Gotowa bibliografia na temat „Children's sturies”

ABSTRACT In many countries relatively high notification rates of campylobacteriosis are observed in children under 5 years of age. Few studies have considered the role that environmental exposure plays in the epidemiology of these cases. Wild birds inhabit parks and playgrounds and are recognized carriers of Campylobacter, and young children are at greater risk of ingesting infective material due to their frequent hand-mouth contact. We investigated wild-bird fecal contamination in playgrounds in parks in a New Zealand city. A total of 192 samples of fresh and dried fecal material were cultured to determine the presence of Campylobacter spp. Campylobacter jejuni isolates were also characterized by pulsed-field gel electrophoresis (PFGE) and multilocus sequence typing (MLST), and the profiles obtained were compared with those of human isolates. C. jejuni was isolated from 12.5% of the samples. MLST identified members of clonal complexes ST-45, ST-682, and ST-177; all of these complexes have been recovered from wild birds in Europe. PFGE of ST-45 isolates resulted in profiles indistinguishable from those of isolated obtained from human cases in New Zealand. Members of the ST-177 and ST-682 complexes have been found in starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) in the United Kingdom, and these birds were common in playgrounds investigated in New Zealand in this study. We suggest that feces from wild birds in playgrounds could contribute to the occurrence of campylobacteriosis in preschool children. Further, the C. jejuni isolates obtained in this study belonged to clonal complexes associated with wild-bird populations in the northern hemisphere and could have been introduced into New Zealand in imported wild garden birds in the 19th century.

Introduction. MRI revealing the epileptogenic foci is the central part of the presurgical evaluation of children with focal-resistant epilepsy. Besides that, MRI seems to be a reliable instrument of treatment optimization and good prognosis. Aim. To identify epileptogenic lesions in children with resistant focal epilepsy by high resolution (HR) MRI and comparing obtained data with postsurgical morphology. Materials and methods. We assessed the results of neuroimaging, EEG, clinical neurological status, and postsurgical morphological data in 65 children with focal epilepsy who had undergone antiepileptic surgery in Russian State Children Hospital, neurosurgery department (Moscow, Russia) from 2016 to 2020. Results. The broad spectrum of epileptogenic lesions was revealed by HR MRI, including focal and diffuse cortical dysplasias (44.6%), cortical post hypoxic gliosis (27.7%), glial tumors (7.7%), Rasmussen encephalitis (10.8%), tuberous sclerosis, and Sturge-Weber syndrome (3%), small angiodysplasias (4.6%) and other. Focal cerebral dysplasia had an obvious superiority as the main etiological factor in focal epilepsy and was approved in 33.8% of all patients. In all cases, epilepsy is characterized by frequent and resistant seizures, inflicting motor arrest, and psycho-emotional deterioration. Conclusion. HR MRI and multidisciplinary investigation have to be unchangeable standards in the presurgical evaluation of children with focal epilepsy. This approach’s effectiveness has reassuring confirmation by high level (95.2%) of total coincidence MRI and morphological results.

IntroductionSecondary analysis of hospital-hosted clinical data can save time and cost compared with prospective clinical trials for neuroimaging biomarker development. We present such a study for Sturge-Weber syndrome (SWS), a rare neurovascular disorder that affects 1 in 20 000–50 000 newborns. Children with SWS are at risk for developing neurocognitive deficit by school age. A critical period for early intervention is before 2 years of age, but early diagnostic and prognostic biomarkers are lacking. We aim to retrospectively mine clinical data for SWS at two national centres to develop presymptomatic biomarkers.Methods and analysisWe will retrospectively collect clinical, MRI and neurocognitive outcome data for patients with SWS who underwent brain MRI before 2 years of age at two national SWS care centres. Expert review of clinical records and MRI quality control will be used to refine the cohort. The merged multisite data will be used to develop algorithms for abnormality detection, lesion-symptom mapping to identify neural substrate and machine learning to predict individual outcomes (presence or absence of seizures) by 2 years of age. Presymptomatic treatment in 0–2 years and before seizure onset may delay or prevent the onset of seizures by 2 years of age, and thereby improve neurocognitive outcomes. The proposed work, if successful, will be one of the largest and most comprehensive multisite databases for the presymptomatic phase of this rare disease.Ethics and disseminationThis study involves human participants and was approved by Boston Children’s Hospital Institutional Review Board: IRB-P00014482 and IRB-P00025916 Johns Hopkins School of Medicine Institutional Review Board: NA_00043846. Participants gave informed consent to participate in the study before taking part. The Institutional Review Boards at Kennedy Krieger Institute and Boston Children’s Hospital approval have been obtained at each site to retrospectively study this data. Results will be disseminated by presentations, publication and sharing of algorithms generated.

