.dropcap {float:left; color:#4791d2; font-size:75px; line-height:60px; padding-top:4px; padding-right:8px; padding-left:3px; font-family:Georgia}

Google+ Followers


Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Type-2 Diabetes Medication Xultophy Warning │ Alzheimer's Patients, Benzodiazepines, and Increased Hip Fracture Rates │ Seniors with Low Blood Pressure (BP) Still Being Prescribed BP Medication

My wife Jack showed up early last evening from Vancouver ─ or was it late afternoon? ─ just before I had yet published the day's post here.

What a fabulous supper she made!  I ate so well ─ my first meal of the day!

Around 8:00 p.m. she announced that she was going out to pick up her 19-year-old son Pote from work over at Guildford.  By then it was miserably cold again, with our local streets packed hard with frozen snow, and the ice from melted snow.

I can barely stand how pampered her two sons are.  My mommy never had to go driving anywhere to pick me up at the age of 19.  I walked.  And back then, there was not the convenient ease of busing that there is today.

And as I feared, when she returned an hour or more later, it was with Pote's girlfriend, too.

Jack wasn't home for much more than a half-hour before it was evidently time for her to leave again to return to Vancouver ─ I had been expecting that she would be spending the night.

It would have been better for me had she stayed. 

Had I been sensible, I believe that it might have been possible for me to get to bed ahead of 11:00 p.m.  But no.  The crassly base element within me took charge and I sat in decadent waste here at my computer, not getting to bed until 1:46 a.m.

There is far too much that is toxic about my life here, constrained and isolated like a caged animal.

At least Pote's girlfriend did not spend the night ─ perhaps they only needed a 'quickie.'  While I was sitting here in my resistance to bed, I heard him take his older brother Tho's car and drive off with her, later returning by himself.

Somehow, I slept unusually well.  I slept soundly until I became aware that it was brightly daylit outside.  A check of the clock revealed it to be 7:52 a.m., if I am remembering correctly.

There would be little snow melt today ─ it was too cold for that. I attempted some further shoveling of the icy mass clinging to the driveway, but gave up after a short while.  There needs to be some warming of the concrete to loosen the hold of the ice.

I will give it another go soon ─ it is 3:07 p.m. at this moment.  Perhaps there has been some melt in the steady sunshine by now.

I never put in the amount of work that I should have at the new post I commenced on Sunday at one of my six hosted websites ─ my start at it was just too late into the morning.  But confounding my work was the fact that when I logged into my WordPress dashboard, I saw that there were updates ─ including a latest version of WordPress.

So I installed it ─ and then discovered that the idiots who devised the new version forgot to include the means of  full-justifying the text in the editor field.

Now I have to manually place the 'full justify' coding myself throughout the post as I add content.

For anyone who doesn't know, text that is full-justified is how I like my posts in this blog to appear ─ the sentences stretch evenly right across a page.  It is the format used in newspapers and magazines. 

While I was working, Pote gave me hope of having some of the day to myself when he took off in Tho's car just ahead of 11:00 a.m. ─ "Please, let him be going to work," I hoped!

But early into the noon-hour, he was back ─ with his girlfriend.

They were soon in bed.

However, they have since risen and have now (3:10 p.m.) taken off in Tho's car.  My hope is that Pote has to work this latter afternoon and into the evening, and that the pair have not just nipped out for some junk food or something similar.

I do not want them here.  I feel foul enough.

But on to something else now.

As I have often explained in recent posts, my wife Jack had gone back to Thailand to visit her mother and other family in Nong Soong, which is very near to Udon Thani.

She left Canada ─ not late the evening of October 24 as I had thought ─ but on a 1:30 a.m. or so flight early October 25.  She returned the early evening of November 21.

I got confirmation from Jack last evening that she and some of her family and friends did indeed take free passage on a train from Udon Thani in order to be present for the viewing of their late King Bhumibol Adulyadej's funeral urn in the Grand Palace in Bangkok.  

The Grand Palace was  made open to the public early the morning of October 29 as this BBC.com news account tells:  Thai King Bhumibol: Mourners allowed into Grand Palace

Jack never made it into the Grand Palace, despite standing in line since something like 6:30 a.m.  The doors were closed to the public with many apologies at 8:00 p.m.

But at least her mother was able to get in.

