‘Script hounds' leading to cannabis over-subscription
Its legalisation has paved the way for many to access the drug legally, often to treat conditions like chronic pain and anxiety.
But New data from the Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency -- also known as AHPRA -- has revealed eight medical practitioners appeared to have issued more than 10 thousand cannabis scripts each for the highest-THC-strength products over a six-month period.
The regulator is now raising concerns some practitioners are putting "profit over safety".
Speaking with ABC NewsRadio's Rachel Hayter, Associate Professor Michael Clements from the Royal Australian College of GPs says profit-seeking is to blame.
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ABC News
2 hours ago
- ABC News
The unexpected realities of receiving a cancer diagnosis when young
It wasn't until Ashlynn Heaton was about to be wheeled into theatre to have an ovarian cyst removed that doctors told her scans revealed it was probably cancer, and she'd need her right ovary and fallopian tube taken out. Aged just 26 at the time, she had already delayed the surgery by six weeks to complete a work placement and it was an abrupt interruption to a life busy with work, university and her first boyfriend. "I didn't know that cancer in young people really existed," she said. As a young woman, she was concerned about surgical scars and how to preserve her chances of having children in the future. She was also put into medical menopause and was left to deal with the symptoms. Within weeks, she broke up with her partner as the prospect of dealing with fertility questions proved too overwhelming. "The reality was that I couldn't handle having to go through this health challenge plus the relationship," she said. Determined to finish her degree, Ashlynn was soon juggling the physical demands of intense daily chemotherapy and trying to finish university assignments in hospital. "Just even standing was really hard," she said. "If I sometimes couldn't pack my bag, my mum or my sister had to pack it for me and then I'd get in the car and drive myself to chemo." She's one of an emerging group of young people receiving a cancer diagnosis. For this generation, there are limited supports. Dr Peter Diamond, Chair of Cancer Council's Supportive Care Committee, said younger patients typically accessed information online and the Cancer Council were seeing an increase in the number of clicks on information relating to cancers for younger people. "The big thing that we hear about, if you are diagnosed and have young children, is how do you talk to young children and teenagers about cancer," he said. He said younger patients were often not set up financially and had little superannuation to draw on if they were in difficulty. "People end up financially struggling quite a lot," he said. Assistance to cover dealing with treatment side effects such as fertility issues or sexual function also varied state by state. "They also have a lot longer to live with those side effects than people who would probably be diagnosed later in life," Dr Diamond said. He said there were lots of supports available but the problem was having good navigation and coordination to ensure people got help from the start and not when they reached crisis point. "What we find is that people are reluctant to call because they think that there are people out there who are way worse than what they are," he said. Treatment left Ashlynn isolated as she couldn't see friends while her immune system was suppressed. And, some of her social network didn't have the life experience to know how to properly support her. Reflecting on it now, Ashlynn said while there were many children's cancer charities and support groups, there were few options for young women. There was also limited publicly funded psychological help, especially to help navigate the anxiety around regular scans and concerns over her fertility. "Finding that new normal is a real challenge," she said. Unable to work, the medical bills started to add up and without large savings, she struggled financially. "It just it took a toll on me. Can you afford your medication? Can you afford getting fuel?" At a practical level, Ashlynn said what would have helped was transport to chemo appointments, with hospital parking costs alone adding up to about $500 during her three-month treatment. For Andrew Saliba, a bowel cancer diagnosis not only brought the perils of chemotherapy and radiation treatment, but he had to navigate its side effects while juggling two small children. "I had a port-a-cath installed — they put it under your skin just above your chest. So having that and then having the kids wanting to give you a cuddle and they climb on you — it's very painful," he said. "We were always trying to remind them to be careful of Daddy — so they kind of knew Daddy's sick in his tummy but they didn't know the extent of it." During his chemotherapy treatment and with a suppressed immune system, Andrew had to stay at his in-law's house when his family caught COVID. On another occasion, he ended up in emergency with a fever. Andrew said