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Monday, September 26, 2016

How Rogers Wireless Cheats Cutomers with Late Payment Charges │ Two Seniors Medical Studies

Well, I have no problem today remembering just when it was that I got to bed the prior night ─ it was almost 3:00 a.m.

I was too benumbed with drink and weariness to achieve the result I was trying to tease out, but it still left me feeling self-loathing for this unseemly conduct.

I need a new environment and an improved lifestyle ─ I need purpose and enrichment.  I have none of that.

Despite my bedtime, it was 7:18 a.m. this morning when I decided to peek at the time; it was time to rise for the day.

My youngest step-son Pote was up and alone ─ he must have escorted his girlfriend away earlier, for she had slept with him.

It seems to be a sunny day.  I must ensure that I sit out in the backyard and benefit from it.

The bulk of my morning was spent setting up a new post at my Amatsu Okiya website.  I'll be fortunate to have it finished and published by Friday.

My wife Jack had said last week that she would probably be coming by today.  I wonder if she plans to get here in time to take Pote to work, if he has an afternoon shift?  It is 12:08 p.m. as I type these words.


I acquired just over 40 minutes of daylight beginning at 12:21 p.m., sitting in a chair in the backyard, and facing towards the Sun.

Yes, there were cloudy periods, but the clouds were very light.

Pote is still home, so he must not have to work today.

He must have been in communication with his mother, for there are two packages of frozen meat thawing in a big bowl of water ─ Pote and his equally slobby girlfriend have the dual kitchen sinks cluttered up with pots and bowls, so the meat could not be left there without cleaning out one of the sinks.

And why would he do that when his mother is coming home and will have to do it?

Useless knob.

In my post of September 12, I recorded how I had mailed off a cheque as a Rogers payment for the couples' cellphone plan that my wife and I share.

I had mailed the payment a few hours ahead of the mailbox's posted mail-collection time of 4:00 p.m.

The bill due date was September 18 ─ we live in Surrey, and the payment only had to be delivered to Vancouver.

Well, the latest Rogers bill has a $2.91 late payment charge ─ the deceitful crooks claim that the bill was not paid until September 21, and they cashed it the following day.

How the hell is it possible for the payment to have arrived on September 21?

I think the buggers received the envelope on time, but it sat somewhere until someone finally got around to processing it on September 21.

If these rotten pricks do this routinely to a certain number of customers each month ─ perhaps rotating it out over a number of months so as not to hit the same customer with a late charge more than a couple or so times a year ─ I have no doubt that a bloody lot of extra illicit revenue is accumulated.

It is also a grand ploy to try and force cheque-mailing customers to sign on for automatic debiting.

As far as I'm concerned, they're rats.

I will have something to say when next I mail off a payment to them.


I would like here to post a fairly old family photo ─ it is a scan I had to make within the photo album where the photo was glued, and rather askew, at that.

The description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the image filed:

This photo was probably taken in 1974 or 1975, and depicts a gal I only knew as Mary.

She was a friend of my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend of the time, Catherine Jeanette Gunther.

Mary was actually half of a couple I always knew as 'Bob & Mary.' 
And this was Bob:


I have no idea what my blood-pressure reading supposedly is, so clearly I do not take medication in an effort to lower it.

Even Wikipedia's article lays forth the claim that "normal resting systolic (diastolic) blood pressure in an adult is approximately 120 mmHg (80 mmHg), abbreviated "120/80 mmHg".

Anyone who gets a medical check-up and who has a systolic reading over 120 is warned to make some changes to try and get it lowered.

The systolic pressure is felt when the heart contracts and forces out blood; the diastolic pressure is the effect of the heart relaxing before the next contraction or beat.

For some reason, the diastolic reading gets largely ignored by physicians running the medical check-up.

I've read that we ─ and I'm speaking here of seniors in excess of 60 years of age ─ don't have anything to be concerned about until our blood-pressure reading is over 150/90.

Our results suggested that low DBP [diastolic blood pressure] levels, particularly below 60 mm Hg, might harm the myocardium and are associated with subsequent CHD [coronary heart disease]. However, this phenomenon appears to be most likely in clinical settings where SBP [systolic blood pressure] is ≥120 mm Hg and pulse pressure is higher. Thus, among patients being treated to SBP goals of 140 mm Hg or lower, attention may need to be paid not only to SBP, but also, importantly, to achieved DBP. Diastolic and systolic BP are inextricably linked, and our results highlighted the importance of not ignoring the former and focusing only on the latter, instead emphasizing the need to consider both in the optimal treatment of adults with hypertension.
You can read about the study here:

Other studies are finding that we need a strong blood-pressure as we age ─ dropping it too much with medication can lead to conditions like Alzheimer's disease because the brain is receiving too little nourishing blood.

So now there's the dual risk from this type of medication ─ cardiac damage and Alzheimer's disease.  If you are taking such medication, and you know that your blood-pressure is 150/90 or lower, you probably shouldn't be on the stuff.


There is yet another study out which has found that a drink of some form of alcohol each day can lower inflammation (as measured by levels of C-reactive protein) within an ageing body, potentially enabling a senior to be more active and avoid becoming dangerously frail.

Overall, such seniors had less levels of C-reactive protein (and therefore less inflammation) than non-drinking seniors, or seniors who only occasionally had a drink.

But please also note that heavier drinkers did not have reduced C-reactive protein levels, and also tended to be at a high risk of frailty.

Here are a few reports on the study:

ᴅʀᴜɢ ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀʏ


I love the image of the 'old timer' in that last reference!


Here is where I close my post with a 41-year-old journal entry from back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The small unit was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I only worked one day a week ─ Friday, as a rule ─ for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today is known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

I was a swamper on their blue pick-up truck.

At the time, S.A.N.E. was located in a building roughly where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon Street.
FRIDAY, September 26, 1975

I got up at 5:00 a.m., recalling a couple dream events.

