Introduction
Summary of the Book Extra Life by Steven Johnson. Before moving forward, let’s take a quick look at the book. Imagine being born into a world where reaching your fortieth birthday felt uncertain, where diseases swarmed through neighborhoods, and where a simple glass of milk or a minor infection might snatch away cherished lives. Just a century ago, human lifespans were far shorter, and death constantly loomed in everyday routines. Yet, something extraordinary happened. Over a relatively brief period, our average life expectancy doubled. This transformation did not rely on one lone genius’s miracle, nor on a single spark of creativity. Instead, it emerged from countless collective efforts—hidden experiments, brave regulations, determined advocates, ingenious farmers, persistent doctors, curious travelers, careful scientists, and sharp-eyed observers. These stories weave together across time and space, showing us how humanity, step by painful step, crafted a safer, more enduring version of itself. Each chapter unveils a piece of this grand puzzle.
Chapter 1: How a Curious Observation of Milkmaids Sparked a Global, Unexpected Life-Saving Idea.
Long before the word vaccine even existed, the world faced the terrifying reality of smallpox, a dreadful disease that scarred faces, crippled bodies, and ended lives at a shocking rate. Throughout human history, smallpox had swept through communities and left parents grieving their children, communities mourning countless neighbors, and healers feeling helpless. But in the late eighteenth century, a British country doctor named Edward Jenner made a startling observation. He noticed that milkmaids, who daily tended cows and touched their udders, rarely fell victim to smallpox. Instead, they seemed to enjoy a strange natural shield against this deadly scourge. This raised an urgent, astonishing question: Could exposure to a less harmful disease—cowpox—somehow grant immunity against its more dangerous cousin, smallpox, and thus pave the way toward longer, healthier human lives?
Jenner’s idea sounded simple yet radical. He reasoned that if he deliberately infected someone with cowpox, a relatively mild illness carried by cows, that person might develop a defense within their body, like an invisible armor, that could protect them from the far deadlier smallpox. He chose a young boy as his test subject—an unsettling idea by modern standards, but one driven by a desperate need to halt this fearsome killer. After infecting the child with cowpox and waiting for him to recover, Jenner exposed him again, this time to smallpox. To his relief and excitement, the boy did not fall ill. This child, once vulnerable and unprotected, now stood strong against a disease that had tormented humanity for generations.
This was the first known vaccination, a moment that would echo through history. But the beauty of Jenner’s insight goes beyond the single patient he treated. It represented a pivot point in how people understood disease and the workings of the human body’s immune defenses. Instead of helplessly waiting for sickness to strike, humans could now intervene—prompting their own bodies to recognize attackers and fight back before real danger arrived. Though Jenner’s approach was initially met with skepticism, confusion, and even fear, it nonetheless set a precedent. It showed that prevention could trump panic, that human intervention could rewrite the narrative of inevitable suffering, and that the secrets hidden in humble farmyards could inspire lifesaving breakthroughs known to every corner of the globe.
Yet, as profound as Jenner’s innovation was, the brilliance of vaccination did not spring forth fully formed from a single mind in a single moment. His work rested on older practices and knowledge stretching back centuries and spanning continents. Other cultures had long experimented with methods like blowing powdered scabs up the nose to trigger immunity. By the time Jenner performed his famous experiment, the seeds of the idea had already been planted by countless thinkers and healers. Jenner’s contribution lay in refining these scattered insights into a method that could spread scientifically, save countless lives, and ultimately open the door to the modern age of public health. This chapter’s story is about that first spark—how a curiosity about milkmaids ignited an idea that would transform the world.
Chapter 2: Unraveling Ancient Inoculation Secrets and How a Noblewoman Carried Them Home.
Well before Jenner’s work, ancient physicians and healers had been experimenting with what we might call proto-vaccination. They knew that intentionally exposing a person to a weakened form of a disease could protect them from a more severe infection later on. In Asia, for example, smallpox variolation had been practiced for centuries. Instead of waiting helplessly for smallpox to strike, these healers collected material from recovering patients—often bits of dried scab—and introduced them into healthy bodies in a controlled manner. This was hardly delicate or precise by modern standards, but it introduced tiny amounts of the virus, forcing the immune system to respond, adapt, and store away precious defensive knowledge. These ancient experiments laid an early foundation for the global war against diseases.
