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Mediterranean diet slows ageing of brain, study shows

Camilla Turner
October 21, 2015

    Following a Mediterranean-style diet slows the rate at which the brain shrinks by five years, research suggests. The study indicates that a diet consisting of fruit and vegetables, fish and olive oil but little red meat or dairy products may be associated with losing fewer brain cells due to ageing. The findings add weight to the theory that a healthy diet can avert the onset of Alzheimer’s disease by stopping the brain from growing older.

    The Columbia University study, published by the journal Neurology, shows that people following a Mediterranean-like diet had a larger brain volume than those who didn’t. Researchers say the difference between the two groups was about the same as five years of ageing. Study author Doctor Yian Gu, of Columbia University, said: “These results are exciting, as they raise the possibility that people may potentially prevent brain shrinking and the effects of ageing on the brain simply by following a healthy diet.” The diet in the study included a high intake of vegetables, legumes, fruits, cereals, fish and monounsaturated fatty acids such as olive oil; a low intake of saturated fatty acids, dairy products, meat and poultry; and mild to moderate amounts of alcohol.

    Tom Dening, professor of dementia research at the University of Nottingham, said: “These are interesting findings and offer encouragement to people who think that the Mediterranean diet has preventive value in dementia.” Derek Hill, professor of medical imaging science at University College London, said: “Brain shrinkage – or atrophy – is a natural consequence of ageing, and this shrinkage proceeds more rapidly in people with cognitive impairment or Alzheimer’s disease.”

(www.telegraph.co.uk. Adaptado.)

Leia o texto para responder a questão.

Mediterranean diet slows ageing of brain, study shows

Camilla Turner
October 21, 2015

    Following a Mediterranean-style diet slows the rate at which the brain shrinks by five years, research suggests. The study indicates that a diet consisting of fruit and vegetables, fish and olive oil but little red meat or dairy products may be associated with losing fewer brain cells due to ageing. The findings add weight to the theory that a healthy diet can avert the onset of Alzheimer’s disease by stopping the brain from growing older.

    The Columbia University study, published by the journal Neurology, shows that people following a Mediterranean-like diet had a larger brain volume than those who didn’t. Researchers say the difference between the two groups was about the same as five years of ageing. Study author Doctor Yian Gu, of Columbia University, said: “These results are exciting, as they raise the possibility that people may potentially prevent brain shrinking and the effects of ageing on the brain simply by following a healthy diet.” The diet in the study included a high intake of vegetables, legumes, fruits, cereals, fish and monounsaturated fatty acids such as olive oil; a low intake of saturated fatty acids, dairy products, meat and poultry; and mild to moderate amounts of alcohol.

    Tom Dening, professor of dementia research at the University of Nottingham, said: “These are interesting findings and offer encouragement to people who think that the Mediterranean diet has preventive value in dementia.” Derek Hill, professor of medical imaging science at University College London, said: “Brain shrinkage – or atrophy – is a natural consequence of ageing, and this shrinkage proceeds more rapidly in people with cognitive impairment or Alzheimer’s disease.”

(www.telegraph.co.uk. Adaptado.)

Leia o texto para responder a questão.

Mediterranean diet slows ageing of brain, study shows

Camilla Turner
October 21, 2015

    Following a Mediterranean-style diet slows the rate at which the brain shrinks by five years, research suggests. The study indicates that a diet consisting of fruit and vegetables, fish and olive oil but little red meat or dairy products may be associated with losing fewer brain cells due to ageing. The findings add weight to the theory that a healthy diet can avert the onset of Alzheimer’s disease by stopping the brain from growing older.

    The Columbia University study, published by the journal Neurology, shows that people following a Mediterranean-like diet had a larger brain volume than those who didn’t. Researchers say the difference between the two groups was about the same as five years of ageing. Study author Doctor Yian Gu, of Columbia University, said: “These results are exciting, as they raise the possibility that people may potentially prevent brain shrinking and the effects of ageing on the brain simply by following a healthy diet.” The diet in the study included a high intake of vegetables, legumes, fruits, cereals, fish and monounsaturated fatty acids such as olive oil; a low intake of saturated fatty acids, dairy products, meat and poultry; and mild to moderate amounts of alcohol.

    Tom Dening, professor of dementia research at the University of Nottingham, said: “These are interesting findings and offer encouragement to people who think that the Mediterranean diet has preventive value in dementia.” Derek Hill, professor of medical imaging science at University College London, said: “Brain shrinkage – or atrophy – is a natural consequence of ageing, and this shrinkage proceeds more rapidly in people with cognitive impairment or Alzheimer’s disease.”

(www.telegraph.co.uk. Adaptado.)

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A lasting effect

My eyes immediately focused on the bandaged stump and the empty space where his leg used to be. The nurse had warned me before I entered the room, but I was still jolted by the sight. The surgeons had amputated his leg just two days before, below the knee. This was the last resort, a life-saving measure. How must it feel to be seventeen years old with only one leg? I forced my look away from his wound and met his eyes. They were swollen and tired, probably a combination of pain, medications, and the stress of starting a new life feeling less than whole. I tried to hide my sadness while conjuring a soft smile.