I believe the viewings would resume the next day, but Jack was no longer interested in standing in another line-up.

As I also correctly surmised, volunteers had set up a great encampment of tented facilities to provide free provisions for the thousands who had assembled.

I have previously posted quite a few photos that Jack had taken on that day.  I will now post some more of the area where provisions were being provided for the people:

I cannot quite make out if these three people in the next photo are part of Jack's group or not ─ the angle is too extreme for me to be sure of any identification:

I am unsure if the chap at the bottom right corner is part of Jack's group or not ─ he has some vague familiarity to me:

Everyone here are anonymous to me ─ unless otherwise stated:

And so the photos go ─ this will have to do for today's post.


There doesn't seem anything scary about this headline and very brief  article, does there?


Heck, it might even appear to be good news for type-2 diabetics!

However, read past the light saccharine treatment given in that brief announcement and have a look at this report:


But scroll 'way down that page and take a gander at the risks and warnings ─ most folks would probably have skipped that part.

Apart from kidney failure and pancreatitis, they admit:
...May cause heart failure in some people. This can happen even if you have never had heart failure or heart problems before. If you already have heart failure, it may get worse....
Really?  If it can cause heart failure in people who have never had heart problems before, then how dense does someone have to be to not realize that if heart failure is already present, it might get worse?

Anyone considering Xultophy really ought to study this report at DailyMed.nlm.nih.gov.  After all, not many doctors have the time or inclination to read that stuff, either.  They just rely on what the drug-sellers tell them.

But it's your life at risk ─ not some busy doctor's.


It certainly stands to reason for me that a senior with Alzheimer's disease who suffers a hip fracture would stay in a hospital longer than someone with no cognitive impairment.

Nevertheless, that finding was amongst those uncovered in a study of benzodiazepine users with and without Alzheimer's disease.

As the article I linked to at Wikipedia says, benzodiazepines are prescribed for people because the drugs are "useful in treating anxiety, insomnia, agitation, seizures, muscle spasms, alcohol withdrawal and as a premedication for medical or dental procedures." 

This is a report on the study:


Folks with no cognitive impairment have enough trouble coping with the effects of such drugs ─ no one has any business prescribing them for someone with Alzheimer's disease.  It's just a lazy, shortcut means of keeping that person sedated until he or she finally dies and is no longer a bother.

Once more, we can turn to the Health Sciences Institute (HSI) for a deeper and more realistic look at that study's results:


As is warned, even the non-cognitively-impaired can have their thinking seriously affected by these medications.  And the ugly truth is that just suddenly abstaining from them is dangerous, since they are addicting.

What do we get ourselves into?  We are NOT living better chemically!


People who are compulsively concerned about their blood pressure ought to read this article by Dr. Marc S. Micozzi:


I remember being told once during a physical examination back in the 1980s that my blood pressure was a little high (I was in my 30s), but I wasn't concerned.  I was an avid exerciser and runner.

I have only ever tested myself once with one of those cuffs available in some pharmacies for folks to test their own blood pressure, but I only experimented with it because my younger brother Mark occasionally used it and wanted me to give it a try.

I have no idea now what the reading was.

I don't care.  And I have no idea why most people fret so much about their own blood pressure readings.


Well, Pote must have gone to work ─ it is now 5:54 p.m., and he has not returned since leaving here shortly after 3:00 p.m. this afternoon.

I got out to try some further driveway shoveling before it was yet 4:00 p.m., but there was no discernible melt of the ice allowing me to easily break its hold on the concrete.

I managed some clearing, and then called it a day.

Every little bit helps.

I am going to close 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 renting the small affair in a house located on Ninth Street, one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

I had gone to bed the evening prior to this entry at 7:00 p.m.
SUNDAY, December 7, 1975

I must have caught up on a great deal of sleep, for I didn't arise till about 4:00 a.m., even though I had been lying in bed awhile awake.

About 7:30 a.m. I lied down to nap, not finally arising till 9:00 a.m. as I luxuriated in many delightful and fanciful impressions.

At noon I was going to bake bread, but my sketchy recollection of the recipe combined with my poor selection of equipment induced me to postpone the venture until Thursday if I am able to obtain what I require from mom Wednesday; still, there is a chance I might get into the business today if Bill shows up with an enthusiasm so directed ─ but I doubt this.

