latter were understood well enough to be tamed. Even though the reach of the disease itself has shrunk – from five million cases worldwide in the 1980s to a little under 200,000 today – the charge around it has not. Basciano's mission is to uncover the ways in which leprosy has been seen. He wants to provide something that's less a 'medical biography' of the disease than a cultural archaeology of the fears that become attached to it, and the ways they attach to other modes of isolating and casting out the 'undesirables' among us. While the medical facts are present, the resulting book – part history, part travelogue – is above all an analysis of the realities of prejudice and ways in which shared fears exert such outsized grips on communities. And, as Basciano tracks the disease from his native St Albans to Japan, via outposts across the world, it also becomes a meditation on the flipside of such fears: a hymn to the resilience of the cast-out and the lives they have managed to make. One medical fact shines out with painful irony: this symbol of contagion is not, in fact, all that contagious. 'Ninety-five per cent of the world's population', Basciano explains, 'is naturally immune', and most people with 'a good diet and the privilege of hygiene could spend a lifetime living with someone who is actively affected with the disease and not contract it'. For those who do contract it, Mycobacterium leprae, first isolated in 1873 by the Norwegian doctor Gerhard Armauer Hansen, is 'incredibly slow to replicate'. Its victims can remain asymptomatic for anything between five and 25 years, with the bacterium hiding out in the extremities of their body, in the far reaches of the nervous system, before the effects become manifest as a slowly increasing numbness. After that, the results can be devastating. Rashes or lesions appear – the 'scales' that give the disease its name, from the Greek leprós (scaly) – then 'damage to the skin, the upper respiratory tract, toes and fingers, the eyes and the inside lining of the nose'. As the bacterium proliferates, much of the physical harm to a sufferer's body is accidental: numbness allows knocks and cuts to go unnoticed, leading to secondary infection and scarring. Despite being treatable through a multidrug therapy that has been available since 1981, its capacity to lie dormant combines all too well with the vicissitudes of public health in countries such as India, Brazil and Indonesia. Slow diagnosis and poor treatment networks allow it to stubbornly persist. In Britain, where Basciano begins, leprosy has decayed into legend: a bogeyman of a half-real, half-imaginary medieval era. Searching out the meagre traces of a leper hospital, or leprosarium, built at the gate of medieval St Albans to house 13 devout sufferers in 1194, he outlines the gaps between the reality and the legend. Behind the 'cliché of the 'medieval leper'' with his rags and bell lay a more complex reality of leprosaria – some 19,000 across Western Europe, according to the 13th-century chronicler Matthew Paris – formed as religious communities, upheld by wealthy patrons, and run in ways that often accorded large degrees of agency and democracy to suffers. Leprosy could be seen – as in Chaucer 's 1380s poem Troilus and Criseyde – as a form of divine punishment; it could also be seen as a holy affliction, bringing the sufferer closer to God. Lepers might be subject to the same kind of persecution as Jews, yet they might be accorded surprising degrees of respect and autonomy, even to the point of being considered divine in their own right. Richard of Wallingford, elected as abbot of St Albans in 1327, remained in post despite falling prey to the disease, devoting his attention to designing and building a clock for the abbey while a coadjutor carried out the 'more strenuous duties'. The historical portion of Basciano's narrative continues with thoughtful chapters on Hansen and his promulgation of the doctrine of strict medical isolation for sufferers; on 19th-century contemporaries 'Father Damien' and Kate Marsden, who became celebrities for their dedication to the disease's victims; and on the leprosarium on South Africa's Robben Island, the isolatory regime that anticipated the apartheid government's incarceration of ANC activists there. Where the book really takes off, though, is when Basciano steps into the living legacies of leprosaria in the present, with trips to Romania, Mozambique, Brazil and Japan. Face to face with sufferers, Basciano's writing blossoms. In Mozambique, he confronts the realities of illness in a time of civil war, when aid programmes cease to function, diagnoses cease and patients disappear. In Japan, where forced sterilisations and abortions of patients continued long after the theory of hereditary transmission had been refuted, 720 patients live on in scattered sanatoria, winners of a long legal battle for recognition, simultaneously victims and members of a community on the verge of extinction. Leprosaria were refuges too, Basciano writes: places where 'utopian seeds' could take root on the stoniest ground, shielding their inmates from secret police, overriding nationalism, and even war. While the historical sections of Outcast are absorbing, Basciano's encounters turn this book into something altogether more moving and important. This is a cautionary tale: leprosy might be fading into history, but there is always another human 'contagion' to fear, if we let our fears control us. Deftly balancing learned and elegant reflection on illness and prejudice with the very human faces of the disease's sufferers, Basciano has crafted a quite brilliant book. It's a fitting tribute to outcasts who should never have been cast out.