One was about a guy who had cashed some regular sort of charity cheque, adding so much to a savings section in his wallet.  His mother and an old guy then set out to kill him for the cash. 

I recall 2 American policemen who stumbled upon some major crime downtown involving a couple buses.  An awful shoot-out ensued with all kinds of people taking slugs; seems the cops had large-calibre handguns.

I recall David trying to knife me after he butchered someone else; I got him arrested, as he was really homicidal.  For some reason he was left alone in an unmarked small car, and I joined him in talk.  His nature had entirely mellowed.  He decided with my abetting, I believe, to escape, trying to drive the car but smashing into something in the parking lot.  A cop witnessed, and good naturedly in his ignorance backed the vehicle where it was.  After he left, so did I; maybe David did too.

I also recall a smorgasbord.

Anyway, I sometime had a NE.

I shall mail a letter to Ron on my way to S.A.N.E.

It seems many people there are following a court case, including Esther, so Bill & I did no work this morn, and were discharged by 11:20 a.m. for lunch.

For the first time I saw that dame at the store (who knew my name) who pestered me at the last S.A.N.E. dance.

I had a heaping helping of delicious Granola for lunch, after buying a TV Guide containing 1976 TV information, knowledge that may come in handy AFTER I WIN SUNDAY'S LOTTERY!

Back at work this sunny day Bill helped me with 1½ of a 3 load moving job, then had to keep a medical appointment; the cute enough girl moving was of immense help.

Esther & Judy next stopped at the Whitespot prior to a trip to Woodlands; on our way again, as we passed the Medical Building Bill called out, and I was glad to have his aid with the 10 bags of clothes at Woodlands.

We were discharged 15 or 20 minutes early.

I came home with an interesting, soft, greenish, flat-topped toque.

Bed at 9:00 p.m.
That was quite the mix of dreams!

David was my old friend Philip David Prince ─ I find it interesting that I dreamed of him attempting to kill me with a knife.  Back when we were maybe in our mid-teens out in Surrey, he had impressed me in a negative fashion one night when we were walking 132nd Street between 80th and 72nd Avenues, probably on our way to Unwin Park in Newton.

He had a hunting knife with him.

I forget how it came about, but I made myself to be mock prey and ran as if in sheer hysterical panic, quickly outdistancing him as he loped methodically after me.

Unfortunately, I winded myself and tried to hide in the shadows of someone's doorway, but he found me.

He was very menacing, even though we were in play.  But I realized that I was utterly at his mercy, and it was uncomfortable.

I should perhaps here mention that David had been in and out of Essondale/Riverview so many times throughout his teen years that he probably spent half of them committed there. 

Amongst my dreaming it seems that I even experienced a nocturnal emission (the "NE" I mentioned).

The letter I mailed on my way to S.A.N.E. was to Ron Bain, an American pen-pal I had.

Esther St. Jean was usually the driver of the pick-up truck I was a swamper on.  She was a wonderful lady in her early 40s.  My co-swamper at this time was Bill Sevenko, who was probably also middle-aged.  Oddly, though, I remember nothing of the man.

I can't now offer anything about the woman at the S.A.N.E. store ─ the woman whom I said had pestered me at a S.A.N.E. dance.

Another thing I do not remember is often coming back to my room for lunch.  I am surprised that I had the time to do that.

The TV Guide I bought must have been this Fall Preview:

The S.A.N.E. pick-up truck was frequently used for manageable moving jobs when someone was in need.  We had removable wooden sidings for the truck that greatly increased its cargo load.

Riding around with us that day was Esther's beautiful eldest daughter Judy.

I now don't know where the "Medical Building" was, but it must have been where my co-swamper had the medical appointment ─ how timely that we were passing it by just as he was out front following his appointment! 

And here it is 3:53 p.m., and my wife Jack has not yet shown up.  I am going to proofread this post, and then get it published.

By the way, it briefly rained hereabouts around 3:30 p.m. ─ I could clearly hear it through an open window. 

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Vast Majority of Thyroid Cancers Are Best Left Alone │ Acupuncture Proven Superior to Morphine in One-Year Emergency Department Setting

It may have been nearer to 11:00 p.m. than 11:30 p.m. when I got to bed last night, but I cannot even conjecture what time it was when my first break in solid sleep arrived and I sought the bathroom.

I started my day well before 7:00 a.m. ─ and had to delay going downstairs for my hot beverage because Pote and his girlfriend decided to get up.

Fortunately, he was quickly to leave with her, driving her off to somewhere in his older brother Tho's car.

He was back alone, soon enough; but by about 8:30 a.m. he had left to catch his bus to work.

I finally completed and published the post I've been working on since Tuesday at my Siam-Longings website:  Thailand Architecture.

I wanted to get in a beer hike to the government liquor store about two miles distant at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley, but I was too depleted after my work on that post.

There was no choice but to seek rest in bed and hope that my strained eyes, aching back, and sore butt had eased up, and that I felt more restored overall.

I was probably in bed well over an hour before rising anew.

My younger brother Mark ─ who had come home earlier after having spent the night at his girlfriend Bev's residence ─ obligingly took off for the remainder of the afternoon; and Tho also was to depart the premises.  I was alone to begin readying for my four-mile round-trip haul.

And a good thing, too ─ I've been wearing a pair of very loose denim jeans that resemble something an old farmer might wear.  I refer to them as my "grandpa pants."

It is very difficult for me to decide just what to wear with them.

Yesterday it had been mainly overcast, but the cloud today had yielded to considerable amounts of sunshine by the start of the afternoon.

It was going to be too warm for a jacket.  I eventually settled upon a blue denim shirt and an unbuttoned denim vest.

I wonder why it is that the liquor store seems busier on Sundays that on weekdays?  

There had been a woman loitering outside the liquor store ─ she looked South Asian, and was dressed in dark clothes.  She also looked to be maybe in her 30s, and was trim enough.

