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Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Don't Force Yourself to Drink Any Set Amount of Water │ 10-Minute Walks After Eating Reduce Blood Sugar Levels │ Inflammation and Depression Linked

Very early last evening, I tried Line for the first time to see if I could 'Chat' with my wife Jack over in Thailand.

I had gone through the laborious process of getting the application downloaded onto my computer ─ it was an effort because I was synchronizing my iPhone 5's Line account with the account for the PC download.

So really, I only had the one Line account that was based upon the E-mail address I had provided.

Anyway, it was something after 7:00 p.m. here where I live in Western Canada, and thus it was 14 hours later in Thailand where Jack is ─ it would have been a little after 11:00 a.m. today for her.

But I got no response to the brief text communication that I sent.

And I never noticed any response the rest of the evening.

I think I made it to bed ahead of 11:30 p.m.

Well, after midnight I was awakened by the unusual sounds of my iPhone 5 ringing ─ it seemed different than its normal ringing.

Initially I let several rings go unheeded, and then I reacted and picked the phone up where it wwas lying nearby my bed on the carpet.

I tapped the screen of my phone to gain access, but nothing happened.  I tried a few times.

And then the ringing stopped.  I think it was 12:17 a.m.

I still don't trust that the phone won't connect with our carrier Rogers Wireless if I use the phone's Line 'app' to make a call to Thailand; and since I wasn't interest in waking myself completely up by going to another room where I keep my computer ─ turning it on, etc. ─ I just sought a return to sleep. 

I have only spoken with her once in the two weeks that she has been gone.  My youngest step-son Pote used his own cellphone's Line 'app' to call her early last Friday evening, I believe it was ─ he had made a video-call.

She's got the Line 'app' on her phone, and is using a SIM card that she bought in Thailand to be free of Rogers Wireless's exorbitant charges that would apply if she was relying upon their service.

Perhaps I will give her another try early this evening using my computer.

Anyway, after that interruption in my sleep, I managed to resume slumber, and next awoke when I became aware around 4:40 a.m. that I was hearing my younger brother Mark showering in preparation for his workday.

So I took a bathroom break, waiting until I heard his shower stop ere I flushed the toilet.

Thereafter I only managed snatches of sleep.  It may have been 7:25 a.m. when I decided to get up, but my eyes were not at all rested.

Alas, I was to find that Pote and his girlfriend both must have today off work.  They only got up to make themselves something to eat in the latter morning, and then it was back to bed.

To their credit, last evening they included me in their supper preparations, and I was brought a plate bearing a boneless breast of chicken, some small yellow potato slices, a dollop of kernels of corn, and a little white rice with a spicy sauce.

It was very tasty ─ I ate it in the darkened living room as I watched some Android TV Box television.  Mark never got home until later.  

But I would still prefer being home without them ─ most definitely in the daytime.

I spent some of the morning continuing work on the edit of an old post at one of my hosted websites; and not too long after 11:00 a.m., I had returned to bed, and was to be there for probably better than an hour.

The morning and the first half of the afternoon have displayed a remarkable amount of sunshine.

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I once had a co-worker ─ an overweight lass ─ who was always drinking water because she believed that it would help her lose weight, and  probably help to keep her system purified. 

She could commonly be seen taking hearty slugs of water out of a large plastic bottle ─ something she took with her everywhere.

A recently published study has found that the brain becomes stimulated with activity when we persist in drinking more water than we need, and it throws up a "swallowing inhibition" to make it as difficult as possible to continue drinking.

I know that anytime I drink water when I am a little thirsty, the first few swallows are practically delicious, but the water quickly becomes downright unpalatable.  That's when I stop.

Here are a few reports on the study:

ScienceAlert.com

BBC.com

SMH.com.au

Sci-News.com
Conclusion

The results of this study provide insight into the functional organization of drinking behavior by demonstrating the existence of a strong inhibitory influence that limits excess drinking in humans. Subjective ratings of swallowing effort provided psychometric confirmation of swallowing inhibition during the oversated condition. Regional brain responses during the preswallow period revealed an increase in frontal activity for the oversated condition compared with the thirsty condition, a result consistent with the recruitment of frontal cortex to overcome swallowing inhibition so that compliant drinking can continue. Additional evidence for this proposition was also provided by a regression analysis involving the oversated condition, which revealed that swallowing effort and not the hedonic evaluation of liquid taste predicted activity in the prefrontal cortex during this condition. Subjective ratings of swallowing effort, comparison of brain activity between physiological conditions, and the association of prefrontal activity with ratings of swallowing effort during the oversated condition therefore all provide converging evidence that swallowing becomes inhibited if more water has been drunk than is necessary to restore fluid balance. 
I actually drink very little water of itself.  The most plain water that I drink is taken in during the night when I have a bathroom break.  I might pull down 20 or more hearty swallows straight from the tap.