ABC News
3 days ago
- Health
- ABC News
Women bearing the cost of obstructed abortion access
Australian women seeking abortions, particularly in regional areas, are bearing the cost of obstructed access and stigma in healthcare.
Forbes
4 days ago
- Business
- Forbes
Hearing Loss Stigma Isn't The Problem, The Hearing Industry Is
I have been living with hearing loss and working as an advocate and innovator in hearing care for decades. I am tired of hearing the same outdated refrain: stigma. Yes, stigma exists. But the way we keep talking about it — cautious, clinical, and stuck — has become part of the problem. It signals limitation instead of possibility. It feels more like a warning than an invitation. That kind of language does not inspire action. It encourages avoidance. We have been talking about stigma in hearing care for decades. Yet the messaging has not changed. It still sounds uncomfortable and hesitant. Meanwhile, public conversations around mental health, aging, and neurodiversity have evolved. But hearing care continues to fall back on language rooted in loss. It is time to change the tone entirely. That was the takeaway from this year's Future of Hearing Healthcare Conference, hosted by Hearing Health and Technology Matters. I participated in a panel discussion on the persistent stigma surrounding hearing support. While stigma remains a factor, the conversation around it is stuck. The panel agreed: the industry needs to stop expecting people to meet it on clinical terms. Instead, we must meet people where they are. We can not keep blaming stigma for lack of adoption. The hearing space has a deeper problem — a storytelling and customer experience gap that continues to turn people away. We have all heard the same list of reasons why people avoid hearing support: These excuses are decades old and yet they remain. That is because hearing aid companies have not dismantled them. Whether legacy brands or OTC newcomers, the marketing often focuses on technical features or promotional discounts. But those strategies rarely answer the real, unspoken concerns people have. Cost is a real issue, yes. But so is value uncertainty. If people do not understand what they will get back — socially, emotionally, professionally — then the price will always feel too high. A Forbes Health survey found that nearly half of U.S. adults believe there is a stigma associated with hearing aids. And 41 percent said they would feel embarrassed to wear one. That is telling. But even more revealing is how little has changed to address those feelings in a meaningful, sustained way. Most people do not notice hearing loss right away. That is because it rarely happens all at once. What I like to refer to as the 'dimmer switch' is how gradual hearing loss unfolds for many of us as we age. It starts subtly. You ask someone to repeat themselves. Background noise becomes harder to manage. You turn up the TV. You leave conversations feeling mentally drained. Eventually, you might begin to withdraw from the situations you once enjoyed, not from lack of interest, but because they are simply too hard to navigate. This is not denial. It is how we adapt. The shift happens slowly, so people adjust without realizing just how much clarity they have lost. The problem is that while this process is common, it is rarely discussed with any emotional nuance. Compare that to vision care. Glasses are celebrated. They are stylish, expected, even aspirational. But hearing support? Still burdened with outdated associations. That needs to change. And it begins by recognizing that the real challenges people face are not just about hearing — they are about confidence, connection, and control. Over the years, I have had numerous and ongoing conversations with people navigating hearing challenges, from longtime hearing aid users to those just starting to notice something has changed. One thing is clear: what people are asking for is not in the features list. It is in the emotional subtext. They would say: These are not just clinical cases. Some are dealing with noise sensitivity, others with auditory fatigue. Both deeply affect quality of life, work performance, social participation, and emotional wellbeing. These are not product problems. They are emotional problems. And if the industry can not connect to that layer, it will continue to fall short of meeting real human needs. During my time at Apple, I helped lead accessibility initiatives and saw firsthand what it takes to build trust. It was not about pushing products. It was about creating spaces where people felt seen, heard, and empowered to explore solutions. The Apple Retail philosophy followed its 'Apple Steps of Service' framework: It worked because it was human. Not transactional, it is relational and captures something I have repeated many times — people come to shop and return to learn. That mindset is showing up in other places now, including hearing care. In a recent conversation I had with Alfonso Cerullo, President of LensCrafters, we spoke about how the brand is expanding beyond vision with the addition of Nuance Audio Hearing Glasses. What stood out is how closely their evolving customer journey reflects a more intentional, trust-based model, one that similarly echoes the Apple retail approach. It is about treating hearing care the same way we treat vision: with ease, clarity, and design that meets people where they are. That approach is what the hearing space needs more of. It is not about gadgets. It is about the space we create around them. To make real progress, hearing health needs to stop leading with product specs and start leading with how people want to live. Ask better questions: People are not resisting hearing support because they are ashamed. More often, they are confused, under-informed, or simply uninvited. We can change that by creating spaces of trust, not pressure. Hearing is not just a health issue. It is a human experience. It influences how we live, work, and connect. It is time to bring hearing support into the wellness category, alongside sleep, mental health, and movement. And it is time for brands to stop managing stigma and start designing connection. The brands that do this well won't just earn trust. They will unlock one of the most underserved opportunities in consumer health today. Let us stop managing hearing loss. Let us start designing for confidence, clarity, and connection.
