潮州白癜风早期症状的图片(白癜风消失的地方汕头) (今日更新中)

As the Dow Jones Industrial Average plummeted amid fears of the coronavirus outbreak, President Donald Trump appeared to be frustrated with the outbreak in a series of morning tweets.Moments after the Dow fell 7 percent and triggered an emergency circuit breaker that halted trading; Trump equated coronavirus to the common flu."So last year 37,000 Americans died from the common Flu. It averages between 27,000 and 70,000 per year. Nothing is shut down, life & the economy go on. At this moment there are 546 confirmed cases of CoronaVirus, with 22 deaths. Think about that!" Trump tweeted.According to the CDC, there were between 20,000 ad 52,000 deaths from the flu between 2019 and 2020. Between 34,000,000 and 49,000,000 contracted the flu during that same time period.So last year 37,000 Americans died from the common Flu. It averages between 27,000 and 70,000 per year. Nothing is shut down, life & the economy go on. At this moment there are 546 confirmed cases of CoronaVirus, with 22 deaths. Think about that!— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) 1077

BARTLETT, Ill. — For parents who are caregivers of adults with disabilities the question about who will care for them after they’re gone is haunting. And even for those who understand the system and plan ahead, the course is challenging. It’s something Liz Mescher knows all too well.“It should not be this hard,” she says as she puts on display the stacks of forms, denials and appeals she has organized in piles and folders in her kitchen. Mescher says trying to get the benefits her sons need is a never-ending battle. “I mean that's all I do, my counter gets filled with paperwork,” Mescher says.Caring for her two sons is more than a full-time job. “We're on top of them all day long. So, they're really not out of our eyesight,” she explains.Both her sons Eric and Ryan, are in their 20s and have autism.“The younger one has a lot of anxiety and the older one just can't tolerate being touched,” Mescher says. And as they’ve grown older, caring for the men under the same roof has become increasingly difficult.“So the goal is to get placement for Eric to go into housing so he can be happy, and we could probably get a little break,” the mother says.But the wait lists for services like group home placement are long. As of 2017, 707,000 people were on waiting lists in 40 states. That’s an increase of 8% from the previous year.In Illinois, where the Meschers live, the wait list is more than 19,000. Meg Cooch, the executive director of Arc Illinois, says the state is not unique. Cooch’s advocacy organization focuses on people with intellectual and developmental disabilities and their families. “There are lawsuits around the country looking at waiting lists and looking at people getting access to community services because it's such a problem,” Cooch says.Resources, funding and housing options for adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities are dwindling. Professional caregivers are becoming less willing to do the job for what states are willing to pay. “It's not a minimum wage job,” Cooch explains. “And as a result, we are competing with fast food and with Amazon paying an hour to be able to find people to be able to provide these supports.”With one in four cared for by family members who themselves are aging, experts say we are in the midst of a full-blown caregiving crisis.“It's going to be a crisis now and it's going to be even more of a crisis in the future,” Cooch warns.Approximately 39.8 million caregivers provide care to adults with a disability or illness. What’s startling is that more than half of these families say they have no plan in place for when the caregiver passes away. Over the last eight months Mescher has applied to 16 group homes. She hasn’t heard back from any of them. “These kids have to have a place to go," Mescher said. "They have to have a place as adults to go. What are you going to do with them? You know one day we're not going to be here. Where are they going to be? They have to be settled.”For parents like Mescher it’s that uncertainty of what will happen to her children when she’s gone that’s most unsettling. 3109

