hauskitten
No longer active
awwww shucks 
weloveliam@space
Active Member
I abandoned this thread around page 4 so I missed this.
The discussion has been on a bit of a roller coaster ride since then
I only read the first article at the beginning, now ive just read the rest
I think people need to chill a bit, we're all entitled to our own opinions, but for funks sake can we please just agree to disagree
I
icebaer69
Guest
"...
Brit Arrested
The British owner of a bar in the West End was arrested on Friday
during a routine inspection when plain-clothed officers entered the establishment
to check the establishment possessed all the necessary paperwork.
Whilst there officers noticed "poppers" behind the bar which were on sale to the public.
During the subsequent inspection 40 passports, mostly British, were found.
Further investigation by Guardia Civil officers led to a further 5 people being arrested,
two of whom were connected to a second bar caught up in the scandal.
In total 2,300 doses have been seized, along with €30,000 in cash
officers believe was obtained from the sale of the poppers.
Poppers is the street term for various alkyl nitrites taken for recreational purposes through direct inhalation, particularly amyl nitrite, butyl nitrite, isopropyl nitrite and isobutyl nitrite. Amyl nitrite has a long history of safe medical use in treating angina, as well as an antidote to cyanide poisoning. Amyl nitrite and several other alkyl nitrites which are used in over-the-counter products, such as air fresheners and video head cleaners, are often inhaled with the goal of enhancing sexual pleasure. Inhaling nitrites relaxes smooth muscles throughout the body. Smooth muscle surrounds the body's blood vessels and when relaxed causes these vessels to dilate resulting in an immediate increase in heart rate and blood flow throughout the body, producing a sensation of heat and excitement that usually lasts for a couple of minutes. The head rush, euphoria, and other sensations that result from the increased heart rate are often felt to increase sexual arousal and desire.
A 2006 article published in London's The Independent entitled
"Drugs: the real deal",
reported on a study and ranking of drugs for harmfulness.
Devised by British government advisers, and based upon scientific evidence of harm
to both individuals and society, the study showed that "Poppers" pose little potential
harm to individuals or to society.
Elsewhere, it has been suggested that taking Viagra with nitrites could cause a serious
decrease in blood pressure, leading to fainting, stroke, or even heart attack.
Poppers can also increase intraocular pressure,
resulting in the medical condition glaucoma.
There has also been a suggestion that poppers may weaken the immune system;
however any damage is undone within a few days of halting use.
Other risks include burns if spilt on skin, loss of consciousness, headaches,
and red or itching rashes around the mouth and nose.
Originally marketed as a prescription drug in 1937, amyl nitrite remained so until 1960,
when the Food and Drug Administration removed the prescription requirement
due to its safety record.
However, this requirement was reinstated in 1969 after observation of an increase
in recreational use.
..."
(ibiza-sun)
Brit Arrested
The British owner of a bar in the West End was arrested on Friday
during a routine inspection when plain-clothed officers entered the establishment
to check the establishment possessed all the necessary paperwork.
Whilst there officers noticed "poppers" behind the bar which were on sale to the public.
During the subsequent inspection 40 passports, mostly British, were found.
Further investigation by Guardia Civil officers led to a further 5 people being arrested,
two of whom were connected to a second bar caught up in the scandal.
In total 2,300 doses have been seized, along with €30,000 in cash
officers believe was obtained from the sale of the poppers.
Poppers is the street term for various alkyl nitrites taken for recreational purposes through direct inhalation, particularly amyl nitrite, butyl nitrite, isopropyl nitrite and isobutyl nitrite. Amyl nitrite has a long history of safe medical use in treating angina, as well as an antidote to cyanide poisoning. Amyl nitrite and several other alkyl nitrites which are used in over-the-counter products, such as air fresheners and video head cleaners, are often inhaled with the goal of enhancing sexual pleasure. Inhaling nitrites relaxes smooth muscles throughout the body. Smooth muscle surrounds the body's blood vessels and when relaxed causes these vessels to dilate resulting in an immediate increase in heart rate and blood flow throughout the body, producing a sensation of heat and excitement that usually lasts for a couple of minutes. The head rush, euphoria, and other sensations that result from the increased heart rate are often felt to increase sexual arousal and desire.
A 2006 article published in London's The Independent entitled
"Drugs: the real deal",
reported on a study and ranking of drugs for harmfulness.
Devised by British government advisers, and based upon scientific evidence of harm
to both individuals and society, the study showed that "Poppers" pose little potential
harm to individuals or to society.
Elsewhere, it has been suggested that taking Viagra with nitrites could cause a serious
decrease in blood pressure, leading to fainting, stroke, or even heart attack.
