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It was her second time lying numb in a hospital bed in North Bergen, New Jersey, with blood streaming down her legs and fear creeping into her heart.At that moment, Timoria McQueen Saba thought to herself, "there's no way in the world that I'm the only woman who had this happen," she said.In 2010, after giving birth vaginally to her oldest daughter, Gigi, one late afternoon in April, postpartum hemorrhage or excessive bleeding -- the leading cause of maternal death worldwide -- nearly killed her.Then, about a year later, she started bleeding profusely in the small bathroom of a frozen yogurt shop. The blood was from a miscarriage, which left her feeling helpless in that hospital bed. She didn't know she was pregnant."I was all the way back to where I was the year before, and I realized ... I hadn't healed from the near-fatal traumatic experience the year before," said Saba, now the 39-year-old mother of two girls.The former celebrity makeup artist, who saw clients such as novelists Candace Bushnell and Kyra Davis, decided to become a maternal health advocate, speaking on behalf of the 830 women who die from pregnancy- or childbirth-related complications every day around the world. That's about 303,000 a year.Each year in the United States, about 700 to 1,200 women die from pregnancy or childbirth complications, and black women like Saba are about three to four times more likely to die of pregnancy or delivery complications than white women.The quick-witted, savvy Saba said the data shocked her."It really took me a while to digest it," she said -- she survived something that many others around the world haven't."What was different about me? Why didn't I die? What were the reasons for that?" she asked. "I felt like I have a duty to tell this story, to represent my race in a way that not many people can, because I lived through it."  1875

INDIANAPOLIS – A veteran and retired postal worker missed his funeral after his remains were lost in the mail delivery process.The ashes of Richard Nelson, who once served in the Navy, remain missing.Years after leaving the military, Nelson headed for Arizona and left specific instructions to his family on how he wanted services handled following his death.In July, the funeral home in Arizona mailed Nelson’s remains on August 1, and the tracking number stated it was to arrive in Indianapolis on August 2.Nelson’s nephew, Scott Hare, had plans to drive the ashes to Michigan for services – but he never received the package.The memorial service went on as scheduled and the cemetery plot next to his parents had to be refilled until further notice."I have to keep telling people I don't know anything, there's no closure,” said Hare.Hare said his moments of sorrow were overcome with pride.“At some point, I had to laugh,” said Hare. “He retired from the post office and was lost at the post office. I'm sure he's laughing somewhere.”The post office released a statement: 1083

Is it an addictive drug, or a way to actually overcome addiction? The FDA is considering regulating an herbal drug called Kratom. But a group of doctors is pushing back, saying it's part of the solution not part of the problem. They may be color coded, but for Catherine Nieves, the liquid she's pouring in her cups are more than trendy new drinks. She says what's inside them, changed her life."I was homeless and a drug addict who lost custody of my oldest child," Nieves says.Nieves owns a store and prepares drinks made with Kratom, a coffee-like herb. After a C-section a few years back, she started taking Kratom for pain, instead of the addictive opioid Percocet her doctor prescribed."It made the pain just as manageable," Nieves says. "But it was healthier for me mentally just to not get back in the habit with pills when it was something that I was already very sensitive to.But the FDA describes Kratom differently, calling it dangerously addictive, and similar to narcotics like opioids with respect to addiction and death."Yes they interact similar with opioid receptors in the body but the effects are very different," says Oliver Grundmann Ph.D. with the University of Florida.Dr. Grundmann is one of several doctors publicly rejecting the FDA's position on Kratom. He says it doesn't impact breathing the way opioids do, so that lessens the chance of an overdose. And he says the FDA is wrong to link it to 44 deaths in the last decade."So we are not saying that Kratom doesn't have potential adverse effects," Dr. Grundmann says. "But is it positively linked to these deaths? We don't think so."Grundmann believes it should be regulated by the FDA but not as a narcotic."What is at the heart of all of this is we want to consumers to be protected and we want them to have quality products," Grundmann."I have children I have a great life that I've made for myself it's just entirely too much to possibly jeopardize," Nieves says.Nieves wants people who are in her situation to see a safer way out.Nieves says, "It seems like a bottomless hole, addiction. But there is so much hope and Kratom gives people hope." 2147

It was her second time lying numb in a hospital bed in North Bergen, New Jersey, with blood streaming down her legs and fear creeping into her heart.At that moment, Timoria McQueen Saba thought to herself, "there's no way in the world that I'm the only woman who had this happen," she said.In 2010, after giving birth vaginally to her oldest daughter, Gigi, one late afternoon in April, postpartum hemorrhage or excessive bleeding -- the leading cause of maternal death worldwide -- nearly killed her.Then, about a year later, she started bleeding profusely in the small bathroom of a frozen yogurt shop. The blood was from a miscarriage, which left her feeling helpless in that hospital bed. She didn't know she was pregnant."I was all the way back to where I was the year before, and I realized ... I hadn't healed from the near-fatal traumatic experience the year before," said Saba, now the 39-year-old mother of two girls.The former celebrity makeup artist, who saw clients such as novelists Candace Bushnell and Kyra Davis, decided to become a maternal health advocate, speaking on behalf of the 830 women who die from pregnancy- or childbirth-related complications every day around the world. That's about 303,000 a year.Each year in the United States, about 700 to 1,200 women die from pregnancy or childbirth complications, and black women like Saba are about three to four times more likely to die of pregnancy or delivery complications than white women.The quick-witted, savvy Saba said the data shocked her."It really took me a while to digest it," she said -- she survived something that many others around the world haven't."What was different about me? Why didn't I die? What were the reasons for that?" she asked. "I felt like I have a duty to tell this story, to represent my race in a way that not many people can, because I lived through it."  1875

In the middle of a pandemic, 13-year-old Jade stood in her kitchen with her phone in her hand, listening intently to the instructions coming from the other end of her Zoom call.It was her first time attempting to make Rice Krispies Treats.“Cooking is one of my favorite things to do, but I still have a lot of things to work on,” she explained as she mixed a small cup of marshmallow with the cereal she’d already poured into a bowl.For Jade and countless other kids across the country, the COVID-19 pandemic has meant a sudden absence of social time with friends who they’d typically see at school. For Jade, the pressures of the pandemic can often be incredible loneliness, even with her grandma, grandpa and mom living at home with her.“Two months ago, we were all hanging out. Now we’re all home. It’s really hard, but I’m getting used to it now,” she said.Before the pandemic began, Jade was enrolled with the group Big Brothers Big Sisters of Central Massachusetts. In an effort to make sure Jade is handling the pressures of the pandemic, Jade’s “Big Sister” and mentor Angela Potts has been scheduling weekly Zoom calls.From the very start of quarantine, the pair decided baking would be the way they would bond from afar.“It keeps your mind off of everything negative that’s going on in the world,” Angela said from her kitchen as she added chocolate chips to the Rice Krispies Treats that she was making.Each week, the pair chooses a recipe, then they schedule a time to cook together. Even though they aren’t meeting in person, it still gives Angela a chance to check on her mentee.“If she needs someone to talk to, to reach out to, I’m here for her and I hope she knows that,” Angela added.Across the country, Big Brothers Big Sisters has turned to virtual meetups to make sure vulnerable kids and teens are still getting one-on-one time with mentors.“Now is the time that kids need that extra support. The world is just in chaos, so we’re letting them know they aren’t alone,” said Courtney Evans who works for the nonprofit.Until Big Brother and Big Sisters can meet with their mentees again safely in person, the organization says virtual meetups are making sure kids don’t slip through the cracks. 2221

来源：资阳报