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Monday, March 27, 2017

Biotech Industry's Plan to Feed You Fake Fish Oil ─ Twice Over │ Lauding Turmeric's Curcumin │ The State of Arthritis in America

I never made it to bed last evening any earlier than 11:00 p.m., but I thought that I slept rather well. It was at least 6:44 a.m. when I rose and commenced my day, mistakenly believing I was home alone.

I am still compiling content into the new post I have in the process at my Latin Impressions website, so I got busy with that. Soon, it was raining very hard outside, and this seemed to last for at least an hour.

Towards mid-morning I broke off from work on the post to see if I could limber up enough by moving about to both wake myself up again, and to find the wherewithal to undertake some exercise out in the backyard shed.

I had actually grown so very drowsy that I countenanced a return to bed ─ in fact, it seemed imperative. And I could not understand why, since I had thought that my night's sleep was better than usual.

I was in no rush to go out to the shed ─ that rain was formidable.

It was probably at least 9:20 a.m. when I finally changed into my cut-offs and felt able enough to handle the exercising; by then, the rain had reduced to inconsequence.

When I finished and was about to return into the house, I noticed that a light was on in my step-sons' den area. I correctly surmised that Tho had not gone to work. And he never did.

As usual, I don't know if he is just too damned lazy and didn't feel up to venturing out into the rain this morning (he has to use public transport, because he is serving a year-long driving suspension); or if he was notified that there was a shortage of work.

That latter seems unlikely ─ after a weekend, one would expect orders to have come in. It would more likely be a Friday when work orders would have become thin.

It's his life, of course. If he feels he can get away with shucking job attendance after being promoted to 'lead hand' last year, that's up to him.

I just don't like having my time home alone during the week snatched from me.

I finished the work I wanted to get done today at the Latin Impressions post, and then I dug into my brunch ─ my first meal of the day. And after that, even though that earlier drowsiness was banished, I felt that it was prudent for me to seek a nap.

It was only 12:05 p.m. by the time I was undressed and back into bed, but I was only to be there for little more than 40 minutes. I believe that I did succeed in a nap, but it was of surprisingly short duration.

And here I am at 1:47 p.m., working on today's blog post.

I had thought to open the post with a description of my younger brother Mark's condition last evening after he got home from the bar, but I shall say only that he is devotedly on the path to alcohol-induced dementia before he reaches the age of 70.

Incidentally, despite that heavy morning rain, I noticed sunny breaks late in the noon-hour, and they have carried over into the afternoon.

I wish now to present two photos of things that my wife Jack loves: flowers and food.

The photos were possibly taken on November 11, 2016. As to where, it likely was not far from her home village of Nong Soong (Thailand), which is a 15-minute or so drive from the city of Udon Thani:


If you are like me and consider wild fish oil supplements to be essential, I certainly hope that you focus on the fact that the fish source is indeed 'wild.' There just seems more and more reason to avoid anything to do with farmed fish where our diets are concerned.

Besides, it's getting to the point where plant-derived omega-oils are becoming risky from the viewpoint of those of us wanting to avoid anything to do with foods manipulated with genetic modification.

Heck, it's bad enough that much ─ probably even most ─ of the vitamin C supplements on the market come from genetically modified (GM) sources.

But getting back to the topic of  plant-based omega-oils and farmed fish, this is the latest twist that has inspired my comments:



I wish that I could relocate to some other world still in a virgin and Eden-like state. We're ruining everything in ours, and I want nothing to do with any of what's being done to it.


I always enjoy reading articles about the outstanding health benefits of the curcumin in turmeric, for that sort of information can always use some reinforcing. It's too easy to go on one's way and soon lose awareness of it.

And here is one of those informative articles:


I have read before that curcumin has been proven in studies to match the pain-relieving ability of certain medications.

That's all quite wonderful...but how does it apply in the real world?

Last month I was in such pain for just about a week from a large abscess that had formed in my left cheek as a result of a blocked parotid gland duct that I had no recourse but to resort to Advil.

Could something natural like curcumin have helped with that? After all, apart from anti-inflammatory qualities, it is also anti-microbial.

What these reports do not spell out is precisely how much turmeric a person would need to ingest in food in order to benefit from the things researchers learn about in studies. Could ingestion of an adequate amount on a daily basis even be done?

Or is it like the resveratrol in wine ─ a person would need to drink bottles of red wine all the day through in order to acquire therapeutic levels of resveratrol, and that is just an extremely unhealthy thing for anyone to be doing?

So I had no recourse but to take the Advil. I knew some liberal dashings of turmeric a couple of times a day in my food was not going to make even the remotest difference ─ I had already been doing that anyway.

I just wish I could read some specific quotes on amounts in these praises of curcumin.

By the way, I have read it suggested that there may actually be something else as yet undiscovered or unrecognized in turmeric that bestows some of the qualities being attributed to curcumin. So who knows?


