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Thursday, December 23, 2010

Acupuncture as an anti-aging method - Health Conditions - Celebrities with diseases

Acupuncture as an anti-aging method - Health Conditions - Celebrities with diseases

Jessica Simpson is raving about Cupping

Jessica Simpson tweeted about her love of an ancient Chinese tradition known as "cupping." But, what is it?

Jessica Simpson had this to say about her experience with "cupping" over the weekend: "love it!" She's supposedly on a meditation and tea-drinking kick to jump-start her physical and mental health. "Just so everyone is clear.. this has NOTHING to do with weight!" she said. "It is about understanding my body through hydration and alkalinity."
But what is cupping?
CBS did a piece on the ancient alternative healing therapy a while back (check out this weird picture of the procedure!). Basically, cupping is a treatment similar to acupuncture, where a practitioner uses cups to create a suction attachment to a patient's back, drawing the skin up under the cup. Some methods use fire. Using a cotton ball soaked with alcohol, the practitioner lights the cotton ball and places it on the cup.
“Cupping brings fresh blood to the area," a cupping practitioner who spoke to CBS said. “So it tends to improve circulation. It also helps open up the chest and benefit the lungs and can even benefit menstrual problems and digestive problems, too. Most commonly, it’s used for aches and pains of various types as well as respiratory problems, cough, wheezing, things like that.”
So what does it feel like?
One patient used this word to describe the experience: "strange." “Definitely doesn’t hurt. It just feels like someone’s pulling at your skin,” she said.
The consensus in the health community is that cupping is largely safe (if, that is, you're seeing a certified cupping therapist with the appropriate training), though mainstream health experts are cautious to back up the health claims of this unusual treatment.


Read More http://www.glamour.com/health-fitness/blogs/vitamin-g/2010/06/cupping-jessica-simpson-is-rav.html#ixzz18yRZ1mqA


Tips on Staying Healthy During the Holiday Season

Tips on Staying Healthy During the Holidays

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Old Dog: New Trick: Acupuncture


Published: March 13, 2008
WHEN my dog Otto was a puppy he behaved like an idiot, even for a Labrador retriever.
We haven’t been invited back to the Hamptons since the time he stole a cheeseburger from the hand of a child. Then he jumped into the pool, climbed out and shook himself off on the guests. That was probably forgivable. What came next — joyfully vomiting pool water, grass and ground beef at the host’s feet — was not.
I would like to say this behavior was atypical. But Otto was a spirited dog. He once toppled an elderly neighbor after he snouted her crotch too enthusiastically.
How I miss those days.
Now Otto is a slow-moving 9: X-rays show that he is arthritic, with swollen elbows. His orthopedist recently said he had a bulging disk. Despite every treatment known to modern veterinary science — from glucosamine tablets to prednisone to monthly injections designed to protect the cartilage in his joints — the only thing Otto throws himself into these days is our other dog’s food bowl.
Nobody is happy about Otto. A few weeks ago, he watched dejectedly as my husband and I set off on a hike without him.
Then, at the very place on the trail where Otto once rolled happily on the carcass of a dead mouse, we suddenly heard a rhino crashing through the bushes.
A crazy-eyed, burr-covered retriever emerged. We would have mistaken the dog for the ghost of Otto’s youth if not for its white, old man’s muzzle.
The dog’s owner appeared on the trail a few seconds later.
“How old is he?” my husband asked, absently picking a burr from behind the dog’s ear.
“Twelve,” the owner said.
“He’s in great shape,” my husband said.
“He used to be barely able to walk,” the owner said.
What helped relieve the dog’s arthritis and joint pain? Acupuncture, the owner said.
We were skeptical. “Otto would pull out the needles with his teeth,” my husband replied.
“No, it doesn’t bother them,” the owner insisted.
We watched his dog grab a 10-foot branch at the side of the trail and wave it dangerously, like a scimitar. Just like Otto used to.
“Any minute now, he’ll put out someone’s eye with that sharp tip,” I said wistfully.
The next morning, I Googled “veterinary acupuncture.” That is how I learned that this version of the ancient Chinese therapy that calls for inserting needles into specific locations on pets is gaining steam, even outside Northern California.
At Dogster.com, the online social network for pets that Otto joined last fall, I found a discussion on “Doggie Acupuncture: To Do or Not to Do?” A canine member named Bo had “asked” last month about whether he should try acupuncture. More than a dozen members described positive experiences for “severe breathing problems” and “spay incontinence,” including one case involving an arthritic dog named Sabrina who “doesn’t really enjoy getting the needles in, but she always feels so much better afterward.”
Maybe acupuncture was worth a try? Certainly a growing number of veterinarians think so.
“It should be considered in certain conditions, especially those that involve chronic pain,” said Vikki Weber, the executive director of the International Veterinary Acupuncture Society, which is based in Colorado and began sponsoring training in 1974.
Both Ms. Weber’s group and the American Academy of Veterinary Acupuncture, a trade association, have Web sites (ivas.org and aava.org, respectively) with searchable databases that list hundreds of trained veterinary acupuncturists worldwide.
The American Veterinary Medical Association, an organization that represents 76,000 veterinarians nationwide, does not keep track of how many of its members practice acupuncture and does not recognize acupuncture as a specialty.
“But we recognize the interest in and use of alternative modalities like acupuncture,” said Dr. Craig Smith, a spokesman for the association.
While no definitive studies prove the treatment’s effectiveness, Dr. Smith said, he recommended that pet owners who are interested in the procedure seek the advice of their veterinarians.