I lied down again from about 12:30 p.m. - 2:00 p.m.; I don't know if I slept any, but I did attain a deep restful state.

Bed at 9:00 p.m.
Did I not leave my room at all that day, nor speak to a soul?  I had no telephone.

My old friend William Alan Gill lived in a bachelor suite maybe three or four blocks from my room.  We had previously arranged together to bake bread from scratch at my mother Irene Dorosh's home when she and her husband Alex were away to visit Reno, but Bill got distracted and had to beg off.

I persevered, and had an amazing outcome ─ my first try at baking yeast-raised bread. 

Reading that account of my day confirms just how alone I have been for so much of my life.  Even today, though I am married, and have two adult stepsons and my younger brother Mark living in this house, I still feel mostly alone.

Sometimes I miss having friends ─ someone to drink with other than my too-often already besotted brother.

But this fruitless life appears to be what God wills for me.  I will not live it into my 70s, however, if nothing changes for the positive.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

The Imprtance of Vagal Tone │ Aspartame Implicated in Weight Gain, Glucose Intolerance │ Inclisiran: Another Risky PCSK9 Inhibitor

It was 11:10 p.m. when I found myself in bed last night.  I never did get outside earlier that evening to try my hand at shoveling the snow from the driveway.  By the time I had proofread and edited yesterday's post, it was nigh on 8:00 p.m. ─ time to get prepared for my evening of T.V. and drinks.

It froze overnight, and the snow is so hard-packed that a light person can walk over it without breaking into the crust.

Of course, any tire tracks made yesterday when the snow was fresh are now ice and frozen to the concrete of the driveway.  I tried some shoveling early this afternoon, but things will have to thaw a little to loosen up the hold the ice has on that concrete.

The day had been brilliantly sunny, but a stretch of cloud was coming in by around 2:00 p.m.  I am hoping that it is merely passing through and will anon clear away and allow the sunlight to work on the driveway. 

My youngest step-son Pote and his girlfriend have been here since he came home with her last evening.

I spent the morning putting a lot of work into the new post I started on Sunday at one of my six hosted websites.  My wife Jack phoned me ere I had quite finished up early in the noon-hour ─ she wanted me to take a container of spaghetti sauce out of the fridge icebox.

That means that she intends coming home at some point today.

I took some photos of our new-fallen snow yesterday morning before it was yet 8:00 a.m. ─ there was not much on the ground as yet.  However, I was concerned that it might start raining and wash away what we had, so I took the photos.

This morning between 10:07 a.m. - 10:10 a.m., I took more photos of the same areas, leading off with a sweep across our front yard beginning with the driveway:

And then I went out to the backyard sundeck to do the same sort of sweep:

I took this final photo at 10:30 a.m. after going out to that little shed for some cold exercise ─ obviously, I was facing towards the house for the photo:

It is nigh 3:00 p.m. now, and that cloud that was rolling in has covered the sky.  In an hour, it will be getting dark, so there will be no further driveway melt today ─ nor shoveling on my part.

Before moving on, a check of my AdSense account before starting today's post revealed that I had earned absolutely nothing yesterday.  Today, though, I saw 5¢ ─ and all thanks to the Mexican location of this blog (siamlongings.blogspot.mx).   


Have you much familiarity with the vagus nerve?  And how about vagal tone?

If you find yourself lacking here, this essay on vagal tone ought to generate some considerable interest, despite the frivolous title:


The article does a good job of opening one's eyes to the importance of vagal tone.

If you actually read it and find yourself wanting to learn more about optimizing you vagal tone, I can suggest these two tutorials:



Don't just jump by that first reference ─ it is sub-titled "8 habits that stimulate your vagus nerve and keep you calm, cool, and collected."


A recently published study has found that the diet-sweetener aspartame "leads to an accelerated weight gain" and glucose intolerance, among other things.  And glucose intolerance leads to conditions like metabolic syndrome and diabetes.

Here is a report on the study:


And you can learn a whole lot more about the harms of aspartame ─ and why we need to be utterly done with it ─ here:


HSIonline.com offers some tips on how to avoid the toxic chemical:  Aspartame linked to obesity, heart disease and diabetes.


I posted yesterday about a drug called Repatha, but there is yet another new PCSK9 inhibitor drug also being hyped for use with statins ─ this one is called Inclisiran:



All glowing and wonderful!

