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Monday, September 12, 2016

Medical Professionals Who Shill for Pharmaceutical and Medical Device Manufacturers │ Medications at Fault for Breaking Seniors' Bones

As often happens, my involvement with E-mails last night kept me out of bed until the wrong side of midnight ─ I think it was 12:07 a.m. when I managed to retire.

It was a typical night ─ three or four hours of initial sleep, and then intermittent snatches of sleep thereafter.

It may have been approaching 7:45 a.m. when I checked the time and then rose for the day.

My youngest step-son Pote was up ─ his girlfriend had spent the night with him and left earlier this morning.

I was expecting him to be heading off to work anon as well, and so I began the wait ─ I wanted him gone so that I could attempt my first-ever washer-change for the bathtub taps.  The faucet has been draining for at least a month, I would say.

It is so bad now that if I stopped the bathtub drain, I bet the tub would be filled in under two hours.  And that's a lot of wasted water.

Anyway, I got to work compiling content into the edit of an old post I've been working on since since Saturday at my website My Retirement Dream, but I'm not going to have the edit completed until Wednesday.

The morning wore on, and still Pote was here.

Then ahead of 11:00 a.m., he suddenly took off ─ to catch his bus to work, I thought.

But he was back before noon.

He never did go to work ─ I can never depend upon his work schedule, it shifts about so much.

I wanted to do some local shopping, so I readied and by about 12:20 p.m. I was on the sunny trek of about four blocks to the Cedar Hills Shopping Plaza at 128th Street & 96th Avenue here in Surrey.

I had a Rogers cellphone plan payment to mail just in front of Shopper's Drug Mart ─ the payment is due on Monday.  Then, having done that, I next went and did my shopping at No Frills.

Included in that shopping was the purchase of some ground beef ─ I had visions of cooking up a great feed of it for my breakfast/lunch once Pote went to work.

Well, of course that never happened.  I boiled a couple of eggs and made a 'quick fix' of a meal instead.

The amount of meat was just over 3/4s of a kilogramme (or nearly a pound and 10 3/4 ounces) ─ too much for one meal.  So I split it into two portions, and hid one of them away in the fridge icebox ─ I will transfer it to the freezer and bury it out of sight when neither of the boys is present, if it remains undiscovered where it is.

I have the other portion here in my 'computer room.'  I'll cook it for supper.

Both of my step-sons are working and have more money to blow than I do, so I am not wasting my pension money buying a rare treat of meat just so they can cook it for themselves.  The older lad Tho is the worst where meat-gluttony is concerned ─ he's constantly trying to bulk up his musculature.

I could not let the day's sunshine go to waste, so at 2:31 p.m. attired in just cut-offs, I commenced a session of 40 minutes of sitting out in the backyard in a chair facing into the Sun.

And that about encapsulates my day thus far.  It is 4:15 p.m. as I type these words.

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I have a fairly old family photo that I want to post now.  The description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the scanned image filed:

This is my mother Irene Dorosh.

I have no details on the photo, and can only suggest that it was taken during the second half of the 1960s.

However, at that time her surname was not yet Dorosh.

I am conflicted trying to recall if this is the home she shared with the man who was to become her husband Alex Dorosh; or if this was some earlier residence that my younger brother Mark and I would have been living in with her.

I will presume the former.  And if it is indeed that house, she was posed at the right side of the house, with 90th Avenue just beyond.

The house no longer exists, but its full address was 12106 - 90th Avenue in Surrey, B.C.

There may have been an evergreen as is displayed in the photo, but there was also a big willow tree in the front yard.

I see no indication of one.

I am also unsure about the thick growth of bush on the other side of the paved road ─ I think that there should be a house in view.
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I hope that it is no secret to you that many pharmaceutical corporations and medical device manufacturers have medical professionals at their disposal ─ heavily bought and paid for ─ who will speak authoritatively (and outright lie) on behalf of the products that their masters are in the business of selling.

These professionals are shameless.

And apparently, of most murky character.
Physicians whose state boards have sanctioned them for harming patients, unnecessarily prescribing addictive drugs, bilking federal insurance programs and even sexual misconduct nonetheless continue to receive payments for consulting, giving talks about products, and more. 
That is the opening stanza from the following August 23 report that ought to disgust you ─ just keep it in mind that next time you see some commercial with a medical professional extolling the virtues of any sort of medication or some new medical device that will likely be tied in with a surgical procedure:


What most perturbs me is how gullible so many people are where medications are concerned ─ especially the elderly, who can be taking a huge handful of various prescriptions each and every day.

So many of the medications are actually dangerous ─ they can not only cause seniors to suffer imbalances that result in bone-breaking falls, but the medications can even be weakening these seniors' bones at a time of their lives when bone integrity is crucially important.

And even after a senior does suffer one or more broken bones due to a fall ─ or just some minor stumble or bump that a weakened bone cannot bear ─ the same problematic medications keep getting prescribed.

A study has proven that this is rampant ─ check out this August 22 report on the study's results:

THE GLOBE AND MAIL

These next two sources also delve into this very topic and make some proactive observations:

HSI Health Sciences Institute

Daily Dose

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Dang it!

Earlier today I performed a fairly measured session of 26 squat thrusts ─ I do them more slowly than this young chap:


I take a few seconds between each one, for it is form that I am after.

When I bring my feet back up towards my hands, I get them much closer than he does ─ in fact, I bring them so near that I land flat-footed, and not on the balls of my feet.

I should also explain that I do have cartilage issues with both knees; and I had surgery in November 2010 to reattach my left leg's quadriceps tendon back onto my knee cap (patella) from whence it had been ripped entirely clear. 

So speed is not really something I can apply anymore at the age of 66 ─ I am just too damaged.

That is why I go for form and try to perform each repetition rather strictly.

