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The National
an hour ago
- The National
How my son's illness showed me football's accessibility gaps
There are certain things you think will never happen to you, or your family. Until they do. It was just before the Covid pandemic really took hold. The whole world, it seemed, felt uncertain, but for us, the threat of the virus was a secondary concern. Our eldest son was eight at the time. He was football daft. He went to watch his favourite team, Motherwell, every chance he got. As I would usually be working on matchdays, he would go along to Fir Park and away from home often too with his Grandad and a squad of his pals from school. He played for the club's Community Trust team and was still dining out on recently captaining his side to a last-gasp comeback win. He lived for it. One day, he complained of a painful sensation down both arms that he likened to 'electric shocks'. He came running out of the bathroom one morning soon after and suddenly went down like he had been picked off by some distant, crack sniper. (Image: Graeme McGarry) His doctor was puzzled. Growing pains, perhaps? No. Eventually, the symptoms were too severe for that. He had recently bumped his head on the pavement while playing football at his Gran's, could that be the cause? Several visits to the hospital and CT scans revealed nothing amiss. The shocks worsened and their duration lengthened, to the point he could no longer bear the pain, nor could we bear to witness his distress. He began to lose feeling down his right arm, and was struggling to drag his right leg behind him. A first socially distanced trip to Tesco to stock up on toilet paper ended with us having to abort the mission and carry him back to the car in tears. His, less well hidden than mine. He was admitted to Wishaw General Hospital. We spent three nights there, the only ones on an otherwise deserted ward, as his condition slowly worsened. A neurologist came to see him on the Friday and immediately instructed us to drive to Glasgow's Queen Elizabeth University Hospital for an MRI. He walked in the front door, albeit with something of a struggle. When he would eventually leave, many months later, he would do so in a wheelchair. At last, though, and at least, we had an answer. Jack was suffering from a Spinal Arteriovenous Malformation, an incredibly rare condition to present in children where blood vessels coil around the spinal cord and restrict communication from the brain to the rest of the body. The surgeons could attempt to 'fix' it, or at least limit the damage, with an angiogram, but that couldn't be performed until the Tuesday due to weekend staff shortages. Still, as long as the blood vessels didn't burst in the intervening period (a million to one shot, one consultant said) then the prognosis wasn't all that bad, all things considered. (Image: Graeme McGarry) There would be rehab, particularly for his right hand, which had all but ceased to function by this stage, but the prospect of him being unable to walk still seemed a relatively distant one. Or maybe that's just what we wanted to believe. On the Sunday morning, the blood vessels burst. He awoke with no feeling from the neck down. The room became a blur of doctors and nurses in full PPE gear. He was whipped away for an urgent CT scan. Papers had to be signed in case they had to operate. Perhaps to his brain. In a cramped room with a small table at its centre, a box of tissues placed on top, the gravity of the situation was spelled out in no uncertain terms. Luck, as we found, is a subjective notion. Having described the situation above, you may wonder how any parent, any child, finding themselves suddenly in the middle of it could be described as fortunate. But we were indeed lucky. The bleed had travelled down the spinal cord, not up towards the brain. The lesser of two unimaginable evils, yes, but in such a situation, you take what you can get. This would mean an operation of at least eight hours. Further procedures. Gruelling rehab. Months, and indeed, years of uncertainty over his future. Still, there are no clear answers to how that will look. In the immediate aftermath, we had no way of addressing the concerns on his mind, of which, there were chiefly two. Will I play football again? Will I be able to go to the football with my mates again? Time will tell, pal. What else could be said? But in time, we were able at least to answer one of those questions. As news of his illness spread, Motherwell reached out. An area would be reserved for him not in the disabled shelter at the far end of the Main Stand away from his friends, but in the Davie Cooper Stand, in amongst them, where he had always watched his team. As a family, we will be eternally grateful to the club, and in particular, to stadium manager Robert Park, for making this possible. I can't begin to adequately explain what that meant to him in that moment, and what it has meant since. (Image: Graeme McGarry) Again, we were lucky. Others in similar situations may not be, though, and