Background: The aim of this study was to find out the effectiveness of trans-scleral cyclophotocoagulation in lowering intraocular pressure in the paediatric population.Patients and methods: This quasi-experimental study was conducted between July 2020 and January 2021 in Department of Ophthalmology, The Children’s Hospital, Lahore. Total 45 eyes of 42 children of age 1-14 years, both genders, with glaucoma were enrolled in this study. Diode cyclophotocoagulation unit and probe of make Quantel Medical was used for cycloablation under general anesthesia. Postoperative intraocular pressure was noted by using handheld Perkins applanation tonometer Mk2 after every 3 weeks for 12 weeks. If an IOP of ≤21mmHg was achieved, then efficacy or success was labeled. Patients with an IOP of >21mmHg after 12 weeks were selected for repeat cycloablation treatment. Failure was labeled to an IOP of >21mmHg even after a repeat session. Data analysis was done using SPSS 24. Results: In this study, 45 eyes were included with a mean age of 4.49 ± 3.12 years. There were 21 (46.7%) males and 24 (53.3%) females. At the time of presentation, the most common diagnosis was primary congenital glaucoma [28 (62.2%)], followed by aphakic glaucoma [10 (22%)], Anterior segment dysgenesis [2 (4.4%)], Pseudophakic glaucoma [2 (4.4%)], Sturge weber syndrome [2 (4.4%)] and Post-traumatic [1 (2.2%)]. The mean IOP at baseline was 26.67±3.66 mmHg, which was reduced to 19.60±6.33 mmHg with mean change in IOP of 7.07±4.56 mmHg (p<0.05). The mean anti-glaucoma drugs used at baseline was 2.91±0.42, which was reduced to 0.93±1.2 with mean change in use of anti-glaucoma drugs of 1.98±1.06 (p<0.05). Success was achieved in 34 (75.56%) eyes, while 11 (24.44%) needed second session. After repeat session 2 (4.4%) eyes went into treatment failure.Conclusion: Diode cyclophotocoagulation is a useful therapy for the management of glaucoma in children.

Playing curriculum development based on early childhood learning is a major issue in international early childhood education discussions. This study aims to look at the concepts and practices of play-based curriculum in early childhood education institutions. The study uses qualitative methods with the CIPP model program evaluation on play-based curriculum. Data collection techniqueswere carriedout using participatory observation, document studies and interviews. Participants are early childhood educators, early childhood and parents. The results found that the play-based curriculum has not yet become the main note in the preparation and development of concepts and learning practices in early childhood. Play-based curriculum quality standards have not provided a solid and clear concept foundation in placing play in the center of learning models. Other findings the institution has not been able to use the DAP (Developmentally Appropriate Practice) approach fully, and has not been able to carry out the philosophy and ways for developing a curriculum based on play. However, quite a lot of research found good practices implemented in learning centers in early childhood education institutions, such as develop children's independence programs through habituation to toilet training and fantasy play. Keywords: Play Based Curriculum, Center Learning Model, Curriculum Quality Standards, Early Childhood Education Reference Alford, B. L., Rollins, K. B., Padrón, Y. N., & Waxman, H. C. (2016). Using Systematic Classroom Observation to Explore Student Engagement as a Function of Teachers’ Developmentally Appropriate Instructional Practices (DAIP) in Ethnically Diverse Pre- kindergarten Through Second-Grade Classrooms. Early Childhood Education Journal, 44(6), 623–635. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10643-015-0748-8 Ali, E., Kaitlyn M, C., Hussain, A., & Akhtar, Z. (2018). the Effects of Play-Based Learning on Early Childhood Education and Development. Journal of Evolution of Medical and Dental Sciences, 7(43), 4682–4685. https://doi.org/10.14260/jemds/2018/1044 Ashiabi, G. S. (2007). Play in the preschool classroom: Its socioemotional significance and the teacher’s role in play. Early Childhood Education Journal, 35(2), 199–207. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10643-007-0165-8 Berk, L. E., & Meyers, A. B. (2013). The role of make-believe play in the development of executive function. American Journal of Play, 6(1), 98–110. Bodrova, E., Germeroth, C., & Leong, D. J. (2013). Play and Self-Regulation: Lessons from Vygotsky. American Journal of Play, 6(1), 111–123. Retrieved from http://eric.ed.gov/?id=EJ1016167 Chien, N. C., Howes, C., Burchinal, M., Pianta, R. C., Ritchie, S., Bryant, D. M., ... Barbarin, O. A. (2010). Children’s classroom engagement and school readiness gains in prekindergarten. Child Development, 81(5), 1534–1549. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-8624.2010.01490.x Cortázar, A. (2015). Long-term effects of public early childhood education on academic achievement in Chile. Early Childhood Research Quarterly, 32, 13–22. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecresq.2015.01.003 Danniels, E., & Pyle, A. (2018). Defining Play-based Learning. In Encyclopedia on Early Childhood Development (Play-Based, pp. 1–5). OISE University of Toronto. Ejuu, G., Apolot, J. M., & Serpell, R. (2019). Early childhood education quality indicators: Exploring the landscape of an African community perspective. Global Studies of Childhood. https://doi.org/10.1177/2043610619832898 Faas, S., Wu, S.-C., & Geiger, S. (2017). The Importance of Play in Early Childhood Education: A Critical Perspective on Current Policies and Practices in Germany and Hong Kong. Global Education Review, 4(2), 75–91. Fisher, K. R., Hirsh-Pasek, K., Newcombe, N., & Golinkoff, R. M. (2013). Taking shape: Supporting preschoolers’ acquisition of geometric knowledge through guided play. Child Development, 84(6), 1872–1878. https://doi.org/10.1111/cdev.12091 Hennessey, P. (2016). Full – Day Kindergarten Play-Based Learning : Promoting a Common Understanding. Education and Early Childhood Development, (April), 1–76. Retrieved from gov.nl.ca/edu Holt, N. L., Lee, H., Millar, C. A., & Spence, J. C. (2015). ‘Eyes on where children play’: a retrospective study of active free play. Children’s Geographies, 13(1), 73–88. https://doi.org/10.1080/14733285.2013.828449 Jay, J. A., & Knaus, M. (2018). Embedding play-based learning into junior primary (Year 1 and 2) Curriculum in WA. Australian Journal of Teacher Education, 43(1), 112–126. https://doi.org/10.14221/ajte.2018v43n1.7 Kathy, E. (2016). Play-based versus Academic Preschools. Parent Cooperative Preschool International, 1–3. Klenowski, V., & Wyatt-Smith, C. (2012). The impact of high stakes testing: The Australian story. Assessment in Education: Principles, Policy and Practice, 19(1), 65–79. https://doi.org/10.1080/0969594X.2011.592972 Martlew, J., Stephen, C., & Ellis, J. (2011). Play in the primary school classroom? The experience of teachers supporting children’s learning through a new pedagogy. Early Years, 31(1), 71– 83. https://doi.org/10.1080/09575146.2010.529425 Mcginn, A. (2017). Play-based early childhood classrooms and the effect on pre-kindergarten social and academic achievement (University of Northern Iowa). Retrieved from https://scholarworks.uni.edu/grp Miller, E., & Almon, J. (2009). Crisis in the Kindergarten. Why children need to to Play in School. In Alliance for childhood. Retrieved from www.allianceforchildhood.org. Özerem, A., & Kavaz, R. (2013). Montessori Approach in Pre-School Education and Its Effects. Tojned The Online Journal of New Horizons in Education, 3(3), 12–25. Pendidikan, K., & Kebudayaan, D. A. N. Menteri Pendidikan Dan Kebudayaan Republik Indonesia Nomor 137 Tahun 2013 Tentang Standar Nasional Pendidikan Anak Usia Dini. , (2015). Peng, Q. (2017). Study on Three Positions Framing Kindergarten Play-Based Curriculum in China: Through Analyses of the Attitudes of Teachers to Early Linguistic Education. Studies in English Language Teaching, 5(3), 543. https://doi.org/10.22158/selt.v5n3p543 Pyle, A., & Bigelow, A. (2015). Play in Kindergarten: An Interview and Observational Study in Three Canadian Classrooms. Early Childhood Education Journal, 43(5), 385–393. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10643-014-0666-1 Pyle, A., & Danniels, E. (2017). A Continuum of Play-Based Learning: The Role of the Teacher in Play-Based Pedagogy and the Fear of Hijacking Play. Early Education and Development, 28(3), 274–289. https://doi.org/10.1080/10409289.2016.1220771 Reid, A. (2009). Is this a revolution?: A critical analysis of the Rudd government’s national education agenda. Curriculum Perspectives, 29(3), 1–13. Ridgway, A., & Quinones, G. (2012). How do early childhood students conceptualize play-based curriculum? Australian Journal of Teacher Education, 37(12), 46–56. https://doi.org/10.14221/ajte.2012v37n12.8 Rogers, S., & Evans, J. (2007). Rethinking role play in the Reception class. Educational Research, 49(2), 153–167. https://doi.org/10.1080/00131880701369677 Samuelsson, I. P., & Johansson, E. (2006). Play and learning-inseparable dimensions in preschool practice. Early Child Development and Care, 176(1), 47–65. https://doi.org/10.1080/0300443042000302654 Saracho, O. N. (2010). Children’s play in the visual arts and Literature. Early Child Development and Care. Saracho, O. N. (2013). An integrated play-based curriculum for young children. In An Integrated Play-Based Curriculum for Young Children. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203833278 Stufflebeam, D. L. (2003). The CIPP model for evaluation. In Oregon Program Evaluators Network (pp. 31–62). https://doi.org/doi:10.1007/978-94-010-0309-4_4 Sturgess, J. (2003). A model describing play as a child-chosen activity - Is this still valid in contemporary Australia? Australian Occupational Therapy Journal, 50(2), 104–108. https://doi.org/10.1046/j.1440-1630.2003.00362.x Taylor, M. E., & Boyer, W. (2020). Play-Based Learning: Evidence-Based Research to Improve Children’s Learning Experiences in the Kindergarten Classroom. Early Childhood Education Journal, 48(2), 127–133. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10643-019-00989-7 Thompson, G. (2013). NAPLAN, myschool and accountability: Teacher perceptions of the effects of testing. International Education Journal, 12(2), 62–84. van Oers, B. (2012). Developmental education for young children: Concept, practice and implementation. Developmental Education for Young Children: Concept, Practice and Implementation, 1–302. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-007-4617-6 van Oers, B. (2015). Implementing a play-based curriculum: Fostering teacher agency in primary school. Learning, Culture and Social Interaction, 4, 19–27. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.lcsi.2014.07.003 van Oers, B., & Duijkers, D. (2013). Teaching in a play-based curriculum: Theory, practice and evidence of developmental education for young children. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 45(4), 511–534. https://doi.org/10.1080/00220272.2011.637182 Wallerstedt, C., & Pramling, N. (2012). Learning to play in a goal-directed practice. Early Years, 32(1), 5–15. https://doi.org/10.1080/09575146.2011.593028 Weisberg, D. S., Zosh, J. M., Hirsh-Pasek, K., & Golinkoff, R. M. (2013). Talking it up: Play, langauge, and the role of adult support. American Journal of Play, 6(1), 39–54. Retrieved from http://www.journalofplay.org/issues/6/1/article/3-talking-it-play-language- development-and-role-adult-support Wong, S. M., Wang, Z., & Cheng, D. (2011). A play-based curriculum: Hong Kong children’s perception of play and non-play. 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Introduction: The prevalence and patterns of sleep disturbances in neurocutaneous syndromes are variable and understudied. Methods: Cross-sectional study for 18 months at a tertiary care pediatric hospital, involving 100 children with neurocutaneous syndromes aged between 4 and 10 years using the Children's Sleep Habits Questionnaire-Abbreviated. Results: In 100 children with neurocutaneous syndromes, 47 (47%) had significant sleep problems. In subgroup analysis, 7 of 17 children with neurofibromatosis 1, 24 of 63 children with tuberous sclerosis complex, 10 of 12 children with Sturge-Weber syndrome, 2 of 3 children with linear nevus sebaceous syndrome, and each of the children with hypomelanosis of Ito, McCune-Albright syndrome, megalencephaly-capillary malformation syndrome, and unclassified neurocutaneous syndrome had significant sleep problems. Conclusion: The prevalence of sleep problems in our study population was not more than that observed in the general pediatric population. Prospective multicentric studies are needed to comprehend sleep problems in children with neurocutaneous syndromes.

Abstract Background Somatic mutations of cancer driver genes are found to be responsible for vascular malformations with clinical manifestations ranging from cutaneous birthmarks to life-threatening systemic anomalies. Till now, only a limited number of cases and mutations were reported in Chinese population. The purpose of this study was to describe the somatic mutation spectrum of a cohort of Chinese pediatrics with vascular malformations. Methods Pediatrics diagnosed with various vascular malformations were collected between May 2019 and October 2020 from Beijing Children’s Hospital. Genomic DNA of skin lesion of each patient was extracted and sequenced by whole-exome sequencing to identify pathogenic somatic mutations. Mutations with variant allele frequency less than 5% were validated by ultra-deep sequencing. Results A total of 67 pediatrics (33 males, 34 females, age range: 0.1–14.8 years) were analyzed. Exome sequencing identified somatic mutations of corresponding genes in 53 patients, yielding a molecular diagnosis rate of 79.1%. Among 29 PIK3CA mutations, 17 were well-known hotspot p.E542K, p.E545K and p.H1047R/L. Non-hotspot mutations were prevalent in patients with PIK3CA-related overgrowth spectrum, accounting for 50.0% (11/22) of detected mutations. The hotspot GNAQ p.R183Q and TEK p.L914F mutations were responsible for the majority of port-wine stain/Sturge–Weber syndrome and venous malformation, respectively. In addition, we identified a novel AKT1 p.Q79K mutation in Proteus syndrome and MAP3K3 p.E387D mutation in verrucous venous malformation. Conclusions The somatic mutation spectrum of vascular malformations in Chinese population is similar to that reported in other populations, but non-hotspot PIK3CA mutations may also be prevalent. Molecular diagnosis may help the clinical diagnosis, treatment and management of these pediatric patients with vascular malformations.

