Imaging is the future of modern Medicine.  In a world of procedures, surgeries, biopsies, and the like, non-invasive techniques will eventually eclipse current dogma.   In surgery, the risk of morbidity and death from anesthesia is present, and the longer the operation, the more likely complications and failures.   Biopsies demonstrate very little except the histologic picture of tissues, all of which are moot, and all biopsied organs bleed and lead to surgery.  Endoscopies show the presence or absence of inflammation and/or obstruction and the risk of perforation of a viscus is tantamount.  A perforated viscus leads to major laparoscopy to repair the hole made by a scope.

Enter CAT scans and static X-ray imaging.  These techniques focus on density differences and an increase or decrease in opacity usually means some sort of pathology.   X-ray techniques are easy, cheap, and reliable.   They cause little tissue morbidity and all the patients like their non-invasive nature.  One would think PET and MRI scans might be the new technology to evidence disease in situ, but they are not.   Magnetic resonance imaging relies on an atom changing orientation in the presence of a magnetic field, and when the current stops, the atoms jump to their natural configuration and liberate an electron.   This electron picture forms in a computer, and the pattern suggests various disease processes.  However, the picture produced on a screen reflects secondhand manipulation of nuclear data and sometimes does not illustrate what is happening.  MRI scanners cost an enormous amount of money and use fabulous amounts of electricity, and high Gauss magnetic fields cause cancer.  It is no secret that the cancer rate is statistically higher among people that live next to high power lines.  High-power electric lines emit magnetic fields.   Furthermore, the image on a screen generated by an MRI scan is a direct function of the program that creates the image, and the result is a nebulous picture subject to conjecture.  

What are we the people to do?    Do we rely on CAT scans?   X-ray technics show an increase in opacity dependent on the atomic mass of the tissue being assayed.   This is the reason physicians inject high-molecular weight contrast agents to delineate the area in question.   How about blue light and thermal imaging?    Shining a blue light against soft tissue can reveal masses that have calcium deposition or the presence of calcium in inflammation.  Tumors because of their change in tissue identity can be evidenced as lumps, masses, or accumulations of aberrant cells.   Why blue light?    Red light photons have the same wavelength as the bonds of water and are absorbed and diffused by soft tissue.  Yellow, orange, and green absorb to a lesser extent.  It is the blue light that exhibits the least absorption by protein and water and by Tran’s illumination; a scientist can see what is going on deep in the tissues without biopsy or surgery.  This technic has obvious significance for assaying soft masses and genital tissue.   The breast is a primary example

What is it with thermal imaging?  Isn’t thermal imaging what the Russians use to track jet airplanes and missiles in flight to identify adversaries at a distance?   Highly sensitive Russian thermos-sensors used for medical purposes can also identify and delineate disease.  Infected tissue and organs get hot compared to surrounding tissue.   A thermos-sensor can identify infection.   Cancerous tumors are cold.  Due to anaerobic metabolism and cellular metabolism according to Moore’s embryology, cancer of all types is cold in relation to healthy tissue.  From this primary difference, a physician can determine whether a lesion is an infection, an inflammation, or a cancer.  

Here is imaging in a nutshell.  All scientists relate that their discoveries occur because they stood on the shoulders of giants that preceded them.  This is no exception.  Let us, the public hope that medicine will take heed and not railroad sick patients into surgery.  Hope springs eternal and have a good day.

Everyone thinks that parasitic illness confines the tropics and underdeveloped countries.  This fact may be true, but sophistication brings parasitosis to the USA.  The United States exists as a country of tourists and the corporate airlines ferry them to exotic destinations around the world.  These people come back to the mainland with illnesses that the medical fraternity diagnoses as cancer and obesity whereas they truly are infected with parasites.  All people with protuberant abdomens harbor intestinal parasites in a myriad of types and symptoms. Midriff bulge in women and beer belly in men signifies an abdominal parasitic infection. Everyone over forty has an occult parasitic infection. They must be treated appropriately.  Any nation that lives in coexistence with wild animals, and insects, happen an endemic, reservoir for parasites. 