that is why I am telling this story here, and why Herald Sport is running this campaign on disabled facilities in Scottish stadiums today. We want to highlight the great work that is going on in Scottish football, the admirable investment from many clubs in this area, and above all, the unsung heroes like Robert, or Alexis Dobbin at Celtic, or John Speirs at Rangers and the countless others who go above and beyond to make going to the match as inclusive an experience as possible. However, we also want to highlight areas where improvements could be made. As I said, and this goes for me too, it is only really when you or a loved one is thrust into such a situation that you give these issues much of a second thought. It is only now, as my son drags me to grounds up and down the country, that I can truly appreciate the hurdles that disabled football fans face just to watch their team. Unfailingly, staff bend over backwards. But the standard of facilities is inconsistent from ground to ground, and often are far from acceptable, whether that is due to a lack of protection from the elements, poor sight lines, or inadequate toilet facilities. In most cases, particularly at away grounds, there is no choice of where to sit. You take what you get, whether that is a shelter down the front far away from the rest of the support, or even in amongst opposition fans. Often, disabled fans have no access to food kiosks. Helpful staff at most venues take orders and deliver refreshments to the disabled section at half time, but there is no opportunity to peruse the menu, or independently go for something to eat or drink whenever you might actually feel like it. Even simple things like buying tickets is a more complicated process than it would be for your average fan, with online purchasing almost always unavailable. Emails have to be sent, phone calls have to be made. Some of these issues are smaller than others, but they all add up to a feeling that disabled supporters are different, and separate from the rest of the crowd. Hopefully, these articles will help to share best practice between clubs, highlight areas where they can improve, where they may be able to source financial help to do so, and help deliver a more inclusive experience that makes every supporter feel a part of their fanbase and their community. We were lucky. But can we establish a standard, so that a disabled fan's experience doesn't come down to fortune, or the good grace of a club employee? Take it from someone who sees what it means - it would absolutely be worth it.
The Herald Scotland
an hour ago
- The Herald Scotland
How my son's illness showed me football's accessibility gaps
There are certain things you think will never happen to you, or your family. Until they do. It was just before the Covid pandemic really took hold. The whole world, it seemed, felt uncertain, but for us, the threat of the virus was a secondary concern. Our eldest son was eight at the time. He was football daft. He went to watch his favourite team, Motherwell, every chance he got. As I would usually be working on matchdays, he would go along to Fir Park and away from home often too with his Grandad and a squad of his pals from school. He played for the club's Community Trust team and was still dining out on recently captaining his side to a last-gasp comeback win. He lived for it. One day, he complained of a painful sensation down both arms that he likened to 'electric shocks'. He came running out of the bathroom one morning soon after and suddenly went down like he had been picked off by some distant, crack sniper. (Image: Graeme McGarry) His doctor was puzzled. Growing pains, perhaps? No. Eventually, the symptoms were too severe for that. He had recently bumped his head on the pavement while playing football at his Gran's, could that be the cause? Several visits to the hospital and CT scans revealed nothing amiss. The shocks worsened and their duration lengthened, to the point he could no longer bear the pain, nor could we bear to witness his distress. He began to lose feeling down his right arm, and was struggling to drag his right leg behind him. A first socially distanced trip to Tesco to stock up on toilet paper ended with us having to abort the mission and carry him back to the car in tears. His, less well hidden than mine. He was admitted to Wishaw General Hospital. We spent three nights there, the only ones on an otherwise deserted ward, as his condition slowly worsened. A neurologist came to see him on the Friday and immediately instructed us to drive to Glasgow's Queen Elizabeth University Hospital for an MRI. He walked in the front door, albeit with something of a struggle. When he would eventually leave, many months later, he would do so in a wheelchair. At last, though, and at least, we had an answer. Jack was suffering from a Spinal Arteriovenous Malformation, an incredibly rare condition to present in children where blood vessels coil around the spinal cord and restrict communication from the brain to the rest of the body. The surgeons could attempt to 