In the aftermath of Donald Trump’s election victory in 2016, feminist and online craft communities responded with a call to arms (or needles) aimed at resistance through collective action in thread, yarn, and textiles. One such project, Diana Weymar’s Tiny Pricks Project, records the incessant barrage of Trump’s media coverage: tweets, journalist reportage, and statements in stitched thread. Weymar started Tiny Pricks Project on 8 January 2018, stitching the 45th President’s bluster of a 6 January tweet, “I AM A VERY STABLE GENIUS”, in yellow thread across a field of tapestry flowers. Issuing an invitation for contributions from stitchers around the world, Weymar accrued a vast archive of over 5,000 individual textile works which transform political rhetoric into thread. Although the project has been exhibited in its material form in galleries around the United States (particularly in the lead-up to the 2020 election), its primary display is online, where the textured and tactile objects are imaged and uploaded to Instagram. Drawing on the associations of a medium associated with intimacy and femininity, @tinypricksproject traces Trump’s presidency, rejecting the immediacy of the 24-hour media cycle with careful, time-consuming stitching that bears the imprint of its makers. As an attempt to reshape Trump’s violent utterances as a material symbol of resistance, Tiny Pricks Project has a close parallel in the bright pink hand-knitted “pussyhats” that became the symbol of the 2017 Women’s March. With a pattern distributed online through platforms such as Ravelry and sold on online marketplaces such as Etsy, the Pussyhat Project exemplifies the ambitions of twentyfirst-century craftivism, that “creativity can be a catalyst for change” (Greer, 183), but also the neoliberal commodification of these ideals. The contested legacy of the Pussyhat Project, lauded as a means of participatory politics but criticised for the whiteness and transphobic essentialism of its chosen symbol, demonstrates the challenges in harnessing craft as collective activism (Black), and suggests the need for individualised, responsive ways of connecting politics and hand-making. The same phrase that inspired the Pussyhats, Trump’s recording of 2005 admitting sexual assault (“They let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy.”) also appears across the Tiny Pricks Project as an embroidered text where it performs a very different role. In contrast to the performative use of knitted projects as a garment to wear in action, Weymar describes Tiny Pricks Project as a “stitched material record” and as “testimony”. Both acts, of stitching and posting, are acts of memory-making and communication, and as such, the cumulative posts of Tiny Pricks Project function as a feminist vernacular temporary memorial. Initially focussed exclusively on Trump, the project has expanded in both territory (with a dedicated Tiny Pricks Project UK) and politically to encompass direct statements of opposition. The intimacy and history of needlework in Tiny Pricks Project punctures distance, drawing the violence of Trump’s political rhetoric (against women, immigrants, the disabled, and the vulnerable) into a direct, affective contact with the bodies of stitchers and viewers. This article proposes the contact of Tiny Pricks Project as a form of haunting, where threads pierce through memories of the past and bodies in the present. Embroiderers have a term for stitching which follows a pattern from the other side – ghost stitching – allowing for the thread to create a pattern which is elsewhere but not visible, a tracing through to the inverse and across multiple layers of textile. To consider threads as conveying presence recognises the powerful affective charge of stitching. As Roszika Parker asserts in her influential work of feminist art history, The Subversive Stitch, “embroiderers … transform materials to produce sense” (6), making complex embodied meaning through thread and fabric. A digital ghost stitch, the tracing of online content in needlework that records the sense of its maker, which is then reposted elsewhere, draws out the affective quality of the material that “pricks” the user. Ghosts here are defined through the work of Avery Gordon, where they are “that special instance of the merging of the visible and the invisible, the dead and the living, the past and the present” (25). In their production of material effects, ghosts are the manifestation of haunting, which for Gordon is a particular form of mediation that breaks down distance: in haunting, organized forces and systemic structures that appear removed from us make their impact felt in everyday life in a way that confounds our analytic separations and confounds the social separations themselves. (19) A ghost stitch, then, is the specific quality of stitched thread in a digital post to puncture mediatised politics, drawing together otherwise invisible bodies and histories. To draw out the haunted nature of thread this article locates the affective quality of the stitched politics of Tiny Pricks Project in the context of contemporary memorial cultures, rather than the field of craftivism or digital activism. Focussing on the histories and politics of needlework, I begin by understanding the material use of thread and stitching in Tiny Pricks Project as a connection to intimate forms of memory-making, specifically American traditions of quilting. I then locate the specific form of @tinypricksproject, cumulative posts on Instagram in response and reaction to historical events, as a form of vernacular memorial that punctures the screen with the presence of stitchers, framing this discussion in relationship to new forms of public memory-making in both public spaces and online. Finally, I consider the combination of these forms, threaded stitches and digital memorials, as a “ghost stitch” that “pricks” me when I scroll through the feed, forcing an embodied relationship with its haunted political texts. The stitched thread has a powerful emotional charge that intimately traces the body, through the gestural mark of a hand, and evokes memory, through a connection to family heirlooms and domestic material culture. This nostalgic embodiment is exploited in the material form of Tiny Pricks Project, where Trump’s words in are stitched into vintage textiles, such as lace-edged napkins or printed children’s handkerchiefs, each carrying sentimental associations. Items of clothing sometimes appear as the support – as Trump’s response to the 2019 Senate inquiry that “I did nothing wrong” stitched in red on the front of a child’s dress decorated with red, white, and blue ric-rac and stars. The technical skill on display varies across the project, but most text is rendered in simple back stitch, creating a punctuated and punctured line that wobbles and reveals its handmade quality. Weymar’s own hand is evident in the use of bold, block lettering, often layered over tapestry – such in a repeat of “I AM A VERY STABLE GENIUS” in blue and yellow thread stitched over a stag tapestry by her grandmother. Some have the addition of more elaborative embroidered imagery or applique in the form of anachronistic illustrations and decorative motifs. Whilst information on individual panels (the stitcher, the source of the quote, and sometimes an account of the work’s production) is available in the Instagram caption in the feed and tag, each individual painstakingly stitched post is understood in relationship to the surrounding images. The combination of the individual panels of repurposed fabric of Tiny Pricks Project evokes the iconic American form of the patchwork quilt that pieces together textiles with their own histories and memories to make new form that is both fragmented and connected. On @tinyprickproject the visual similarity to a quilt is striking, as an image of each textile panel is joined to the next via Instagram’s gridded interface. In the individualised feeds of the account’s followers, each Tiny Pricks Project post is stitched together with other algorithmically selected images, generating a unique piecing together of politics with the personal, as a digital quilt. Although the image of quilting in the popular imagination remains dominated by images of white femininity (as in the 1996 film How to Make an American Quilt), quilts have historically also been a site of expression and memory-making for bodies otherwise effaced in American culture. The tradition of Black quilting, for example, has a complicated history, as bell hooks describes, where quilts were produced out of basic material need but were also a powerful form of aesthetic expression. Remembering her grandmother’s quilting, hooks identifies the way that the reuse of the family’s tattered and worn clothing in crazy quilts results in “bits and pieces of my mama’s life, held and contained there” (121). Peter Stallybrass similarly articulates the powerful communication of presence and absence of using worn garments for quilting, where “a network of cloth can trace the connection of love across the boundaries of absence, of death, because cloth is able to carry the absent body, memory, genealogy” (36-37). In their material and form, quilts have a powerful connection to memories outside dominant narratives as an assertion of the bodies who laboured on them, those bodies whose worn garments have been transformed into pattern, and the bodies they symbolically cover. This quality of intimacy, memory, and embodiment has a political potentiality, as exploited in the cumulative, community NAMES project AIDS Memorial Quilt. Founded by Cleve Jones and first displayed in 1987 in Washington D.C., each individual panel approximates the size of a body (or coffin) and is stitched with the name and memory of someone lost in the AIDS crisis. In its public display through the late 1980s and early 1990s, with the panels spread out on the ground in public spaces, AIDS quilts (both the original NAMES project and subsequent localised versions around the world) controversially drew individual memory into public politics, deploying feeling as a form of activism. At the height of AIDS crisis, Queer art theorist and ACT UP member Douglas Crimp, for example, positioned the spectacle of mourning in opposition to militancy, where “public mourning rituals may of course have their own political force, but they nevertheless often seem, from an activist perspective, indulgent, sentimental, defeatist” (5). Countering this position, Peter Hawkins argued that the quilt “made intimacy its object; it has enabled quite private reality (sometimes sentimental and homey, sometimes kinky and erotic) to ‘come out’ in public” (770), a powerful personification of social and political ambitions. The recent digitisation of the 50,000 panels of the quilt on the National AIDS Memorial Website makes more direct the connect between the intimate feeling of mourning and the “stitching” ability of digital memory. Beyond the specific form of the quilt, on a broader social level the nostalgic quality of Tiny Pricks Project’s accumulation of hand-stitched textiles draws together the past and the present. The rise of craft culture is underpinned by online platforms (including Instagram) that have facilitated DIY and craftivist communities, where historical material processes such as knitting, crocheting, needlework, and sewing provide powerful affective and political points of connection. Addressing the relationship of contemporary artists working in textiles to the economic, political, and social context of globalised late capitalism, Kirsty Robertson argues that such works are “haunted by their passages through time and space”, specifically the “ghosts of textile artists and workers” (195). This connection to bodies across history is wrapped up in the materiality and gestural process of needlework. These are the ghosts of those whose presence is rendered invisible in twentyfirst-century deindustrialised countries, where textile industries have largely disappeared and where feminism has fundamentally changed the ubiquity of domestic crafts in the home. Their return, either in art or the “hobby” sphere, carries both a radical political legacy and a complicated nostalgic charge. In the context of the United States, a further material trace in the stitched and embroidered works of Tiny Pricks Project is in the fibres of the materials themselves, in the bleached history of cotton’s brutal past that connects enslavement and contemporary capitalism (Beckert). The threads of handmade embroidery, quilt, and woven crafts move across time, as art historian Julia Bryan Wilson argues: textiles warp between the past and the present: relentlessly recruited for pressing contemporary concerns they are also tasked with reminding us of, and are often pulled back to, the traditions from which they sprung. (261) Ironically, then, the popularity of online textile and needlecraft projects such as Tiny Pricks Project can then be mapped alongside the rhetoric of Trump’s populist “recruitment” of America’s industrial history (Making America Great Again) as