Most insects perpetuate as vector forms in the body of hosts and cause disease.  The act of living apart from insects is impossible because they are everywhere and reproduce rapidly.  The major parasitic diseases of the world are Malaria and Schistosomiasis.  Malaria is mainly an intestinal parasite that migrates to other parts of the body through trophic forms.  Monkeys and rodents rather than mosquitos, vector malaria in their feces, and when a human ingests contaminated food, they develop Malaria.  As to what insect, this middle form belongs to, is subject to future genetic analysis.  Similarly, Schistosomiasis fluoresces as the middle form of eggs in snail feces ingested by humans, rather than the meta-cyclic, transient, infective form, that students are taught in medical school.  To give human malaria, capture a wild monkey and feed the victim monkey guano.   To give a person fascioliasis, culture snails and feed humans strained snail feces.  To infect a person with schistosomiasis, culture aquatic snails in an aquarium, feed them bird guano, and sift the meta-cyclic trypanosomes out by pouring aquarium water through a coffee filter.  Similarly, for the fish tapeworm, diphyllbothrium latum,   puree raw fish, make a salad dressing or sauce, and feed it to friends or restaurateurs.  All vegetarians with protuberant bellies have been fed pureed raw fish sauces.  The list remains endless, and all parasites culture in sophisticated labs set up by affluent human beings cause endless misery for the unsuspecting citizens of the United States. 

People are mischievous, and treatment for parasitic disease involves lengthy courses under the care of a physician versed in the use of toxic medical agents.  American medicine to this day views swellings and protuberances as cancer to be extirpated surgically.  A surgical patient eventually dies.   All the media hype for colon cancer and the discovery of polyps in the large intestine by colonoscopy is the discovery of tapeworms and parasitic forms in the intestine.  The poor suffer colonoscopy, perforation, and eventual colectomy when in reality they have parasitic disease.  Parasitic disease is treated by an internist competent in the use of toxic anti-parasitic medicines over a prolonged period. 

The test of time determines ultimately the genetic pattern of parasites so that scientists can compare gene sequences with the gene sequences for insects.  Then we the people will have a definitive diagnosis and treatment.  Surgery, as a treatment, confines trauma patients, to stop bleeding, rather than people with bumps or obstructions.  A person cannot look at themselves in a mirror and diagnose their maladies.   A physician with lengthy training in tropical disease must exert their ethical religious influence to maintain the health of the population.  The treatment of intestinal snails involves toxic agents.  Schistosomas rapidly develop resistance to praziquantel.   The fish tapeworm is the hardest intestinal parasite to worm.   What the world needs now is competent physicians dedicated to preserving the health of the nation’s citizens.  We don’t need money-grubbing capitalists, who charge a lot and do very little, in modern medicine.  Civilization eventually becomes an economic franchise and we the people need God-fearing individuals to help us and we need them now. 