America's Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) released this report earlier this month on that nation's struggle with arthritis:


Keep in mind that the figure in that title is just the number of Americans who find themselves limited by arthritis ─ more than twice that many actually have arthritis, but those others are not yet notably 'limited.'

If you are interested, here is someone's negative take on that report ─ and the CDC itself:


I won't even try to speak on effectiveness of that arthritis cream cited at the end of that report, but UC-II does seem to have merit. However, you apparently cannot just buy yourself some supplement that looks good ─ if the following undated report at JonBarron.org is correct, you are going to have to carefully put some effort into studying just what is on the market: Benefits of collagen type UC-II include joint and cartilage repair.

So don't go snapping up what looks like some good deals where concerns this supplement. You may well be tossing away your money, gaining very little of any benefit.


And now 'tis time to close out with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was paying rent for my small hideaway in a house located on Ninth Street, and maybe a couple of houses up from Third Avenue.
SATURDAY, March 27, 1976

I roused about 6:40 a.m. after a beautiful night's sleep.

I, after overeating, did a lot of work on a letter to Jean.

Boy, I've had a boring day!

I'm hoping I don't have any visitors this evening wanting me to participate in Aunt Georgie's and Cousin Dianne's arrival in the area.

My freaking lousy complexion just won't let up; I am anxious to begin my regimen of a protein diet and muscle activity April 1.

I saw Sandy Duncan ─ fabulously adorable ─ starring as Pinocchio on a 90 minute TV special; it was well worth being here for.

I'll bed down about 9:45 p.m.
The letter was to one of my three American pen-pals, Jean M. Martin (née Black).

My maternal Aunt Georgina Halverson and her eldest daughter Dianne were coming out to Surrey to visit from Calgary. Both my mother Irene Dorosh and another sister ─ Nell Halverson ─ were then living in Surrey.

Actress Sandy Duncan was pretty darned cute. I always liked her.

I have had a poor complexion since adolescence that has remained with me all of my life ─ to one degree or another. I have only ever looked healthy and attractive when my face has been richly coloured by the Sun. However, back then, I also resorted to a sun lamp ─ I had been doing so for about half-a-dozen years.

This past Saturday evening, I shaved ─ I had been growing a goatee since sometime in January, and my cheeks were also heavily stubbled. It's well that I had no shopping outings planned, for I had forgotten just how bad my complexion is in the Winter when my blemished pallour is at its undisguised gruesomest.

I may get out tomorrow ─ at some point I have to get to Staples to print out a couple of charitable donation receipts (and a T4 for my youngest step-son Poté). I want to soon get to work on filling out income tax returns for my wife Jack and I.

We have an Epson WorkForce 610 All-inOne Printer, but I cannot print using black ink ─ the printhead's nozzles for black ink are blocked right up. It's unfeasible to try performing any nozzle-cleaning runs because it would probably use up several of the other ink cartridges ─ those head nozzles are seriously clogged.

I might eventually try what is suggested at InkMagic.com: How to Unclog Epson Printhead Nozzles. I just haven't taken the time to bother with it. Besides, I am unsure just how to distill any water ─ I don't want to buy any special equipment just to do that, for Pete's sake.

Also, I don't believe that we have any Windex.

If I ever get the nozzles all cleaned and the printer functioning correctly, I will try to print something colorful once a week just to keep things in working order.

Anyway, by tomorrow my face ought to have enough beard stubble once more to assist in camouflaging some of my dermatological imperfections. 

This section of my post was interrupted just ahead of 4:00 p.m. by my eldest step-son Tho. He invited me to partake of some pizza ─ he apparently sprang for two pizzas from Camy's Pizza. My opinion is that they are the best for pizza of any outfit hereabouts.

I see that he blew $37.10 for his order.

I had a couple of small slices while the pizzas were still warm, even though this means that I will have had three meals today. I normally eat just twice a day, but I am not about to skip my supper just because of this modest treat.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

☠ 💀 Resveratrol Appears to Slow Neuromuscular Ageing │ Two Top Baldness Cures Can Cause Long-Lasting Erectile Dysfunction │ Caffeine = Dementia Protection

So preoccupied was I last night with debasement that I have no idea when it was that I put myself to bed. All I can say is that it was well beyond the wrong side of midnight.

It was 6:44 a.m. when I checked the time and decided that it was best I rise for the day ─ this was my first time-check of my night, so I must have slept reasonably well. However, it was unlikely that I would be going anywhere with my spirits as low as they were.

I set to work compiling content to the post I began a few days back at my Latin Impressions website, but I took a break before my younger brother Mark had come home from overnighting it at his girlfriend Bev's home; also, it was early enough that neither of my step-sons were yet up.

I wanted to change into cut-offs and get in some exercise out in the backyard shed. I found it to be lightly raining; and it was to essentially remain so for the day.

Despite low spirits, I was at least in capable form, and did rather well with the exercise. However, I needn't have been concerned this morning about Mark showing up too early ─ it was well after 11:00 a.m. before he arrived home.

