Researchers at the University of Southampton are creating bone in the lab to help patients who suffer damage to their joints through injury or disease.
By combining bone stem cells with a 3D printed scaffold, Professor Richard Oreffo and team have been able to recreate hip implants custom designed for the patient.
There’s a place for synthetic implants, but by repairing your own body with your own tissue there is less chance of rejection.
In the video above you can see cells ‘proliferating’ or increasing in number. The team use and apply scaffolds in a range of materials, including titanium which are then seeded with the patient’s own bone stem cells and a bone graft. This 3D printed, custom designed implant can then be inserted into the patient.
There are tens of thousands of bone injuries in the UK each year. With an increasingly ageing population, this method for creating bone is an exciting concept. Professor Richard Oreffo hopes that given their data from 3 patients over the last 12 months, within 5-7 years the procedure could become mainstream, routine practice.
You’re born and it’s all “she’s such a beautiful baby just like her beautiful mum” you’re “blooming into such a beautiful girl” “don’t worry you’re still beautiful on the inside” you’re killed or die from illness “so tragic…she was so beautiful.” “She faded away but never lost her beautiful smile” you meet the person you will love and the first thing they say “you’re so beautiful”, become overworked for your entire life but “she always has time to take care of herself and stay beautiful” shakily apply more concealer and bronzer with your Parkinson’s-ridden elderly hands “she’s so beautiful at her age what’s her secret? She doesn’t look her age at all, ageing with beauty” on your deathbed “she was a beautiful woman inside and out”
if you are lucky you will love someone and their hair will thin and their breasts will sag and you will kiss them everywhere over and over again
I was having a conversation with someone who was lamenting over how to maintain attraction to our partners as their bodies change and age and feeling self conscious herself about that process and I was like. we should be so lucky as to see them through these many years as we are seen ourselves. Hope that helps u understand
In the small Ahwa near the meeting of Shari’ Mobtadayan and el-Qasr el-Ainy you can become part of the furniture.
The chairs are recklessly stacked on top of one another, propped up by the sturdy steel body of the smouldering coal store. They are anxious for a customer of their own to come and put them to use so that they no longer feel like the odd piece of rubbish which Nasser - the owner - throws to the street, not caring when or by whom it will be swept up. They stand there, idle. Boasting to each other about who they have served here yet at the same time quietly pondering the fidelity of their masters to their cause. By the wall, the odd couple are glad of their freedom. The relative comfort of their silk upholstery guarantees them a place in society even without the need for their subjugation. Their superiority, you would think, would distress the commoners; but despite their angst they are still able to find a sense of validity by clinging to the newly-laid ceramic floor, lightly littered by the odd leaf of tobacco and stray bottle cap. They have lived a good life, the stains of which are visible in the small cracks lining the rim of their torsos; just as the first unwanted wrinkle claims its place on the face of the middle-aged mother. They resist growing old. Of course, they still have half of their lives ahead of them - but these wrinkles are the first frosts of their winter. No longer will they receive the same lustful looks from the fatigued Kiosk owner, impatient for respite from his dull routine. The journalist, sporting his custom-made suit will search for a younger, more attractive model to which to dedicate his custom. Yes, these chairs have seen the best of their lives. Their heyday now but a distant nostalgia which they are not quite prepared to fully surrender to the past.
Arrogantly looking on, two rows of shisha pipes are secure in their places. Nasser - albeit through necessity - tends to their every need as though they were his daughters. After every use their lungs are cleared and new water poured in; their long, carefully made-up limbs sinuously wrapped around their bodies. They are the reason for the Ahwa’s existence. Old men come, coughing and spluttering, craving their next fix; and although the pipes may not be in the correct mental disposition to be used, they are aware that they have no choice in the matter and must therefore desensitise themselves to every unwelcome touch, each insensitive drag on their delicate and dainty parts so that the customer leaves satisfied and wanting to return. They may rather be purchased directly from their mass-produced workshops of the souq, for one faithful owner to proudly display them on some far-off mantelpiece as a loving souvenir of the east; but they are here, part of a well-oiled system of exploitation, their ornate beauty and individual temperaments overlooked, condemned to slavery in this brutal bordello of testosterone and vice.
on a sincere note though, you guys do know that 22 is not old and 30 is not ancient, right? like yeah by 30 you will hopefully have matured but hearing some of you talk like life ends at 30 is a little worrying. one day, not as far away as it may seem, you will be 30 and you will still be a person with value, you will probably still have a lot of the same interests, you will still use the internet, and you will still be you. you have your whole life ahead of you
Shorter than the rest of my hair, but luminescent against the backdrop of deep brown.
Safe to say, I was less than impressed. I practically ripped it out by accident whilst foraging around to confirm whether I had imagined that glimpse of pure iridescent white. Alas, I had not.
It’s a rather unremarkable feeling you get when you come face to face with your first Grey. The Grey. The dreaded Grey. It’s a moment of sheer and utter panic followed by a surreal, foreboding tranquility and acceptance, during which I wasn’t sure whether to cry until morning or resign myself to the fact that at the clearly ripe age of 24 I was already on the downward hill to pensioner-hood.
I’m not sure which part of the last year did it. The obvious answer would be packing up my entire life and shipping myself and a suitcase to the Middle East but at no point during that did I feel stressed so I find that hard to believe…
Perhaps it’s the fact that I spent 3 hours on the phone to FedEx in Germany tonight, practically beside myself with frustration at a missing, and somewhat uber critical, package that had missed it’s deadline.
Fail.
However, it allowed me double the number of steps I had taken in the whole of today, purely by pacing around my bedroom until… Well, until now (midnight).
Perhaps The Grey is in response to my rather wayward brain? They say the mind is like a wild monkey, or an untrained puppy and I would testify to that. Perhaps The Grey is just giving up on trying to keep up with the internal narration of me…
Have you heard about amaranth seeds /oil? It had wonderful properties when used topically (oil on the skin) and also when ingested (in your tummy). Here are some of them!
1) Cancer prevention
2)Anti inflammatory
3) Wrinkle reduction/prevention
4) Lowers Bad cholesterol
5) Wonderful massage oil
6) Source of GOOD fats (like coconut oil)
7) Full of vitamins (C, E, B6)
8) Antioxidant
9) Helps stop free radicals (which cause ageing)
10) Improves mental performance and reduces physical stress
Give it a go! I’m especially excited about Amaranth (Seed) Oil :)