AURORA, Colo. – Twenty-four years after he was sentenced to life in prison without parole on a murder charge, a Colorado man has gotten a second chance at life and he’s making it count.Jeff Johnson, 41, was convicted in 1994 of killing John Leonardelli in a carjacking incident. But after the man who was convicted alongside him in Leonardelli’s death confessed and the U.S. Supreme Court changed its stance on juvenile sentences, Johnson was released from prison in November 2018. Johnson was 17 years old when he and Jonathan Jordan, then 19, were arrested for stabbing to death Leonardelli – a father of six – in an Aurora parking garage. Johnson said he saw Jordan stab Leonardelli but instead of helping the dying man, he instead jumped into Leonardelli’s Jaguar along with Jordan and left the scene.Both were convicted, but Jordan at one point admitted to killing Leonardelli. Johnson himself got into drugs while in prison but decided to turn his life around.Johnson started a program in prison to help other inmates and got involved in restorative justice programs to try and help mediate between criminals and their victims.“I came up with a motto for my life,” Johnson said. “A better life is a choice of way. I joined programs like Victim Impact, Victim Awareness, Restorative Justice. For me, that’s what gives my life purpose, and meaning. Being a mirror for them so they could see what you’re able to see.”Johnson met the woman who would change his life forever.“My name is Jenny Johnson, and I’m the wife of a juvenile lifer,” Jenny said. “I worked as a counselor, that’s how we crossed paths. They crossed for a reason. As for Jeff, it’s turning trauma into triumph, on all sides.”After Jordan confessed in a letter to Johnson, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that automatic life sentences for juveniles were unconstitutional. Colorado passed a law eliminating juvenile life sentences, though they were not made retroactive.But the state looked at 48 cases involving prisoners who received such sentences as teenagers and, after hearing from one of Leonardelli’s sons and others, Johnson was resentenced on Oct. 23. And on Nov. 2, 2018, he walked out of the Fremont Correctional Facility a free man.Johnson ended up marrying Jenny, and the two of them gave birth to twins a few months ago. The couple stays in contact with Leonardelli’s family, who are close friends.“This is what they gave me,” Johnson said, holding a watch. “This is Leonardelli’s watch. I keep it and always remember what time it is, to make sure I’m living the best life I can live and make the best choices I can make.”“No words are going to express how bad I feel about everything happening. There’s absolutely nothing I can do to make it better or give back,” Johnson said. “I made several poor choices that night and I take full responsibility for those actions.”But now on the outside, Johnson is continuing the work he started in prison to try and prevent other teens from ending up in similar circumstances that he did.“When you’re involved with somebody losing their life, I feel like it’s my duty and gives my life purpose or meaning in life to come out here, take my story and help all these other kids,” he said. “We’re going to pick the best life we want over the choices that we make. The choices that we make define the character that we have.” 3354

As part of a National Park, the Natchez Trace Parkway Bridge in Williamson County, Tennessee is a beautiful architectural sight for many. But for some, it’s become a place of pain and grief.“I lost my sister, who was 25, to suicide at the bridge,” Sarah Elmer says.Trish Merelo shares Elmer's grief. She, too, lost a family member to suicide. “I lost my 17-year-old son,” she says.Now, Elmer and Merelo have come together over a mutual understanding of how it feels to lose somebody who has died by suicide.“Seeing what a young suicide does to a school, and to a community, and to a neighborhood, and to a family, it’s unimaginable grief,” Merelo says. Merelo’s son, John, was a senior in high school. He was academically gifted and in marching band. His mom describes him as somebody whose heart would make a difference in this world.Elmer’s sister, Danielle, was a mother of two. Elmer describes her sister as smart, caring, and a big mental health advocate.“Now that’s she’s gone, I just don’t have my other half,” she says. The two women are now doing everything they can to prevent other families from feeling the same sorrow. Together, they’ve formed the Natchez Trace Bridge Barrier Coalition.“Ultimately, what stops bridge suicides is a physical structure,” Merelo says. Their goal is to create an 8-foot barrier on the bridge, so it’s not so easy for someone to jump. Until then, they’re thankful for the new call boxes that were recently planted on the bridge by the National Park Service. The call boxes offer a direct line to 911 and the Tennessee crisis number.“I think the crisis line is more for someone who is in that place and needs that counseling," Merelo says. "I think 911 is for them too, but that’s also for bystanders who see someone in trouble and want to get authorities here."With barely any cell service in the area, the women say the call boxes are essential, and they hope they’ll make a big difference for people in need. “If that call box saves one life, then it is worth it,” Elmer says. Letting somebody know they’re loved and cared for is a critical message everyone needs to hear. On the Natchez Trace Parkway Bridge, you can pick up the phone for support. But what if you were walking along, and you came across a mental-health first-aid kit? What if you had something you could physically hold onto? That’s where 2363

An autopsy released by the Hennepin County Medical Examiner on Wednesday showed that George Floyd officially died from a heart attack. The 151

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