Telegraph
6 days ago
- Health
- Telegraph
US aid cuts are exposing HIV patients to stigmatisation and violence
When Liemiso Leteba received an injection at the start of the year to protect her from the HIV virus, she felt a rare sense of relief. For months she had been on a protective daily pill, but each day the medication risked triggering a quarrel and possible violence from her husband. She had started taking the precaution when she learned he was being unfaithful. Living in Lesotho, that potentially put her at significant risk, as the country has the second highest HIV/Aids prevalence in the world. Yet the protection, called pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP), also carries a stigma among some, who believe people take it just to be promiscuous. Ms Leteba, who like all the women interviewed by The Telegraph declined to give her real name, said that her husband confronted her after finding the pills in her handbag. 'He accused me of cheating while I was at work, yet the truth is I started using PrEP to protect myself from him and his infidelity.' A two-monthly PrEP injection being offered as part of a research study in two districts of Maseru and Leribe changed all that. There were no more pills that her husband could find and she felt the jab was 'more discreet'. True, the first injection left a bruise on her bottom which nearly got her a beating, but she felt safer and less afraid. She said: 'I knew I was doing it for a good cause. I was ready to walk that journey.' She did not know then that her relief from fear would be fleeting. The PrEP injections were offered by Lesotho's Ministry of Health to 850 women through funding by the American government's aid agency, USAID. But Donald Trump's decision to freeze foreign aid, including for America's huge anti-HIV programme, abruptly ended the roll out of both the PrEP injection and a long-acting vaginal ring that slowly releases PrEP drugs. Dr Tapiwa Tarumbiswa, the health ministry's HIV/Aids manager, told the parliament last week: 'We were looking forward to the introduction of the pre-exposure prophylaxis injection – long-acting cabotegravir – but unfortunately, the roll out has been terminated.' According to the 2022 UNAids report , nearly one-in-five people aged 15 to 49 are HIV positive in Lesotho. The country lost around $48m in USAID funding following Mr Trump's freeze. Worldwide, the cuts are forecast to put the fight against the epidemic back by years, with a risk of infection rates and Aids cases rising to levels not seen since the turn of the century. Introducing long-lasting PrEP treatments has been seen as critical to defeating the world's HIV/Aids epidemic, which still kills an average of one person every minute. Experts say that too many people drop off daily pills because they forget to keep taking them, find it difficult to get fresh refills, or find the stigma difficult to navigate. Before the budget freeze, the PrEP injection and vaginal ring had enabled women to manage social pressures that often put them at risk of violence from husbands or boyfriends, said Dr Nthuseng Marake, HIV treatment and care officer at Lesotho's Ministry of Health. She said: 'In relationships, some partners may not approve of their partner using PrEP. As a result, many women face challenges with taking oral PrEP. While they understand the need for it, they often struggle to use it at home due to these social pressures.' 'I can't risk anyone finding a full bottle' Mpho too said she had to disguise taking PrEP pills from her husband. On weekdays, she stays working by herself in Morija and visits her husband on weekends. That means that during the week, she takes her daily PrEP pill without worry. But on weekends, 'I pretend it's a contraceptive,' she said. 'But the PrEP pill is much bigger, and that makes it hard to disguise. I make sure he is not around when I take it.' She added: 'It's tricky. I have to wake up early or wait until he is distracted.' Lerato's fear of being discovered with PrEP pills is so severe that she only keeps a few at home at any one time. 'I only take a few pills at a time. I don't keep the full pack at home,' she said. She now gets her refills from a trusted village health worker – a quiet ally who helps her maintain her safety and autonomy. 'This way, there are no questions at home. I can't risk anyone finding a full bottle.' Dr Lerato Mothae from the ministry of health, told The Telegraph that some Lesotho men did not understand issues around intimacy, and that often became a driving force behind the high incidence of HIV infections. In some cases, others do not understand the difference between PrEP and antiretroviral (ARV) drugs which are used to suppress infection, because both medications are packaged in similar containers. Dr Mothae said: 'When a man sees a woman taking PrEP, he may assume she is HIV positive. 'This shows that when men are not informed about sexual and reproductive health and rights and HIV issues, they can become obstacles to prevention efforts. 'They may end up interfering with the preventive measures women take to protect themselves from HIV infection.' He emphasised that PrEP is a personal medication someone takes individually. 'So, it's difficult to understand why someone would stop their partner from taking PrEP, especially when it's something they are taking into their own body.' One of his patients, Mathabang said her husband equated PrEP with ARVs and was deeply suspicious of them. 'If he saw the pill, it would be a huge fight,' she shared. She disclosed this fear to Dr Mothae, who agreed to give her pills in a paracetamol container. 'It's the only way I can take PrEP. He thinks it's just something for my headaches.'