But an editorial of sorts at JacksDailydose.com bring up a powerful scenario:  Risky cholesterol injection is Big Pharma’s next big cash cow
The research team claims the drug has similar side effects to statins. But when you suffer from, say, SEVERE and DEBILITATING muscle pain, at least you can quit the statin and, in most cases, feel better fast.

With an injection, there could be no stopping it. This thing lasts four to six months… and that means you could be in absolute agony for the entire time.

That’s not a treatment.

That’s a nightmare!
No kidding!

Our bodies ─ and especially our brains ─ need cholesterol.  People have to quit being so darned paranoid about it.


Well, it is 4:28 p.m.  I did not expect to get this far into my post, thinking that my wife Jack would show up before I was done.

Perhaps I can finish with this journal entry of 41 years ago, back when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.  

I was renting the small affair in a house located on Ninth Street, just a house or two up from Third Avenue.

On the day's agenda was a hike to visit my father Hector at the apartment he shared with his girlfriend Maria Fadden at 6038 Imperial Street in Burnaby

These visits were always uncertain in that I never knew quite what to expect once I arrived ─ the two had an alcohol problem.

My bedtime the evening prior to this entry was 7:00 p.m.
SATURDAY, December 6, 1975

I got up at 3:00 a.m., having slept quite well and feeling much like trying for even more.

About 3:45 a.m. I left for my 12 laps, dropping off Medieval Warfare at the library; no wind, but a heavy frost and road ice prevailed.

I sort of wasted my morning; I thought I'd get to dad's bright and early, planning to spend 10 or so hours there.  Well, I braved the ice, and arrived there perhaps 9:15 a.m.

They were home, up, and drunk.

I could hear them growling at each other as I stood listening outside the door.  So I regretfully turned about and came home.  That's like walking to mom's.

Dad had said they weren't going to waste their cash on drink this month, planning on a good Christmas.

I lied down from 10:45 a.m. - 12:15 p.m. for a nap; I awoke after what seemed a long sleep, with false ideas on where I was at the time.

A day, again, alone.

Seems I'll bed at 7:00 p.m.
I ran those very early laps at the New Westminster Secondary School track.

My mother Irene Dorosh lived out in Surrey ─ it normally took me about 1½ hours of fast walking to reach her home.  Thus, I suppose that the walk to my father's apartment from my room must have been about 45 minutes.

I recently had deeply enjoyed a couple of visits to my father's apartment ─ it sounds as if I truly had expected another such delightful spending of my day.

That's too bad.  I just hope that my father was not expecting me.

By the way, I never mentioned it in the early part of today's post, but I had another might of rather wild dreams.  Strangely, they did not always seem to involve me, nor anyone I knew.

Any role I might have had in some of them was secondary at best, if I was even represented.  

One dream even featured an athletic female secret agent of sorts who had a French name.

How unusual is it to dream of a cast of character unknown to one's self, and not even have a role in the dream that can be remembered?

One last thing ─ it involves those snowy photos from this morning that I posted earlier in this post.

Google has gone ahead and created two panoramas from them ─ one of the front yard, and a second of the back yard:

Monday, December 5, 2016

Germy ATM Keypads │ Red Flagging Repatha and Other PCSK9 Inhibitors │ Rates of Medication-Related ER Visits By Older Americans Escalating

Last evening I managed to make it to bed around 10:58 p.m.  However, I rose three times during the night ─ twice to use the bathroom and drink water, and one time more just to drink water.

I had some bizarre dreams ─ I think for the second consecutive night.  However, not enough of them remain in my memory to allow any recounting.

It was after 7:30 a.m. when I finally rose for the day.  As I dressed, I realized that we had gotten some snow, and it was still lightly snowing.

I wasted little time in going downstairs to take the following images ─ I was a little shaky with this first one displaying our driveway:

Notice the kids' tether ball in the tree in the next two photos?  That thing has been there for at least three years:

The next two complete the sweep of our front lawn:

Then I went to the sliding glass door leading to our backyard sundeck and took these:

This next photo is of the trees just beyond the covered barbecue that you can see in the preceding photo ─ I simply raised the camera to capture the view above it:

And then I did the same for the small backyard shed:

The photos were taken between 7:46 a.m. and 7:48 a.m. ─ that is mostly why things seem so gloomy. But I wasn't sure if the snow would turn to rain soon and start washing the snow away.