In China, doctors used surprisingly creative methods. They ground up smallpox scabs into a fine powder and blew them into patients’ nostrils. This approach, though it sounds crude and even shocking to us today, proved a practical solution for its time, given limited medical tools and knowledge. A similar idea popped up in parts of the Ottoman Empire, where variolation had been refined to levels that intrigued outsiders. The real leap happened when a remarkable British noblewoman, Lady Mary Wortley Montague, visited Constantinople in the early eighteenth century and encountered these ancient inoculation practices firsthand. Intrigued and inspired, she observed how local physicians had a surprisingly good track record, reducing both the severity and frequency of the dreaded smallpox.
Lady Montague, a keen observer with personal experience surviving smallpox, knew Europe urgently needed better solutions. She watched local inoculators select smallpox pus from mildly infected patients and carefully introduce it into healthy individuals. Witnessing healthy children confidently face a disease that had once seemed unstoppable impressed her deeply. She brought this knowledge back to Britain, where the practice—still strange and foreign to many—gradually caught on among the upper classes. Montague’s advocacy sparked conversations and paved the way for more systematic and safer methods. Without her courage and willingness to embrace a practice unfamiliar to her homeland’s doctors, Jenner’s later revolutionary step might never have occurred.
In this way, knowledge did not just travel through dusty scrolls or scholarly books. Sometimes it moved with people—their letters, their personal testimonies, and their passionate pleas. Montague’s story shows how cultural exchange and intellectual curiosity helped set the stage for Jenner’s breakthrough. It also reminds us that big leaps forward rarely belong to one person alone. Instead, they are cumulative, each step building on countless smaller insights from around the world. In a time when travel was slower and global communication less direct, such ideas might have faded into obscurity. But because Lady Montague dared to bring an exotic technique home, she helped transform an isolated medical trick into a global standard, saving future generations from fear and tragedy.
Chapter 3: How the Innocent Glass of Milk Became a Deadly Gamble in Growing Cities.
If you think about milk today, you might picture a wholesome drink fresh from the fridge, something you pour over cereal or mix into a hot chocolate before bed. Yet, in nineteenth-century cities like New York, milk had a terrifying reputation. It was risky, and drinking it could easily sicken or kill, especially the youngest and most vulnerable. Children’s mortality was heartbreakingly high, and contaminated milk shared the blame with other ruthless diseases of the time. Imagine expecting nourishment from a pure-white liquid but instead taking in invisible armies of harmful microbes. This horrifying situation emerged not from a villain’s plot, but from the way milk was produced and distributed in sprawling urban environments that struggled to keep pace with the needs of growing populations.
One root of the problem lay in how dairy cows were kept. Cramped, foul-smelling yards too close to city centers became the norm. Farmers, worried about spoilage during slow transport, penned cows near customers. These cows often ate swill, a cheap, rotting grain mash leftover from distilleries. The animals grew sick, ulcerated, and weak, sometimes losing their tails as infections ravaged their bodies. Despite their obvious ill health, these cows still produced milk, and that milk landed straight into the cups of unsuspecting people—especially young children. It’s a grim image: pale liquids that looked normal but teemed with deadly microbes, no one fully aware of the danger lurking behind each comforting sip.
Public outrage slowly mounted as health scandals unfolded and journalists revealed the truth behind these tainted milk operations. One investigative journalist, Frank Leslie, exposed the dark underbelly of the milk trade, shining a light on swill dairies and their role in child deaths. His words resonated with a public that had long trusted milk as a symbol of purity and nourishment. Suddenly, city dwellers realized their everyday routines hid a ticking time bomb—milk that could spread disease and death. People demanded change, forcing producers to clean up their act. The industry was pressured to move dairy operations out of crowded cities and abandon the distillery waste that had fueled this horrifying cycle.
But even improved conditions and stricter oversight didn’t instantly make milk safe. The fundamental problem remained: milk, like many foods, is an excellent breeding ground for bacteria. Without a way to kill germs, even cleaner dairies risked selling contaminated milk. Other silent killers, like invisible microbes and spoilage, still had free rein. The solution would require a radical shift, a scientific intervention that could outsmart nature’s tiniest threats. What would finally turn milk from a perilous liquid into a reliable source of nutrition for the masses? That question set the stage for an ingenious technique that would help transform not just milk but all sorts of foods into safer, life-giving essentials in the decades to come.