When I exited the liquor store with my two dozen cans of beer split up between the two packs I use for this task, I heard her calling out to me ─ I had set off in a direction opposite to where she was.

I was in no mood to be solicited for anything, and did not have a cent in change on me anyway.  So I never looked back and resolutely carried on as if I was unaware that she was speaking out to me.

She never pursued.

That was the sole incident of my trip.  In all, I walked slowly to the liquor store and back home again, and it took me just over 1½ hours.  I hope my shaven head benefited from what sunshine I was exposed to.

It is presently 4:12 p.m., and I am still home alone.


I hope that by now you have been made aware that most breast and prostate cancers are best left alone ─ medical science is becoming too efficient at detecting the smallest lumps and tumours that most likely will never become a problem.

It is the surgeries that wreak havoc.

Well, it appears that the same unnecessary fast action has been going on for years with thyroid cancers.

Remember, surgeons only get paid if they perform surgeries.  But the consequences for patients who have had an unnecessary surgery or treatment can be life-long and of great impact.

The following is from a study identifying over-treatment of supposed thyroid cancers:
It’s important to bear in mind that the vast majority of patients who received a diagnosis of thyroid cancer in the countries we studied underwent total thyroidectomy, and a high proportion also received other harmful treatments (neck lymph-node dissection and radiotherapy) — practices recently discouraged in the guidelines of the American Thyroid Association.  Furthermore, studies from Japan have shown that immediate surgery and watchful waiting are equally effective in averting deaths from thyroid cancer:  only a small minority (3.5%) of the 1235 patients with papillary microcarcinomas who were followed for an average of 75 months had clinical progression of disease, and none died.
It is no simple matter to live one's life without a whole functioning thyroid ─ let a surgeon meddle with it, or subject it to things like radiation, and life will never be the same.

Here are a couple of reports on that study:


No matter what treatment the thyroid is subjected to, there will be damage to it.  And it may even cease functioning without that being the intention.

As that study said, "immediate surgery and watchful waiting are equally effective in averting deaths from thyroid cancer."

So why have surgery or any sort of treatment just because a physician sees an opportunity to make some easy cash?


Can you believe this?

A study set within a hospital emergency department over the course of a year, and involving 300 patients, revealed that acupuncture delivered faster great pain relief than did morphine ─ and with significantly less side-effects.

Not only that, but acupuncture was effective in more of the patients that it was administered to than was morphine.    

You will have to read about this study for yourself:


What surprises me is that morphine took longer to take effect ─ I thought that stuff was practically instantaneous when delivered intravenously?


My afternoon is running out, so I am going to close now with this 41-year-old entry from my journal back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The small unit was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I had retired to bed the evening before at 8:00 p.m., but I had to ignore the knocking of an older friend ─ Art Smith ─ just 10 minutes before.

I knew that he was most likely just seeking me to take back to his home to drink with, and I was trying to avoid late and wasteful hours.  In fact, I had recently begun rising extremely early in the morning to get a good leap into the new day. 

On my agenda was a visit to my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.  Although the house now does not exist, its address used to be 12106 - 90th Avenue.  It was my main mailing address.

I used to hike directly there ─ at a good clip, it would take about 1½ hours.

But of late, I was taking a far more arduous route.  I would follow the King George Highway all the way to Newton, and then I would turn right on 72nd Avenue (Newton Road) in order to access the railway tracks a short ways along.

Once I got to the railway tracks, I would turn right onto them, and then follow them until I could access the Surrey terminus of 90th Avenue at Holt Road.  My mother lived just a short distance down 90th Avenue, on the right-hand side.
THURSDAY, September 25, 1975

Art returned last night and rapped on my window toward 11:00 p.m., I believe; but I didn't arise till 3:30 a.m. 

I am leaving here for mom's at 5:30 a.m.

Due to the relative lateness, and because I felt my regular run would be too demanding, I began jogging shortly after starting the bridge and didn't stop till I made the stop sign part way up the King George hill.  

Then from about Fuller's I jogged to the Surrey Drive-in.

Outside of Newton I saw a dead small black dog in the grass.

At the pedestrian crossing of the tracks by the electrical sub-station near 122 St some school girls passed, one of them flirtingly saying something like "look at the body;" I was in my T-shirt.  Somewhat gratifying it was, but I evinced no comprehension.

I didn't plan to stuff too much, but did eat a good deal.

In the mail came the perfume I ordered for Cathy.  She phoned while mom was incapacitated, so I had my ear well bent by the cutie.  Seems I have to buy Bill a Christmas gift, while mom does me.

I have run more than I should have; the front inside muscle of my right leg is plainly indicating that it has been bruised by my shin.  This will curb my running for a while, I guess.  Jeepers, it took me at most 1 hour 40 minutes to make Newton Road.  Slightly less, I believe.

Coming home, Alex honked at me just before I finished crossing the bridge.

The day was cloudy till the early afternoon.

I plan to bed at 9:00 p.m.

I didn't see Bill's car.     
I'm now unsure, but "my regular run" may have been the 11 laps I sometimes ran at New Westminster Secondary School's track.  Perhaps I did not want to add that effort on top of what I was thereafter about to undertake.

So I commenced running once I started over the Pattullo Bridge, and carried along until I reached some stop sign a short distance up the hill leading towards Whalley.

I now have no memory of what or where "Fuller's" was, so saying that I ran from there to where the Surrey Drive-In theatre used to be isn't telling me very much anymore.  However, the Surrey Drive-In was beyond 80th Avenue on the right-hand side of the highway as one approached Newton.

B.C. Hydro had not yet usurped all of the territory they now occupy ─ I believe that 122nd Street used to extend all the way through to 88th Avenue, although the railway tracks did interrupt the street.  It was not possible to drive over the railway tracks ─ the street abruptly ended on each side of the tracks and only pedestrians could move from one section of the street to the other.

