Acetaminophen/paracetamol has a hard stop upper dose limit, above which it becomes extremely toxic.
That limit is 4g (8 “extra strength” (500mg) tablets) in 24 hours (about 2 tablets every 6 hours).
A single dose of 22 extra strength tablets can kill you.
Taking 12 or more tablets per day for more than a week can also kill you (this is about 3 tablets every 6 hours).
Symptoms of overdose take up to 24 hours to manifest, and are fairly difficult to distinguish from other problems. They include abdominal pain (especially right upper quadrant), nausea, malaise, and confusion.
The antidote (n-acetylcystine) must be given within 8hours of ingestion in order to be useful.
After 10 hours the only thing that will work is a liver transplant.
You might think “why would I ever accidentally take so much?”
Well, acetaminophen is in almost everything in the cold/flu/pain aisle. Migraine combos like Excedrin, cold and flu combos like NyQuil, basically anything that says “non-aspirin pain relief”, and anything that’s branded as a fever reducer. It’s all probably acetaminophen/paracetamol.
So the goal of this post is to get you to read the labels on your medications. Because taking taking Tylenol and NyQuil together for a week (like you might if you had the flu) could kill you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
New research has made encouraging progress in tackling not one but two of the biggest problems facing our planet right now: plastic pollutio
"New research has made encouraging progress in tackling not one but two of the biggest problems facing our planet right now: plastic pollution and the use of fossil fuels as part of drug manufacturing processes.
Scientists from the University of Edinburgh in the UK have used Escherichia coli bacteria to convert molecules from the widely used polyethylene terephthalate (PET) plastic into the painkiller acetaminophen (also known as paracetamol).
Like a lot of drugs today, acetaminophen is mostly made out of fossil fuels. Switching those ingredients for waste products – like plastic – could offer an ingenious way of addressing two major environmental problems in one.
It's going to take a while to scale this up and prove it can be effective at an industrially and commercially viable level, so we shouldn't get too far ahead of ourselves, but there's a lot of potential in the new technology.
"This work demonstrates that PET plastic isn't just waste or a material destined to become more plastic – it can be transformed by microorganisms into valuable new products, including those with potential for treating disease," says biotechnologist Stephen Wallace from the University of Edinburgh.
The process starts by chemically degrading PET bottles. The resulting molecules are then fed to engineered E. coli, which use phosphate as a catalyst to convert the molecules into an organic compound containing nitrogen. Finally, these compounds are turned into the active ingredient of acetaminophen.
Among the numerous advantages of the process are that it can be completed in 24 hours in a compact laboratory setup, and that it works at room temperature, so there's no need for excessive heating or cooling. What's more, the team has managed to get it working at an impressively efficient 92-percent yield...
The reaction makes use of a well-established chemical reaction called the Lossen rearrangement, named after German chemist Wilhelm Lossen, who discovered it in 1872. Here, the reaction is made biocompatible so it can work in cells and living bacteria.
This was all done using PET bottles, but the plastic is also used extensively in food packaging, furniture, and manufacturing. This type of plastic is estimated to account for more than 350 million tons of waste per year, adding to the plastic pollution burden.
The same approach might also work for other types of bacteria and other types of plastic, according to the researchers, so there's potential here for more environmentally friendly recycling and drug production options.
It's a powerful example of how both natural and synthetic chemistry can be combined to find solutions to problems and drive innovation, and it may ultimately mean that E. coli plays a part in the production of our pain relief in the future...
The research has been published in Nature Chemistry.
The grating, repetitive screech of the alarm clock ripped you out of an unsteady slumber. It was easily the worst sound you'd ever heard.
Your stomach lurched, queasy from the noise, threatening to reject its contents as you reached for the button to silence the alarm. The heavy pounding in your head, filling your ears with the obnoxious whoosh of your rapid heartbeat, was just as horrible as it’d been when you'd gone to bed 10 hours ago. Maybe worse.
Sleep was meant to fix these things, but neither the rest nor the medicine you'd taken had helped in the slightest. There was no chance you were making it to class today.
The thought only seemed to intensify the pressure in your skull. Just two weeks into Year 13 and this would be your second absence. It'd probably be excused if you’d put you with ringing your mum to call the college and let them know, but you'd rather be in trouble with them than her. You had enough of an headache without dealing with her. There was a reason you lived in the dormitories and not at home.
A sudden return of piercing pain in your temple forced your head back to the matter at hand. It needed to be dealt with immediately.
But you couldn't medicate on a nearly empty stomach. And you didn't dare brave the communal kitchen during the morning rush in your current state.
So you made do with what you had, starting by scarfing down the rest of a pack of chocolate digestives. Something salty sounded nice, too, but opening the small bag of roast chicken-flavoured crisps, you realised your mistake. You wouldn't be able to handle their strong, nauseous smell at the moment, and prawn cocktail or cheese and onion would be no better. The last thing you wanted was to deal with being sick in the shared toilets.
The digestives would have to be enough to line your belly from the migraine tablets’ potent blend of aspirin, paracetamol, and caffeine.