Poppers can also increase intraocular pressure,
resulting in the medical condition glaucoma.
There has also been a suggestion that poppers may weaken the immune system;
however any damage is undone within a few days of halting use.
Other risks include burns if spilt on skin, loss of consciousness, headaches,
and red or itching rashes around the mouth and nose.
Originally marketed as a prescription drug in 1937, amyl nitrite remained so until 1960,
when the Food and Drug Administration removed the prescription requirement
due to its safety record.
However, this requirement was reinstated in 1969 after observation of an increase
in recreational use.
..."
(ibiza-sun)
I
icebaer69
Guest
ibiza 2009 drug-report:
- which drugs are there
- what drug has what effect
- who takes what drug
- prices
...
"...
DROGAS:
IBIZA, del EXTASIS a la COCAINA
..."
(http://www.diariodeibiza.es/pitiuses-balears/2009/08/10/ibiza-extasis-cocaina/350765.html)
- which drugs are there
- what drug has what effect
- who takes what drug
- prices
...
"...
DROGAS:
IBIZA, del EXTASIS a la COCAINA
..."
(http://www.diariodeibiza.es/pitiuses-balears/2009/08/10/ibiza-extasis-cocaina/350765.html)
hauskitten
No longer active
Any chance of an English translation? My Spanish is very limited so my attempt to translate that could prove dangerous for my health
I
icebaer69
Guest
"...
The diary of a flying doctor
For five years, GP Ben Macfarlane has been coming to the aid
of ill or injured British travellers.
But alongside the stomach bugs and broken limbs,
he has had a few surprises.
By Ben Macfarlane
Published: 10:01AM BST 04 Sep 2009
Straight away I'm confused.
I'm off to Ibiza to pick up someone who's had a heart attack
after a bad reaction to Ecstasy.
On a party island such as Ibiza in the summer that's a pretty standard job.
But this patient is a 78-year-old grandmother.
"What the hell was she doing taking Ecstasy?"
I ask Camilla, one of the Hounslow-based logistics team.
She shrugs.
"We've not got any more details. The poor dear's been in a bad way, it seems.
Luckily she's got her granddaughter with her."
The hospital on Ibiza has a good reputation.
My latest patient was admitted in the early hours last Sunday morning.
She had been found walking half-naked through her hotel reception, confused,
incoherent and agitated.
Her granddaughter couldn't be found and the woman didn't respond to anything
that was said to her.
I reread her medical history.
Until quite recently she had been fit and well.
She had had some blood pressure and cholesterol problems and had her first
angina attack about six years ago. The rest of Mrs Walsh's file explains
what happened on the night she was admitted.
The doctors diagnosed that it was a minor heart attack.
They made the decision to keep her under observation.
It was then that her leading doctor screened her urine for drugs.
"We see a lot of things on this island," he tells me when we meet.
"If this lady had been 18, we would have said right away that it was drugs.
She's 78, but everything else is the same."
"What were the test results?"
"They were what I expected.
The lady had taken Ecstasy and her heart did not like it."
I examine my patient.
"You didn't change your medication before the trip or take anything unusual during it,
Mrs Walsh?" I ask casually. She's pretty spry now.
She also looks the model of respectability.
Her mouth closes firmly and she looks at her hands.
Suddenly our conversation is over.
In the hospital waiting area I meet her granddaughter for the first time.
Her name is Emma. She's 18, tall and slim with straight blonde hair and wide,
watery eyes. She looks distraught and is rocking in her chair.
"Your gran takes an aspirin a day for her angina, doesn't she?" I ask. "
But the doctors think she took an Ecstasy pill.
That's what triggered her heart attack.
You were sharing a room, weren't you?"
Emma looks tortured.
"Could she have gone through your bags looking for aspirin?"
Emma closes her mouth just the way her grandmother has done.
It must be a family characteristic.
After a few more unanswered questions I let it go.
This is something the family will have to discuss among themselves.
The next day I head back to the hospital after breakfast to assess my patient.
She's ready to travel and a still nervous-looking Emma is at her side,
all packed up and ready to go.
"Your gran's going to be fine," I repeat as we get to the airport.
But I'm soon having second thoughts.
Our flight is delayed by an hour-and-a-half and the terminal is hot,
crowded and airless.
By the time we are boarding Mrs Walsh has started to turn pale.
Just before take-off she begins to look clammy.
It's the last chance to take her off the flight to get her back to hospital.
About 150 passengers will be very angry if I get the plane sent back to the gate now.
But if my patient is in trouble it has to be done.