I was too sheepish to ask Otto’s vet. I knew from previous conversations that she was ambivalent about acupuncture; she had once had an acupuncturist working under her supervision but discontinued the practice after deciding that the physical benefits, if any, were incremental and possibly the result of a placebo effect.
“Animals can’t experience a placebo effect,” I had argued.
But their owners can, she retorted.
So in the end, the way I found an acupuncturist for Otto was though more Googling, which revealed Daphne Livoni, a licensed acupuncturist who makes house calls. She also practices under the supervision of veterinarians at three animal hospitals.
The next week, Ms. Livoni arrived for Otto’s appointment with a clipboard and a box of sterile, disposable needles.
Otto, who loves visitors, preened while she examined him to determine his tongue color (not pink enough) and the condition of his elbow joints (more swollen on the front legs).
Then, as Ms. Livoni gently inserted pairs of super-fine needles along both sides of his spine and in his hips and elbows, Otto appeared not to really notice. Instead, he sniffed her needle box to see if it held food.
Then, after unsuccessfully trying to compel her to give him a dog treat, he sighed and lay on the floor — one leg touching hers and another touching mine to reassure us he wasn’t playing favorites — and remained calm for the rest of the 30-minute session.
The treatment cost $120. Ms. Livoni suggested follow-up appointments, administered on a weekly or biweekly basis depending on how well Otto appeared to respond. She also told me to report any changes in his behavior or energy level.
Did the needles have an effect? I couldn’t tell. My husband said no. The next day, Otto still seemed pretty stiff.
The next week, after the second treatment? Same. The third? Ditto. The fourth? I started to feel discouraged.
But at the fifth session, Ms. Livoni said Otto’s elbows were less swollen, his tongue was pink (“like a young healthy dog”) and his ears needed cleaning. As she removed the needles, she suggested I take him to his favorite trail and let him walk.
The next day, I pulled the station wagon up to the trail head, opened the back and watched in amazement as Otto sprang out and ran crazily toward the creek. It was like watching a dog version of the movie “Cocoon.”
He scrabbled down the bank and belly-flopped into the water. Within minutes, he was standing sure-footed on slippery rocks, brandishing a dangerously big stick.
The day after, he didn’t even limp. At the dog park, he stole tennis balls from less motivated dogs and dropped them, slobbery, at my feet. For the first time in months, he wanted to fetch.
Was it the acupuncture? Or a coincidence? Seeking a reality check, I took him to the vet — ostensibly to have his ears cleaned.
“Otto, you look so relaxed and happy,” the vet said as he leapt to his feet when she entered the room.
I told her everything. “Could the acupuncture be the reason he’s better?” I asked.
“Maybe,” she said. But after looking at his medical chart, she said that the last two times she had seen him — after he had taken prednisone in November and then, again, for a checkup in December — his mobility had been improving. It was possible his current state of health was merely the result of gradual amelioration that I hadn’t noticed till now.
“Maybe I’m suffering from a dog owner’s placebo effect?” I asked.
Maybe, she said. On the other hand, she added, it wasn’t necessarily bad if my hopes that Otto was getting better had led to regular exercise that had strengthened his muscles. “One good thing about acupuncture is that I’ve never seen it hurt a dog,” she said, adding that the only major downside was the cost.
Then she handed Otto a dog treat. As he leapt for it and I worried he might accidentally rip off her finger in his excitement, I realized with relief that it’s only a matter of time before he throws up on someone’s feet again.

