太原肛门外有个小肉疙瘩(太原肛门痔疮怎么治疗) (今日更新中)

A now-5-year-old pit bull is back home with its owner after disappearing two-and-a-half years ago."This is a picture of her on the couch on Christmas," said Savannah Rastrelli, as she reminisced about her dog, Sugar. "This was in 2016."Rastrelli said one day after roaming their 45-acre lot, Sugar never returned."I posted on Martin County lost and found pets, lost and found pets of the Treasure Coast," said Rastrelli.Nobody ever answered the plea for help until this week, when the Port St. Lucie Police Department received a call of a stray dog.The dog was wandering around the 1400 block of Southwest Del Rio Boulevard, more than 20 miles from where Sugar disappeared."It really is remarkable," said Port St. Lucie police Sgt. Keith Boham.Boham said animal control officers were able to scan Sugar's microchip and identify the owner. Derek Lowe "With a microchip, we have the ability to scan the dog or pet and locate you in the event that your animal goes missing," said Boham.Now reunited with her long-lost furry friend, Rastrelli said their story is proof that even when all hope is lost, it can still be found."I'm really happy we were able to get that call," said Rastrelli. "It's like we have a light back into our lives, a nice light." This story originally reported by Derek Lowe on wptv.com. 1360

CISCO, Utah - In the Eastern Utah desert, the air is dry, and the cold is biting. Winter is coming, and the matron of town needs to prepare. “It’s good to push yourself, I think. It’s really easy to stay at home and watch movies and I think I was trying to avoid that,” said Eileen Muza, who owns Cisco, Utah. No Netflix for this woman of the wild west. Cisco, Utah, is a ghost town alright. It's an hour north of Moab, which is where you'll find the closest grocery store. It popped up in the 1880s as a saloon and filling stations for the railroad companies. Without the trains, it wouldn’t be there. Muza is the town's owner and the caretaker. “Even though everything here is sort of harsh, she’s sort of weirdly soft,” said Soren Hope, an artist staying with Muza. About five years ago, Muza bought some land, covered in old, disintegrating buildings and a few broke down automobiles. Muza wouldn't say how much land she owns or how much she paid for it, but the few parcels she owns is less than an acre and the county says it's worth less than a new car. There is running electricity, but no running water. If you need to use the facilities, you'll be using a composting toilet outside. Muza was a city girl from Chicago before relocating to Cisco. “I actually camped, I had a little tent set up. Yeah, and I was really scared, I was like totally terrified,” said Muza. But five years of living in Cisco has changed Muza. “Basically a hardened criminal at this point," Muza said. "I’m not afraid to yell at people, tell them to leave.” But don’t let that hardened exterior fool you; Muza still has a goal. She wants Cisco to be a place where people can come from all over and explore their artistic side. “It’s a really good place to stay focused on your work, because there’s not that many distractions really,” said Muza. And that’s where Hope comes in. She’s from New York. She's the only other person living in Cisco right now. “Brooklyn, and I’m here on the artist residency,” said Hope. The artist residency is something Muza and her sisters started. They let artists come out and use the space for free. In fact two of the artists a year get a 0 stipend. There's no requirement for the artists to complete anything, just use the space to create what they want. Hope has been using her time to draw. She says she wants to imprint the desert onto her brain. And she also draws sketches of the chickens. “I was only scheduled for two weeks, and then I’m just gonna stay here an extra week, and who knows, maybe I’ll never go back home,” said Hope.That’s the kind of place Muza wants to build. She wants to do it for as long as she can, but, “I hope I’ll know when I need to quit. I hope I’ll understand, if it happens.” Muza says living out there can take a toll on you. Last winter, she fell off a ladder and no one was there to help. One day, she may have to give it all up. 2910

View this post on Instagram Please join me and send a card to a nursing home. Senior citizens need our love more than ever right now. They are isolated and not able to be visited by loved ones. I was thinking this morning that a card could really cheer them up. Thanks for reading this and if you do write one, please send me a pic so I can share and we can continue to spread the love together. ???????????????? A post shared by @ heidilgardner on Mar 12, 2020 at 4:52pm PDT 507

