@doutorarritmia: Circulaçao do sangue com preoblemas o fenomeno de Raynaud #saude #raynaud #circulacao #varizes #embolia #trombose #doutorarritmia

Doutor Arritmia
Doutor Arritmia
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Region: BR
Thursday 30 November 2023 20:52:21 GMT
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deborajaelpires
Debora Pires :
eu tive uma crise de uma semana não passava por nada doía muito, ainda estou em investigação.
2023-12-08 01:35:03
2
sheron2583
sheron219 :
será por isso q tenho multas cãibras nos dias frio🤔???
2024-02-06 16:19:22
1
idesceccon
Ides Ceccon :
minha mãe e idosa tem 80 anos ela está nas pernas e pés☹️
2024-09-10 03:54:55
0
aliine_santos
Aline Santos :
eu tenho essa síndrome, meus dedos no frio, ficam igual a dessa pessoa no vídeo. Nunca imvestiguei sobre.
2024-07-11 01:08:50
0
vaniacappellett
Vânia costa :
sim tenho no inverno
2023-12-15 16:49:49
0
nathyzyn
nathy :
obrigado
2023-11-30 21:31:23
0
rei1_rei01
rey :
em 2006 quando minha mão entrava em contato com água gelada ela ficava dura como um tijolinho. sarou derrepente mais até hoje não descobri o motivo.
2023-12-02 02:52:06
0
denisecarlosribeiro
Denise Carlos Ribeir :
difícil demais viver com esse fenômeno
2024-08-14 03:46:34
0
soniacelina21
Sonia Duarte5249 :
eu tenho essa doença há mais de 15 anos é muito ruim obrigada dr.
2023-12-14 02:51:55
0
francelinaalzirad
francelinaalzirad :
M tia tinha isso, não sabia
2023-11-30 21:40:45
0
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🤧❤️ #fyp  In a bustling city of merchants and scholars, there was a hidden shop called The Inkweaver's Parlor, tucked away in an alley no one seemed to notice. It was said that inside, a mysterious scribe could write anyone’s story into reality—but only for those willing to pay the price. One evening, a struggling artist named Mirelle stumbled upon the shop. Her dreams of creating a masterpiece had crumbled after years of rejection, and she was desperate to leave her mark on the world. The shop was dimly lit, filled with scrolls and quills that seemed to hum with an unseen power. Behind the counter sat the Inkweaver, cloaked in robes that shimmered like oil on water. Their eyes glowed faintly as they gestured for Mirelle to sit. — What do you seek? — the Inkweaver asked, their voice both ancient and soothing. Mirelle hesitated.
🤧❤️ #fyp In a bustling city of merchants and scholars, there was a hidden shop called The Inkweaver's Parlor, tucked away in an alley no one seemed to notice. It was said that inside, a mysterious scribe could write anyone’s story into reality—but only for those willing to pay the price. One evening, a struggling artist named Mirelle stumbled upon the shop. Her dreams of creating a masterpiece had crumbled after years of rejection, and she was desperate to leave her mark on the world. The shop was dimly lit, filled with scrolls and quills that seemed to hum with an unseen power. Behind the counter sat the Inkweaver, cloaked in robes that shimmered like oil on water. Their eyes glowed faintly as they gestured for Mirelle to sit. — What do you seek? — the Inkweaver asked, their voice both ancient and soothing. Mirelle hesitated. "I want to create something unforgettable—something that will be remembered forever." The Inkweaver nodded and slid a blank scroll toward her. — Your wish can be written. But every word will require a sacrifice. Mirelle frowned. "What kind of sacrifice?" The Inkweaver dipped their quill into an inkwell that sparkled like starlight. — For every line, a memory. For every stroke, a moment. The greater your masterpiece, the more you must give. Desperate, Mirelle agreed. As the Inkweaver began to write, she felt her memories slipping away, one by one. The awkward joy of her first painting lesson faded. The laughter of friends she once cherished dissolved. Each detail of her life drained into the scroll, forming a vivid, breathtaking story. When the Inkweaver finished, they handed her the scroll. Mirelle gasped—it was perfect, a tale so profound and moving that she knew it would be admired for generations. But as she looked at the scroll, tears filled her eyes. "Who am I?" she whispered. The Inkweaver tilted their head. — You are the creator of this story. Nothing more, nothing less. Mirelle left the shop clutching her masterpiece, her heart hollow but her dream fulfilled. The story spread like wildfire, inspiring countless others. People spoke her name with reverence, but Mirelle herself faded into obscurity, unable to remember her own triumph. --- Years later, the shop disappeared, leaving only the legend of the Inkweaver's Parlor. Some say the scribe still exists, waiting for the next dreamer willing to trade everything for their story. The tale of the Inkweaver's Pact teaches us that while ambition can create greatness, the cost of chasing immortality may be the loss of what makes us human.

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