When I had come in from exercising, I fixed myself up a brunch of the fare left over from my wife Jack's cooking of yesterday, and brought it upstairs here to the room where I keep my computer. One of Jack's sons had placed one of the pots (containing a Thai curry) into the fridge. By taking my meal with me upstairs here to where I keep my computer, it would have time to 'warm up' to room temperature. I refuse to alter the quality of food with a microwave oven.

Also, by fixing my meal when I did, I would not be having to share the kitchen later with Mark or either of the boys.

I finished the work I wanted to get done on the post, and then I ate ─ it was an enjoyable meal.

Mark tends to have a shower soon after he gets home from spending the night at Bev's. He had done so this morning, and had yet to emerge from his bedroom when I was into my own bedroom for a nap ─ I was back in bed at 11:33 a.m., entirely stripped down.

I napped darned well, waking from a rather adventurous dream and making a time-check at 12:44 p.m. ─ time to rise. Mark had by this time sought his own nap.

I fixed my day's second mug of blended instant coffee / cocoa powder, and was back here at my computer to commence this post when Mark also forsook his bedroom. He quickly readied to go out, and at 1:17 p.m. had headed away for the afternoon. I'll not have his company again until he is home from the bar this evening.

That good exercise session in the shed and a solid nap restored my spirits, I must say. Nevertheless, nothing can replace or substitute for best conduct.


A study on mice has found that resveratrol appears to be as effective as calorie restriction and exercise at putting the brakes on age-related synaptic degeneration ─ a synapse is the chemical junction whereby nerves connect and communicate with one another, and also with muscle cells.

So when the synapses between nerves and muscles ─ neuromuscular junctions ─  begin to degenerate as the years catch up with us, the ability for muscles to efficiently contract becomes impaired, and atrophy is imminent.

These reports tell of the study:





I suspect that a person would need to drink red wine all day long to obtain sufficient resveratrol to acquire therapeutic levels, but the alcohol would have a far more negative effect than any good done by resveratrol. Still, some wine in conjunction with other foods containing ample amounts of resveratrol could only help.

Alas, when I retired in April 2011 and soon faced up to the realities that were spelled out by having to live upon a monthly pension as opposed to a working salary, resveratrol supplements became out of my reach financially.

I wish that it was not so.

By the way, for anyone scientifically versed who had wanted to see the full study ─ only the abstract is available for free at any of the links given in those above reports ─ I found it in full at the Virginia Tech Carilion School of Medicine and Research Institute website as this .pdf document.


Any guy who has a great 'head of hair' and who starts to go bald, generally takes it poorly. When I was a young man, I even got compliments from women who said that they wished they had my thick, naturally curly hair (I detested the curl-factor myself).

So I remember how nearly traumatic it was to first realize that I was cursed with the baldness gene.

I no longer concern myself with methodologies touted to bring back or restore hair, but apparently a couple of the medications are making the news because of their "side-effects":





I used the short title for the DailyMail.co.uk article ─ its actual heading is "Bad news for bald men: Hair loss drugs cause erectile dysfunction that lasts for years (and even Viagra won’t cure the problem)."

This all is not forefront news, however. Note this article from January 12, 2011, at LiveScience.com: Drugs for Hair Loss and Enlarged Prostate May Cause Loss of Libido, ED in men.

I dug up four old photos of my formerly hairy self from February 2, 1975 ─ at the time, I was visiting my father Hector and his girlfriend Maria Fadden. Neither one of them were all that efficient at using my camera:

Believe me, it hurt deeply to start losing that hair and to start taking on a resemblance of my dear father's hair-styling. I read of cases of young fellas committing suicide because of their inability to cope with impending hair loss, and I definitely understood it.


I have already included two reports today from the following source, so I figure that I might as well add a third ─ this one concerns Alzheimer's disease in the U.S., and dire predictions concerning it:


This report substantiates those statistics given in the preceding article:


Now, that second report referred to the source for the Alzheimer's statistics, but it did not provide a link ─ the research can be found at Alz.org as this lengthy .pdf document: 2017 Alzheimer's Disease Facts and Figures.

Also, the JacksDailyDose.com report extolled coffee ─ or at least, caffeine's very positive effect upon "a newly discovered enzyme that can slow or stop dementia."

You can read a report on that research here:


The photo of researcher Hui-Chen Lu really appeals to me ─ I had to say it.


I have in recent posts mentioned how aggravating my youngest step-son Pote's girlfriend's immodest squeals and related outbursts are when the two of them are together in the boys' den area which Poté has basically turned into his bedroom.

I have also mentioned how similarly irritating it is to me to have her show up here and suddenly take a shower.

Do you go visiting people near where you live and then excuse yourself to have a shower in their home? What the hell's up with that?!

It's not as if she was here all day. As far as I know, she never stayed here last night ─ she wasn't here whenever the blazes it was that I went to bed well after midnight, and Poté was alone in bed this morning when I got up.

Her first appearance here today as far as I know ─ and I have been home all day ─ was when he showed up with her shortly after 3:00 p.m. this afternoon. It was  probably much closer to 3:30 p.m.

