Pour Elon Musk et la plupart des visionnaires, les robots arrivent en médecine. Voici ce que ça veut dire :
Le meilleur chirurgien du monde n'a que deux mains. Il dort, il vieillit, et son génie mourra avec lui. C'est le point aveugle de toute l'histoire de la médecine. On a appris à fabriquer du savoir en quantité illimitée, on n'a jamais réussi à copier un geste.
Il faut remonter en 1450, à cette époque, un moine copiste passait trois ans de sa vie à recopier une seule Bible, à la main, ligne par ligne, pendant que Gutenberg en sortait cent quatre-vingts exemplaires de sa presse dans le même temps.
Cinquante ans plus tard, des presses tournaient dans plus de 250 villes d'Europe. La règle du jeu se lit là, à l'œil nu : tout ce qui devient copiable finit par exploser.
Le Lancet a posé les chiffres sur la table en 2015, ils donnent le vertige. Cinq milliards d'êtres humains n'ont aucun accès à une chirurgie sûre et abordable au moment où ils en ont besoin. Dans les pays les plus pauvres, ça monte à neuf personnes sur dix.
Près d'un tiers des morts de la planète viennent de choses qu'une opération soigne, ce qui dépasse le sida, la tuberculose, le paludisme réunis. Pas faute de savoir mais faute de mains.
Alors quand Musk annonce qu'Optimus soignera mieux que le médecin de l'homme le plus riche du monde, écoutez ce qu'il dit vraiment. Il annonce la première fois de l'histoire humaine où un geste devient copiable.
Beaucoup vont crier à la science-fiction. On criait exactement pareil devant l'idée d'un étage orbital de quatorze étages qui redescend de l'espace pour se poser debout, tout seul, sur un bateau au milieu de l'Atlantique.
Imaginez la suite une seconde. Le geste du meilleur chirurgien vivant, appris une fois, puis copié à l'infini, exactement le même, jusque dans un dispensaire à trois heures de la première route goudronnée. Un geste qui s'améliore pendant la nuit, parce que chaque opération faite quelque part rend toutes les autres mains un peu plus sûres.
Gutenberg a copié le mot. Ce siècle copiera le geste.
@vision_ia Optimus réduira considérablement la pénurie de main-d'œuvre dans le secteur médical. L'impact apporté par les robots sera immense, bien au-delà de l'imagination. J'ai vraiment hâte de voir l'avenir.
Jo Nagai was raising swallowtail butterflies at his home in Kobe, Japan, when he noticed something odd. The ones he had looked after as caterpillars seemed to recognize him. Wild butterflies fled. His didn't.
He was in second grade. He wrote a four-page letter to Dr. Martha Weiss, an entomologist at Georgetown University who had studied whether moths could retain memories through metamorphosis. He asked if she could help him design a version of her experiment for butterflies.
She said yes.
Using a muscle therapy device, Jo trained caterpillars to associate the scent of lavender with a mild vibration. When the caterpillars became butterflies, 70 per cent of them still avoided the lavender. Their brains had been completely rebuilt during metamorphosis. The memory survived anyway.
Then he bred them.
The offspring, which had never been trained, also avoided lavender. So did their grandchildren. Without ever experiencing the vibration, two generations of butterflies inherited an aversion to a scent their grandmother had been taught to fear.
Jo documented it all in a 33-page research paper and presented his findings at the International Congress of Entomology in Kobe in 2024. He was 10.
A second grader wrote a letter to a Georgetown professor, and together they found evidence that butterflies can pass memories down through generations.
-Wilderness Whisper
This weekend, we’re putting the final touches on Liv’s Hope and Joy boxes — and we’re so excited to finally pack all 120 of them for delivery to CHOP and Geisinger.
These boxes are filled with so many thoughtful, uplifting items in honor of what would have been Liv’s 16th birthday. Every single one is a little burst of joy and hope, made possible by the kindness of everyone who shopped our Amazon wishlist. I think Liv would have approved of all these items. Her favorite things was at the heart of the list.
Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. 💕
(This table is set up for just 10 boxes! I have a lot of organizing and set up to do!!)
In 1986, registered nurse Sandra Clarke was caring for a terminally ill man at Sacred Heart Medical Center in Eugene, Oregon. Alone and nearing the end of his life, he looked at her and asked a simple question.
"Will you stay with me?"
Sandra wanted to, but she was responsible for several other patients. She promised she would return after finishing her rounds. About 90 minutes later, she came back to his room.
He had died alone.
The moment stayed with her for the next 15 years. She couldn't forget the feeling that while death itself was unavoidable, no one should have to face it without another human being by their side.
In 2001, Sandra helped launch the No One Dies Alone program. It trains volunteers to sit with dying patients who have no family or friends present. They don't provide medical care. They simply offer companionship by holding a hand, reading a book, playing gentle music, praying if requested, or quietly sitting beside someone during their final hours.
What began with one patient's final request has since inspired hundreds of hospitals and hospices to create similar programs, ensuring that countless people spend their last moments not in solitude, but in the comforting presence of another person
🇨🇵👏 Benoît Guieu, 35 ans, a sauvé sa voisine de 98 ans intoxiquée par les fumées lors d’un incendie dans son immeuble à Anglet. Il l’a traînée hors de son appartement jusqu’aux escaliers où les policiers ont pris le relais, lui permettant d’échapper au danger. 🙌 (France Bleu)
📸 Wassilla Guittoune