I needn't have worried ─ by mid-afternoon there were at least three times as much snow on the ground.

However, by then I didn't feel like taking further photos ─ I had been out trudging in the stuff and was no longer enamored of it.

I left here at 11:39 a.m. and first hiked the two or so miles to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley to buy a bottle of rye whisky ─ the bottle of liquor I had on hand was just about empty.

Then I trudged alongside the King George to do some shopping at Save-On-Foods.

Between those two businesses, my hands were dreadfully stiff and stinging from the wet cold, so once I was in the latter store I took my time to allow them to warm up again ─ and there was some fierce stinging of the fingers attendant with that as the warm blood coursed through the near-frozen digits.

But the hike for home thereafter was not as bad ─ it must have been the open exposure on the main highway that was at fault.

I think it may have been as late as 1:39 p.m. by the time I was back, so I was gone for two hours.

I was looking forward to cooking up some ground beef, but my youngest step-son Pote was still in bed ─ the freezer where my meat is hidden away is in a storage room and accessed via a sliding glass door immediately at the head of Pote's bed.

And I didn't even know for certain if he was alone in bed.

I am supremely fed up with his recent working hours.  I don't need the 19-year-old here all bloody day long ─ I want him working during the day again and out of here.

I need my privacy and solitude back during the day in the work week ─ this utterly sucks.  I can't get anything done.

His mother ─ my wife Jack ─ phoned me around 2:30 p.m., and says that she would pay us a visit from Vancouver tomorrow.

That suits me ─ I certainly don't want her driving around in the miserable conditions out there today.


A study has been published giving the results of an extensive CSI-like assessment of the ATM keypads of New York City ─ apparently the samplings were taken back in June and July of 2014.

You have probably heard how filthy cash is.  Now you can keep this in mind the next time you're using an ATM keypad:



Those two references don't sound too alarmist, but this next one goes further:


So is this protozoan "species closely related to the human parasite Trichomonas vaginalis" harmless to people?  According to the study, the species that was found on the keypads "was originally isolated from avian sources."


 How does this headline sound?


Darned promising, right?  The 'miracle' drug is Repatha.

Well, here's an alternate report on that drug:


That second report identified the danger associated with PCSK9 medications, of which Repatha is one.  This article from July 2013 went far deeper into just how dangerous PCSK9 medications are:


That same website had more to offer in August of last year:

The 'Pharmaceutical Industry' is not in business to do anything but make a profit.  That anyone might ever actually be helped by any of their products is merely a nice secondary outcome.


Despite the title of these two reports on adverse drug events, it does not limit itself to casing just seniors:


But seniors too often take far, far too many medications.
With the number of drugs seniors take these days, it's almost a given they'll end up in the hospital sooner or later as a result.
That quote is from this HSIonline.com related article:  Experts reveal there’s no safe way to take multiple Rx meds.

It's heart-breaking to see trusting, frail elderly women and men taking out a pill dispenser with filled segmented ompartments for various medications that are to be taken throughout any specific day.

How can doctors ethically do this to our most vulnerable populations?

Modern medicine has taken a most lamentable course.


My youngest step-son Pote took off afoot just before 3:30 p.m. ─ no doubt to catch a bus and go to work.  I suspect that he was too timid to try and drive his older brother Tho's car in our nasty weather.

Anyway, I was at last able to get out some frozen regular ground beef and slow-cook myself an excellent feed of the beef with onions, many garlic cloves, mushrooms, a chopped-up large parsnip, a chopped-up portion of a rutabaga, and a chopped-up potato.  It was all well-spiced, although I entirely forgot to add some frozen hot red chili peppers.

By the way, Google took it upon itself to amalgamate the photos that I took of the front yard this morning, creating a somewhat distorted panorama that I find rather interesting:

It is unfortunate that the image is so compressed.

It is time now for me 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 renting the small affair in a house located on Ninth Street near to Third Avenue.

I was only working one day a week at the time ─ generally Friday ─ for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

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

In those years, S.A.N.E. was housed in a building that no longer exists, but which was part of a string of buildings that were along Carnarvon Street right where the New Westminster Skytrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon.
FRIDAY, December 5, 1975

Boy, did I have a rough sleep; I finally decided to get up some minutes beyond 2:30 a.m.