Well, not 10 minutes after getting here, she was upstairs here taking a shower. This just burns me!

I am going to close now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was renting the small space in a house located on Ninth Avenue, and maybe a couple of houses up from Third Avenue.
FRIDAY, March 26, 1976

I had a couple wakeful coughing sessions during the night (mom had given me a bottle of Honey Citran cough medicine, and this I indulged in); I got up about 6:15 a.m.

I completed writing Terri's letter this morning. I'll mail it on my way to see Dr. Nielson, an appointment I feel to be totally unnecessary, and a burden.

I arrived 15 minutes late, but this didn't really matter; what it meant was that I only had to wait a half hour to be seen. But before I was, at one point I had to leave the waiting room due to coughing; and did my face ever perspire!

Anyway, I am through with the doctor.

Man, have I been eating! I will continue this policy till the last day of the month, trying to dispose of all my perishables which would not suit my April protein diet. I sure hope I lose lots of flab while increasing musculature so my expense won't be in vain.

I'm retiring about 8:30 p.m.
I had a strange cold whose main symptom was a dreadful cough ─ I would find myself beset with uncontrollable fits of coughing that would have me in tears, and would prove exceptionally embarrassing any time I was public when such a fit took hold.

I seemed to be okay when I was outdoors, though. It was as soon as I came indoors for any length of time that the change in humidity seemed to set things off.

The letter I completed was to U.S. pen-pal Terri Martin.

The medical appointment was likely one that I walked to, and then walked back to my room from afterward. Dr. Nielson's or Nielsen's office was in a building over by the Royal Columbian Hospital in Sapperton, so it was a bit of a stroll.   

He was following up on my progress subsequent to his surgical procedure to clean up the mess that ensued following the rupture of my appendix February 20. I was in the hospital until my twelfth day. But was it the Royal Columbian? I rather think that it might have been Saint Mary's Hospital, but I honestly no longer remember. Saint Mary's apparently shut down in 2004, but research show that its address was 220 Royal Avenue in New Westminster.

This must have been my final checkup with the doctor.

As for this protein diet I intended to start upon in April, I do not remember anything of that, either. I certainly was unable to afford a strict protein diet ─ I can't even do that today!

My assessment is that it came to naught, like so many of my well-meaning, grandiose plans.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

A Brain-Healthy Breakfast │ Meniscus Tears and Surgery │ How Best to Eat Fruit?

To my considerable surprise, my wife Jack showed up from Vancouver late last evening. My younger brother Mark and I had finished watching T.V. shows via our Android TV Box, and were embroiled in trying to figure out his new cellphone issued to him from the cartage firm he contracts from as an owner-operator of his own truck.

The company had switched wireless carriers.

He was trying to manually add all of his contacts from his previous phone, but it was a maddening task. Each time he would start typing someone's name, the darned phone ─ a Sonim ─ would fill in some random word that matched the letters he had begun entering.

We had no idea how to stop that feature; and neither did we know how to delete text.

I should explain that no manual came with the phone.

I located one online, but trying to negotiate a lengthy .pdf document late in the evening without a familiarity with the phone was just too difficult ─ my computer is upstairs, and Mark was downstairs fussing with the phone.

We couldn't even migrate contacts using his old phone's SIM card because the Sonim used a different-sized SIM card.

It was frustrating, and the hour was growing late. So it all had to wait until this morning when he got some assistance from both of my step-sons.

Jack actually went to bed ahead of us. By the time I joined her, it was 12:08 a.m. But the sleep would not easily come ─ and that seemed to go for both of us.

When I eventually checked the time to see how long I had lain there fruitlessly, I saw it to be 1:22 a.m., and I was no closer to falling asleep.

I knew better than to keep peering at the time, so I cannot estimate how much later it got to be ere sleep finally arrived.

I was aware once that Jack actually got up and exited the bedroom, shutting the door. I don't remember her return, so she must have stayed up for awhile.

Whatever the case, I called it a night ahead of 7:00 a.m., finding my youngest step-son Poté up. His overnighted girlfriend had to leave earlier in order to go to work ─ he would either have driven her, or taken her to the SkyTrain; it depended on where she would have been bound.

She has two part-time jobs ─ one in Vancouver, and the other over in Guildford.

I never expected that I would be able to put in a day's work on the post I am compiling at my Latin Impressions website, but Jack must have had a horrible night ─ I finished what I wanted to get done, and she was still not up.

When finally she did get up ─ and even her eldest son Tho was already up, and that lad loves sleeping in ─ it was to a day mixed with cloud and some Sun.

It was clear that she intended to do some cooking, but first she was to go out shopping. I don't know where exactly she went, for she never apprised me; but her major stop was at Henlong Market here in Surrey.

Following her return, she proceeded to cook, and seemed to be in fairly good spirits ─ last night when she got home, she was subdued and obviously tired.