an emotive “pull” to an imagined past within contemporary politics more broadly (Kenny). This deployment of sentimentality untethered from facts is one part of what Lauren Berlant described as the “noise” of Trump, the concentration of feeling as the substance of his politics: Trump is sound and fury and garble. Yet—and this is key—the noise in his message increases the apparent value of what’s clear about it. The ways he’s right seem more powerful, somehow, in relief against the ways he’s blabbing. Rather than communicating a political messaging, Trump’s bluster exemplifies a mediatised politics that has taken on the logic of social media and 24-hour news cycles, fragmenting and dissipating attention (Crary). The disconnection of noisy mediatised politics makes it always just in the past, endlessly present in its digital archive, but evasive in its meaning. Tiny Pricks Project is just one example of drawing affective attention to Trump’s words through this same medium, recontextualising them as an act of memorial-making. Certain key quotes are recovered again and again in different hands alongside “I am a very stable genius” and “grab ‘em by the pussy”. Some are ironic, such as “I know words, I have the best words” (from a speech about Barack Obama in 2015) and “I don’t have a racist bone in my body” (a tweet in 2019); but many capture the most misogynist and racist records of Trump’s speech including “Nasty Woman” (directed at Hillary Clinton in 2016); and “send her back” (a rally chant about Ilhan Omar, 2019). Embroidering Trump’s tweets and soundbites into material form, then preserving these on a digital wall for all to see, Tiny Pricks Project appropriates into thread the American tradition of hagiographic presidential monuments that immortalise political actors through their speech made material. Across Washington D.C., epigraphs are carved into stone and cast in steel, as at the Lincoln Memorial (1922), which fixes its subject’s meaning in historical place with select quotations that evade the mention of slavery. The dominance of these forms of monument to America’s past efface the complex racial violence of the country’s past, as Kirk Savage has argued, and it is only when encountered with living bodies that this becomes legible again as in the iconic use of the Lincoln Memorial for Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech (1963). Indicative of a shift in the culture of memory-making and memorials, this visible contest between vulnerable bodies and symbols of state power played out during Trump’s administration in sites across the country, most notably at Charlottesville in 2017, where conflict over the fate of the city’s Robert E. Lee statue boiled over into fatal white supremacist violence. Tiny Prick Project’s function as a collectively generated memorial is part of this broader cultural shift: what Erica Doss has described as America’s “memorial mania”, an explosion in fragmentary memory-making where an ever-growing number of official monuments are joined by individualised commemoration and contestation. Inscribing Trump’s words on repurposed materials, Tiny Pricks Project reshapes presidential monuments through the aesthetics of temporary memorials. Examples such as the spontaneous memorials around the city of New York in the wake of September 11 and mementos left in the chain fence near the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing site “embod[y] the faith that Americans place in things to negotiate complex moments and events” (Doss, 71). Such memorials rely upon stable and commodified ideas of identity such as teddy bears and American flags to assert the “comfort culture” (Sturken, Tourists of History, 6) of American consumerism in the midst of trauma and loss. This has created a visual lexicon for traumatic events that is predicated on the accumulation of the mundane and everyday of material culture. In the sheer scale of posts on the @tinypricksproject Instagram feed the effect is of a cumulative vernacular memorial where the stitched posts accrue over time like mementoes on a wall, each with an affective connection both individual and collective. In many ways the process of memory-making online mirrors the assertion of presence on physical sites, most directly in the convergence of selfies and social media posts at memorial sites: what Kate Douglas describes as “dark selfies” where the act of photographing and sharing is a form of witnessing that locates the self in relationship to the past. Like temporary memorials, on platforms such as Instagram the emphasis is on individualised traces of memories constituted through a shared use of a platform and set of recognisable imagery. The participatory function of digital culture connects memory to identity and communication, through “mediated memories”: media theorist José van Dijck’s term for "the activities and objects we produce and appropriate by means of media technology for creating and re-creating a sense of past, present, and future of ourselves in relation to others” (21). The specific agency of Instagram to hold memory (a capacity built into functionality such as “on this day” or “Memories” features) casts all its posts into memory, but with the potential to return as “mediatised ghosts to haunt participants” (Garde-Hansen et al., 6). There is a distancing effect facilitated by the mediation of digital memory, a re-directing of absence into the presence of participation in social media consumption, echoing the participatory consumption of memorial culture more broadly. As Martin Pogačar argues, digital memorials online facilitate the “exteriorization of intimate and affective … practices of memory and remembering”, but he claims there is still a subversive potential here, “to elude these constraints by negotiating and revising the institutionalized forms and canons of memory and remembering” (33). Similarly, despite official intentions or commoditisation, physical memorials are also sites of feeling that can rupture any containment: they are “haunted” as Marita Sturken describes in her analysis of the Ground Zero Memorial in New York as an official memorial that cannot “contain the ghosts that live there” (“Containing Absence”, 314). In her analysis, Sturken is drawing on Gordon, who argues that haunting has the capacity to produce counter-memory by allowing for unexpected and potentially contradictory connections to be formed that challenge official structures. For Sturken it is the direct embodied trace of individual experience, such as recordings of victims’ voices, that is the ghost here. The difference between the official, intended meaning of a memorial and the haunted counter-memory is akin to the distinction between Roland Barthes’s studium and punctum in a photograph. Where the studium is the communication of conventionalised forms of meaning across a surface, the punctum pierces the viewer’s body, it is “that accident which pricks me (but also bruises me, is poignant to me)” (27). The “prick” of the punctum is, in the context of haunted memorials, the ghost making its presence felt as a material impact. The “prick” of the stitched thread in the posts of Tiny Pricks Project is a similar form of haunting, a ghost stitch that allows direct feeling through in the externalised context of mediatised politics and digital memory as followers scroll and touch each post in close and intimate contact or see the works exhibited in a gallery. As Weymar has said of the project as a site of feeling, “if you can stay present long enough to read what he’s saying, you will become politically active. You will feel a sense of urgency” (Chernick). With its ironic use of nostalgia, the ghost stitch of the Tiny Prick Project posts also punctures through contemporary political rhetoric, exposing the artifice and contradictions of sentimentality for an American past. Instead, Tiny Pricks Project proposes a counter-memorial of Trump’s presidency. A counter-memory of stitched thread runs through American political history, and when introduced to the space of digital memory this thread has a capacity to “prick” by bringing with it an affective connection to the familiar, intimate, and embodied presence distinct to hand-stitching. Defying the fragmentary nature of digital culture, thread sutures and connects, but also punctures and pierces, bringing together but also allowing points of escape. Considering Tiny Pricks Project as an example of digital ghost stitching opens up possibilities for the active role of thread as a way to “prick” the viewer and pull through connections across and between bodies and social systems as a form of political resistance. References Barthes, Roland. Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography. Trans. Richard Howard. Hill and Wang, 1981. Beckert, Sven. Empire of Cotton: A Global History. Alfred A. Knopf, 2014. Berlant, Lauren. “Trump. Or Political Emotions.” Supervalent Thought Blog, 4 Aug. 2016. <https://supervalentthought.com/2016/08/04/trump-or-political-emotions/#more-964>. Black, Shannon. “KNIT RESIST: Placing the Pussyhat Project in the Context of Craft Activism.” Gender, Place and Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography 24.5 (2017): 696–710. Bryan-Wilson, Julia. Fray: Art + Textile Politics. U of Chicago P, 2017. Chernick, Karen. “US President Donald Trump’s Angry Tweets Recorded in Tiny Pricks.” The Art Newspaper, 20 Sep. 2020. <https://www.theartnewspaper.com/2020/09/21/us-president-donald-trumps-angry-tweets-recorded-in-tiny-pricks>. Crary, Jonathan. Scorched Earth beyond the Digital Age to a Post-Capitalist World. Verso, 2022. Crimp, Douglas. “Mourning and Militancy.” October 51 (1989): 3-18. Douglas, Kate. “Youth, Trauma and Memorialisation: The Selfie as Witnessing.” Memory Studies 13.4 (2020): 384–399. Doss, Erika. Memorial Mania: Public Feeling in America. U of Chicago P, 2010. Garde-Hansen, Joanne, et al. Save As... Digital Memories. Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. Gordon, Avery. Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination. 2nd ed. U of Minnesota P, 2008. Greer, Betsy. “Craftivist History.” Extra/Ordinary: Craft and Contemporary Art. Ed. Maria Elena Buszek. Duke UP, 2011. 175-183. 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Princeton UP, 2018. Stallybrass, Peter. “Worn Worlds: Clothes, Mourning, and the Life of Things.” Cultural Memory and the Construction of Identity. Eds. Liliane Weissberg and Dan Ben-Amos. Wayne State UP, 1999. 27-45. Sturken, Marita. Tourists of History: Memory, Kitsch, and Consumerism from Oklahoma City to Ground Zero. Duke UP, 2007. ———. “Containing Absence, Shaping Presence at Ground Zero.” Memory Studies 13.3 (2020): 313–321. Van Dijck, José. Mediated Memories in the Digital Age. Stanford UP, 2007.

Although medical therapy is usually an excellent therapeutic option in the adult population, in children it is often ineffective or associated with an undesirable risk:benefit ratio. Therefore, surgical intervention is frequently required for adequate control of glaucoma in young patients. The initial surgical approach for management of glaucoma in children includes goniotomy and trabeculotomy, each with a high success rate. When these interventions fail or have a high likelihood of failure (i.e., in patients with Sturge-Weber syndrome, aniridia, anterior chamber dysgenesis, or congenital glaucoma), tube shunt procedures are often required. Tube shunts were first used in the pediatric population by Molteno and colleagues in 1973 and have since grown in popularity and secured an integral role in the treatment of refractory glaucoma in infants and children. Possible complications and causes for failure of tube shunt devices in children are very similar to those in adults; however, issues such as tube migration and retraction must be anticipated in the child’s growing eye. One of the most frustrating, and unfortunately the most common, complications is tube malposition. While tube malposition is not entirely specific to the pediatric population, it occurs far more frequently in children than in adults. (See Chapter 30 for information about tube malposition in adults.) Incidence of tube malposition in pediatric patients ranges from 3% to 35%. In infants and young children, the tube tends to retract from the eye and/or migrate towards the cornea in the anterior chamber. The initial presentation of tube migration is often tube-cornea touch at the proximal end of the tube near the insertion site. In severe cases, tube migration can lead to transcorneal extrusion of the tube. Secondary complications, including corneal decompensation, cataract, iris abnormalities, and endophthalmitis, can result from these initial insults if tube malposition is not identified early and appropriately addressed. The cause of tube migration and retraction is likely multifactorial, but there are 2 basic mechanisms thought to be at fault: 1) somatic growth causing concomitant tube migration and 2) elasticity of the buphthalmic eye, allowing shrinkage as intraocular pressure (IOP) decreases and tube straightening due to “memory.”