I left about 3:20 a.m. for my dozen laps, which seem to be affecting the shin area of my legs to the point of concern; I mailed 3 letters on the way there (Olympic Lottery ticket order; book order; letter to Jean), finding the night back to its frosty-type cold.

A morn of weakness:  February's bottom-view about 9:15 a.m.; complete, but not intense.

At S.A.N.E., I arrived just in time to leave with substitute driver, again, Joe; we made an easy pick up, then came back to do a Vancouver to West Vancouver moving job.

Two girls in a car led us after we picked up Bill Sevenko, who said Bill Anderson has been home from the hospital about a week, and is well enough to procure his wine.

The moving job was not intolerable, and the 3 of us lunched in Vancouver at McDonald's (I had a Big Mac and 8 ozs of milk) gratis.

After that job, we returned to S.A.N.E., and I did nothing else, being discharged by Verna and getting home, at latest, by 4:00 p.m.  I took with me a paperback:  Those About to Die by Daniel P. Mannix, an account of the Roman Games.

Bed at 7:00 p.m.

In my mail box was a proof of registry card for the election next Friday; it's Provincial. 
I had been doing a stretch of morning runs at the New Westminster Secondary School track, getting there extremely early to avoid any students.

One of the letters I mailed on my way to the track was a letter to Jean M. Martin (nΓ©e Black), an American pen-pal I had.

After I was back home, I later got led astray by some pornography.

Usually my driver at S.A.N.E. was Esther St. Jean, a truly fun gal in her early 40s.  But now for the second consecutive Friday, "Joe" drove.  I am no longer certain, but I think that he may have been an extremely large young Aboriginal Canadian lad.  Bill Sevenko was an older chap who was of late usually my co-swamper, but I can no longer recall what he looked like, nor even working with him.  And I have absolutely no memory of Bill Anderson.  

I do not recall this specific moving job, but such were fairly common.  We just needed to be assured that the job was manageable, and not something overwhelming. 

One of the guys I was working with that day must have sprung for my lunch at McDonald's.

Verna (Williams?) seemed to have a managerial capacity at S.A.N.E.   

If I had been up since just after 2:30 a.m., I am confident that I would not have any trouble getting to sleep at 7:00 p.m.

Well, maybe I will check outside now and see about shoveling the driveway if the snow has stopped.

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Will the FDA Cave and Allow Off-Label Use of Drugs and Medical Devices? │ America's Sinking Health Care │ A-Fib Patients Taking Warfarin at Big Risk of Dementia

Not only did I have yesterday's latter evening all to myself, but I spent the night in the house all alone, too.

It was nice having the Christmas lights on as I watched T.V. in the otherwise dark.

But such a cold day today ─ clear skies and brilliant sunshine notwithstanding!

I can't understand why there is no frost.  Can it possibly be that this is a dry cold?  That would be most unusual for these parts.

I probably should have gotten out today and done some grocery shopping, but I just didn't feel like it.  Besides, setting up a new post at one of my six hosted websites took me into the early afternoon.

Also, part of my supper last evening were three slices of the pizza my eldest step-son Tho had bought, and I sprinkled turmeric over them.  And now my fingernails, the latter stretches of some of my fingers, and the unshaven area around my mouth are stained yellow ─ dramatically so.

I would need to do a good cleansing ere venturing anywhere.  And again, I just don't feel like it.

Since there really is nothing else to report thus far about my day, I will post some more photos that my wife Jack took while in Bangkok ─ I think on October 29, the first day that the Grand Palace was opened to the Thai populace to file through and view the funeral urn of their late King Bhumibol Adulyadej.

You can read about it at capitalfm.co.ke, if you are unacquainted with the event:  Tens of thousands queue to pay respects to late Thai king.

I have yet to learn if Jack and those from her home village of Nong Soong who were there with her were able to travel to Bangkok from Udon Thani for free ─ I had read that at least some trains were transporting people to the capital without cost.

Obviously the thousands of people need to eat, and Jack took a number of photos in an extensive area where food was apparently prepared, prompting me again to wonder if it was being offered to the people for free.

I see that it is the Ruamkatanyu Foundation who are involved in those immediate photos above.

The Sirivadhanabhakdi Foundation (as identified on the edging of the tent roofing in the photo above) was founded by Charoen Sirivadhanabhakdi, "Thailand's second richest entrepreneur."