Mark headed away for the day (he'll probably spend the night at the home of his girlfriend Bev) around 2:30 p.m. And very soon after 3:00 p.m., Jack also left, probably to return to Vancouver.

That's the sort of communication she and I have ─ minimal. She rarely offers where she is going, and I rarely ask. For all I know, she won't return until next weekend.

But this is apparently how God wants my life and marriage to be. That is the only explanation I can conjure as to why my pleading prayers have gone unanswered these past several years as matters deteriorate into greater and greater hopelessness.


The following from NewMarketHealth.com offers some great breakfast tips from the standpoint of optimal brain health:
Could breakfast be your brain's best friend?

It most certainly could, recent research suggests, provided that your breakfast includes some very enjoyable "brain foods" -- starting with your morning cup (or more) of coffee.

A study done at Indiana University found the caffeine in coffee is among two dozen compounds that help increase levels of an enzyme called NMNAT2 that reduces the damage certain proteins can do to brain cells.

By getting more of this enzyme, the study author noted, you can create a "chemical 'blockade' against the debilitating effects of neurodegenerative disorders," of which Alzheimer's is a prime example.

The team's previous research on NMNAT2 found that it both helps protect neurons from stress and fights the formation of those misfolded proteins associated with Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and other serious diseases of the brain.

Then there are blueberries. They're rich in antioxidants, anti-inflammatory flavonoids, and were found to improve brain function in seniors who were given them in concentrated juice form by researchers at the University of Exeter in the U.K.

Of course, rather than drinking your blueberries, you'll probably want to put them on some oatmeal. This breakfast standard is among the foods that make up the MIND Diet, which was specifically formulated to promote brain health.

And before you're done, don't forget to have at least one egg. In a study of nearly 2,500 middle-aged men published in January in the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition, researchers from the University of Eastern Finland found that eating eggs was associated with better performance on various mental exams, including verbal fluency tests.

So it really does look like breakfast is the most important meal of the day -- especially when it comes to keeping your mind sharp!
I went ahead and dug up a reference for each of those claims, if you are interested. These are in the order mentioned above:





There you go! The rest is up to you.


The following reports on a recent study of surgeries to repair meniscus tears was of some interest to me, and I will explain why after I post two reports on the study:



That second report concludes with the following quote from a surgeon: "...If a meniscus is repairable, I'm very aggressive to perform that procedure."

My supposition, then, is that a meniscus would have to be pretty much demolished before a surgeon would deem it irreparable, right? And that leads the pathway open for lots and lots of meniscus surgeries, since I expect that most cases would be regarded as reparable through surgery.

Well, that being so...what of these reports on a study from last Summer? I will leave the topic at that:
Yes...I just bet that there are a lot of surgeons out there "aggressive to perform the procedure."


I also bet that most of us do not put much thought towards the combination of foods eaten at any specific meal. That is to say, that some foods may not "play well" with other foods when eaten together.

In this case, I am specifically thinking of fruits, as expounded upon in the following article:


I cannot imagine having a meal every day comprised solely of fruit and nothing else.

Heck, I only eat two meals a day! That would mean that all of my protein and fats would have to come from the other meal ─ that's utterly infeasible!

But I suppose for folks who have three or meals a day ─ and who snack readily ─ a fruit meal could well apply.

It's just not for me.


Closing out today's post is a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was renting the small space in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

My main mailing address was my mother Irene Dorosh's home that she shared with her husband Alex off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. 

This was to be one of those days that I would be making the 1½-hour hike out there to pay a visit, even though I had a dreadful cough from a cold. 

My mother's house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.
THURSDAY, March 25, 1976

I got up shortly after 6:30 a.m..

I coughed so intensely during the night I was reduced to calling God for relief. And yet I've never had a sore throat.

I somehow managed a NE

I did 200 leg raises this morning. These exercises and push-ups are the ones keeping me from achieving my old standard of fitness, causing as they do such stress on my incision.

I left here at 9:00 a.m. for mom's, meeting her on her way to mail a letter. There was some sunshine.

Mark & Cathy weren't long in following me over, with Pamela.

Cathy wanted me to go with them at some unspecific time and remove their tape deck from the wrecked Vega. However, I guess I didn't display the proper enthusiasm, for after they left, I heard no more from them; they weren't home when I phoned at 2:30 p.m.

My mail was a $16 tithe receipt and a letter from Jean.

Mom made a quick trip to Bellingham with Phyllis and Sherry.

My medical appointment tomorrow is scheduled for 3:30 p.m.

I ate a lot of carbohydrate today, even if a wholesome diet.

I was driven by mom to my Royal Ave. drop-off as she and Kay went to work.

I paid the $1 to mom I owed for the Kin Win ticket.

About 6:37 p.m. I succumbed to Club International's (Jan.) Brigitta and Mai. In exactly 1 week I shall make a stab at commencing a new life.

I did some work on a letter to Terri.

I'm going to bed at 9:00 p.m.
I am unsure why I felt that the leg-raises and push-ups were hindering my return to my pre-surgical level of fitness (I had undergone a serious appendectomy mop-up job that had me in the hospital until my twelfth day ─ from the evening of February 20 until March 2).