'fix' it, or at least limit the damage, with an angiogram, but that couldn't be performed until the Tuesday due to weekend staff shortages. Still, as long as the blood vessels didn't burst in the intervening period (a million to one shot, one consultant said) then the prognosis wasn't all that bad, all things considered. (Image: Graeme McGarry) There would be rehab, particularly for his right hand, which had all but ceased to function by this stage, but the prospect of him being unable to walk still seemed a relatively distant one. Or maybe that's just what we wanted to believe. On the Sunday morning, the blood vessels burst. He awoke with no feeling from the neck down. The room became a blur of doctors and nurses in full PPE gear. He was whipped away for an urgent CT scan. Papers had to be signed in case they had to operate. Perhaps to his brain. In a cramped room with a small table at its centre, a box of tissues placed on top, the gravity of the situation was spelled out in no uncertain terms. Luck, as we found, is a subjective notion. Having described the situation above, you may wonder how any parent, any child, finding themselves suddenly in the middle of it could be described as fortunate. But we were indeed lucky. The bleed had travelled down the spinal cord, not up towards the brain. The lesser of two unimaginable evils, yes, but in such a situation, you take what you can get. This would mean an operation of at least eight hours. Further procedures. Gruelling rehab. Months, and indeed, years of uncertainty over his future. Still, there are no clear answers to how that will look. In the immediate aftermath, we had no way of addressing the concerns on his mind, of which, there were chiefly two. Will I play football again? Will I be able to go to the football with my mates again? Time will tell, pal. What else could be said? But in time, we were able at least to answer one of those questions. As news of his illness spread, Motherwell reached out. An area would be reserved for him not in the disabled shelter at the far end of the Main Stand away from his friends, but in the Davie Cooper Stand, in amongst them, where he had always watched his team. As a family, we will be eternally grateful to the club, and in particular, to stadium manager Robert Park, for making this possible. I can't begin to adequately explain what that meant to him in that moment, and what it has meant since. (Image: Graeme McGarry) Again, we were lucky. Others in similar situations may not be, though, and that is why I am telling this story here, and why Herald Sport is running this campaign on disabled facilities in Scottish stadiums today. We want to highlight the great work that is going on in Scottish football, the admirable investment from many clubs in this area, and above all, the unsung heroes like Robert, or Alexis Dobbin at Celtic, or John Speirs at Rangers and the countless others who go above and beyond to make going to the match as inclusive an experience as possible. However, we also want to highlight areas where improvements could be made. As I said, and this goes for me too, it is only really when you or a loved one is thrust into such a situation that you give these issues much of a second thought. It is only now, as my son drags me to grounds up and down the country, that I can truly appreciate the hurdles that disabled football fans face just to watch their team. Unfailingly, staff bend over backwards. But the standard of facilities is inconsistent from ground to ground, and often are far from acceptable, whether that is due to a lack of protection from the elements, poor sight lines, or inadequate toilet facilities. In most cases, particularly at away grounds, there is no choice of where to sit. You take what you get, whether that is a shelter down the front far away from the rest of the support, or even in amongst opposition fans. Often, disabled fans have no access to food kiosks. Helpful staff at most venues take orders and deliver refreshments to the disabled section at half time, but there is no opportunity to peruse the menu, or independently go for something to eat or drink whenever you might actually feel like it. Even simple things like buying tickets is a more complicated process than it would be for your average fan, with online purchasing almost always unavailable. Emails have to be sent, phone calls have to be made. Some of these issues are smaller than others, but they all add up to a feeling that disabled supporters are different, and separate from the rest of the crowd. Hopefully, these articles will help to share best practice between clubs, highlight areas where they can improve, where they may be able to source financial help to do so, and help deliver a more inclusive experience that makes every supporter feel a part of their fanbase and their community. We were lucky. But can we establish a standard, so that a disabled fan's experience doesn't come down to fortune, or the good grace of a club employee? Take it from someone who sees what it means - it would absolutely be worth it.