"Mrs Walsh, are you feeling OK?"
"I just feel a little bit sick," she says, her voice quiet and slurred.
"I just need some air. I'll be fine."
Emma and I point the air jets in her direction and are rewarded with a weak smile.
All I can do is take her word for it. At this stage I am the only one who can decide
whether Mrs Walsh is fit to fly. I weigh it all up.
Taking her off the flight may make her feel she's more vulnerable than she really is,
and if she doesn't fly today she'll have to go through it all again tomorrow.
I decide we should go ahead.
We taxi towards the end of the runway, then wait for what seems like forever.
The hot Ibiza sun is pouring in through the windows, seeming to suck ever more air
out of the plane. There's nothing the crew can do.
Window blinds have to be kept open on take-off and landing.
I start to fan Mrs Walsh with a safety card. She's still giving weak smiles.
The cabin temperature finally falls when we get airborne.
"Is that feeling a little easier, Mrs Walsh?"
She finally gives a far more convincing smile. "Call me Margaret," she says. "
You're an angel. I feel just dandy now, though I would like a glass of water."
That's when she throws up in my lap.
"It's OK, Margaret. This happens all the time.
Now you just hold on to this bag if it happens again."
Her eyes are closed. She retches again, though this time precious little comes out.
It looks as if the worst is over, so I take the sick bag out of her hands.
She opens her eyes and looks across at me.
"Doctor, I've ruined your clothes."
"That doesn't matter at all. I just want to be sure you're OK."
One of the crew has arrived and is offering Margaret a microscopic face wipe.
"She might need another," I suggest, before turning to Margaret.
"Are you OK for a minute if I dash to the loo to clean up?"
I take my shirt off in the lavatory and try to rinse it through with hand soap.
I do the same with my trousers. I wring my clothes out, pull them back on
and head back to our row. As I sit down, Margaret is dabbing her face with a hot towel.
"Am I going to be all right?" she asks as I sit down.
"You're going to be fine. I think that was just the heat and the lack of oxygen up here.
Plus the hospital food. I saw what they were feeding you and I'm surprised
you weren't sick days ago." It's a line I use when patients throw up on me.
Sometimes it raises a smile. It doesn't work today.
Margaret sits in silence for some time.
She takes tiny sips of her water and keeps on dabbing her face.
That's when I realise that it isn't over.
She's starting to pull in short, shallow, dangerous breaths.
"Margaret, are you feeling sick again? Can you relax for me?"
Her eyes flash out a warning. She swallows deeply and tries to speak.
Her hand reaches out to my arm. She is scared now.
"I can't seem to breathe properly. Something's happening to my heart."
I turn her arm over and count her pulse.
In the hospital and earlier in the flight it was around 80.
Now it's close to 200.
No wonder she's gasping for air.
No wonder she's scared.
"Margaret, it's going to be fine," I say, cursing myself.
Why didn't I get her off the plane while I had the chance?
Even if I can get the captain to do an emergency divert now we'll have to fly back
out over the Mediterranean to dump our fuel before starting our descent.
It will be an hour until she's in an ambulance. I'm not sure she's got that much time.
She's got her hand on her chest.
"It really hurts here, doctor. What's happening to me?"
Emma is out of her seat now and starting to panic again.
One woman across the aisle lets out a low moan and starts jabbing
at her flight attendant call button. That's all we need.
"Just give us some room. Your gran's going to be fine," I tell Emma.
The truth is I'm not so sure. I count her pulse. It's going even higher.
She's in supraventricular tachycardia and I need to move fast –
if I don't put the brakes on her heart, then her blood pressure will drop like a stone.
At that point her brain could get starved of oxygen or her lungs could fill with water.
Both could kill her – but putting the brakes on an old woman's heart
is easier said than done.
I'm out of my seat now and I have my right hand on the side of Margaret's neck.
My fingers are kneading the area near her windpipe.
One way to reset her heart rate is to massage the vagus nerve that runs
from the brain to the heart.
It's a tricky manoeuvre and it doesn't always work.
It isn't working today.
I pick up her hand and check her pulse again.
I haven't saved her.
I'm back at her neck, massaging the other side.
She's moaning in fear now.
Her pulse is at 220 and climbing.
"I need my medical bag," I shout out at Emma. "In the locker, up there."
She's frozen and won't move. "Emma, I need the bag now."
Finally it's in front of me. The cabin crew have arrived to help.
One of them has even managed to calm down the woman across the aisle
who pressed the call button.
I let go of Margaret's hands and open the bag.
An injection of adenosine might bring her heart rate back down.