I do not remember that incident with the teen girls ─ it would have been very flattering.  But even though I was 25, I would have been painfully shy of them ─ that was why I did not display having heard the compliment.     

Once I was at my mother's home, the perfume that arrived were small counterfeit big-name samplers ─ I had mail-ordered them for my younger brother Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther. Her birthday had been September 22nd, but fortunately I had also gotten her some sort of special skillet, and a Western Lottery ticket.

The perfume would be a late treat for her.

Apparently she and my mother had struck upon the idea of drawing names so that each of us would only need to be concerned with one person for Christmas gift-giving.  I had been assigned the name of my old friend William Alan Gill.

Bill also lived in New Westminster, and had a bachelor suite fairly near to my room. I may have mentioned not seeing his car when I was returning to my room because it had been in a repair shop for an extended while, and he was supposed to have gotten it back earlier in the week.

So maybe he did or did not get it back ─ he just may have not been home.

I took the direct route from my mother's home to get back to New Westminster ─ I had traveled far enough afoot for the day.  While nearly across the Pattullo Bridge, my mother's husband Alex saw and honked at me as he came from the New Westminster side and headed over to Surrey and home.

And so went my day exactly 41 years ago.

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Elevated Blood Sugar Linked to Permanent Memory Loss │ Psoriasis Can Lead to Arterial Calcium Buildup

My bedtime last night was 12:07 a.m.

I think I may have had my first disruption of sleep unusually early ─ possibly before 2:00 a.m.

And I was up for the day ahead of 7:00 a.m.

I hadn't worn my earplugs to bed, so I cannot help but wonder if my sleep was affected due to ambient sounds.

I had hoped to publish the post I have been working on since Tuesday at my Siam-Longings website, but the morning expired and I still had lots of material to add to it.

Consequently, I have to be realistic and say that its publication is not going to take place until tomorrow.

I dutifully wore the Uvex S1933X Skyper Safety Eyewear that I acquired yesterday with the intention of blocking damaging blue light from the screen of my computer, but my eyes feel as taxed as before after several hours of work.

I am having to strain too hard to read text, since the glasses render text much less distinct.  Also, I work with colours to some degree, and the glasses render some of them indistinguishable from one another.

It's actually more relaxing to remove the glasses to look at the monitor.

I am truly torn about continuing use of them.

One other issue I have with them is how tightly the frames clamp to the sides of my head.  Over the hours, the pressure becomes unpleasant.

I remember back in the early years of CDs when things like portable CD players were the rage, I had the typical headphones of an unpadded type that clamped rather firmly against and into the entrances to the ears, and after a few hours the pressure became agonizing.

You would have to have experienced it for yourself to understand.

The frames of these glasses are not that serious, but they do get uncomfortable after a time.

I also wonder if maybe the glasses may just slightly fog up ─ not enough to be apparent, but enough to help cause that indistinct text problem.

So overall, maybe instead of relieving eyestrain, these glasses are causing eyestrain of their own.

I just wish to Heaven that I was not in such a desperate plight to earn an income via the Web that I have to keep putting in these hours day after day.

I still had to lie down in the midday because my eyes were bothering me so much after the morning's website work.  Of course, my back and butt were also distressed....  


I have a photo I wish to post, along with the description I gave it in the Google album where it is filed:

This is one of several photos that I took of my wife Jack in the afternoon of September 8, 2016.

She is standing by a fence separating a neighbouring home from ours ─ our house is immediately to the right border of the photo, and thus unseen.

The sidewalk just in front of Jack runs the length of that side of our home and leads to a gate accessing our home's open carport.

Research is revealing that high blood sugar levels can adversely affect memory ─ specifically, episodic memory.

Specialized memory tests were run from 2006 to 2012 on 950 diabetic seniors and 3,469 non-diabetic seniors.

The subjects' hemoglobin A1c levels were measured at the start of the study.  People whose population of 'sugar-coated' hemoglobin A1c measured 6.5% or above displayed diabetes; a level of 5.6% is deemed normal.

Apparently once hemoglobin in a blood cell becomes glycated (or 'sugar-coated'), it remains so for the life of that blood cell ─ which typically is about 120 days.

The researchers concluded:
Higher HbA1c and diabetes were both associated with declines in episodic memory, with this relationship further exacerbated by having diabetes and elevated HbA1c. HbA1c appeared more important for episodic memory performance among women than men.
The issue here is that any of us who consider ourselves non-diabetic can also have periodic spikes in the percentage of our blood cells that have glycated hemoglobin.

And these spikes will in turn have some ultimate effect upon episodic memory.

You can read about the study for yourself here:


Now here is something that is very related:  it has been claimed that 80% of folks with Alzheimer's disease just also happen to have insulin resistance or type 2 diabetes.

That is quite a declaratory relationship, and it is one we need to take good stock of.  After all, it is within our own power to manage how much of our hemoglobin becomes glycated.

A detailed article about this was published earlier this month:

Psychology Today

People, we have to quit consuming so damned many carbohydrates, and start focusing on majoring in saturated fats.  These fats have wrongly been incriminated as leading to obesity whereas it has been the carbohydrates that have always been too blame ─ complex or not.  Just avoid them.


Do you or anyone you love have psoriasis ─ even just a small touch of the condition?

The inflammation of psoriasis goes well beyond the surface ─ it affects the entire body.

This can result in calcium-buildup in the arteries, ultimately leading to coronary artery disease, atherosclerosis, and coronary heart disease.

Here are a couple of reports concerning a recent study about this:

Psoriasis News Today

The study is recent, but there are earlier ones with similar findings, such as this one from the British Journal of Dermatology that was first published in 2006:  Psoriasis: a possible risk factor for development of coronary artery calcification.

I wonder if licorice root would have any benefit for psoriasis sufferers?

I found this suggestion at NewMarketHealth.com:
Plain old licorice root is a natural inflammation fighter and is available as a gel or lotion that can give you some quick relief when applied to the skin and is especially helpful for psoriasis patients.