with each treatment his mental health declined and his relationship was put under stress. "There were lots of times I said I'm not doing any more treatment because it's too hard," he said. "I was very moody some days, so that obviously put a bit of a strain on the relationship but at the end of the day I think it has definitely brought us closer. "My wife was amazing through it. She picked up the slack." The couple were still paying off their house and as Andrew's treatments ramped up, he had to give up his job as an electrician, placing the family in financial difficulty. He said if it were not for employer-supplied income protection insurance, they would not have stayed afloat. "The biggest thought I had was, 'What's going to happen to my family if I'm not here?', because I was the main income earner." In the darkest days, Andrew wanted to give up treatment many times, but he said it was after he had his stoma removed that the real problems began. A stoma is a surgically created opening in the abdomen with a bag attached to collect stool. As his bowel recovered, Andrew found himself needing to go to the toilet between 20 and 50 times a day and he didn't leave the house for three months. Returning to work seemed impossible, but eventually he got on top of things, with the help of nutritionists from Bowel Cancer Australia. Even barbecues with friends took on a different flavour with Andrew needing to bring his own food and cook it in the oven instead of on charcoal to help keep his bowels in check. "It definitely sucks now I can't really drink much because it makes my stomach play up — I can't have a barbecue cooked on charcoal. "Going to a restaurant is hard because I can't eat garlic. I can't eat onions." These days, Andrew is trying to make the most of life and has scaled back at work to coach his daughters' rugby league teams. "I kind of used to be work first, now I'm a bit more family first." Andrew said a practical support for anyone going through bowel cancer would include a referral to a nutritionist who could offer advice to help manage bowel movements. "The nutritionist helped me probably the most out of anyone. I had to eat smaller meals. I went straight to eating boiled rice and a few veggies and really watching what fibre I ate." His message is to get checked early to avoid the worst side effects of serious treatment. "If you really think something is wrong, go get a second opinion."
News.com.au
2 hours ago
- News.com.au
‘I had treated my body as a rental': Media personality Shelly Horton reveals life-changing health message to Australian women
When Shelly Horton found herself in the ICU after an ablation in 2020 (a simple procedure to stop persistent bleeding), it didn't cross her mind that it might be a symptom of perimenopause. Nor did she join the dots between a raft of sudden physical and mental changes – heart palpitations, increased body temperature, 'brain fog', and debilitating depression – and perimenopause. The now 51-year-old says she'd never heard the word before, and instead was told by doctors that it might be cancer and was sent for an ultrasound. 'They said, 'Great news, you haven't got cancer. You must be stressed and maybe you should take up a hobby',' Horton tells Stellar. 'I drove home in tears, blaming myself, and didn't go and see another doctor for nine months.' It wasn't until the TV presenter consulted with her friend, Dr. Ginny Mansberg, whom she met as a fellow panellist on Seven's Sunrise in 2008, that she was able to make sense of her suffering. Before that defining moment, she hadn't considered herself in the target market. 'I thought menopause was for women in their late 50s, their period stopped and they got hot flushes,' she explains. 'I had that stereotype in my brain of grey-haired old ladies clutching their pearls and fanning themselves. 'I was like, 'I'm a fox. I'm way too young and fabulous.' 'I didn't understand that perimenopause can last 10 years so, in fact, I was right in the average age group.' Once she started to feel better, Horton got mad. Specifically about the menopause cone of silence which perpetuates the dearth of knowledge and poor treatment options for women. 'We've been taught by our mothers and past generations that it's just women's problems so you keep it to yourself,' she says. 'A heads-up would have been nice. I felt like the sisterhood let me down. 'Secret women's business holds women back. This whole 'soldier on' of the boomer generation, I'm like, 'No, I'm Gen X. We're going to get loud about this.'' In 2023, Horton shared her experience at the first parliamentary roundtable on menopause alongside respected experts – the first time 'menopause' had been mentioned in the Australian Parliament. It sparked a Senate inquiry, with Horton inadvertently becoming a spokesperson on perimenopause. It's not the first time Horton has led the charge on de-stigmatising taboo topics for women. When she 'bravely' wrote about her decision to stay 'child free' in 2013, she copped a pile-on from dissenters and was trolled on social media. But she takes heart in knowing it started a national conversation. 