I find the drug and prep the syringe.
Margaret has a cannula in her arm – the easy gateway for an injection like this.
I get the syringe in and press it but nothing happens.
I press again. Nothing. The cannula's blocked.
Her eyes widen with fear.
She can tell from my face that something's gone wrong.
I need to inject into a vein now. The doctor in Ibiza said they had struggled
when Margaret had been admitted.
On a bumpy charter flight at 35,000ft, things are a little harder.
"OK, Margaret. I'm going to give you an injection now.
I need you to hold your arm out for me."
There isn't a vein.
My fingers are pushing, kneading, just as they had been on her neck.
Emma has started to cry, Margaret is gasping for air and we're running out of time.
I have one more plan. The dive reflex.
I've read about it, but never done it, much less in public.
But I've no other choice.
"I need a big bowl. I need some litre bottles of water. And ice.
As much as you can get me," I yell at the cabin crew.
The stewardesses move fast.
"We don't have a bowl," one says. "But we have this."
It's the tray that is usually clipped on top of the drinks trolley.
"It's perfect," I say, even though it isn't.
I slam the seat-back table down in front of Margaret, put the container on it a
nd tip half a bag of ice into it. Then I slosh two litres of water on top.
A load of ice cubes fall out and a river of freezing cold water pours out
over Margaret's bare legs. Her summer skirt is soaked through.
She lets out another cry.
"Margaret, you're not going to like this but I need to get your head
in this bucket of water. It's like bobbing for apples – can you understand that?"
"I can't do it," she says, staring at me as if I've gone mad.
"There are nerves running down your face and neck and the shock of freezing water
can reset the heart." I turn back to Margaret.
"Did you hear that? Are you ready, Margaret? I know there's not much room
but I need you to get your face in this water. You have to trust me."
She looks at Emma then gives the barest of nods. She's ready.
When Margaret gulps in some air I push her face into the bowl.
That's when Emma goes wild.
She screams and lunges at me, hitting my shoulders with one hand,
trying to pull me away from her grandmother with the other.
I barely notice. I count to three, then pull Margaret back up by her hair.
She's gasping for air, shaking, shivering, too upset even to cry.
"Margaret, you were amazing. I'm going to check your pulse right now."
My hands are on her wrist as I speak. I count the beats. Ten seconds. I do the sum.
It comes out at just over 100.
I'm breathing as loudly as she is now.
I wait a few moments, then count it again.
Please let this woman be safe. She is.
The second count is below 100.
We've made it.
"Margaret, listen to me, you're going to make it," I repeat, trying to smile,
trying to get her to look at me.
Her eyes are full of tears and full of fear. I don't think she's taking anything in.
"Blankets. She's going to need blankets."
The crew run to get some. As the blankets arrive I'm suddenly laughing
at the sheer horror of what I've just done to this poor old lady.
No wonder she and all the other passengers are in shock.
Margaret closes her eyes while the crew mop up the seat area and wrap her
in blankets. By the sound of it she's starting to sob, quietly.
The crew have been busy moving passengers around so that Margaret
can have a dry seat. We lead her, swathed in blankets, to her new row.
"Can you bear to have me sit next to you?" I ask as we settle in.
She pats my arm and says she's very glad I'm there.
Then she shows she is a true soldier by asking for some hot, sweet tea.
Once she's drunk it, she really does seem to be on the mend.
"I think the whole plane saw my bare legs and petticoat. I was quite mortified,"
she says with a flash of her old spirit.
"Margaret, I've got a confession to make," I tell her.
"There was one other way to try to get your heart back to normal.
It sounds unlikely, but some medical books recommend getting a patient
to do a handstand."
"I think I you were right to choose the water," she says drily.
Extract is from Holiday SOS: Sun, Sea and Surgery, by Ben Macfarlane
..."
(telegraph.co.uk)
The diary of a flying doctor
For five years, GP Ben Macfarlane has been coming to the aid
of ill or injured British travellers.
But alongside the stomach bugs and broken limbs,
he has had a few surprises.
By Ben Macfarlane
Published: 10:01AM BST 04 Sep 2009
Straight away I'm confused.
I'm off to Ibiza to pick up someone who's had a heart attack
after a bad reaction to Ecstasy.
On a party island such as Ibiza in the summer that's a pretty standard job.
But this patient is a 78-year-old grandmother.
"What the hell was she doing taking Ecstasy?"
I ask Camilla, one of the Hounslow-based logistics team.
She shrugs.
"We've not got any more details. The poor dear's been in a bad way, it seems.
Luckily she's got her granddaughter with her."
The hospital on Ibiza has a good reputation.
