For more than half a century, lithium has been one of the most reliable treatments for bipolar disorder. It has given countless people the ability to stabilize their moods and reclaim lives otherwise disrupted by cycles of mania and depression. But lithium comes with inherent risk: its therapeutic range is narrow, which means that the difference between a helpful dose and a harmful one is surprisingly small. Too much lithium in the body can lead to a cascade of health problems, including neurological confusion, tremors, kidney dysfunction, and, though much less well known, potentially dangerous effects on the heart. In a recent publication, Dr. Jeffrey Curran Henson of the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences, and colleagues, shed light on one of lithium’s most alarming but underappreciated risks: its ability to disrupt the heart’s natural pacemaker, the sinus node. Their case study and systematic review tell the story of a patient whose life was threatened not by the mental illness she had long managed, but by the very medication that had allowed her to manage it. And in that story, the researchers also describe a novel way out: a treatment that avoided the need for invasive procedures and could reshape how we think about emergency care for lithium-related heart complications.

When we think about science, we often imagine a universal language of knowledge in the form of a shared code of numbers, graphs, and precise words that transcend borders. But what happens when the language of science is not the language of the scientist? This is the challenge explored in a recent study by a group of publication professionals from the pharmaceutical and medical communications industries across the Asia Pacific region. The study looked at how researchers in this region navigate the world of English-language scientific publishing. Their findings remind us that words matter, and the language we use can either invite voices into global conversations and knowledge exchange, or keep them out.

Most of us never give much thought to the small artery that runs along the inside of our wrist, the radial artery. You can feel it easily if you press your fingers just below your thumb. Yet in modern medicine, this little vessel has become one of the most important gateways to the heart. Imagine a doctor threading a tiny tube, called a catheter, through the radial artery to reach your heart. This technique, called transradial access, has transformed modern cardiology. By entering through the radial artery, doctors can perform life-saving cardiac procedures with fewer complications, faster recovery, and even lower costs than older methods that went through the leg. Many people can even walk out of the hospital on the same day. Over the past two decades, doctors have increasingly chosen the radial artery as their entry point for procedures like angiography (imaging of the heart’s blood vessels) and angioplasty (opening blocked arteries). But there’s a catch: sometimes the artery rebels. It tightens suddenly, almost like a muscle cramp, gripping the medical instruments and making the doctor’s job harder. This is known as radial artery spasm (or RAS for short). In rare cases, the spasm is so severe that it traps the catheter or damages the artery wall.

Imagine a future where treating cancer doesn’t just depend on high-tech machines or potent drugs, but also on something as simple, and as complex, as the bacteria living in your gut. This future might be closer than we think, thanks to groundbreaking research led by Professor Andrea Facciabene at the University of Pennsylvania. In a randomized pilot study recently published in the Journal for ImmunoTherapy of Cancer, Prof. Facciabene and an international team of researchers explored a curious and compelling idea: could altering the gut microbiome enhance the effectiveness of radiation therapy in patients with inoperable early-stage lung cancer? The answer, at least in this early stage, appears to be yes.

If you stroll into a McDonald’s fast-food restaurant in Paris, Tokyo, or New York, you’ll notice that the Big Mac tastes the same, the menu looks familiar, and the process is quick and efficient. You order your food, wait a short while, and you get exactly what you expect. In the 1990s, American sociologist George Ritzer gave a name to this phenomenon: McDonaldization. He identified four principles behind the model’s success. The first is Efficiency, in terms of getting things done in the fastest, least expensive way possible. Second comes Calculability, which involves valuing numerical metrics, such as how many burgers sold and how fast they were served, over subjective qualities such as taste or ambiance. The third factor is Predictability, which involves making sure the experience is the same way everywhere. The final aspect is Control, where the corporation uses refined rules, technology, and systems to achieve the preceding three principles. While these ideas may work for burgers and fries, can they work if applied to something very different, such as healthcare? In a thought-provoking review, Professor Dr. Frederik Wenz of the University of Freiburg explores how these fast-food-inspired principles are transforming hospitals, clinics, and even the role of patients themselves. This phenomenon doesn’t just involve faster patient registrations or standardized treatments. It’s about a fundamental shift in how we think about healing, and how much responsibility patients are willing (or able) to take on themselves.

When we reach into a medicine cabinet we aim to find something to relieve our symptoms and treat our ailments. This could be a painkiller for a headache, an antibiotic for an infection, or insulin for diabetes. Typically, we assume that what’s inside that blister pack, bottle or vial is real, safe, and effective. But what if it’s not, and not only may it be ineffective at relieving our symptoms, but it could even cause harm? That unsettling question is at the heart of a groundbreaking new study from the University of Plymouth. Led by Dr Maysa Falah and Dr Michael Dillon, the research team explored an underreported problem that quietly afflicts health systems worldwide: substandard and falsified medicines, or SF medicines for short. Through their research in Jordan, they offer a glimpse into how widespread and misunderstood the issue truly is, not just among the public, but also in pharmacies and clinics, revealing both the prevalence of poor-quality medicines and the deep uncertainty around what we trust to put in our bodies.

When a baby is born, the bones of the skull are meant to behave like the slats of a wooden barrel, flexible enough to slide into the correct orientation as the brain beneath them doubles in size during the first year of life. However, in about seven of every 100,000 births one of those seams between the bones of the skull (called a suture) closes too early along a single side of the forehead, a condition called unicoronal synostosis (or UCS). Instead of rounding out evenly, the skull twists: one brow pulls backward, the opposite brow juts forward, the eye sockets tilt, and the nose shifts off‑centre. Beyond cosmetic considerations such as the visible asymmetry, these children can also face raised brain pressure, vision problems and slower development.