Perhaps doing the leg-raises and push-ups rendered such stress upon my incision that I was too leery to dare anything else involving something like weights. 

My younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ and Jeanette's youngest daughter Pamela Susan ─ arrived at my mother's home soon after I did. Their Vega had been involved in a mishap just the past weekend, and was totaled.

The casualty must be in at least one of these old photos from a mid-1970s photo album of my brother Mark's:

Amongst my mail that day was a letter from Jean M. Martin (née Black), an American pen-pal I had. I was to get started composing a letter later that day to another U.S. pen-pal, Terri Martin. The two gals were unrelated.

I am sitting here finding it a little difficult to believe that my mother participated that afternoon in a quick visit to Bellingham with my older half-sister Phyllis ─ and Phyllis's daughter Sherry ─ but it seems to have been so.

My mother and her friend Kay Kris or Krys were partners in an evening office janitorial contract, so I was able to get a ride in to New Westminster with them when they headed to work.

"Kin Win" was a lottery ─ I had been given a ticket by my mother earlier in the week for that draw. 

Anyway, perhaps I should have walked home that day. It might have burned off the nervous energy that I apparently applied to some pornography after I was back at my room. Alas, despite best intentions, my attempt at a new life in a week's time never panned out ─ I remain sordid to this day.

Friday, March 24, 2017

America: Say 'No' to Enhancing CDC's Quarantine Power │ Another Study Proclaims Low-Carbohydrate Diet Is Beneficial for Type 2 Diabetics

A bedtime last evening of 11:01 p.m.; a bathroom and drinking-water break at 4:10 a.m.; and I believe that my day commenced at 6:35 a.m. I rose to find myself happily home alone.

We seem to be getting at least a little rain every day of late. It began raining last evening, and was heartily doing so when I went to bed. I rather wished that I could have lain in bed and fallen asleep with the sounds of the rain, but my youngest step-son Poté and his girlfriend had shown up just before I had called it a night.

I don't know why she always has to be squealing outbursts as she does. It's quite annoying.

I never know when someone is going to be using the bathroom right beside my bedroom.

Also, there is just too much traffic noise outside ─ even though we live in a cul-de-sac.

So it was earplugs as usual.

We've had a little rain this afternoon, too. And the day has been overcast.

I forsook exercise today. I wanted to ensure that I would get out and do some local grocery shopping at the No Frills supermarket about four blocks from my home; the store is located in the Cedar Hills shopping plaza at 96th Avenue & 128th Street here in Surrey.

I had been working on the post that I began on Wednesday at my Latin Impressions website, keeping myself mindful that the store didn't open until 9:00 a.m., and that it would be best if I tried to get there fairly early.

So I suspended the post work to get myself ready, and at 9:05 a.m. was on my way.

There were only two items that I was particularly keen on getting; but as it turned out, only one of them ─ eggs ─ was available.

Anyway, I was back home comfortably ahead of 10:00 a.m.

I walked the outing hood-free, but I did wear my hood while I was at the store. I am still uncomfortable about bearing any scrutiny of the healing wound in my left cheek ─ the result of a large abscess that formed after my left parotid gland's duct became blocked.

After I was back home, I tried to take three selfies to display what remains of the wound, but the quality of the images is not good:

I also took this frontal selfie:

Compare that to how I looked back in February at my worst before the abscess beneath the swelling had 'come to a head' and opened up:

And yes ─ I was every bit as miserable as I appeared to be.

I don't intend to remain as bearded as I am. Once it becomes possible to sit outside and start soaking up the sunshine ─ or even tanning ─ I won't have any bearded obstruction blocking the sunshine from colouring up my face.

After the shopping excursion this morning, I finished the work I wanted to put in on that post I spoke of. But by its finish, I had become so drowsy that ─ without yet even bothering to eat today ─ I sought a nap in bed. It was either that, or descend into idle preoccupation here at my computer.

There is far too much of that. Better the nap.

I'm not certain, but I don't think that I was down for even an hour. I could use another nap, but at least I'm not oppressively drowsy.

Hmm...I see that Google has now made a collage of those three selfies I took this morning after being out shopping:


If you are American, how much faith do you have in an entity like the CDC to be conservative and judicious if it is given enhanced quarantine powers that could conceivably allow it to quarantine absolutely anyone for presenting any sort of 'unhealthy' symptom?

If you have your doubts about the CDC's wisdom if they are given such power, then you need to do something very quickly ─ President Trump may be granting them that authority by month's end:



I don't know why that last report did not include a live link instead of text for those who might want to use the Web service to contact the White House, but this is the link for anyone wanting it: whitehouse.gov/contact.

There are still folks out there who haven't the savvy to 'copy & paste' the text to a URL into their browser's address field ─ my own brother is one such.


Is there anyone still unaware that a low-carbohydrate diet is the best type for management of type 2 diabetes? Heck, I have read of people who have conquered their diabetes simply by forsaking the high-carbohydrate lifestyle.