Here is where I bow out with a 41-year-old entry from my journal back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The small unit I was renting was in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
WEDNESDAY, September 24, 1975

I got up at 5:15 a.m.

I believe hence I shall forsake late TV and retire earlier so as to gain more sleep without need of a daytime nap.

Just 4 more days till the Olympic draw!  I must win!

I wrote Terri a letter, and will mail it on my way to visit dad.

I stopped in at the Bluebird and bought 2 comics.

Dad & Marie were both sober.

I ate more than I should have, but damn it, it's their fault; they fuss around making lunch till I am ravenous.

Dad & I are both concerned about how Sunday's Olympic turns out for us.

The day was on the cloudy side, but by no means cool enow for this jacket wearer.

At nearly 7:50 p.m., with my light on, came ruddy knocking; I deduced David, but Art called out.  

Blast!  Why can't I be left alone?  I need that lottery, so I can be assured all the solitude I want.  Must I hide like a mole all winter, afraid to have on a light at dark?  It isn't just.  I retire tonight at 8:00 p.m., and planned so all day.  Why couldn't the guy have come just after, when my light would be off, and I could thus be spared guilt and lies?
It was the Olympic Lottery that so fed my yearning.  I saw no other way of having a change of course to my barren life.

Terri Martin was an American pen-pal I had quite recently begun corresponding with.

I find it peculiar that I can no longer recall the Bluebird store where I purchased the two comics.  It was in fact through a Marvel comic that Terri and I had connected ─ one of us had seen the other's fan letter published in the comic and decided to write. 

My father and his girlfriend Maria Fadden were living in an apartment at a building that may have been 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby.  I would walk all the way to their appartment, and then walk back to my room later on.

Visiting them was always something of a draw as to whether or not I would find them sober.

As I have tried to explain previously, I could ill afford a decent diet, so when I was confronted with much food, I was unable to resist overeating.  I would too often overeat to the point of physical incapacitation.

I wore my jacket back to my room because of having overeaten ─ my belly would be distended, and the jacket was my means of hiding it from the sight of the public.

I initially thought that the knocking at my room's door was originated by my old friend Philip David Prince who had his own room elsewhere in New Westminster; but it was not him.

Art Smith was an older friend in his early 40s who also lived in New Westminster, and who would only come around to haul me off back to his home to spend the evening and wee hours of the a.m. drinking with him.

It was just 10 minutes until my bedtime when he came knocking, but I had no intention of answering and have him pressure me into falling in line with his desires for me instead of following my own course.  

His will just about always overpowered my own, and I hated myself for it.

Consequently, even though my light was on and a sure indicator that I was home, I was going to ignore his knocking and calls, and feign somehow being absent.  When next I saw him, I would have to lie and say that I must have nipped out and neglected to shut off the light ─ or else that I was in the shower, and never heard him.

Sadly for me, I never won a big cash prize to change my life and give it lasting meaning and direction.

Friday, September 23, 2016

Medications Causing Nutritional Deficiencies │ Popular 'Useless' Surgeries

My memory is definitely not what it was a few decades ago ─ once again, I fail to recall my precise bedtime last night, but I know that it was comfortably ahead of midnight.

Early that evening, my eldest step-son Tho engaged me in the kitchen when I was preparing a quick light supper.  He said that he wanted to buy me a bottle of liquor ─ and my younger brother Mark, too.

I queried as to why, and learned that he was evidently celebrating his good fortune at work ─ he had been promoted somewhat and was getting a $2-hourly raise in his wage.

There was even some sort of title that went with the raise or promotion ─ something like a lead lineman.  That probably was not the correct term that he used, for the company he works for makes mattresses (and possibly other bedding products, for all I know).

He even took a couple of cellphone photos of what I am currently drinking for liquor; and after I showed him an example online, a cheap brand of Scotch for Mark ─ Tho didn't know what Scotch was.

Mark knows none of this yet ─ if Tho comes through and presents a bottle of Scotch to Mark this evening, he will most definitely be pleased about it.

I must have been more tired than I was aware, for after I fell asleep last night, it was nearly 6:00 a.m. before I became conscious enough to be curious of the time.

I used the bathroom, and awhile after returning to bed, I heard it raining outside.  I had been fully expecting yet another sunny day in the string of such days we have enjoyed.

Oh, well.

I think I managed a little further sleep before getting up well ahead of 8:00 a.m.

My youngest step-son Pote was also up ─ I had heard him escorting his overnighted girlfriend away shortly after 6:00 a.m.  I don't know if she had a ride waiting outside, or if he walked her to a bus.

I got to work on the post I started Tuesday at my Siam-Longings website, but there came a point where I had to break off and actually return to bed.  My butt, back, and eyes were taxed.

I didn't think that I had managed a nap, but I rose anew to find that Pote was gone ─ probably to work for the day.

I worked a little longer on the website, and then began readying for a local shopping expedition to No Frills about four blocks away in the Cedar Hills shopping plaza at 128th Street & 96th Avenue here in Surrey.

It was 12:07 p.m. when I set off in some rain.

There was nothing of note to report about the excursion, although I did find myself in proximity in the dairy section to a chap who reminded me of a former co-worker.  I'm still in touch with his wife Angela ─ also a former co-worker ─ so I'll have to mention it to her in an E-mail.

After arriving back home, I discovered two packages that had been left:  one was for my wife Jack, and the other was for me from Amazon.ca.

Back on September 19 I had ordered two pairs of Uvex S1933X Skyper Safety Eyewear, and the projected delivery date given me was September 27 (because I had opted for free delivery).

I want to block blue light ─ I recently read that such light is damaging our eyes.  I stare at a computer screen for many hours a day, and my vision has deteriorated severely over the years.

I've been trying the glasses since I started this post, but I have to admit that they are making it more difficult to read print because it is less distinct.  Also, I am having difficulty detecting links in text because the difference in coloration is less obvious while wearing the glasses.