You downed two of them with a few gulps of bottled water, closed your eyes for a few minutes to recover some strength, and then opened your laptop. More pain quickly followed.
Even aggressively clicking the key to dim the screen couldn't do it fast enough to avoid searing your retinas, and the lowest setting was still too bright for your sensitive eyes and brain and tummy. Practically typing with your eyes closed, you sent off a quick e-mail to your form tutor, hoping it'd be enough to get you off the hook.
Once you slammed the laptop shut, you shoved it under the bed, so you wouldn't be tempted to get back on it out of boredom and make yourself even worse.
Now, the best you could do was sit in the dark with the curtains drawn, and a pillow over your head, and wait for the drugs to kick in. If only the other students heading off to the first lesson of the day wouldn't make so much awful noise.
Finally, the commotion in the hallway quieted. Peace at last. Maybe you'd even manage to get some more sleep.
But just as you thought you were drifting off, there was a horrible pounding at your door.
You were wide awake, now, and so was your angry, thumping headache.
Now, who the hell could that be?
“Go away!” you grumbled, hardly recognising the strain of your own voice.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Who is it?” you shouted, louder this time.
“It's Cook,” came a voice through the door.
James Cook lived just downstairs, but you didn't want to waste any precious brainpower imagining what he might want with you right this minute.
“Fuck’s sake!” you muttered as you opened the door, squinting away from the sickly glow of the fluorescent lights in the hall. “I said go away!”
Cook looked you up and down. You were dressed in your pyjamas—just a flimsy vest and shorts. Because he was so irritating, it was easy to forget just how irritatingly gorgeous he could be, too. And a confoundingly good shag. But you were not in the mood to deal with him at the moment.
“What's wrong?” he asked, pouting. The deep creases in his forehead had you nearly convinced he actually gave a shit.
“I've got a pounding migraine,” you admitted. You felt your tone soften, against your best judgement.
“No…” you began, but before you could say anything else, his palm was pressed across your forehead, his skin warm and soft, yet firm, against you.
Oh no. It really helped.
You couldn't help but allow your eyelids to droop, succumbing to the comfort of his touch. By the time real thoughts were filtering into your brain again, he'd let himself in and closed the door behind him.
“Where's it hurt?” he asked next.
His words were barely audible, and their gentle sound tingled in your grey matter at the source of the pain, easing it away like magic.
You pointed to your right temple—the one that always gave you trouble when you were stressed—and Cook pushed the strong pad of his thumb to it, applying pressure, soothing away even more of the ache.
“Your pulse is going like mad,” he murmured. “C’mon.”
He walked you back to the bed, gently sitting you down, before grabbing a folded quilt off the foot of it, kicking off his trainers, and standing up on the mattress to fling the quilt across the curtain rod. Now, with the window effectively blacked out, you realised just how much light the curtains were letting in.
Next, he turned your alarm clock toward the wall, obscuring the glowing red numbers. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could hardly see him as he handed you what remained of your water bottle.
“You gotta keep hydrated,” he said next, close enough to your ear to feel his breath, and eliciting even more of those crackling, healing tingles.
Normally it would have pissed you right off for him to tell you to do anything, but maybe the medicine was working, because you felt perfectly happy to comply.
It helped that he didn't ask if you'd taken anything for it, like you'd sit there in agony on purpose. That was always the accusation back home. He'd probably seen the blister pack next to your water and seen most of the tablets missing.
You felt the mattress sag beside you more than you could actually see Cook sitting there. Then his weight shifted further, and he was kissing you on the side of your forehead where the pain was the strongest. His soft lips were so gentle on you, his contact delicate and deliberate, and it was mad, but you swore kissing it better was working.
Then he applied the touch of his thumb again, massaging, the rest of his gentle fingers splayed across your forehead.
“That all right?” he wondered, his voice soft as ever.
“Yeah,” you said. “Cook… thank you.”
“It's n…”
He didn't finish the thought when you flinched, your senses attacked by the sudden loud running and laughing in the hallway.
“Pardon me,” Cook whispered.
He rose to quickly squeeze out the door, letting as little light in as possible behind him.
You couldn't be sure he did—you didn't hear a peep from him—but the hall noise ceased immediately, and then Cook was back.
“We should have a lie down,” he suggested next.
That was a great idea. You were happy to obey.
And then you were laying together with one of Cook’s arms wrapped under you, and the other holding his hand to your head again, his pressure seemingly soaking away the tension there.
When his hand started to wander, you didn't mind a bit. He ran his fingers through your hair along your scalp, lightening the burden within with every caress.
It all felt so lovely. You didn't know Cook had this side to him.
And the moan that escaped from your throat when he caressed the base of your neck was a complete accident.
Slightly mortified, you stiffened, but Cook said nothing. He just maintained his light, thorough touch.
And this time, you allowed the sound of the blissful hum forming between your lips. Why not? You were glad he was here. Maybe he should even know it.
“You're really good at that,” you murmured.
“Thanks.”