My latest patient was admitted in the early hours last Sunday morning.
She had been found walking half-naked through her hotel reception, confused,
incoherent and agitated.
Her granddaughter couldn't be found and the woman didn't respond to anything
that was said to her.
I reread her medical history.
Until quite recently she had been fit and well.
She had had some blood pressure and cholesterol problems and had her first
angina attack about six years ago. The rest of Mrs Walsh's file explains
what happened on the night she was admitted.
The doctors diagnosed that it was a minor heart attack.
They made the decision to keep her under observation.
It was then that her leading doctor screened her urine for drugs.
"We see a lot of things on this island," he tells me when we meet.
"If this lady had been 18, we would have said right away that it was drugs.
She's 78, but everything else is the same."
"What were the test results?"
"They were what I expected.
The lady had taken Ecstasy and her heart did not like it."
I examine my patient.
"You didn't change your medication before the trip or take anything unusual during it,
Mrs Walsh?" I ask casually. She's pretty spry now.
She also looks the model of respectability.
Her mouth closes firmly and she looks at her hands.
Suddenly our conversation is over.
In the hospital waiting area I meet her granddaughter for the first time.
Her name is Emma. She's 18, tall and slim with straight blonde hair and wide,
watery eyes. She looks distraught and is rocking in her chair.
"Your gran takes an aspirin a day for her angina, doesn't she?" I ask. "
But the doctors think she took an Ecstasy pill.
That's what triggered her heart attack.
You were sharing a room, weren't you?"
Emma looks tortured.
"Could she have gone through your bags looking for aspirin?"
Emma closes her mouth just the way her grandmother has done.
It must be a family characteristic.
After a few more unanswered questions I let it go.
This is something the family will have to discuss among themselves.
The next day I head back to the hospital after breakfast to assess my patient.
She's ready to travel and a still nervous-looking Emma is at her side,
all packed up and ready to go.
"Your gran's going to be fine," I repeat as we get to the airport.
But I'm soon having second thoughts.
Our flight is delayed by an hour-and-a-half and the terminal is hot,
crowded and airless.
By the time we are boarding Mrs Walsh has started to turn pale.
Just before take-off she begins to look clammy.
It's the last chance to take her off the flight to get her back to hospital.
About 150 passengers will be very angry if I get the plane sent back to the gate now.
But if my patient is in trouble it has to be done.
"Mrs Walsh, are you feeling OK?"
"I just feel a little bit sick," she says, her voice quiet and slurred.
"I just need some air. I'll be fine."
Emma and I point the air jets in her direction and are rewarded with a weak smile.
All I can do is take her word for it. At this stage I am the only one who can decide
whether Mrs Walsh is fit to fly. I weigh it all up.
Taking her off the flight may make her feel she's more vulnerable than she really is,
and if she doesn't fly today she'll have to go through it all again tomorrow.
I decide we should go ahead.
We taxi towards the end of the runway, then wait for what seems like forever.
The hot Ibiza sun is pouring in through the windows, seeming to suck ever more air
out of the plane. There's nothing the crew can do.
Window blinds have to be kept open on take-off and landing.
I start to fan Mrs Walsh with a safety card. She's still giving weak smiles.
The cabin temperature finally falls when we get airborne.
"Is that feeling a little easier, Mrs Walsh?"
She finally gives a far more convincing smile. "Call me Margaret," she says. "
You're an angel. I feel just dandy now, though I would like a glass of water."
That's when she throws up in my lap.
"It's OK, Margaret. This happens all the time.
Now you just hold on to this bag if it happens again."
Her eyes are closed. She retches again, though this time precious little comes out.
It looks as if the worst is over, so I take the sick bag out of her hands.
She opens her eyes and looks across at me.
"Doctor, I've ruined your clothes."
"That doesn't matter at all. I just want to be sure you're OK."
One of the crew has arrived and is offering Margaret a microscopic face wipe.
"She might need another," I suggest, before turning to Margaret.
"Are you OK for a minute if I dash to the loo to clean up?"
I take my shirt off in the lavatory and try to rinse it through with hand soap.
I do the same with my trousers. I wring my clothes out, pull them back on
and head back to our row. As I sit down, Margaret is dabbing her face with a hot towel.
"Am I going to be all right?" she asks as I sit down.
"You're going to be fine. I think that was just the heat and the lack of oxygen up here.
Plus the hospital food. I saw what they were feeding you and I'm surprised
you weren't sick days ago." It's a line I use when patients throw up on me.
Sometimes it raises a smile. It doesn't work today.
Margaret sits in silence for some time.