I hope I don't end up giving up on them.


I want to post this old photo from my brother Mark's collection ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the scanned image stored.

Note that I had to scan the image from within the album into which the photo was glued somewhat askew:

I only know this chap as Bob ─ he was a friend of my younger brother Mark and Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther.

Actually, Bob was part of a couple I only remember as Bob & Mary.

This photo was probably taken in 1974 or 1975.

It's impossible for me to venture a location, apart from the obvious involving a barbecue with a picnic table present.

The Harvard Medical School publishes a Harvard Health Letter that recently issued a warning about how certain medications are causing various nutritional deficiencies:
...Long-term use is a different story. In some cases, a drug may interfere with your body's ability to absorb a nutrient from dietary sources. Such is the case with proton-pump inhibitors (PPIs), used to reduce acid reflux and heartburn. PPIs can keep you from absorbing vitamin B12, and low B12 levels in the blood can lead to confusion, muscle weakness, and falls.

In other cases, medications may interfere with natural processes needed to produce nutrients. For example, cholesterol-lowering drugs called statins inhibit the production of coenzyme Q10 (CoQ10). CoQ10 plays important roles in preserving the energy supplies of our cells.

And other medications may cause deficiencies of several nutrients at a time. For example, some diuretics to lower blood pressure can deplete magnesium, potassium, and calcium. Another example: PPIs can cause low calcium and magnesium levels, as well as low B12 levels.

In addition to PPIs, statins, and diuretics, common offenders include anticonvulsants and corticosteroids, both of which may reduce levels of calcium and vitamin D; the diabetes drug metformin (Glucophage, Riomet), which may reduce levels of folic acid and vitamin B12; and the Parkinson's drugs levodopa and carbidopa (Sinemet), which may reduce levels of vitamin B6, vitamin B12, and folic acid.
Anyone taking a handful or more per day of medication is in need of a serious re-think.

Many of the medications lavishly prescribed are just not necessary ─ there are healthier means of achieving the intended results.

Maybe it's time to ditch the mainstream physicians and consult with one who is more aware. 

I don't know anything about the American College for Advancement of Medicine (ACAM), but I have seen them recommended; they seem to have members worldwide ─ just go to the 'Search' feature and see just who might turn up and is located near you.


Apart from rampant over-prescription of medications, physicians seem to refuse to keep up to date on the latest research involving procedures like back surgeries.

There is a lot of money in surgeries!

If you have pondered whether a back surgery ─ or even knee surgery for a torn meniscus ─ could help you, you should refer to this recent report:

Quite coincidentally, that same title was used recently for this comprehensive article:

Even colonoscopies are coming under scrutiny as not being the best procedure for examinations for colon cancers.

One doctor ─ Marc S. Micozzi, M.D. , Ph.D. ─ had the following advice to offer concerning these matters:
My suggestion?

1. When it comes to colon cancer screenings, skip the "routine" colonoscopies. Instead, opt for widely available Cologuard that detects fecal DNA in the stool. Evidence shows it's even more sensitive and accurate than other proven "alternatives." You can even ask for the camera pill, if your doctor will agree to it.

2. For back pain, try spinal manual therapy provided by a licensed chiropractor and physical therapy before considering any kind of surgery.

3. For joint pain, try the ABCs of joint health -- ashwaganda, boswellia and curcumin (400 to 500 mg each daily). Research shows they are highly effective at relieving pain (and avoiding surgery), especially when used in combination.
One Canadian website ─ cancer.ca ─ states that the Cologuard "hasn’t been approved for use in Canada yet:"  Research in colorectal cancer.

That same source also seems a tad negative on the so-called 'camera pill:'  "Capsule endoscopy does not seem to be as good as colonoscopy at finding polyps or abnormalities."

However, this is the website of the Canadian Cancer Society, after all ─ and cancer is a huge money-generating industry!


Well, eldest step-son Tho came home from work early in the latter afternoon and he did indeed have a bottle of rye whisky for me ─ not the brand I have on hand, however.  He could not locate it.

But alcohol is alsohol!

He also has a bottle of Scotch for my younger brother Mark.  But Tho and I decided to not just leave it out for Mark.  Rather, it is wisest to assess his state when he gets home this evening.

If he's already plastered, then the bottle can await tomorrow morning when Mark will be sober.

It is time now to close out with a 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

I was renting the small unit in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I had gone to bed the previous evening at 8:30 p.m. 

My big plan for the day was an early departure on a long hike out in Surrey to visit my mother Irene Dorosh in the Kennedy Heights area.  That little home is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue, and it was my main mailing address.

To get there I had recently begun traveling the King George Highway all the way to Newton's 72nd Avenue; once there, just a short distance along that avenue to the right were the B.C. Hydro railway tracks (as identifiable here).

I would then take to those, and ─ turning right again ─ walk them until I was at the Surrey terminus of 90th Avenue at Holt Road.   

My mother lived just a half-dozen or so homes down 90th Avenue, on the right-hand side of the road.
TUESDAY, September 23, 1975

I was still awake last night when the 10:00 p.m. cuckoo sounded upstairs, so it may have been even 2 hours before I finally got to sleep, only to awake shortly before 3:00 a.m.

Today marks the beginning of Fall.

My room here is really muggy.

Departure for mom's via Newton:  4:55 a.m.

I left the sweater I wore home Sunday night on Mark's front steps.

All day I have felt logey, and my jog from Bear Creek to the Newton Road tracks was very stressful; my stomach felt bruised inside, and I perspired copiously.

At mom's I overate.

The only mail was a notice for Christmas stamps.

Manpower called there for me, just checking to learn if I was employed.

And later, while mom shopped, Cathy called, so I spoke to her.  In 2 weeks her family (Mark, she, & kids) and mom & Alex are going to spend the week-end at Barriere with Greta & mate; and the following week, on my birthday, mom & Alex are going to Reno.