Chapter 4: The Heating Secret That Transformed Dangerous Dairy into a Safer Everyday Drink.
Enter Louis Pasteur, a French scientist whose groundbreaking work on microorganisms would forever change how we think about food safety. Pasteur discovered that applying heat at carefully controlled temperatures and times could kill off harmful bacteria without ruining the taste or nutritional value of many foods. This process, now known worldwide as pasteurization, offered a simple yet brilliant way to keep milk from harboring deadly microbes. But in the early days, not everyone welcomed this idea. Dairy producers in the United States hesitated and resisted, worried about costs, profits, and interfering with what they considered a natural product. It would take time—and immense public pressure—to convince them that pasteurization was not merely a technical flourish but a fundamental step toward protecting human lives.
As the twentieth century dawned, calls for public health regulations grew louder. Parents, horrified by childhood mortality rates, demanded government action. Politicians, doctors, and reformers joined forces to push through new laws. Eventually, pasteurization became mandatory in many places. This mandate did something remarkable: it drastically reduced the risk of dairy-borne diseases and made milk the safe, widely available staple we know today. Children who once stood a grim chance of surviving their early years now had a safer source of nutrition. This single intervention played a role in lengthening human life expectancy, ensuring that fewer families lost their young ones to something as seemingly innocuous as a glass of milk.
Pasteurization teaches us an important lesson: even if a life-saving idea emerges, it often faces uphill battles. Decades passed before pasteurization became standard practice. Resistance from powerful interests slowed its adoption, and public opinion only shifted when confronted by undeniable evidence and heroic advocacy. In this sense, turning milk into a safe commodity was no different than many other breakthroughs in human health. It took more than a flash of insight or an ingenious invention—it required tireless campaigning, investigative journalism, political courage, and the slow but steady march of social change.
By the time pasteurization was widely accepted, it had reshaped societies. Parents could trust the milk they gave their children. Urban populations, once besieged by waves of contamination and disease, enjoyed a reassuring sense of security. What had once been a widespread, insidious killer lurking in plain sight had become a relic of a more dangerous era. Milk’s story offers a model of how seemingly small public health interventions can ripple outwards, saving countless lives and adding years to the average lifespan. Like vaccination, pasteurization exemplifies the quiet heroism of those who push for safer standards, proving that a better future often hinges on learning how to prevent harm before it takes hold.
Chapter 5: Unmasking the Wild Chaos of Early Drug Markets and a Guardian’s Arrival.
In the early twentieth century, the world of medicine could feel like a lawless frontier. While milk and vaccines were gradually making life safer, the medicines on pharmacy shelves told a different story. Miracle cures were advertised loudly, but many offered only false hope or, worse, hidden danger. There were tonics laced with addictive substances, fake remedies that did nothing but lighten patients’ wallets, and pills with no proof they worked as promised. In this era, the concept of a trustworthy regulatory body was barely taking shape. Many countries, including the United States, lacked strict rules requiring drug companies to prove their products were safe or effective before selling them. It was a time of guesswork, bravado, and risky gambles with people’s health.
The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA), now known for its strength and influence, started off as a much smaller, weaker institution. By the 1960s, this agency had a small staff and limited power. Manufacturers of new medicines enjoyed a generous playing field, free to claim health benefits without firm evidence. The logic of the marketplace governed medicine more than the logic of science. In the absence of strict rules, harmful or useless products could slip through the cracks. Some companies genuinely wanted to heal, while others pursued profit with little regard for patients. Amid this confusion, every prescription and every pill was a leap of faith that it might deliver on its promises rather than betray the patient’s fragile trust.
But this shaky status quo wouldn’t last. A single event would forever change how we think about pharmaceutical safety and ethics. Enter Frances Oldham Kelsey, one of the few medical officers at the FDA in 1960. When a new drug application landed on her desk—one promising relief from anxiety, morning sickness, and sleep troubles—she found the manufacturer’s claims suspiciously thin. Instead of rubber-stamping its approval, Kelsey demanded more data, more evidence, and more proof. Her cautious approach, though inconvenient to the eager drug company, would turn out to be a lifesaver. Over the coming months, reports filtered in from abroad that this drug, thalidomide, was linked to devastating birth defects. Had Kelsey not asked tough questions, America might have been swept into a health nightmare.