CHICAGO, Ill. – For the last few years, a refugee resettlement program in Chicago has been teaching women to be part of a social enterprise and improve their skill set. But as the Trump administration makes drastic cuts to the number of refugees accepted into the U.S., resettlement programs like this are bearing the brunt. With knitting needles in hand and sewing machines at the ready, women from all over the world, like Humaira, gather to learn from one another and create. “My name is Humaira. I’m from Afghanistan,” she said with a smile. Humaira is part of Loom, a group of refugee women artisans who congregate each week to create handmade functional crafts. Many have fled war and violence to resettle in the U.S. Loom Chicago Coordinator Rebecca Hamlin-Green says programs like this provide an opportunity for these women that might not otherwise be available. “Refugees in general face a lot of obstacles but women in particular do simply because they may be coming from a culture that doesn't emphasize employment or higher education or many of the skills and privileges that we enjoy,” she said. The program is administered by the Catholic Charities Refugee Resettlement Program in Chicago. Organizers say 70 percent of each sale price goes back to the women. “And then 30 percent goes back into the program so we can purchase their materials and provide the studio space,” explained Hamlin-Green. For many like Humaira, it’s not only a chance to make some extra money but to socialize and find community amongst other women – though they may not share the same language. “I like to make jewelry. I like to make crochet. And also knitting,” she said. But as of next year, the state department is capping the number of refugees allowed into the U.S. to 18,000, the lowest number since the refugee program was established in 1980. That’s an 80 percent cut from the 110,000 cap during the last year of the Obama administration. October became the first month on record in 30 years that not a single refugee was resettled in the U.S. And because federal dollars are tied directly to the number of arrivals, fewer refugees means fewer federal dollars for programs like Loom. Catholic Charities program director and former refugee Elmida Kulovic says they are feeling the pinch. “Basically, our program’s budgets are cut. So, for example in September this program lost four full-time positions,” said Kulovic. For now, the women at Loom are fortunate and thankful for a chance to escape persecution and poverty, while tens of thousands more have to wait. 2582

CHICAGO, Ill. -- Karate is well-known for teaching discipline, but its focus on core strength, balance and confidence-building could be effective for something else – helping people living with brain disorders such as Parkinson’s. Twice a week, inside a karate dojo in Chicago, students learn the fundamental movements of Kihon technique. “We did something called KoGo Kumite which is partner work, working on rhythm, working on distancing, working on timing and working on technique.” But for Fonseca Martial Arts head instructor Brian Ramrup this is a class like none other he’s taught before. “These guys all have Parkinson's,” said Ramrup. More than 1 million Americans have Parkinson’s disease. The progressive neurological disorder affects balance and movement. Tremors and stiffness are common symptoms, but the disease can also lead to depression and anxiety. For Sonia Vargas, diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2005, it started with tingling in her legs. “It felt like I was carrying some piece of some heavy equipment on my legs,” said Vargas. A year ago, on the recommendation of her neurologist, Vargas joined the Chicago-area martial arts academy.“These guys are learning how to go to the ground safely, how to break falls,” said Ramrup. It’s a skill that can help avoid injuries for patients who begin to lose balance and fall frequently. It’s part of a program studying the potential for karate to slow the progression of the disorder. “When I went to the first class, the next day, I felt a difference. It was so remarkable,” said Vargas. Dr. Jori Fleisher is the principal investigator of the study and a neurologist at Rush University Medical Center. She says initial results are promising. “We found clinically significant changes in quality of life which is huge,” said Fleisher. “It's a great exercise covering a lot of the areas: balance, core strength, big large amplitude movements when people are kind of tiny or smaller, stiffer. They're sort of fighting back actively against that.” Camaraderie is also a key component. The group now competes together, cheering for one another on good days and bad. “The exercises help tremendously the competitions. I mean really gets you going. I mean my first competition I got I got the orange belt,” said Vargas. The year-long randomized program concludes next month, and Dr. Fleisher remains cautiously optimistic about the outcome.“I don't think karate will be the end all be all. It's not the answer, but could it be an answer? I think so.” 2521

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