And I shall stop there for today ─ there are just too many more photos to possibly include here.


You may be somewhat familiar with off-label use of a drug or medical device.  It is commonplace.

In the States, the FDA recently heard submissions by pharmaceutical companies and medical device makers who petitioned to be given freer reign in promoting their products for uses other than what the FDA has thus far approved.

There were others present who staunchly testified as to why this should never be done.

This is an in-depth report on what went on over those two days last month:

When it comes to medical devices, Madris Tomes, a former public health analyst with the FDA, who now runs her own company Device Events, testified that she used the agency's own database to pull data about adverse events related to off-label uses.
She found that for the past 20 years or so, there have been at least 23,809 adverse events reports that reference off-label use of a medical device. Over 14,000 involved injuries, and 777 patients died. And that's only reported incidents, which are probably on the low side: A 2009 report from the Office of the Inspector General found that only 14% of adverse events are reported to the FDA, and 99% of those reports went through the manufacturer first.
The situation with medications is probably as bad.  As NewMarketHealth.com stresses when it comes to prescriptions from one's doctor:
...You should ask him if the drug is being prescribed off-label. Find out what the med was actually approved for and why he thinks it will help your condition.

Many grieving family members wish their loved ones had done that. Only now it's too late.

I recently read a good evaluation of the U.S.'s medical system ─ the piece should rile just about any American who reads it:


Why do politics and graft have to figure into just about everything that goes on down there?

The article referenced this October 2015 report at CommonwealthFund.orgUS Spends More on Health Care Than Other High-Income Nations But Has Lower Life Expectancy, Worse Health.

I believe that I recently read that the life expectancy of Americans has been going down over the last few years (as evaluated by insurance actuaries).

It's impossibly dire.  People have to learn to think and research for themselves ─ they cannot rely on assurances about the safety of basics like food and water.

It just isn't true. 


There is bad news for people taking warfarin and who suffer from atrial fibrillation (a-fib) ─ they are at double or even triple the risk of developing dementia than are other folks taking warfarin, according to a recent study.

These two reports tell of the study:



Perhaps the advice given in the related report at JacksDailyDose.com merits consideration:  Warfarin ups dementia risk in a-fib patients.

I just can't imagine needing to take such a drug.  I thank God that I have what health I do.


I am going to close off 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 renting the small unit in a house located on Ninth Street near Third Avenue.

I had made it to bed at 6:50 p.m. the evening prior to this journal entry.
THURSDAY, December 4, 1975

I got up about 3:20 a.m. feeling stiff and underslept.

About 4:00 a.m. I left for my 12 laps, dropping off the supermarket food book at the library and mailing 3 letters (for lottery tickets, some gifts from TP Products, and to Ron); the weather was cool and windy.

I walked to Woodward's and bought 2 money orders:  $10 for an Olympic Lottery ticket; $22.91 American for B. Peppin's Fantastic Age of Fantasy Illustrations and some paperbacks.

I returned home by way of Bill's in order to leave him a note suggesting we bake bread Sunday at his place; but his car was not there.

Fooling with my oven as I have lately been doing, I actually got it going!  Now Bill won't be so necessary.

I typed up Jean a letter.

From about 3:00 p.m. - 4:30 p.m. I rested up in preparation for 2 hours of TV tonight.

I'll be retiring at 9:00 p.m.
I rose early partly to do my running at the New Westminster Secondary School track.  I needed to be long done before any students started showing up for school.

One of the letters I had mailed was to a U.S. pen-pal I had named Ron Bain.  I was later to type up a letter to another U.S. pen-pal named Jean M. Martin (nΓ©e Black).

The trip to Woodward's was later that morning.  It no longer exists, but it used to be located where the Royal City Centre Mall is now on Sixth Avenue.

My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite around three or four blocks from where I was living.

I had just the previous Saturday created a wonderful batch of bread that I mixed up entirely from scratch ─ no shortcuts whatsoever.  I think it was my first experience, but I had done it at my mother Irene Dorosh's home off in Surrey.   

I was hoping that Bill would want to get involved so we could use his stove.  This is the first time I mentioned that my oven was not functioning; but somehow, I managed to correct it.
Now I could do my own baking anytime I wanted ─ and also use it for cooking things.