She takes tiny sips of her water and keeps on dabbing her face.
That's when I realise that it isn't over.
She's starting to pull in short, shallow, dangerous breaths.
"Margaret, are you feeling sick again? Can you relax for me?"
Her eyes flash out a warning. She swallows deeply and tries to speak.
Her hand reaches out to my arm. She is scared now.
"I can't seem to breathe properly. Something's happening to my heart."
I turn her arm over and count her pulse.
In the hospital and earlier in the flight it was around 80.
Now it's close to 200.
No wonder she's gasping for air.
No wonder she's scared.
"Margaret, it's going to be fine," I say, cursing myself.
Why didn't I get her off the plane while I had the chance?
Even if I can get the captain to do an emergency divert now we'll have to fly back
out over the Mediterranean to dump our fuel before starting our descent.
It will be an hour until she's in an ambulance. I'm not sure she's got that much time.
She's got her hand on her chest.
"It really hurts here, doctor. What's happening to me?"
Emma is out of her seat now and starting to panic again.
One woman across the aisle lets out a low moan and starts jabbing
at her flight attendant call button. That's all we need.
"Just give us some room. Your gran's going to be fine," I tell Emma.
The truth is I'm not so sure. I count her pulse. It's going even higher.
She's in supraventricular tachycardia and I need to move fast –
if I don't put the brakes on her heart, then her blood pressure will drop like a stone.
At that point her brain could get starved of oxygen or her lungs could fill with water.
Both could kill her – but putting the brakes on an old woman's heart
is easier said than done.
I'm out of my seat now and I have my right hand on the side of Margaret's neck.
My fingers are kneading the area near her windpipe.
One way to reset her heart rate is to massage the vagus nerve that runs
from the brain to the heart.
It's a tricky manoeuvre and it doesn't always work.
It isn't working today.
I pick up her hand and check her pulse again.
I haven't saved her.
I'm back at her neck, massaging the other side.
She's moaning in fear now.
Her pulse is at 220 and climbing.
"I need my medical bag," I shout out at Emma. "In the locker, up there."
She's frozen and won't move. "Emma, I need the bag now."
Finally it's in front of me. The cabin crew have arrived to help.
One of them has even managed to calm down the woman across the aisle
who pressed the call button.
I let go of Margaret's hands and open the bag.
An injection of adenosine might bring her heart rate back down.
I find the drug and prep the syringe.
Margaret has a cannula in her arm – the easy gateway for an injection like this.
I get the syringe in and press it but nothing happens.
I press again. Nothing. The cannula's blocked.
Her eyes widen with fear.
She can tell from my face that something's gone wrong.
I need to inject into a vein now. The doctor in Ibiza said they had struggled
when Margaret had been admitted.
On a bumpy charter flight at 35,000ft, things are a little harder.
"OK, Margaret. I'm going to give you an injection now.
I need you to hold your arm out for me."
There isn't a vein.
My fingers are pushing, kneading, just as they had been on her neck.
Emma has started to cry, Margaret is gasping for air and we're running out of time.
I have one more plan. The dive reflex.
I've read about it, but never done it, much less in public.
But I've no other choice.
"I need a big bowl. I need some litre bottles of water. And ice.
As much as you can get me," I yell at the cabin crew.
The stewardesses move fast.
"We don't have a bowl," one says. "But we have this."
It's the tray that is usually clipped on top of the drinks trolley.
"It's perfect," I say, even though it isn't.
I slam the seat-back table down in front of Margaret, put the container on it a
nd tip half a bag of ice into it. Then I slosh two litres of water on top.
A load of ice cubes fall out and a river of freezing cold water pours out
over Margaret's bare legs. Her summer skirt is soaked through.
She lets out another cry.
"Margaret, you're not going to like this but I need to get your head
in this bucket of water. It's like bobbing for apples – can you understand that?"
"I can't do it," she says, staring at me as if I've gone mad.
"There are nerves running down your face and neck and the shock of freezing water
can reset the heart." I turn back to Margaret.
"Did you hear that? Are you ready, Margaret? I know there's not much room
but I need you to get your face in this water. You have to trust me."
She looks at Emma then gives the barest of nods. She's ready.
When Margaret gulps in some air I push her face into the bowl.
That's when Emma goes wild.
She screams and lunges at me, hitting my shoulders with one hand,
trying to pull me away from her grandmother with the other.
I barely notice. I count to three, then pull Margaret back up by her hair.
She's gasping for air, shaking, shivering, too upset even to cry.
"Margaret, you were amazing. I'm going to check your pulse right now."