Acupuncture- An Effective Alternative To Treat Lazy Eye

Acupuncture- An Effective Alternative To Treat Lazy Eye

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Acupuncturist Treats 40 N.F.L. Players in 4 Cities

Stretched out on a massage table in his Long Island City condominium, Jets fullback Tony Richardson closed his eyes. Over the next hour, he groaned and grimaced and eventually fell asleep, as Lisa Ripi, the traveling N.F.L. acupuncturist, went to work.

Ripi poked and prodded Richardson on a recent Tuesday, using blue and pink needles, until his body resembled a road map marked with 120 destinations. “SportsCenter” provided mood music. Afterward, Richardson said his soreness had mostly vanished.
“They always tell me I’m their little secret,” Ripi said. “I feel like the little mouse who takes the thorns out of their feet.”
Professional football players partake in a violent game, and as the season progresses, they spend more time in training rooms than on practice fields. They visit chiropractors and massage therapists, practice yoga, undergo electronic stimulation and nap in hyperbaric chambers.
Yet relatively few receive acupuncture, which brings smiles to the faces of Ripi’s clients. They remain fiercely territorial. They fight over Fridays because it is closest to their games. They accuse one another of hogging, or trying to steal her.
All swear by Ripi’s technique, which she described as closer to Japanese-style acupuncture than to traditional Chinese methods. She focuses less on established points and more on sore areas, using needles to increase blood flow, relaxing muscles tightened in the weight room.
Players say her sessions are their most important treatment. They feel more loose, more flexible. Richardson finds acupuncture uncomfortable but said it made an immediate 10 percent difference. For sculptured bodies tuned like racecars, 10 percent constitutes a significant improvement.
As Pittsburgh linebacker James Farrior said: “I’m not the same if I don’t have it. It’s like getting the game plan. You can’t go into the week without either one.”
Ripi, 46, travels at least 20 days each month during the season, treating 40 players on five teams (the Ripi Division: Jets, Giants, Steelers, Bengals and Dolphins). She flies to Miami on Sunday, Pittsburgh on Monday, New York on Tuesday, Cincinnati on Wednesday, back to Pittsburgh on Thursday and back to New York on Friday. She works 96 hours a week and naps mostly on airplanes. By Friday, even her assistant sends “hate texts,” Ripi said.
In 13 years of working with N.F.L. players, Ripi said proudly, she never missed an appointment. She did miss dozens of holidays, did have three marriages end in divorce, did make abundantly clear her first priority.
“Think of the impact she has every Sunday,” Richardson said. “And it’s funny, because she’s not really a football fan, or really recognized. But we know her importance.”
Raised in a traditional Italian family on Long Island, Ripi lived in a healthy household, at the directive of her father, John: no white bread, no soda and an abundance of vitamins.
Ripi took a winding path into acupuncture: art school, aerobics instruction, massage therapy and body building, in which she qualified for several national competitions. Despite standing 5 feet 3 inches, she squatted and dead-lifted 250 pounds.
In 1996, a friend suggested that acupuncture would alleviate Ripi’s shoulder pain, and after two sessions, it disappeared. So Ripi went to school for acupuncture and Chinese pharmacology and finished the five-year program in four years.
Soon after, while visiting another friend in Costa Rica, Ripi met the actor Woody Harrelson, who asked for treatment “posthaste,” she said. She slipped a business card into Harrelson’s luggage, which led to two years of traveling with and treating him, and to other celebrity clients like the singer Mariah Carey.