Scottish Sun
13 hours ago
- Scottish Sun
Warning over surge in cases of deadly bacteria in UK that kills one in 10 – check 3 symptoms to watch out for
People 'can't function' when struck down with the nasty bacteria HEALTH ALERT Warning over surge in cases of deadly bacteria in UK that kills one in 10 – check 3 symptoms to watch out for Click to share on X/Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) BRITS have been warned as a deadly bacteria that kills one in 10 sufferers has spiked in the UK. Cases of the "worst diarrhoea ever" are rising - here are three symptoms to watch out for. Sign up for Scottish Sun newsletter Sign up 2 The infection stems from a highly contagious bacterium, which lives in people's bowel Credit: Getty Clostridioides difficile, otherwise known as C. diff, has killed more than one in 10 cases from 2023 to 2024. Concerned doctors are warning the death toll could continue to soar if action isn't taken. The infection stems from a highly contagious bacterium, which lives in people's bowel. Dr Kerrie Davies of the C. Diff Trust told Metro: "We cannot afford for more patients to be dying of this every year." She said people "can't function" when struck down with the nasty bacteria. "Patients with it tell us how scared they are. It is the worst diarrhoea that you have ever, ever had in your life," added the expert. From February 2024 to January 2025, the UK Health Security Agency received 19,239 reports of C. diff sufferers. This alarming figure is the highest since 2011/12. Huge efforts to tackle the potentially killer bug were taken in 2007, which helped reduce the rate of infections. The most common symptoms to recognise are severe diarrhoea, high temperature and stomach ache. ITV reality star rushed to A&E as she shares worrying hospital bed snaps Stats revealed 2,164 patients died from C. diff from 2023 to 2024, which translates to a 12.9 per cent fatality rate. When it reached it's peak in 2007, over 7,000 people lost their lives. It is actually normal to have C. diff bacteria in your bowel, without experiencing any trouble. However, problems arise when the normal balance is disrupted, and you become infected. And, those who are diagnosed with the bug onCe, are 25 per cent more likely to catch it again. Bizarrely, if you catch it a second time, there's a 40 per cent chance you'll get it a third time. After this, you'll be a staggeringly 60 per cent more likely to be struck down with it again. The risk of death increases with each infection too. Cases have been spiking across all ages and sexes across the UK, but the worst affected group has so far been the elderly. Dr Davies further explained how the medical profession has "taken their eye off the ball" since the Covid pandemic. But the NHS is struggling to keep up with the costs, as each case can cost between £19,000 to £31,000 to treat. The eye-watering sum is partly down to the quarantine precautions required, and isolation of nurses. However, even if people do recover, they're likely to experience long-lasting systems which can continue affecting them forever. Campaigners trying to bring figures down have been calling for the medical industry to do routine tests for C. diff in all patients who come in with diarrhoea. They also argue antibiotics need to stop being overprescribed. Meanwhile, Russell Hope, UKHSA Senior Scientist and Team Lead, said: "UKHSA is working alongside partners, including NHS England, to investigate recent increases in C. difficile cases in hospitals and community settings. "It's likely the current rise is caused by a combination of factors, including an ageing population with multiple illnesses. Work to identify the causes is ongoing and the appropriate public health action will be taken in response to our findings. "C. difficile is a leading cause of healthcare-associated infections (HCAIs)." He said the "infections diarrhoea" which can "increase morbidity, mortality and hospital length of stay". The expert warned the elderly and those with compromised immune systems are most at risk. Mr Hope explained infections are best managed through "prevention and control" alongside strict monitoring. C. diff symptoms According to the NHS; Symptoms of a C. diff infection diarrhoea a high temperature loss of appetite feeling sick a stomach ache How you get a C. diff infection C. diff bacteria usually live harmlessly in your bowel along with lots of other types of bacteria. But sometimes when you take antibiotics, the balance of bacteria in your bowel can change, causing an infection. When someone has a C. diff infection, it can spread to other people very easily if the bacteria found in the person's poo get onto objects and surfaces. Who's at risk You're more likely to get a C. diff infection if: you're over 65 years you're taking, or have recently taken, antibiotics you're staying in hospital or a care home for a long time you have a weakened immune system – for example, from having a long-term condition like diabetes or kidney failure, or treatment like chemotherapy you're taking a proton pump inhibitor (PPI), such as omeprazole, or other medicines that reduce stomach acid you've had a C. diff infection in the past