One day, after school, around 2:30 at Tranquil Hills High, Wrack pulls the chains from a red Suzuki 250 motocross bike set up for the street. He puts the chains in his backpack.  A tall, lanky, athletic male walks towards him from the Parking lot. The person has dark curly hair, and sports a Hawaiian shirt, beige corduroy walking shorts, and plastic flip flop zories.   The people in these parts call plastic sandals zories because Zorba wears zories and has a pair.  The person waves the classic star trek salute to Wrack and says, “Hello, my name is Lu, want to party this weekend?”   Wrack says, “Are you from around here?”  “I go to Sunni high school on the west side and am visiting a friend here in town.  I have all the stuff necessary to party and I need a shotgun. Are you in?”  “What you got?” inquires Wrak.  Lu points to a brand-new Volkswagen Westphalia minivan.  “I even have curtains on all the windows,” says Lu.  “The back seat folds out into a bed big enough for four people. It gets good gas mileage and even has a water tank in case of thirst, but I try to keep the water tank full of Vodka.”  ” Are you joking,” asks Wrack?   “Can I see?”   “Sure,” says the minivan is two tones with a light blue bottom and white top.  All the windows have cute sliding curtains done in beige cotton print.  “Look inside,” says Lu.  The side door slides open with a low metallic groan.  Inside is a huge bed fitted with turquoise vinyl foam cushions one foot thick.  A small wet bar constructed of stainless-steel sits opposite the bed on the driver’s side.  Next to the door is a small closet.  Indian-style curtains with beads separate the driver’s compartment from the bedroom so that one person can drive and another sleep in the back in total privacy. “I have the big 1800 engine,” says Lu.  “It will do 80 miles an hour and 65 miles an hour up hill.  “How much did this cost,” asks Wrack.   “Six thousand dollars,” says Lu, “six thousand.”  The van is totally custom with an electrical outlet and running water.”  “Unbelievable,” exclaims Wrack.  “If I am in town on Friday, I will stop by and pick you up with some girls.”  “Are you in?”  Whispers Lu “I’m in” says Wrack.  Lu walks slowly to his van door, gets in, starts the engine and drives off slowly.  Wrack waves goodbye and kickstarts his motorcycle to ride home.  Friday is three days away.  The sun sets early in tranquil hills because the mountains near the ocean shield the sun during its descent.  The sunsets on the beach are magnificent on a daily basis especially in the spring and summer.  The huge orange supernova orb descends minutely surrounded by   red, yellow and purple strata and Wrak never gets tired viewing them and today is a school day with homework to do, family to visit and dinner to eat before going to bed and early to rise to make a young man healthy, wealthy and wise. The little dog curls up on his cushion and lies on his side and runs and whines as he sleeps like he is chasing rabbits.  Then when you go to see him, punkin has gone outside, nowhere to be seen.

     “Be sure you brush your teeth,” says Lu-ay.  Girls do not like grungy teeth.  He is in the classic Hawaiian surfer wardrobe as usual.  My father looks at Lu, Lu looks at my father, and my father looks back at Lu.  My grandmother peeks out from behind the hall door with one eye and then she is gone. “Let’s go partying,” yells Wrak. “Yes.”  “Party we shall.”  Shotgun in the Van with seatbelts and down Bacon Way past Deadpan’s Lane to Market Street and then on Moonrise Blvd. the van hums with tuned exhaust headers and a glass pack muffler.  Lu pulls a gas mask from underneath his seat.  “What is that?” asks Wrak. This is an oxygen mask from a B-17 with a meerschaum pipe secured to its end.  “What do you smoke in it?” asks Wrack.  “Weed,” says Lu, “and Lots of it.” From behind the seat, Lu pulls a 30-gallon black trash bag into the driver’s compartment.  The bag is full of something.  The something is Mexican commercial green marijuana, about, two pounds worth.  Lu stuffs some Mexican grass into the meerschaum pipe, secures the gas mask to his head and hands Wrack a Bick Lighter.  “Light me up,” says Lu.  “The police cannot see me smoke anything while I drive,” says Lu.  “I can smoke pot on the freeway.”  Wrack takes the Bick lighter and flames the pipe bowl.  Lu puffs hard inside the mask and smoke jettisons out the side ports like a fire-breathing dragon.  The whole cockpit fills with smoke.  “I will smoke a cigarette,” says Wrack.  Lu pulls down his mask and says, “Ragweed.”  I don’t smoke ragweed, only the best.” “The police cannot believe I smoke weed through a B-17 oxygen mask.  They never pull me over.”  He pulls over to a street off Moonrise Boulevard in tranquil hills and stops in front of a residential address.  He honks twice.  Two girls ran out from the front door of a house set in lush bushes.  They have light brown hair rendered blond by the sun or peroxide.  Lu says, “This is Joanie and Jennie.  Jennie says she wants to meet you because she likes surfing. 