'I had comments like, 'A woman who doesn't want kids is not a real woman. She's a waste of a uterus.' It was awful. I didn't understand why anyone cared about my uterus and what I did with it.' As the TV presenter sees it, one of the many upsides of being child-free is having the freedom and funds to travel. She and her husband, Darren Robinson, whom she met 'the old-fashioned way' in a bar in 2013, renew their wedding vows in every country they visit. In 10 years of marriage, that's 25 vow renewals. 'Sometimes it's been incredibly romantic in the Maldives with the sunset. Then we nearly forgot in Iceland and we did it on the plane as we were taking off,' she laughs. They also run their production company together, Robinson behind the camera ('the workhorse') Horton in front ('the show pony'). She says their two rescue dogs were a salve during her three years of depression. 'My wonderful husband would put me to bed and hand me a puppy.' Adhering to her motto of 'adapt or die', Horton's career trajectory has been 'eclectic'. She was a producer for the first American Survivor in Borneo, a crime then health reporter for the ABC, Sydney gossip columnist, panellist on Today Extra, and host of Married at First Sight's spin-off TV show. It's a long way from home for the girl from Kingaroy in regional Queensland. 'From the red soil to the red carpet,' she says. Now she can add author to the list, documenting her harrowing menopause experience – along with evidence-based advice from experts – on paper to support other women going through it. Despite the turmoil of menopause, Horton reveals it has also helped her too. 'I wish I could just say, 'Slap on some HRT [hormone replacement therapy], you'll be fine', but it's not as simple as that,' she tells Stellar. 'I had to do the work. I had treated my body as a rental. 'I had to have the appointments with the psychiatrist. I had to change my lifestyle, improve my sleep, increase my exercise. 'I'm living proof that you can go through dark times and come out. Perimenopause broke me, but then I rebuilt me.'
ABC News
2 hours ago
- ABC News
Sea turtle clinic on Magnetic Island showcases dedication of wildlife carers
Down a dirt track behind the sandhills of an idyllic Queensland tropical beach is a ramshackle, but special, cluster of buildings. This unassuming place occupies the site of a former sewage pumping plant, and is where a team of dedicated volunteers run the Magnetic Island Network for Turtles (MINT) clinic for sick and injured sea turtles. The clinic isn't usually open to the public, but I'm here to find out exactly what happens when your patient is a sea turtle, and how the volunteers' work helps some of the Great Barrier Reef's threatened species. The day starts at 8am when biologist and volunteer Adriana Labate unlocks the gates. Adriana Labate is part of the MINT turtle clinic's daily care team. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) She leans over the first "hospital bed", a "self-cleaning" aquaculture tank that is a bit over 2 metres wide and made of dark green plastic. "This is Boris," she tells me, her soft voice competing with the hum, swish and gurgle of the water filtering system. The scent of seawater fills the air. Inside the tub is a green sea turtle ( Chelonia mydas ) that was rescued after being spotted struggling with fishing line wrapped around its left flipper. Boris hasn't eaten since arriving some weeks ago. Patient Boris spends a lot of time sitting on a rock. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) It is still too early to tell if Boris is a "he" or a "she" because at about 20 years of age, the turtle is still a youngster. It becomes easier to tell the difference between male and female green sea turtles once they mature at about the age of 30 and males develop longer tails, but for now, volunteers use a mix of pronouns to refer to their juvenile patients. The other current patient is Joni, a slightly younger green sea turtle, that was found stranded on one of the Island's beaches. Joni was underweight, could not swim normally, and had a shell infection that made it softer than normal. Unlike Boris, Joni greets Adriana enthusiastically at the edge of the tank. "She already knows food is coming," Adriana says, scooping some turtle scat out of the water. Life on the reef Both Joni and Boris were born on the Great Barrier Reef before riding the currents in the Pacific — like Nemo — as far away as South America. That's decades spent defying the odds; only 1 in 1,000 sea turtle hatchlings survive to adulthood. While swimming on the surface of the high seas, the turtles would have eaten whatever they came across such as squid, jellyfish, and algae. Now they've come back to the Reef to mature and breed and would normally switch to feeding mainly on seagrass on the sea floor. Seagrass is a protected marine plant, and it is illegal to harvest it from the wild, so the patients are fed greens like bok choy or cos lettuce instead. But high-protein seafood is the quickest way to get them to put on much-needed weight. In the volunteer headquarters, Adriana carefully weighs out a portion of chopped squid to feed to Joni. Adriana walks past volunteer HQ, which houses a kitchen-cum-office. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Adriana heads to the kitchen to get Joni's breakfast. The walls are adorned with colourful turtle-themed mosaics. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) It's important to know how much the patients are eating as part of getting them well enough to be released. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) It's important to know how much the patients are eating as part of getting them well enough to be released. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Joni loves her squid but is a fussy eater. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) High-protein squid will help Joni gain weight before being released back into the wild. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Volunteers keep detailed records of their patients. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Volunteers keep detailed records of what happens on their shifts. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Joni is a little fussy, preferring squid over prawns, and especially likes being tantalised by squid tentacles, Adriana says. "You wave them around and pretend that it's an animal … They think that's the creature swimming." Adriana notes that Joni is eating well and has regular bowel movements, which is a good sign there are no gut blockages. Sadly, the records show Boris is losing weight. Turtles can 'give up on life' Turtles can need rescuing for lots of reasons. Some, like Boris, get tangled up in discarded fishing gear, and some are slashed by passing boat propellers. Others battle diseases due to poor water quality, have their food sources destroyed or are choked by plastic. Affected turtles can't swim or dive for food properly. And no food means no energy. It's a vicious cycle. "They get to a point where they're so weak they just wash up on the beach and give up on life," says Paul Groves, co-founder of MINT. Paul's "day job" is as a marine scientist with the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority. But his main job in the hospital is to look after infrastructure, which includes keeping the seawater in the tanks circulating, clean and at the right temperature — to avoid "turtle soup" in the north Queensland summer. Paul Groves smiling at the camera. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Paul Groves helped found the clinic. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Paul is always perfecting the filtration system to reduce the amount of seawater he has to pump up from the beach, which he describes as his "least favourite job". ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Paul's responsible for keeping the seawater circulating and filtered. With a background in aquariums, it's a system he's always trying to perfect. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) This colourful header tank put in with community help holds seawater pumped up from the nearby beach. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) The better job he does at filtration, the less seawater he has to pump up from the beach to this header tank, something he describes as his "least favourite job". (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Adult green sea turtles can take four to six people to lift, says Paul. To help cope with bigger patients the hospital got a grant to install a crane to lift bigger patients. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Paul recently got a grant to install a crane to lift adult green sea turtles, which can otherwise take four to six people to lift. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Adults sea turtles can weigh hundreds of kilograms. Here Paul shows a small and large harness that can be used to transfer rescued turtles to the hospital. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) These small and large harnesses are used to transfer rescued turtles from the beach to the clinic. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Paul helped establish MINT in 2012 to rescue turtles like Boris and Joni and nurse them back to health so they could be released again to the wild. Back then, countless starving and weak sea turtles washed up on the beaches around Townsville after Cyclone Yasi destroyed the seagrass beds they grazed on. The impact of Yasi also spurred Tim Downs, a Magnetic Island local, to volunteer to help the MINT clinic's medical team. Tim Downs is a volunteer at the turtle clinic. ( ABC: Anna Salleh ) Over the years, Tim's seen countless patients admitted to the clinic — and not all survive. He recalls one "badly smashed up" turtle that had been struck by a boat. Another boat strike case left a deep cut on a turtle's head. "She was very badly concussed … we had her for about three days before she died." Then there was the case of an animal that had its neck trapped in a crab pot. Most patients have "floating syndrome", where the gut is unable to digest its contents properly, so gas from decomposing food builds up inside the turtle causing it to float aimlessly. Swallowing something they shouldn't have is one of the main causes of this life-threatening condition. Fishing line cut blood circulation to Boris' left flipper. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Turtles have downward-facing spines in their gut to help them filter food from sea water that they "vomit" back out through their nostrils. But this means they can't easily cough anything back up again. And unless it gets passed at the other end, something as innocent as an escaped party balloon can cause a potentially fatal blockage. Swallowed fishing line can wrap around a turtle's innards too, Tim explains. And the movement of the gut tightens the line, making it difficult to pass or be removed by surgery. "It's a pretty agonising death for them," he says. All patients that can fit are put in a CT scanner for free at James Cook University. ( Supplied: JCUVets ) All patients that can fit are put in a CT scanner for free at James Cook University. (Supplied: JCUVets) Tim at the door of the hospital's mobile "tiny home" medical centre. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Tim at the door of the clinic's mobile "tiny home" medical centre. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) 20250502_090510 The medical centre is a mobile tiny home that can be conveniently moved if MINT's rent-free status with Townsville City Council ends, or there is a mass stranding of turtles. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) It's in here that complex procedures like tube feeding occur. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Boris gets medical care Thankfully, a CT scan indicates Boris hasn't swallowed any fishing gear. But the turtle isn't eating. "His prognosis is good, providing he gets off his hunger strike," Tim says. And if Boris doesn't start eating soon, tube feeding might be necessary. Gina Sweeney, an ex-nurse, injects Boris with a drug to stimulate appetite in the hope it helps. Patients can also get injections of vitamins, antibiotics or painkillers as part of their care. Gina then chases the Boris around the tank to catch and manoeuvre the 13kg turtle out of the tank. That may seem hefty but adult male turtles can weigh up to 150kg. She gently places Boris on the injecting table carefully avoiding contact with the sore flipper that was damaged by fishing line. Gina injects Boris with an appetite stimulant. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Gina first came across a turtle in the wild while diving on the Great Barrier Reef. "There's something so majestic and I just love them — prehistoric, gentle, graceful … I'm fascinated," she says. "It's a privilege to be able to look after them." Gina feels connected to green sea turtles like Boris. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Joni's day spa When it's Joni's time for some medical care, first on the agenda is a shell clean. In the wild, "cleaner fish" would keep a turtle's shell in good nick, but in the clinic, patients need a weekly scrub. Out come a selection of dish brushes used to scrub most of the shell, and toothbrushes for the sensitive infected parts. Luckily for Joni, this whole process doubles as a delicious back scrub. Turtles apparently like their butt being scrubbed. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Turtles have nerve endings in their shell and they particularly enjoy being scrubbed near their rear end, in the same way a dog does, says Lily Donnelly, a PhD student in conservation genetics at James Cook University. "They do enjoy a scratch. They get a bit invigorated by it," she says. After the scrub, Lily cleans out the tiny sores on Joni's shell and puts ointment on them. Then she flips Joni over to attend to the sores on the turtle's underside. Lily is also involved in the medical team. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Lily, who volunteers in the medical team, is also studying the impact of extreme weather on turtles. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Ointment is dabbed into sores on Joni's underside. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Ointment is dabbed into sores on Joni's underside. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) Joni's day spa kit including paw-paw ointment and toothbrush to apply it. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Joni's day spa kit complete with paw paw ointment. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) A weigh-in is the final stage before Joni is returned to her tank. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Joni is putting on weight, but is still quite thin. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) A volunteer gently cradles Joni's head and at times covers the turtle's eyes with a towel to keep it calm. The final part of Joni's "whole body pamper" is a massage with paw paw ointment. Extreme weather takes a toll Lily's been volunteering for the clinic since 2022, and MINT recently got a grant for her to research ways to improve flatback sea turtle ( Natator depressus ) reproduction success on Magnetic Island. Most patients that come to the clinic are green sea turtles, which spend more time close to shore than other species. Hawksbill sea turtles( Eretmochelys imbricata ) are sometimes rescued too. But flatbacks are the main species that nests on the Island's beaches. And extreme temperatures have seen some flatback turtle eggs boiled in their shells, Lily says. "The sand is too hot, and their eggs and turtles are getting cooked before they hatch." Back in the volunteer headquarters, Lily retrieves plastic containers with some of her research samples from a freezer. Her gloved hands cradle a frozen ball — it's a hard-boiled yellow egg yolk with a tiny turtle embryo still clinging to it. This flatback turtle egg was found cooked in the sand. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Overheating not only affects the number of hatchlings from each nest but when babies do survive, they're more likely to be female — something that can also affect reproduction success for the species. A record deluge too has been a challenge for turtles. This year's monsoon saw around 2.5 metres of rain fall in a just few short months. From one of the other freezer bags, she takes out another victim of extreme weather: a dead hatchling that got "cold shock" after 10 straight days of driving rain. "It got stuck in the sand dunes and it didn't make it." Lily holds a hatchling that didn't survive the record-breaking wet season. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Volunteers and fundraising Paul has organised a working bee to attract prospective volunteers so there are more people here today than usual. But there's a lot of training required to be a volunteer and people often leave not long after they arrive. This leaves a gap in the feeding roster that has to be rapidly plugged with the remaining volunteers. He encourages people who are prepared to commit for at least six months. While a voluntary workforce is good, the clinic still needs to get grants for infrastructure and electricity, and fundraise for running costs such as food for the patients. They aim to feed a recovering turtle 10 per cent of its body weight in seafood every day. Paul and Tim chat to a potential new recruit. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Fortunately, there is a volunteer vet on the team and James Cook University provides free CT scans for any patients that can fit in their scanner. Medications and surgery must be paid for separately though, and this is where the Magnetic Island community steps in. "People on the Island collect their cans and bottles and then donate them to us and that [a "cash for cans" container deposit scheme] pays for the food and the medicine and electricity," Paul says. Around the Island, people support fundraising efforts for the clinic. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) As I leave, the place still buzzes with activity. Adriana has shifted from patient care to painting doors and Paul is assessing whether or not he can build a roof over some holding tanks to prevent turtles drowning when it rains heavily. Joni goes home Two months after my first visit to the turtle clinic, a notice pops up in my social media feed. Joni has recovered and will be released back into the wild. After 16 weeks in care Joni has done well and if anything is "a little bit fat," which should give her a head start going back into the ocean, says Dhanushka Jayokody-Perera, a volunteer vet. Dr Dhanushka Jayokody-Perera — known as "Dr Dhash" — volunteers veterinary services to the clinic. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) "Joni's recovered much quicker than some of the others we've had," Dr Jayokody-Perera says. On a bright, sunny Saturday, I join a group of islanders who form a U-shape on the beach as Joni is lifted down to the water's edge. Joni is carried through a crowd on the last leg of the journey from the clinic to back to the reef. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) Joni is carried through a crowd on the last leg of the journey from the clinic back to the reef. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) After 16 weeks, Joni is back in the ocean. ( ABC Science: Anna Salleh ) After 16 weeks, Joni is back in the ocean. (ABC Science: Anna Salleh) This is the moment the volunteers have been waiting for. Joni takes off like a rocket through the water as the crowd claps and cheers. Lily reflects on the highs and lows of turtle care. "It's bittersweet, but it's always great to see them go back to their ocean home," she says. But not all turtles that come into the clinic make it back home. An X-ray revealed Boris had a broken flipper. The team gave him painkillers and a moon boot, and he picked up for a while, but then complications from a lack of blood set in and the turtle needed surgery to remove part of the flipper. Sadly, despite all the team's efforts, Boris didn't recover and unexpectedly died two days after Joni was released. Tim reflects on the time he spent with Boris. "They win you over because you care for them for so long," he says. "[Boris's death] is sad, but it's something you have to accept when you take on the role of a rehabilitator. "We think about the ones we can save, rather than the ones we lose."