The thalidomide tragedy shocked the world, revealing the hidden vulnerabilities of lax drug oversight. Thousands of children worldwide were born with severe malformations because their mothers took a drug widely believed to be safe. Thanks to Kelsey’s vigilance, the U.S. market largely escaped this fate. Public outrage fueled political resolve, and legislators tightened the FDA’s grip on drug approval. It was now clear that safety alone wasn’t enough; medicines had to prove they actually worked. Thus began an era of evidence-based medicine, where quackery faced new hurdles and companies had to back up their claims with data. The FDA grew into a formidable guardian of public health. The days of unchecked, freewheeling medicine were ending, replaced by rules that safeguarded lives and demanded true efficacy.
Chapter 6: Lessons from a Disaster: How a Single Drug Transformed Our Medical Standards.
Before the thalidomide scandal, the idea that a drug could be widely distributed without rigorous testing seemed normal. People assumed that if it was on the market, it must be fairly safe. After all, who would dare sell something so dangerous? But thalidomide’s horrifying consequences shattered that innocence. Around 10,000 children worldwide were born with tiny, flipper-like limbs and other severe abnormalities. Families wept and demanded answers. Doctors felt betrayed by the pharmaceutical industry they relied upon. Public faith in the medical system teetered as everyone questioned how such a tragedy could have happened in an era that prided itself on scientific progress.
When the dust settled, lawmakers and medical experts realized a fundamental truth: medicine could no longer operate on trust alone. Scientific testing, thorough reviews, and strong oversight were absolutely necessary to protect patients. As a result, the U.S. Congress passed laws requiring drug manufacturers not only to prove their products were safe, but also to show convincingly that they performed as intended. This shift forced companies to invest in research and submit to intense scrutiny. The medical world began aligning more closely with the principles of good science: careful observation, controlled trials, solid data, and a commitment to honesty.
This regulatory revolution rippled outward. Other countries watched and learned. Over time, international standards rose. The result was a safer, more trustworthy pharmaceutical landscape. While no system can guarantee perfection or erase all risk, the new rules ensured that a drug’s journey from lab to pharmacy shelf would be carefully supervised. Patients gradually regained some of their lost confidence, knowing that powerful organizations and serious scientists stood between them and disaster. The tragedy of thalidomide, awful as it was, ultimately sparked reforms that prevented countless future harms and saved uncountable lives.
In this story, just as in the tales of vaccination and pasteurization, change came not merely from one breakthrough, but from collective effort and painful lessons. Individuals like Frances Kelsey displayed the courage to demand proof, legislators responded with meaningful laws, and public outcry forced everyone to take patient safety seriously. The silent heroes of regulation may never be as famous as inventors of wonder drugs, but their impact is just as enormous. Without these strict regulations and the insistence on scientific evidence, our shelves might still be lined with uncertain potions and false promises. Instead, we have set a high standard—one that continues to protect us as medical science marches toward new frontiers.
Chapter 7: A Moldy Petri Dish, a Vacation, and the Dawn of the Antibiotic Age.
For millennia, humans were nearly helpless against bacterial infections. Diseases like tuberculosis, pneumonia, and infected wounds decimated populations and ended hopeful lives too soon. From ancient tombs to crowded nineteenth-century slums, bacteria thrived, striking indiscriminately. But in 1928, a quiet Scottish scientist named Alexander Fleming stumbled upon something remarkable. After returning from a holiday, he found that a mold had contaminated a bacterial sample in his lab. This annoying accident turned out to be a gift. Around the mold, the bacteria had vanished. Something in the fungus was destroying these microscopic invaders. Fleming had discovered penicillin, the world’s first widely effective antibiotic. But as with so many innovations, penicillin’s journey from laboratory oddity to medical miracle would be neither quick nor simple.
Fleming’s initial discovery captured a crucial insight: not all microorganisms are allies. Some produce substances lethal to their bacterial neighbors, a natural form of warfare at microscopic scale. However, turning that insight into a usable medicine was challenging. Penicillin was delicate, difficult to extract, and hard to mass-produce. Fleming himself struggled to purify it and prove its worth. Years passed with little progress. Meanwhile, people kept dying from infections that penicillin might have prevented—if only it could be harnessed in a reliable form. It was a frustrating situation, but also a clear sign that the path from genius idea to practical solution often requires more than one mind and more than one laboratory bench.