But the mainstream still needs their studies. Here are a couple of reports on one of the latest:



This third reference to the study is unnecessarily harsh concerning it, I think:


That last report says this:
I didn’t expect the conclusion, where the researchers claimed they needed to conduct “more long-term studies” on this before they can say for sure if it REALLY works.
But even if that is true, the study also said this:
A carbohydrate restricted diet can provide a safe and effective solution for improving diabetes management and should have a place within the diabetic guidelines.
That doesn't sound at all doubtful, does it?

It also said this:
There were significant reductions or cessation of diabetic medication reported throughout the literature alongside a reduction in the psychological aspects of living with a long-term disease. It is possible that the current dietary advice may actually accelerate beta cell exhaustion with elevated blood glucose diminishing the islet cells ability to produce insulin.
So the study even criticized "current dietary advice" as being inimical to the welfare of diabetics.

I applaud them for those statements!

On a related front, another interesting piece I came across recently was this report on the intention of San Francisco mandating that outdoor advertisements for beverages like sodas and other sugary drinks will also have to proclaim that the sugar content of those beverages "contributes to obesity, diabetes, and tooth decay":


The descriptions in that report of the beverage industry's attempts at legal arguments to stop any such mandate reminded me of the deceit that Satan used in the Bible when he was trying to tempt Jesus Christ; or how Satan as a serpent tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden with the lie, "Ye shall not surely die."

The wile of their false tongues seeking to throw up deception at the expense of the health of the public is disgusting, for it is solely based upon profit, and is utterly inhumane.


Well, I had better close up shop for the day with my usual journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was renting in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.
WEDNESDAY, March 24, 1976

I got up at 5:00 a.m. after coughing through the entire night. It's unnatural.

I barely built up the nerve to do my laundry as a result of my continuing bad complexion; it's been raining, and I suppose this helped fortify me. Only 1 old guy intruded on my loneliness.

At the store I bought a Jack Palance TV Guide, "The Liberty Legion" in Marvel Premiere, and, in my weakness, January's Club International, whose photos were too much to resist. This fool purchase led me to discover that I did not spend $9 in Bellingham Sunday night, but only about $4.

I sure have been abusing my lousy complexion dietetically, for I overate on flour products and oily foods.

Bill came by shortly after 8:00 p.m. to borrow my typewriter for Cathy till the weekend; they'll have his car again tomorrow. Mark is as bad off as ever with his sore knee.

Aunt Georgie will be out on the weekend.

I'll bed at 9:00 p.m.
It sounds like it was a pretty bad cold.

The laundromat I had to use was (I think) on Sixth Avenue, right near the public library. If I am remembering right, its door automatically opened at 8:00 a.m., and I tried to arrive there as soon after it opened as possible in order to avoid other people.

This would have been the cover on the TV Guide that I bought that day:

The Bellingham reference related to a beer-drinking foray I made with my friend William Alan Gill, and my younger brother Mark and Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther. Back then, there were no venues open hereabouts in Canada in order to go drinking on a Sunday.

We used Bill's car because Mark & Jeanette's car had gotten demolished that weekend, and Mark had badly banged up his knee in the mishap.

Mark & Jeanette had been borrowing Bill's car during the week ─ I guess he would go over to their rented home before he had to start work, and one of them would drive him to work.

Bill must have told me about my maternal Aunt Georgina Halverson's impending visit to Surrey ─ she lived in Calgary, but my mother and another of their sisters were living in Surrey.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Coping with Cancer-Related Fatigue and Cachexia │ Proper Neti Pot Therapy for Healthy Sinuses │ Sugar ─ Nothing but a Metabolic Poison

My youngest step-son Poté's occupation of the bathroom last evening was the prime factor in the delay of my bedtime until what I believe was 11:35 p.m. But even so, I felt unusually awake, as if I had taken some sort of stimulant.

This has been the case at least the past couple of nights now.

It also seems to be responsible for short blocks of sleep throughout the night ─ there is no initial long block of three or even four hours.

My sorry day began in the neighbourhood of 6:15 a.m. Poté had spent the night by himself, and was soon to rise and head off for work. A suspicion I had concerning his older brother Tho was borne out ─ I heard him stirring downstairs not a half-hour after his brother had left for work.

But at least Tho also left ─ perhaps before 8:00 a.m.

I put some work into the new post I began yesterday at my Latin Impressions website, but I could have done so very much more. Instead, I was to surrender to 'the dance upon the brink,' and may have Poté's unexpected arrival home midday for preventing a dark plunge into despondence.

He was not home for too long, however. I had my brunch, and was almost self-congratulatory about the near escape. Yet anon, I was back at the sordid addiction.

I broke from the pursuit to clean up after myself in the kitchen, and then Poté was home from work for the day. It was not enough to wholly put me onto a straighter path, but at least I was able to soon ease myself from the nonsense and seek the rest in bed that I ought to have embraced two or three hours earlier instead of occupying myself as I did.

