Sue Dickie

JUST IN: Scientists built bacteria that EATS cancer from the inside out. The future of cancer treatment isn't a drug. It's a living organism that devours tumors from the inside. Here's how it works: Solid tumors have a dead center. No oxygen. No blood flow. Just dead cells and nutrients sitting there. Most cancer drugs can't survive in that environment. They get blocked. They break down. They never reach the core where the tumor is most protected. But researchers at the University of Waterloo found something that THRIVES there. It's called Clostridium sporogenes. A bacteria found in soil that loves oxygen-free environments. Researchers send spores directly into the tumor: 1. The bacteria wakes up in the dead, oxygen-free center 2. It starts consuming nutrients and growing 3. It multiplies and COLONIZES the space 4. It eats the tumor from the inside out Then they added something called quorum sensing. Bacteria communicate through chemical signals. When enough bacteria pile up INSIDE the tumor, those signals flip on the oxygen-tolerance gene. This means the bacteria won't activate in your bloodstream. It only activates inside the tumor, where it belongs. Think about what that means. Chemo hits everything. Good cells. Bad cells. Your hair. Your gut. Your immune system. The cancer suffers, but so does the rest of your body. This is different. This is a PRECISION weapon. A living, self-regulating machine that targets only the tumor's environment and ignores healthy tissue. The team is now heading into preclinical trials and testing it on real tumors. We are watching history happen.

Mind blowing diy tips you should know...

When you’re teaching a trick to the little one that the older one already knows.. 😅

City of North Vancouver prepares for thousands more multiplex homes dlvr.it/TQd4yq

Chihuahuas’ revenge~

Four B.C. spots named among 'Best of the Best' destinations to visit in Canada 👀 📍 dailyhive.com/vancouver/bc-b…

Olive Oil vs. Coconut Oil: Which is Better?▪︎Vancouver-based registered dietitian Jessica Begg shares her take on which one to grab from the pantry next time you’re cooking. ☞ bit.ly/4oWeDTR

“You had to fight for everything that you got” — @pamelamartin_bc on her role as a trailblazer for women in BC radio and television news. I spoke to Pamela for @GlobalBC’s 65th anniversary. WATCH extended interview: globalnews.ca/video/11495867… #bcpoli

Vancouver Writers Fest 2025: Here are 5 must-attend events vancouversun.com/entertainment/…

@dockevinmcleod My insurance went from 3000 to 4000 this year. No claims.

Renewing home insurance and the premiums have skyrocketed. We’ve never made a claim. For the north shore of vancouver. Most concerning is changes to the earthquake part of the policy. Apparently reinsurance that the insurance company has to buy so they can cover earthquakes and not go bankrupt with multiple claims should a big quake happen now requires a 25% deductible. Anyone else seeing this? Anyone found better options?

A message from a Kindergarten teacher: After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old: “My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.” No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.” My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me. When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic. But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe. My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown. And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice. They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer. The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.” As if kindness were a weakness. Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure — a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.” a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.” a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.” Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up. But this last year broke something in me. The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival. I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times. So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998: “Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.” I sat on the floor and cried. No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications. I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced. I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers. So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try. Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

Rescued chimpanzee thanks Jane Goodall by giving her a hug

This is what’s going on in your ear when you use a q-tip

Experts break down the best practices when it comes to dealing with earwax. huffpost.com/entry/if-youre…

Art Garfunkel invited a partner to play some music on a rooftop. With a view of Central Park, he performed “Scarborough Fair” with the elegance of silence.

Comparison of the animals that sleep the longest.

Everything new opening soon at the revitalized Lonsdale Quay Market 🤩 dailyhive.com/vancouver/lons…

Sleep apnea is the most underrated brain killer in the world. It disrupts deep sleep cycles, interrupts oxygen flow, and TRIPLES your risk of dementia. Most people never know they have it. Here's a 3-step breathing technique to fight it naturally: 🧵

Fitness trends through the years 🧵 1. Jazzercise (1980s) Neon leggings, leg warmers, and music.

BNN Interview: Ron Breaks Down Recent Housing Issues & What We Can Expect In Real Estate And it's not all positive but the truth is always helpful