Eventually, two other scientists, Howard Florey and Ernst Boris Chain, picked up where Fleming left off. Working in Oxford, England, they toiled relentlessly, testing penicillin on mice and then on humans. Their dedication and teamwork showed the world penicillin’s true potential: it could halt deadly bacterial infections that had once been an inescapable fate. But producing enough penicillin for widespread use proved tricky. It demanded expertise, resources, and clever problem-solving. As World War II raged, the Allies saw the power of a drug that could keep soldiers healthier, allowing them to recover from wounds that otherwise might have spelled their doom. Governments and industries scrambled to scale up production, transforming a scientific curiosity into a tool of immense humanitarian and military value.
One of the unsung heroes of this endeavor was Mary Hunt, nicknamed Moldy Mary. She scoured markets for fruits harboring promising molds. On a cantaloupe’s rind, she found a particularly potent strain that allowed penicillin to be produced in much greater quantities. This humble fruit became the ancestor of most modern penicillin strains. With that, the world had a practical, abundant antibiotic. Infections that once spelled certain death now often warranted just a prescription. Like vaccination and pasteurization, penicillin proved how a clever idea could become a life-saving norm, but only if nurtured by collective effort. Fleming, Florey, Chain, and Hunt, along with many others, set humanity on a new course—one where bacterial diseases no longer ruled unchecked.
Chapter 8: Scaling the Antibiotic Revolution and Fending Off Invisible Foes Together.
The success of penicillin ignited a search for more antibiotics. Researchers discovered whole new classes of drugs that targeted diverse bacteria. Hospitals that once overflowed with patients dying of septic wounds and pneumonia now had potent weapons to fight back. Mortality rates plummeted, and hope soared. This medical revolution paved the way for safer surgeries, organ transplants, and chemotherapy treatments. By taming the invisible armies that had stalked humanity for centuries, antibiotics helped drive life expectancy higher. Yet as with all life-saving innovations, challenges emerged. Over time, bacteria began evolving to resist these miracle drugs. The war against infection was ongoing, forcing scientists and public health officials to stay vigilant and innovate further.
None of this would have been possible without global cooperation. The United States took the lead in scaling production during World War II, enlisting pharmaceutical companies, government agencies, and academic institutions. Laboratories hummed day and night to refine extraction methods, enhance yields, and ensure consistent quality. Rationing penicillin for the military soon gave way to distributing it for civilian use. Survivors of infections that previously meant a death sentence lived to tell their stories, while physicians marveled at their newfound powers. The sheer magnitude of effort and collaboration underlines a truth: it often takes many hands, minds, and resources to bring a life-altering medicine from concept to reality.
In the decades that followed, antibiotics would become household names. They would populate home medicine cabinets and become a symbol of trust in medical science. Yet the initial triumph also ushered in long-term responsibilities. We had to learn how to use these drugs wisely, resisting the temptation to prescribe them carelessly. Overuse and misuse could breed resistant superbugs, threatening the gains won through so much effort. Governments, doctors, and patients had to cooperate, ensuring that the golden age of antibiotics wouldn’t dim too soon.
Like the stories of vaccination and pasteurization, the antibiotic saga shows that human ingenuity can conquer even ancient enemies. But it also teaches humility. These cures, once found, must be protected. Success demanded more than one hero or one brilliant flash of insight—it needed continuous dedication. The legacy of penicillin is twofold: it slashed mortality rates and extended life expectancy worldwide, and it demonstrated that when people unite behind a powerful idea—be it prevention, sanitation, or a moldy cantaloupe—they can achieve wonders. Such lessons echo through other advances as well, from safer cars to more reliable food supplies. Human life, once so fragile, continues to be fortified by our collective knowledge, relentless effort, and shared desire to live longer, healthier lives.
Chapter 9: From Cruel Car Crashes to Modern Feasts: How Careful Engineering and Agricultural Innovation Shield Our Fragile Bodies.
While medical breakthroughs like vaccines, antibiotics, and drug regulation played enormous roles in extending human life, there were other dangers that chipped away at our years. The automobile, for example, revolutionized travel and shrank distances, but it also turned roads into deadly battlegrounds. Before the mid-twentieth century, few safety measures protected drivers or passengers. Steering wheels and dashboards were unforgiving, seatbelts primitive, and automotive manufacturers reluctant to invest in unnecessary safety features. At the same time, sustaining a growing population posed its own challenge: feeding billions without succumbing to catastrophic famine. The twentieth century would see remarkable progress on both fronts—making transportation safer and ensuring that a teeming world could be fed without collapsing under the weight of hunger.