At least I made a rough draft of Poté's income tax return. Last year he was of some financial help in that he got a fairly large refund, and when it arrived he chipped in a couple of hundred dollars towards the monthly mortgage.

That won't be happening this time. By my determination, his refund is only going to be $30.27. In 2015, he had only worked a portion of the year, and so he got back all of the income tax that was taken from his pay; but last year, he was employed throughout the year.

I have yet to work out the tax returns for my wife Jack and I.

We're getting some sunny periods this afternoon ─ the sort of weather that makes me deeply rue that I am financially housebound as I am. Removed from the natural world, one becomes unnatural.

Yesterday in my post I included three photos of flowers that I supposed were taken on November 10, 2016; and my guess was that the setting was likely within the city of Udon Thani.

My wife Jack's home village is no more than about a 15-minute drive from there. She had charged up the fare last Fall to fly back there in order to see her mother for the first time since March 2013.

Here are further photos taken at that same location ─ there seem to be many types of flowers on display:

Jack is posed in these next three photos, and looking rather tired in the first one:

A couple of selfies by Jack:

Another selfie:

Jack took several photos of this special structure, which seems to be in tribute ─ maybe to the late King?

And that was the last of the photos from that specific location.


Unless you have some experience of what's involved in a battle with cancer ─ and the mainstream treatments that are part-and-parcel of that battle ─ you may be unfamiliar with the terms cancer-related fatigue and cachexia.

The former can often lead to the latter.

Unfortunately, too many physicians cannot look beyond medications when it comes to trying to help someone with this sort of relentless fatigue.

The following two reports tell of a couple of better options that a recent study has uncovered:



That latter report is helpful.

But so is Mercola.com ─ that link is to where I did a search using the term "cachexia." Some of the articles are fairly old, but that is no reason to discount their content.


If I ever manage to get the surplus cash, I would love to try regular nasal irrigations to ensure that my sinus cavities are not harboring organisms that are doing me no good.

I have been aware of the reputed value of using a therapeutic tool such as a neti pot, but until I read the following article, I had no idea that a person should not fail to employ a specialized oil to keep the sinuses properly lubricated ─ the last thing a person needs are dried sinuses, and that's just what is likely to happen following use of something like a neti pot:


Once tax season is over, I will have to see about obtaining a neti pot and this nasya oil.


This next article is a great explanation of why we ought to do our utmost to eradicate sugar from our diets ─ I have no idea why anyone even buys so-called table sugar.

The premise that some dietary lapses where sugar consumption is concerned is acceptable ─ as long as we "burn it off" ─ is without any foundation:


Just don't buy the stuff!


And once more, I am running late with a post. I conclude now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was paying rent for that small space in a house located on Ninth Sreet, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

In store for this day was a hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. Her home was my main mailing address.

Although that little house she shared with her husband Alex no longer exists, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. To hike there from my room normally took about 1½ hours of rather fast walking.
TUESDAY, March 23, 1976

Again, last night it took awhile for me to sleep, but this due to coughing.

I got up short of 6:30 a.m..

As of today I worked myself up to 100 leg raises. Yesterday I began a return to push-ups.

About 9:05 a.m. I left for mom's.

She was out for some groceries, but soon returned.

My mail was a Rockwood Gardens catalog, the Weirdbook Nine Appendix, and a letter from Terri.

I discovered I weigh about 186.

I didn't eat too well nutritionally, though not too heavily either.

Mom gave me a decent T-shirt Alex didn't care for.

Cathy phoned her; they're using Bill's car today, having acted as his chauffeur to work; he's to sup with them after work.

It poured all day in the afternoon.

I got a ride to 10th St. & 3rd Ave. by mom on her way to work with Kay.

I took a 1976 Stanley Cup Toto ticket from mom, the $1 for which I have yet to pay her.

I'll bed about 9:00 p.m.
I was rehabilitating from a very bad case of ruptured appendix surgery that had me in the hospital until my twelfth day ─ so from February into March. I had been doing 400 leg-raises prior to the surgery.

Weirdbook was a fanzine of horror, fantasy, and related fiction that I subscribed to. Apparently it was put out by a chap named W. Paul Ganley

The letter I received was from my American pen-pal, Terri Martin.

The telephone call that I mentioned my mother receiving was from Catherine Jeanette Gunther, my younger brother Mark's girlfriend. Their car had been demolished on the weekend, I believe. So apparently my old friend William Alan Gill was pitching in so that Mark could get to work.

I guess they would drive Bill to work, then use the car for their own purposes, picking Bill up later. Bill was an extremely good friend.

"It poured all day in the afternoon." That's almost funny.  

My mother and her friend Kay Kris or Krys were partners in an office janitorial contract. Since they had to go in to New Westminster anyway, I caught a ride with them. I only lived a block from where they dropped me off.

My mother and I did our best to win a lottery, but it was never to happen. 

And a major win is the only thing now that I think can save my life.