MSI Press Blog

  Neela Even many medical professionals may only see it once — if ever. OEIS complex is an extremely rare congenital condition , estimated to occur in about 1 in 200,000–400,000 births . The name OEIS comes from the four main features present at birth: Omphalocele, Exstrophy of the cloaca, Imperforate anus, and Spinal defects . It is complex, life-altering, and requires highly specialized medical care from day one. Because OEIS is so rare, finding experienced medical teams is a major challenge . Families often must deliver at or relocate to major tertiary hospitals. For those living in rural or remote areas , access to ongoing care can mean constant travel, long separations from home, and limited access to knowledgeable providers, therapists, or trained caregivers once they return home. OEIS is not a “one-time fix.” Across a lifetime, individuals with OEIS may face: Multiple, staged surgeries beginning in infancy Long-term bowel and bladder management needs Mobility c...

    Chris Richards' book,   Nothing So Broken , reached  #182 in Vietnam War biographies, #99 in disability biographies, and #194 in Vietnam War History. Book description:  In the shadow of loss, a path to healing begins. Chris Richards grew up in a small New England mill town, where life was tough and loyalty ran deep. At just 19, his world was shaken when a close friend was left permanently disabled by a devastating accident. At the same time, Chris’s father began to show troubling symptoms linked to his service in the Vietnam War—unseen wounds that would slowly unravel the man he once knew. The weight of watching two people he loved unravel under the strain of trauma and physical decline left deep scars—ones Chris carried silently into adulthood. For years, he buried his grief and fear, never imagining that one day, facing his own crisis, he would turn to their stories for strength. This powerful and moving memoir explores the enduring impact of trauma, ...

  I’ve stopped straightening the pictures on my walls. I used to try. Every few days I’d walk through the house, nudging frames back into alignment, restoring some sense of order. But living at the intersection of three faults means the earth has its own opinions. With nearly a small earthquake every day, the walls shift, the nails tilt, and the pictures lean again — each at its own angle, as if hung by a distracted curator. Eventually I surrendered. My walls are a gallery of slightly crooked memories, always in motion. On Sunday I noticed the same thing at the Mission. The Stations of the Cross — high up, heavy, and reverent — are also hanging at their own quiet angles. Not wildly askew, just… unsettled. A degree here, a tilt there. The kind of thing you only notice if you’ve lived long enough in a place where the ground never fully rests. No one bothers to straighten them. Why would they? The next tremor will undo the effort. The earth will have the last word. And somehow, t...