My hands are on her wrist as I speak. I count the beats. Ten seconds. I do the sum.
It comes out at just over 100.
I'm breathing as loudly as she is now.
I wait a few moments, then count it again.
Please let this woman be safe. She is.
The second count is below 100.
We've made it.
"Margaret, listen to me, you're going to make it," I repeat, trying to smile,
trying to get her to look at me.
Her eyes are full of tears and full of fear. I don't think she's taking anything in.
"Blankets. She's going to need blankets."
The crew run to get some. As the blankets arrive I'm suddenly laughing
at the sheer horror of what I've just done to this poor old lady.
No wonder she and all the other passengers are in shock.
Margaret closes her eyes while the crew mop up the seat area and wrap her
in blankets. By the sound of it she's starting to sob, quietly.
The crew have been busy moving passengers around so that Margaret
can have a dry seat. We lead her, swathed in blankets, to her new row.
"Can you bear to have me sit next to you?" I ask as we settle in.
She pats my arm and says she's very glad I'm there.
Then she shows she is a true soldier by asking for some hot, sweet tea.
Once she's drunk it, she really does seem to be on the mend.
"I think the whole plane saw my bare legs and petticoat. I was quite mortified,"
she says with a flash of her old spirit.
"Margaret, I've got a confession to make," I tell her.
"There was one other way to try to get your heart back to normal.
It sounds unlikely, but some medical books recommend getting a patient
to do a handstand."
"I think I you were right to choose the water," she says drily.
Extract is from Holiday SOS: Sun, Sea and Surgery, by Ben Macfarlane
..."
(telegraph.co.uk)
I
icebaer69
Guest
hauskitten
No longer active
hauskitten
No longer active
I
icebaer69
Guest
814 kilos (!!!) of cocaine (in a faked rallye-paris-dakar-truck) for ibiza ...
... not anymore:
http://www.diariodeibiza.es/pitiuse...800-kilos-cocaina-destinada-ibiza/403196.html
dancemaster
Active Member
814 kilos (!!!) of cocaine (in a faked rallye-paris-dakar-truck) for ibiza ...
... not anymore:
http://www.diariodeibiza.es/pitiuse...800-kilos-cocaina-destinada-ibiza/403196.html
preparations for summer 2010 have already started...
Morbyd
Moderator
preparations for summer 2010 have already started...
That's the street price doubled then
dancemaster
Active Member
purple_lean
New Member
That's a lot of blow. 15k tabs too. Someone is getting clipped.
Double the price and quadruple the stomp this summer.
Double the price and quadruple the stomp this summer.
I
icebaer69
Guest
now we have:
814 kilos (!!!) of cocaine (in a faked rallye-paris-dakar-truck) for ibiza ...
814 kilograms of cocaine
15,000 tablets of ecstacy,
4.5 kilograms of hashish and
47,000 euro in cash.
7 arrested (2 geezers from ibiza,
including a blacksmith, who constructed the boxes to hide the stuff)
The leader of the band had a house in Barcelona, in which a suitcase was found
that was prepared for a flight in which there was false documentation from argentina
and 6,000 euro in cash ...
http://www.diariodeibiza.es/pitiuse...na-15000-extasis-destinados-ibiza/403339.html
redbull won´t be amused ...
I
icebaer69
Guest
"...
COCAINE ARRESTS
The National Police, in collaboration with the Argentinean Federal Police,
last week discovered a cache of 814 kilos of cocaine.
The stash had been hidden in false compartments in a lorry
which had supposedly taken part in the "Paris/Dakar" Rally,
which this year took place in Argentina and Chile.
The seven members of the gang were detained in Bilbao, Barcelona and Ibiza,
which police claimed was more than likely the final destination of the drugs.
Inside the apartment of the purported leader of the gang in Bilbao police
also found forged Argentinean documentation, together with €6,000 and getaway
luggage, so that he would be able to make a quick escape if necessary.
Fifteen thousand ecstasy pills, 4.5 kilos of cannabis, precision scales
and €47,000 have also been impounded.
At the beginning of January the lorry, which had been painted with the official logos
of a support vehicle (Red Bull and Repsol) in the Paris/Dakar Rally,
was loaded at Bilbao and shipped to Argentina.
Other members of the gang, all of whom were decked out in official Rally uniforms,
then flew to meet their partners in Buenos Aires.
The lorry was driven to their hideout 100 kilometres from the capital,
where the drugs were concealed in the specially adapted chassis.
After the conclusion of the Rally the gang had to wait to pass the Customs
and Excise inspection before being shipped back to Bilbao, and it was there
that police swooped and embargo'd the vehicle for inspection by a specialist team.