Car safety improvements came slowly at first. Pioneers recognized that speed and metal combined dangerously with human frailty. Engineers experimented with recessed steering wheels, seatbelts that harnessed both the lap and shoulder, and eventually airbags that would cushion human bodies in violent collisions. By insisting on safer standards, regulators, activists, and thoughtful manufacturers saved countless lives. Over time, features that once seemed radical or optional—like three-point seatbelts—became standard, non-negotiable fixtures in every vehicle. Combined with education about road rules, better infrastructure, and stricter drunk-driving laws, these changes drastically cut automobile fatality rates, allowing people to journey farther and more confidently without risking their futures every time they got behind the wheel.
Meanwhile, feeding the world’s expanding population required scientific interventions of another kind. Synthetic fertilizers, discovered by Fritz Haber and others, allowed farmers to replenish their fields and produce massive crops that could outpace traditional methods. These new chemical fertilizers were a double-edged sword: they boosted yields and averted famines that once seemed inevitable, but they also raised environmental questions. Factory farming and intensive livestock rearing provided cheap meat to millions, transforming diets and making what was once a luxury a common meal. Chickens raised in controlled environments could be grown quickly and efficiently, but this came with ethical costs, prompting debates about animal welfare and long-term sustainability.
In many ways, the stories of safer cars and abundant food mirror the pattern we’ve seen with vaccination, sanitation, and antibiotics. Innovation often wrestles with ethical dilemmas, environmental concerns, and the stubborn inertia of established habits. Yet the results are undeniable: fewer families mourn children lost to traffic accidents, and fewer nations watch helplessly as their people starve. The transformation of everyday life—from the way we travel to the food we eat—further raised human life expectancy. Each measure protected people from forces that once whittled away years and hope. While no solution is perfect, these triumphs show that humanity can tackle even the biggest problems through ingenuity, regulation, and the willingness to challenge what once seemed inevitable.
All about the Book
Discover the transformative role of video games in our lives in Extra Life. Steven Johnson explores how gaming leads to creativity, social connection, and innovative problem-solving, reshaping our understanding of learning and play in contemporary culture.
Steven Johnson is a bestselling author and influential media theorist, known for his engaging work on technology, culture, and innovation that inspires readers to explore the impact of digital environments on society.
Educators, Game Designers, Psychologists, Sociologists, Technology Enthusiasts
Gaming, Creative Writing, Game Development, Social Networking, Digital Art
The impact of gaming on education, Social connectivity through games, Creativity and innovation in gaming, Mental health benefits of gaming
Games create a context for learning that’s engaging and interactive, transforming how we view challenges and triumphs.
Malcolm Gladwell, Jane McGonigal, Bill Gates
Financial Times and Goldman Sachs Business Book of the Year, American Library Association Notable Books List, Neumann Award for Outstanding Work in Technology and Culture
1. How does video gaming impact our cognitive skills? #2. What role does technology play in improving health? #3. Can playfulness enhance our problem-solving abilities? #4. How does the concept of ‘extra life’ manifest? #5. What lessons can games teach about resilience? #6. How do narratives in games affect our empathy? #7. What is the significance of community in gaming? #8. Can digital experiences foster real-world connections? #9. How does the brain adapt to new challenges? #10. What impact do immersive experiences have on learning? #11. How can we use gaming to promote wellness? #12. What insights do games provide about failure? #13. How might play influence our daily lives? #14. What does ‘cognitive surplus’ mean for society? #15. How do games reshape our understanding of time? #16. Can creativity be unleashed through gaming platforms? #17. How do interactive stories change our perspectives? #18. What benefits arise from collaborative gaming experiences? #19. How can game mechanics motivate personal growth? #20. What future possibilities arise from merging gaming and life?
Extra Life book, Steven Johnson author, health technology, life extension, medical innovations, future of healthcare, biotechnology advancements, wellness and longevity, science and society, personal health management, preventive medicine, health-related literature
https://www.amazon.com/Extra-Life-Steven-Johnson/dp/B091J41M5H
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