I am determined to curb my appetite.

I waved at Mark as he whizzed by me on the bridge headed home.

I stopped in at Wong's and bought 3 comics; Avengers # 142 contained a letter by Terri.  My reason was to pick up on costumes again, anticipating a lottery win of dimension come Sunday.

Toward 7:00 p.m., I succumbed to Gallery's Debbie Jones.  I find myself too displeased with myself to be able to exercise.

To bed at 9:00 p.m.
My brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were living on Bentley Road in Whalley.  The house was very near to 108th Avenue & King George Highway, so it was close to hand for me to leave the sweater I had been loaned for the late-night hike from their home to my room back in New Westminster.

I was generally jogging upon reaching 88th Avenue, all the way to 72nd Avenue.

I did not eat very well on my own, so anytime I had access to ample fare I became gluttonous.  I was unable to restrict myself.

The "notice for Christmas stamps" was from the Canadian Post Office detailing their next commemorative issue.

The Department of Manpower and Immigration was responsible back then for things like unemployment and unemployment insurance.

It was Jeanette who phoned while my mother was out shopping.  I remember nothing of them all going to Barriere to visit my mother's Dutch or German friend Greta (and whoever she was involved with at the time).  I'm a little surprised to read about it.

My return hike to New Westminster was the direct route ─ not the doubly-long roundabout route I had taken in the morning.  Mark was probably working in a mill back then, and was driving across the Pattullo Bridge from the New Westminster side when I noticed him and waved.

Wong's convenience store was located on Sixth Street, possibly about two blocks uphill from the Royal Towers Hotel.

I was fascinated by the costumes of superheroes and supervillains ─ I had been for years. But comics were becoming expensive, and I had fallen away from maintaining my collections.  The upcoming lottery was of course to fail me ─ I was never to win a major cash prize in the decades I participated since then.

Terri Martin was a recent pen-pal I had taken on ─ she had a fan letter in that issue I mentioned of The Avengers.

Gallery model Debbie Jones evidently led me to release some sexual tension, and doing so usually caused me considerable guilt.

So what else is new, as they say?  Enough of 1975.

By the way, even though it has rained just about all day, I heard on the radio this afternoon that we are supposed to somehow have a sunny weekend ─ the day is supposedly just an aberance in the streak of sunny days we've been enjoying.

I'm going to have to wait and see that eventuality for myself ─ I am doubtful.

Now, concerning the glasses I have been wearing to block damaging blue light from the glaring computer screen, I  have to remove them at times in order to clearly identify colours; and I have to strain considerably to read at all ─ text looks so faded.

And it's almost impossible to read my hand-written journal entry with them over my eyes ─ I have even resorted to a magnifying glass.

So although they probably do a grand job of blocking blue light, they make it extremely difficult to actually do extensive work on something like my blog.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

💀 ☠ Another Suspect Medication Coming for Alzheimer's Disease Treatment │ Sepsis Outstripping Heart-Attacks as a Killer

I underwent an iniquitous relapse last night ─ it had to be around 1:30 a.m. or later before I betook myself from this computer and to bed.

It has been a day of self-loathing, and they are the worst.  If I lived alone, I think I would have considered self-termination rather than carry on.

I had meant to go and do some local shopping this morning ─ that was yesterday's plan for this morning, at any rate.  But this was impossible now ─ I could not face the public.

Rather exacerbating my self-inflicted emotional wounds were the presences of my youngest step-son Pote and his girlfriend ─ she had spent the night here with him.

It all weighs me down.

They finally rose late in the morning and towards 1:00 p.m. left ─ perhaps Pote had to start an early afternoon shift at the sports shop in Guildford where he works.

Or maybe they just decided to go somewhere else.

I had a break in sleep overnight around 5:15 a.m. that saw me use the bathroom.  With the conscience turmoil already in full play, I had some dread that I would be unable to secure any further sleep, but a little did come.

Natheless, my day commenced ahead of 8:00 a.m.

It has been a flawlessly sunny day.

I put more content into the new post I have been working upon since Tuesday at my Siam-Longings website, and towards the end I clumsily published today's contributions to the post ─ I work in an entirely separate draft post from the one that is going to be the finalized version.

Realizing what I had stupidly done, I swiftly deleted the post.

However, I needed to recover my day's work.  And the only way I could do that was by recovering the entire post from my Trash folder.

But all that did was republish the damned thing.

So I quickly copied all of the html data, pasted it to the bottom of the post that will eventually get published, and then I again deleted the secondary post that had been serving as my working draft.

I sure didn't need this additional aggravation to my day.

This is actually the first day of the Fall ─ I recall incorrectly identifying in yesterday's post that it was marking the advent of Fall.

I could not waste the sunshine, so at 12:31 p.m. I was out in the backyard wearing just a pair of cut-off; and seated in a chair, I faced into the Sun for 40 minutes.

I have no idea how much longer this absolutely unusual streak of September sunshine is going to last, so I dare waste no such chance to keep my complexion nicely coloured.

Today also happens to be the day that the monthly $1,600 mortgage payment was debited from my chequing account.  I now have just over $300 in the balance, but there is a $200 credit card payment due to be negotiated from it at any time ─ I had mailed off a cheque as the payment.

Thus, I really only have just over $100 in the balance.  And I probably will not receive my monthly pension payment for another week.

This sucks.

This morning there was a chap cleaning out the alleyway that extends from the cul-de-sac I live in, and which pushes through a very short distance to a nearby major avenue.

The alleyway actually runs right by our house.

So I took a few candid photos of the fellow at work ─ unfortunately, the alleyway was still shaded from the sunlight, and the images are very gloomy.

Then I decided to photograph the belly and back of a rather robust orb-weaver spider just outside our front door ─ quite apart from its legs, its body looks like it would come near to being an inch in length:

And I suppose this pretty much covers my day to this point ─ it is 3:24 p.m. as I type these words.