Back in New York in March 1998, Ripi was referred to Jumbo Elliott, an injured offensive tackle for the Jets. She knew nothing about football and assumed Elliott was a body builder until she saw his Jets memorabilia. He later offered to take her to training camp and introduce her to his teammates.
She met her core group of clients that summer in Hempstead, N.Y., and as the players switched teams — Farrior to Pittsburgh and Chad Pennington to Miami — her business and travel expanded.
Players require individualized treatment. Steelers linebacker James Harrison takes more than 300 needles, and Giants defensive end Osi Umenyiora begs for fewer than 40. Jets cornerback Darrelle Revis hates needles and grips the table as if under attack.
Ripi views the players more as brothers than clients. She saw the world with Cincinnati linebacker Dhani Jones for his Travel Channel show. She stores tables at the players’ houses; travels to training camps, Super Bowls and Pro Bowls; works every Christmas and Thanksgiving. Ripi’s services are not cheap. She charges $220 for one treatment or $1,200 each day, and expenses.
She spends roughly 12 hours each Thursday treating at least 10 players at Farrior’s house, where the Steelers hold their men’s “spa night” featuring acupuncture. Ripi cooks dinner for them, and they play cards while they wait turns. She starts with nose tackle Casey Hampton at 3:30 p.m. and finishes with Harrison roughly 12 hours later.
Ripi can tell the position each plays simply on the location of the pain: wide receiver (legs, shoulders), offensive lineman (elbows, back), quarterback (throwing shoulder), defensive lineman (back), running back (hamstring).
On Sundays, she sometimes watches football. But Ripi’s clients often face one another, prompting conflicting emotions, especially when a defensive client mauls an offensive client, and she ponders how she will treat the resulting pain.
Depending on their tolerance (or honesty), players described acupuncture as painful, slightly painful or not painful; as a pinch or a burning sensation. They said the groin and the back of the knee hurt the most. Jets offensive tackle Damien Woody said, “She’s kind of lethal with it.”
Ripi performs a combination of massage with acupuncture to relax players and find sore spots and trigger points. She does use established points, too, to increase the flow of what she called stuck blood. This season, Revis went to Ripi for his injured hamstring, and she stuck one needle atop his head.
“She might hit a nerve, and you might get a zap,” Jones said. “Or she’ll put one in your groin, and pain might shoot into the big toe.”
Recently, Deadspin reported that Ripi oversaw the Jets’ massage therapist program when two therapists were sent inappropriate text messages from the former quarterback Brett Favre. The Web site said Ripi urged the therapists to remain silent. Ripi declined to comment on the report, but she is considering hiring a lawyer. (She does not oversee the massage program.)
Her clients wonder why most teams ignore less traditional methods like acupuncture, with all that they invest in healing players’ battered bodies. Farrior, wearing his team president hat, said he would require it.
Ripi says that more teams and athletes across all sports will eventually turn to acupuncture. Her clients do not seem so sure. Some teams do not even have massage therapists or nutritionists on staff, Jones said. But Ripi has faith because she still treats retired players, because even front-office types like Bill Parcells tried her table, because, she insisted, acupuncture works.
John Ripi described his daughter as softhearted and giving, and over the years, he learned to accept her absence at family gatherings. He came to understand how all the dots connected, from Harrelson in the jungle, to Thursday nights at Farrior’s house, to a life spent healing football players without fanfare.
“I take what I do seriously,” Ripi said. “It’s a euphoric, spontaneous feeling. They come first. Before anything. Before me.”
With that, Ripi went home to pack. The traveling N.F.L. acupuncturist had a flight to catch.