       Both girls have hot pants on without nylon stockings, and halter tops set off by tan bikini lines.  They have purses with chain straps.  “Don’t you feel cold,” says Wrack.  “Not at all,” says Jennie, “Not at all.”  “Wrak, get out of shotgun and go sit in back with Jennie.”  “Joanie wants to sit with me.”  Wrack opens the side door, gets out and then unlocks the side door and lets Jennie in.  Wrak and Jennie sit together.  She feels very warm to the touch.  “Would you like a drink,” says Jennie.  “Sure,” says Wrack.  Underneath the wet bar is a refrigerator, Lu says, “Jennie, there is a quart of beer underneath the sink, break it out, we are partying.”   Jennie obtains a plastic glass from the refrigerator and pours some beer into the glass and hands the cup to Wrack. “Drink all of it,” she says.  “Sure,” says Wrack,” ” I love Coors beer.”  Wrack drinks the cup down in one gulp and burps. “Pardon me,” says Wrack.  “That was really good.” “Here,” says Jennie. “Drink another.”  “I love beer.” Says Wrack.  Night moves in to tranquil hills and Death Wood and happy hills.  Wrack never could remember where the party was that night, only that it was fun.  The party location exists somewhere between the lines.

         The best parties have a live band and a keg of free bear, or three kegs of free beer, or four kegs of free beer, and a smoking room.  This party has it all.  Wrack feels high and Jennie asks him to dance.  Wrack starts doing the twist like Chubby Checkers and then the swim like Goldie Hahn.   Somehow a strange force throws him to the floor. He became the first break dancer in southern California, spinning and sliding on his back.  Jennie squeals with delight.  The night has just begun and the band plays “Gimme Shelter,” and “Brown Sugar”   and more.  A ton of pretty girls in scanty clothes appeared and now everyone is dancing.  The girls dance. The guys dance.  Kool is here He says, “Hi Lu-ay, what is shaking”.. The Getty is here with his Doctor’s daughter and night moves into night.  “Let’s sit awhile,” says Wrack.  “Let’s go back to Lu’s Van and listen to the radio,” says Jennie “I left the door open.”  “All right,” says Wrack, “Let’s go.”

“It is more comfortable back here,” says Jennie.  “Why are you closing the curtains,” inquires Wrack.  “So we can have some privacy,” says Jennie.  “Want some more beer,” “Sure, “says Wrack.  Wrack drinks beer. Wrack drinks beer because the world is incredibly high and colors and textures vivid and exciting. Wrack hopes the beer will cut the buzz that somehow permeates his being.  “I turned on the radio,” says Jennie. “You have a radical bottom turn.”  “What shall we talk about?”

The door pulls open with ferocity and Lu pulls Wrack out of the door.”  “I was wondering where you two were.”  “I have to get the girls back home by 11:30!  “I don’t know what came over me.” Says Wrack.  Jennie closes the door and composes herself. Lu and Joanie get in the front and start the car.  Wrack and Jennie lean on each other.  Wrack is back on earth and the van hum’s down the highway from Happy Hills to Tranquil Hills to the beginning of rationality and reality.  “See you later girls,” says Lu.  “Bye Wrakie, let’s go party again,” says Jennie.  Wrack waves goodbye.  Jennie turns around, puckers her lips and gives the air a slow long kiss, and then they are gone.  “Use the one-day delay,” says Lu, “The one-day delay.”  “What is the one-day delay.” Says Wrack.  “Date them once and do not touch them, the next date they are all over you.”  “I understand,” says Wrack.

The custom Westphalia sputters off into the night.  Lu has to visit a friend at Saint Elsewhere.  The night is dark and long and quiet and the porch lights on bacon way glimmer sadly and emphatically.  The quiet permeates the seaside atmosphere, and in the quiet broods something unearthly lives on the house on the corner.  Wrack opens the front door with his Schlage key.  Grandma stands at the door with pun kin sitting next to her standing form.  “You are home,” she says, “thank God.”  Punkin wags his tail and yips with a high note.  “It is fun dancing grandma,” says Wrack.  “It is late, go to bed,” she says. The door is locked and the house of Wrack closes up for the night, tonight and all are home and accounted for and Saturday is today when the sun comes up.