You could hear the smile in his voice.
“Why are you so good at that?”
“Well, I've nursed many a nasty hangover and comedown in my time,” he explained. “What good for the goose, etc.”
His hand moved even further down to your neck, to your shoulders, and you melted against his touch.
“You know,” Cook said next, his voice all breath, “the one surefire migraine cure is an orgasm.”
“Fuck off,” you whispered, but there was no force behind it. You were too curious for the words to be anything but half-hearted.
“I'm serious,” he went on, and he was. “It releases endorphins and that.”
He couldn't mean now, could he?
“If you really think I'm gonna sleep with you in the state I'm in…”
“What?” he said, like the notion was ridiculous. “Nah, don't get it twisted. Neither of us even needs to take our clothes off.”
“You think you can manage?” you teased him.
It didn't seem Cook’s style. You'd been with him twice, and both times you'd just made out until you were both worked up, and then you'd had sex. You were impressed he'd made sure you'd come before he did, but neither foreplay nor sticking around appeared to be his forte.
“Oh, I can manage,” he said, a little cocky. “You don't think I know how to use these hands?”
This phrase worked its way into your ear to create an entirely different kind of tingle in a very different part of your body.
“I'd like to see you try,” you said.
“Oh yeah?”
At that, he planted kisses down your neck. You were already moaning as he reached over you, trailing his fingers between your bare thighs. His hand found your waistband next, sliding under your shorts, and then your knickers, to meet your clit.
You were surprised to find yourself a little wet already as his middle finger touched you.
You groaned his name while he rubbed you, just the tiniest movements of his digit enough to have your breath and hips hitching together.
“How's that feel for you, love?” he cooed.
“God, that feels good. Oh, Cook…”
“You gonna come for me already, are you?”
Your breath must have given you away. He kissed and nibbled at your ear as he caressed you, and then you were there.
“I'm coming,” you hissed, over and over, as he made you climax in record time, all your blood flow redirected from the pain in your head to the pleasure between your legs, lapping over your whole being. His finger refused to rest until your cries slowed. Even once you were done, he kept himself held close by, not leaving your pants.
“How's the head?” he asked gently.
“Still achey,” you answered. “But better.”
“We may need to go deeper.”
“What?”
“I'd love to finger you better.”
“I… I'd love that, too,” you answered.
“You ready for me?”
You nodded, but even then you weren't prepared for the sensation of him plunging his thick fingers inside you.
Your blissful curses were nonsense as he stroked you from within, pressing against your clit with his palm to create a frenetic cycle of pleasure.
“I just wanna make you feel all better, baby,” he hummed as his hand rattled the ecstasy into you. “Getting to play with this perfect pussy and hear you moan is just a bonus…”
You felt something hard dig into your back. His cock. Why was that so hot?
“Fuck,” he grunted as it made contact, before muttering an apology, angling his body away.
You couldn't have that.
“I wanna feel you, Cook,” you cried, desperate. “Come back to me.”
And he did, rutting into your lower back through his trousers as you squeezed around his strong fingers. His low moans and thick whines were music to your ears, and the better you matched his sounds, the closer you got, until you were right at the edge again.
“Oh that's it, that's it,” Cook said as he coaxed the second orgasm out of you, feeling you spasm against his hand as you screamed out. “God, I love making you come.”
This time, the bliss seemed to go on and on and on, and Cook was so patient with you, staying with it until he'd milked it all out of you.
After, he held you tight to him, his erection still evident.
“Better now?” he asked, placing another careful kiss upon your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you said. “Nearly gone.”
“Good. Now, I should go take care of this.”
He meant his cock. He meant leaving. Now, that was the last thing you wanted.
“You can take care of it here,” you suggested.
“Yeah?”
“I think I'd like to hear you,” you said.
You'd like to watch, too, if that didn't mean being extremely obvious and letting in the evil, evil light.
You moved a box of facial tissue his way, and he grabbed one. You had to imagine the visuals in the dark—Cook dropping his trousers, and grabbing the head of his big prick in one tensed hand. You could hear the sweet slap of skin on skin, and his pretty breathing and crying moans—and best of all the euphoric gasp of his climax.
It was a shame you could only listen in. As if you needed more rain to hate your migraines.
Cook sat beside you again when he was finished.
“I’m very glad I came up,” he admitted, laughing.
“Why did you?”
“You didn't show up to the lesson,” he explained. “Thought if you were skiving off we might enjoy each other's company. I'm sorry you're not well but… well, I liked this better.”
“I'm better now, thanks to you,” you shared. “And I liked it too.”
One last kiss to the temple seemed to melt away the rest of the ache.
“You need anything?” Cook asked. “Just say the word.”
After all that, you were still hungry for something salty.
“Chips,” you answered.
“Just chips?”
“Greasy ones. With tomato sauce.”
“Consider it done,” Cook said, finally kissing you on the lips. He made your head buzz with a different sensation entirely.
Then he was gone. But he'd be back, soon, and when he was, you'd finally know not to take Cook and his magical touch for granted.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