Are you familiar with the medical term sepsis?

Apparently many medical professionals who are familiar with the term have trouble recognizing real instances of the condition.  Its annual death toll has now outstripped that of heart-attacks in the U.S.

Sepsis can develop from infections as common as the flu, pneumonia, and meningococcal meningitis.

It's a scary prospect.
A rapid pulse, fast breathing, and swelling and red tissue should put people on guard. The most troubling symptoms are a combination of intense pain and mental confusion that worsens within a few hours, [Steven] Simpson [a professor of pulmonary and critical care medicine at the University of Kansas Medical Center] said. "If you have these symptoms, ask the doctor in these words: 'Is this likely sepsis?' "
You can read an eye-opening report on sepsis here:

The same report is published at Chicago Tribune, but with a different title:  CDC: Sepsis is a medical emergency, causes more deaths than heart attacks.


None of us feel absolutely safe from the eventual development of Alzheimer's disease, but is there ever going to be a safe medication to treat it?

The latest push seems to be in the direction of a medication called aducanumab:


I appreciated neuroscience professor John Hardy's caution concerning a recent fairly small trial of the drug that gave it a good report.

As he pointed out, a number of people dropped out of the trial.  And why might that be?  

Quite likely because they were not experiencing any benefits ─ who knows, maybe they even felt some negative effects?

And of course, that left a heavier population of benefited subjects remaining in the trial, thus clearly skewing the efficacy statistics in the drug's favour.

I like NewMarketHealth.com's take on that report ─ safer alternate breakthroughs in the battle against dementia:
For example:
  • Just last month I told you about a study that found acupuncture can help protect the brain from memory loss. The researchers said that this centuries-old treatment "has a significant positive effect" on memory and cognitive function.
  • Last year, a UCLA study found that by treating inflammation, nutritional deficiencies and imbalances, they could actually reverse symptoms of dementia! The treatment consisted of raising vitamin D levels, adding supplements such as DHA, improving gut health and normalizing blood-sugar levels with carefully-controlled fasting. The people in the trial also upped their consumption of fresh fruits and veggies.
  • And almost two years ago I told you about research from the Center for Healthy Aging at the University of Copenhagen, that found medium-chain fatty acids, like what's found in coconut oil, can "postpone aging processes" and help Alzheimer's and Parkinson's patients.
If any of these findings had come from a drug, why, we'd be playing the national anthem while parading some Big Pharma executive down Fifth Avenue!

But until the day comes when an Alzheimer's med actually has to work -- and without killing you in the process -- I'm sure we'll keep seeing more and more glowing banner headlines about risky treatments that end up doing nothing but raising our hopes.

I want to close now with this 41-year-old entry from my journal, back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting my room in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
MONDAY, September 22, 1975

I got up at 9:00 a.m.

I went to Woodward's while laundering and bought a chicken and a bar of soap; I lost 2 socks.

I phoned Bill from in front of the Bluebird, and found him willing to walk to Country Boy's ─ his car won't be available till tomorrow.

I treated him, and he bought us a screwdriver apiece.

He commissioned a taxi to get us back to his place.  I went home with some literature.

It is very hot out.

I think last night I may have kissed Cathy; but I cannot recall.

I am really hungover.

Around 2:20 p.m. I lied down and managed with difficulty to gain some sleep; I guess I was overtired; I arose 5:20 p.m.

When I shopped at Woodward's, I was unable to find any whole grain flour or peanut butter.  And the soap I was after was not there either.

Cathy yesterday said mom was rather upset I did not sup on my chicken; some was saved for me.

Bed at 8:30 p.m.
Woodward's used to be located on Sixth Avenue where the Royal City Centre Mall is now; the laundromat, it now seems to me, was located on the other side of the street over near the library. 

My old friend William Alan Gill also lived in New Westminster, and had a bachelor suite not too far from my room.  His car was in a mechanics' shop.  He and I would sometimes attend a smorgasbord located in a shopping plaza at McBride Boulevard & Eighth Avenue.

It seemed to change hands with fair regularity.  At this point, it was Country Boy's; I think prior to that, it was the Family Smorgasbord; and it had originally been Swedana.

I don't remember the store called the Bluebird.  I never had a telephone, so I would have needed to use a payphone to call Bill.

"Cathy" was Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ my younger brother Mark's girlfriend.  They were renting a home together located on Bentley Road in Whalley.  The house was just a short stroll from 108th Avenue & King George Highway.

September 22nd was Jeanette's birthday, but she had come to my room the day before and taken me back to her place ─ I took along a gallon of wine I had.  And Mark and I got plastered.

After he went to bed and I staggered my way back to New Westminster, I had the vague notion that I may have kissed Jeanette ─ I quite loved the young woman.

I was hoping that the journal entry for her birthday would have mentioned her age, but it did not.  I no longer recall just where she stood in relation to the ages of Mark and I, and I would love to know. 

I had also visited my mother Irene Dorosh the day before ─ I had left a stewing chicken with her a couple of days before that, and I was looking forward to a good stew for my lunch.

But when I arrived, I learned that she and her husband Alex were going to take Jeanette and her two little girls to have breakfast somewhere.  Mark was at work.

I went with my mother and Alex over to the house, and remained there when they took out Jeanette and the girls.

But I grew tired just hanging around, and I was hungry.  I had been up since 2:00 a.m., and had gone on an extremely long walk. 

So I left Jeanette a special fancy skillet and a Western Lottery ticket as birthday gifts ─ plus a note explaining them.  And I walked back to my room in New Westminster.

It was later in the early evening that she came over to fetch me back to her home to help celebrate with Mark her impending birthday.

Anyway, it seems that my mother felt upset that I never got any of the stew she had prepared from the stewing chicken I had left there two days earlier.

So much for 1975.

I am feeling better this afternoon ─ that session out in the sunshine was something of a turnaround, I guess.


Lord, please deliver me from evil....