“Hi. My name is Bryan. I’m a medical student, but I play music at the hospital every week. Would you like to hear any songs?”

He nodded his head slightly forward in assent. I placed my pile of worn and wrinkled song sheets in his hand, and while he was browsing through the selection, his mother said, “Well, you know he plays guitar, too.” Warm maternal pride filled her eyes.

“That’s great. How long have you been playing?” I asked him.
“Since I was ten,” he answered with a scratchy voice.
“Wow, seven years. I’ve only been playing since my last year of college – about four years.”
I began to feel insecure about playing for a musician with more experience than I had.
“Why don’t you play something first?” I offered.

He weakly nodded his head again. His forearms were pocked with multiple IV lines, each connected to a hanging bag, and his chest had a painful incision that was covered with thick gauze and medical tape. We snaked my guitar through the shield of medical paraphernalia and carefully rested it on his stomach. He contracted his face in pain as he tried to reposition himself in the bed in search of a comfortable position. Once he was settled, he began to pick a rhythm on the guitar. He played slowly and deliberately, trying to fight through the medication vagueness, persistently persuading his fingers to follow orders. After a few stumbles, a tune emerged and danced around the room. Then in the midst of his song, he winced harshly through gritted teeth and suddenly stopped playing. His ailing body had sent his brain a reminder of his condition; he could no longer play through his pain. With a frustrated gasp, he surrendered the guitar. As I returned the guitar to my shoulders, he began to search again through the stack of papers for a familiar song. He looked over my entire catalog before making his first selection. It was one of the most difficult songs I knew how to play. Like a true guitarist, he wanted to test my skills. I took a deep breath and began the song. His eyes were fixed on my fingers as they plucked and strummed, and bent the strings with bluesy inflection. He seemed to critique every move and every note. His face was painted with deep pleasure. We played through several songs over the next half hour, each just as difficult. While I played, his eyes were full of life, no longer obscured by pain or worries. He had transcended his problems and found peace in a musical refuge. The music had provided shelter from his stormy life. As the final note faded, reality began to seep back into the room. His eyes lost their depth and forgotten pains quickly registered. Once again, he was a seventeen-year-old boy in a hospital with one leg and several scars. As I watched his painful transformation, I was sadly reminded that every song must end. My guitar could not undo the harms that he had suffered, and the relief I offered was merely a momentary distraction. My guitar was not a panacea. Regardless, I was convinced that something more than a diversion had taken place. I believed that, in some way, our music would live on beyond the end of that last song. Although he was reeling in pain at that moment, perhaps he felt a trifle less pain because of our music. And later that night when he was lying alone in the hospital bed, perhaps he felt a little less lonely because of my visit. And, someday ahead, when the memories of his suffering have slowly subsided, perhaps he might be reminded of the songs that made him smile on the worst day of his life. And maybe he will smile again and pick up his guitar.

(Adaptado de: SISK, B. A lasting effect. Hektoen International. A Journal of Medical Humanities. Disponível em: http://www.hektoeninternational.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=402. Acesso em: 25 abr. 2016.)

Leia o texto a seguir e responda à questão.

A lasting effect

My eyes immediately focused on the bandaged stump and the empty space where his leg used to be. The nurse had warned me before I entered the room, but I was still jolted by the sight. The surgeons had amputated his leg just two days before, below the knee. This was the last resort, a life-saving measure. How must it feel to be seventeen years old with only one leg? I forced my look away from his wound and met his eyes. They were swollen and tired, probably a combination of pain, medications, and the stress of starting a new life feeling less than whole. I tried to hide my sadness while conjuring a soft smile.

“Hi. My name is Bryan. I’m a medical student, but I play music at the hospital every week. Would you like to hear any songs?”

He nodded his head slightly forward in assent. I placed my pile of worn and wrinkled song sheets in his hand, and while he was browsing through the selection, his mother said, “Well, you know he plays guitar, too.” Warm maternal pride filled her eyes.

“That’s great. How long have you been playing?” I asked him.
“Since I was ten,” he answered with a scratchy voice.
“Wow, seven years. I’ve only been playing since my last year of college – about four years.”
I began to feel insecure about playing for a musician with more experience than I had.
“Why don’t you play something first?” I offered.