But I seem to have bothered the lowermost part of my spine at some point early into the session when jumping my feet back up towards my hands.

That lowermost area of my spine doesn't hurt, but it is very sensitive and affects my ability to stand straight and walk.

If there are vertebrae down there that normally have little flexion and generally remain pretty much stationary with one another, I may have caused a couple of them to experience an uncharacteristic stretching apart from one another. 

I don't know if that makes sense to anyone.

Anyway, I just finished trying to heave a 42½-pound dumbbell with my left arm from shoulder-height to overhead, but the strain of that weight on the affected region of my lower spine was shockingly uncomfortable ─ enough that it widened my eyes and made me lower the weight almost immediately.   

As I said, there was no true pain; but the discomfort is undeniably severe, and I have no wish to incur anything worse by trying to force the issue. 

I admit to trying the hoist a couple of times ─ each resulting in somewhat shocked eye-widening; and that was instructive enough that I am laying off for today.

I want to close off today's post with an entry from 41 years ago that is taken from my old journal back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The house I was renting the room in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

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

I served as a truck swamper on their blue pick-up truck.

Their location back then was on Carnarvon Street in a building that was situated right about where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now empties out onto Carnarvon.
FRIDAY, September 12, 1975

I got up toward 5:30 a.m.

At S.A.N.E. Esther had a doctor appointment, so Gary drove; he, Bill, & I made 2 morn pick-ups that fair filled the truck with large items, then moved a woman in 1 load.

We began early, so I was unable to phone Art as a message requested when I came in this morning.

When we pulled in at S.A.N.E. after noon, Verna said he phoned for me again.  So before leaving for my lunch of Harvest Crunch, I phoned to learn his problem.

He wanted me to visit tonight cause Angie's daughter was visiting from the East.

I lied, saying I would try, but Mark might come for me instead.

Going home to eat, I tried to get a TV Guide at the store just above Auckland; there were none, so I tried for the next store.  But Art found me.

Everyone was in the truck supposedly heading for the smorgasbord; I was invited, but declined due to the difficulty of working thereafter.

I was driven to the store where I got my Guide.

Well, I met the girl, so I shall not worry about tonight.  She seemed plain.

Back at S.A.N.E., Esther was driving, and we did but a bit of work.

Sinton was to call at 3:30 p.m., otherwise our day would have ended at 2:30 p.m.  We had to wait and learn his reason.

So Bill suggested the Dunsmuir, where I bought us 2 apiece, and he 1.

The day was really hot.

When we returned, we were discharged.

I was home about 3:30 p.m.

David came knocking at 4:00 p.m.  He scrawled on my door a request I visit this even.

I composed a note for tomorrow morn stating I came by but felt it was too early to knock.

Bed at 9:30 p.m.
Esther St. Jean ─ a very nice woman in her early 40s ─ usually drove the S.A.N.E. truck when I worked.  Her morning substitute "Gary" may have been the boyfriend of Esther's youngest daughter Melody. 

My co-swamper was Bill Sevenko, an older chap.  I only know this now because I had written his surname in a recent journal entry.  I hate to admit it, but I now have no memory at all of the man.

Art Smith also worked part-time for S.A.N.E.  He was in his early 40s, and we had worked together often enough that a friendship of sorts had developed, and he often had me over at his home to drink with him.

He and his wife Angelina (Angie) were from Nova Scotia, and they had three kids.  This mention of a daughter who had come out to see her is news to me now ─ I don't remember it.

I was uncomfortable about meeting people; and I had recently begun trying to get to bed early so that I could also rise very early in the morning.  If I had gone to Art's home that evening, it would have likely been a very late night.  

Thus the lie about my younger brother Mark potentially coming over to pick me up and take me somewhere.

Verna (Williams?) seemed to be the manager of S.A.N.E.  She might have been 30 or so, and was fairly attractive with a svelte, athletic physique.  

She was a so-called Aboriginal Canadian ─ several of the gals working at S.A.N.E. were; and all of them were extremely comfortable for me to be with.  I liked them, and they liked me.

Another thing I do not remember anymore is frequently going to my room for lunch ─ on this day, my fare was to be Quaker Harvest Crunch cereal. 

I had to look at a Google map to find Auckland Street, so I sure do not remember the two stores I visited in search of a TV Guide.

It would have been too uncomfortable for me to have gone to the smorgasbord with Art and crew ─ and it was true that if I had eaten at the smorgasbord, I would have incapacitated myself for any serious work thereafter.

I was a glutton.

I have no idea who the heck "Sinton" was, nor why co-worker Bill and I had to hang around to find out what might be in store for us.  Maybe it was someone who might have needed  help getting moved, for we did a lot of that if the task was manageable with the pick-up truck (its cargo bed was enhanced for height by removable wooden sidings). 

The Dunsmuir Hotel beer parlour or pub was practically next door to S.A.N.E.

My 4:00 p.m. visitor after I was back at my room was my old friend Philip David Prince, but I was in no mood for him after my day.  David lived nearby, so it was no big inconvenience in that sense that I feigned being absent.

David would have stayed overlong, and I had things I wanted to do such as an exercise routine and maybe some reading.  And I wanted to get to bed early, of course.

The note I planned to leave him "stating I came by but felt it was too early to knock," was likely meant to explain that it was too early in the a.m. when I came by ─ but I was not going to try to visit him.  I would have just left the note without knocking.

There was too much else I wanted to do than be tied up with a visit that would have been difficult to extricate myself from.

I badly miss David today ─ I wish that he had lived to grow old with me.  I had known him since Grade VIII during the 1962/1963 school term at Newton Junior High School in Surrey.

But he died in 1984.

I have no friends alive and near anymore.

I badly miss camaraderie, and having someone to do things with.  
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