It took more than twelve hours to discover all of the hiding places,
which had been protected by planks of wood and embedded in lead,
to avoid detection by scanners.
The false compartments were supposedly done by one of the two Ibicencos
arrested on the island, a 50-year-old retired metal worker, with the judge
describing his work as "methodical, complex and extremely well carried out."
Although both initially paid €8,000 bail to avoid being sent to prison on Wednesday,
the following day, after receiving more information on the investigation,
the judge decided that there was a good chance that they would flee the country
and therefore jailed them without bail.
Later in the week a British couple were arrested in Santa Eulalia,
accused of drug trafficking.
According to officers towards the end of February they sent a package via courier
to Bilbao for forwarding on to the U.K. by ferry.
For reasons which were not made clear the van driver became suspicious
of the couple and informed the Guardia Civil.
When the parcel arrived at its destination in the north of Spain police took the decision
to open the package in which just over a kilo of MDMA was found underneath clothes
and other items.
Having tapped their telephone, the police obtained a search warrant to enter
their apartment, where substances used in the production of MDMA were found.
The 35-year-old man and 30-year-old woman will now be sent to Bilbao
where charges will be formally made.
..."
(ibiza-sun)
COCAINE ARRESTS
The National Police, in collaboration with the Argentinean Federal Police,
last week discovered a cache of 814 kilos of cocaine.
The stash had been hidden in false compartments in a lorry
which had supposedly taken part in the "Paris/Dakar" Rally,
which this year took place in Argentina and Chile.
The seven members of the gang were detained in Bilbao, Barcelona and Ibiza,
which police claimed was more than likely the final destination of the drugs.
Inside the apartment of the purported leader of the gang in Bilbao police
also found forged Argentinean documentation, together with €6,000 and getaway
luggage, so that he would be able to make a quick escape if necessary.
Fifteen thousand ecstasy pills, 4.5 kilos of cannabis, precision scales
and €47,000 have also been impounded.
At the beginning of January the lorry, which had been painted with the official logos
of a support vehicle (Red Bull and Repsol) in the Paris/Dakar Rally,
was loaded at Bilbao and shipped to Argentina.
Other members of the gang, all of whom were decked out in official Rally uniforms,
then flew to meet their partners in Buenos Aires.
The lorry was driven to their hideout 100 kilometres from the capital,
where the drugs were concealed in the specially adapted chassis.
After the conclusion of the Rally the gang had to wait to pass the Customs
and Excise inspection before being shipped back to Bilbao, and it was there
that police swooped and embargo'd the vehicle for inspection by a specialist team.
It took more than twelve hours to discover all of the hiding places,
which had been protected by planks of wood and embedded in lead,
to avoid detection by scanners.
The false compartments were supposedly done by one of the two Ibicencos
arrested on the island, a 50-year-old retired metal worker, with the judge
describing his work as "methodical, complex and extremely well carried out."
Although both initially paid €8,000 bail to avoid being sent to prison on Wednesday,
the following day, after receiving more information on the investigation,
the judge decided that there was a good chance that they would flee the country
and therefore jailed them without bail.
Later in the week a British couple were arrested in Santa Eulalia,
accused of drug trafficking.
According to officers towards the end of February they sent a package via courier
to Bilbao for forwarding on to the U.K. by ferry.
For reasons which were not made clear the van driver became suspicious
of the couple and informed the Guardia Civil.
When the parcel arrived at its destination in the north of Spain police took the decision
to open the package in which just over a kilo of MDMA was found underneath clothes
and other items.
Having tapped their telephone, the police obtained a search warrant to enter
their apartment, where substances used in the production of MDMA were found.
The 35-year-old man and 30-year-old woman will now be sent to Bilbao
where charges will be formally made.
..."
(ibiza-sun)
2010 summer ...
heyy, j see that the most important group of intruduction cocaine in ibiza was arested , 900 kilos .... all for this summer j suppose...
What do you think about that, it will be more dificult to find products this years , or maybe there are others people who introduce coke on the island?
maybe people how are in ibiza now can inform us about that.
J don 't ask adress or others like that , just to know if this year , we will find good products on the island?
thankss
heyy, j see that the most important group of intruduction cocaine in ibiza was arested , 900 kilos .... all for this summer j suppose...
What do you think about that, it will be more dificult to find products this years , or maybe there are others people who introduce coke on the island?
maybe people how are in ibiza now can inform us about that.
J don 't ask adress or others like that , just to know if this year , we will find good products on the island?
thankss
Ladynblack 34
New Member
hope they really have a plan C!!