He weakly nodded his head again. His forearms were pocked with multiple IV lines, each connected to a hanging bag, and his chest had a painful incision that was covered with thick gauze and medical tape. We snaked my guitar through the shield of medical paraphernalia and carefully rested it on his stomach. He contracted his face in pain as he tried to reposition himself in the bed in search of a comfortable position. Once he was settled, he began to pick a rhythm on the guitar. He played slowly and deliberately, trying to fight through the medication vagueness, persistently persuading his fingers to follow orders. After a few stumbles, a tune emerged and danced around the room. Then in the midst of his song, he winced harshly through gritted teeth and suddenly stopped playing. His ailing body had sent his brain a reminder of his condition; he could no longer play through his pain. With a frustrated gasp, he surrendered the guitar. As I returned the guitar to my shoulders, he began to search again through the stack of papers for a familiar song. He looked over my entire catalog before making his first selection. It was one of the most difficult songs I knew how to play. Like a true guitarist, he wanted to test my skills. I took a deep breath and began the song. His eyes were fixed on my fingers as they plucked and strummed, and bent the strings with bluesy inflection. He seemed to critique every move and every note. His face was painted with deep pleasure. We played through several songs over the next half hour, each just as difficult. While I played, his eyes were full of life, no longer obscured by pain or worries. He had transcended his problems and found peace in a musical refuge. The music had provided shelter from his stormy life. As the final note faded, reality began to seep back into the room. His eyes lost their depth and forgotten pains quickly registered. Once again, he was a seventeen-year-old boy in a hospital with one leg and several scars. As I watched his painful transformation, I was sadly reminded that every song must end. My guitar could not undo the harms that he had suffered, and the relief I offered was merely a momentary distraction. My guitar was not a panacea. Regardless, I was convinced that something more than a diversion had taken place. I believed that, in some way, our music would live on beyond the end of that last song. Although he was reeling in pain at that moment, perhaps he felt a trifle less pain because of our music. And later that night when he was lying alone in the hospital bed, perhaps he felt a little less lonely because of my visit. And, someday ahead, when the memories of his suffering have slowly subsided, perhaps he might be reminded of the songs that made him smile on the worst day of his life. And maybe he will smile again and pick up his guitar.

(Adaptado de: SISK, B. A lasting effect. Hektoen International. A Journal of Medical Humanities. Disponível em: http://www.hektoeninternational.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=402. Acesso em: 25 abr. 2016.)

Leia o texto a seguir e responda à questão.

A lasting effect

My eyes immediately focused on the bandaged stump and the empty space where his leg used to be. The nurse had warned me before I entered the room, but I was still jolted by the sight. The surgeons had amputated his leg just two days before, below the knee. This was the last resort, a life-saving measure. How must it feel to be seventeen years old with only one leg? I forced my look away from his wound and met his eyes. They were swollen and tired, probably a combination of pain, medications, and the stress of starting a new life feeling less than whole. I tried to hide my sadness while conjuring a soft smile.

“Hi. My name is Bryan. I’m a medical student, but I play music at the hospital every week. Would you like to hear any songs?”

He nodded his head slightly forward in assent. I placed my pile of worn and wrinkled song sheets in his hand, and while he was browsing through the selection, his mother said, “Well, you know he plays guitar, too.” Warm maternal pride filled her eyes.

“That’s great. How long have you been playing?” I asked him.
“Since I was ten,” he answered with a scratchy voice.
“Wow, seven years. I’ve only been playing since my last year of college – about four years.”
I began to feel insecure about playing for a musician with more experience than I had.
“Why don’t you play something first?” I offered.

He weakly nodded his head again. His forearms were pocked with multiple IV lines, each connected to a hanging bag, and his chest had a painful incision that was covered with thick gauze and medical tape. We snaked my guitar through the shield of medical paraphernalia and carefully rested it on his stomach. He contracted his face in pain as he tried to reposition himself in the bed in search of a comfortable position. Once he was settled, he began to pick a rhythm on the guitar. He played slowly and deliberately, trying to fight through the medication vagueness, persistently persuading his fingers to follow orders. After a few stumbles, a tune emerged and danced around the room. Then in the midst of his song, he winced harshly through gritted teeth and suddenly stopped playing. His ailing body had sent his brain a reminder of his condition; he could no longer play through his pain. With a frustrated gasp, he surrendered the guitar. As I returned the guitar to my shoulders, he began to search again through the stack of papers for a familiar song. He looked over my entire catalog before making his first selection. It was one of the most difficult songs I knew how to play. Like a true guitarist, he wanted to test my skills. I took a deep breath and began the song. His eyes were fixed on my fingers as they plucked and strummed, and bent the strings with bluesy inflection. He seemed to critique every move and every note. His face was painted with deep pleasure. We played through several songs over the next half hour, each just as difficult. While I played, his eyes were full of life, no longer obscured by pain or worries. He had transcended his problems and found peace in a musical refuge. The music had provided shelter from his stormy life. As the final note faded, reality began to seep back into the room. His eyes lost their depth and forgotten pains quickly registered. Once again, he was a seventeen-year-old boy in a hospital with one leg and several scars. As I watched his painful transformation, I was sadly reminded that every song must end. My guitar could not undo the harms that he had suffered, and the relief I offered was merely a momentary distraction. My guitar was not a panacea. Regardless, I was convinced that something more than a diversion had taken place. I believed that, in some way, our music would live on beyond the end of that last song. Although he was reeling in pain at that moment, perhaps he felt a trifle less pain because of our music. And later that night when he was lying alone in the hospital bed, perhaps he felt a little less lonely because of my visit. And, someday ahead, when the memories of his suffering have slowly subsided, perhaps he might be reminded of the songs that made him smile on the worst day of his life. And maybe he will smile again and pick up his guitar.

(Adaptado de: SISK, B. A lasting effect. Hektoen International. A Journal of Medical Humanities. Disponível em: http://www.hektoeninternational.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=402. Acesso em: 25 abr. 2016.)