I never drink that much water in the daytime.  I have my two hot beverages each day, usually.  And then my beer in the evening.

If I ever feel a bit of thirst otherwise in the day, I find that three or four small swallows ─ usually straight from a tap ─ suffice. Any more just doesn't taste good. 

I think my former co-worker believed that she had to consume a set quantity of water over and above any other liquids that she might drink in the day, because they were not purifying her.  

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This next item is one I just recently included mention of, but for any type 2 diabetics (or anyone else) with the time to follow the recommendation, it is most definitely worth knowing about.

Researchers have found that if a 10-minute walk is engaged in within five minutes after eating a meal, the activity reduces blood sugar levels by 12%.

And three 10-minute walks in a day were much more effective than saving up and having one half-hour walk that day.

NHS.uk

Consumer.HealthDay.com

In conclusion, while the existing data are arguably sufficient to recommend at least 10 min of walking after meals, additional research would enable this advice to be further refined. Many patients with type 2 diabetes mellitus may not be able or willing to undertake physical activity of greater intensity. However, it would be helpful to know whether a longer walk would produce a greater benefit when undertaken after the meal providing the highest amount of carbohydrate each day. A study of longer duration would demonstrate if the reduction in postprandial blood glucose levels translates into an overall improvement in glycaemic control. Perhaps most important of all would be research aimed at identifying means of achieving adherence with advice to increase physical activity.
Of course, having a location fit for walking in certainly helps ─ one of the references displayed a pair of ladies off in some rural-type setting, while the other depicted a pair of ladies strolling a deserted beach.
 
I don't have type 2 diabetes as far as I know ─ nor even prediabetes, I hope.  Otherwise, I would be in something of a fix.  With nothing but traffic-choked streets, and endless homes and other buildings around, I could never dare to brave three 10-minute walks each day.  

I hate it out there. There is no quiet...no calm.

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A final study I will touch upon today dealt with depression, and how inflammation can have a large role in the onset of the debilitating condition.

Unfortunately, the study's focus became fixated upon anti-cytokine medication ─ the sort used to treat various autoimmune diseases ─ to reduce the inflammation and thus relieve the depression.

At least the study accepted that not every depressed patient would benefit:
These results suggest inflammatory cytokines may have a key role in the pathogenesis of depression and that anti-cytokine drugs may be effective for some patients with depression, particularly treatment-resistant cases characterised by increased inflammation.  
Here are some reports on that study ─ it is a review or analysis of other studies, actually:

EurekAlert.org

NewScientist.com

LiveScience.com

The curcumin of tumeric is known to reduce inflammation ─ I would pursue that route, rather than pop meds. 

A rather complex report on that possibility is posted at mentalhealthdaily.comCurcumin For Depression: An Effective Treatment?

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I want to post the following photo ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the scan filed:

That is my cousin Gail and her betrothed Eugene.

The setting is most likely somewhere in Calgary, back in 1974 or 1975.
I am going to close out 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 at Third Avenue.

I see that I had a visit to my mother Irene Dorosh planned ─ I am surprised at how many of these visits were done on the weekend.  I don't remember that.  I thought that I had done them during the week so as to avoid having her husband Alex at home.  

Her home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey was a walk of about 1½ hours at a rapid clip.  However, I was starting to try and take a far longer route ─ I would follow the King George Highway all the way out to Newton.

From there, I would turn right onto the railway tracks that cut through town, and I would follow them until I was able to access the Surrey Terminus of 90th Avenue at Holt Road, very near to Scott Road (120th Street).

My mother's little house ─ which no longer exists ─ was a half-dozen or so down 90th Avenue on the right-hand side of the road:  12106 - 90th Avenue.

I had gone to bed the evening before this entry at 7:00 p.mn.
SATURDAY, November 8, 1975

I arose 3:15 a.m.

It is rather windy out, and raining, but I shall leave for a long walk to mom's, via, of course, Newton.

I misjudged; I dressed for rain, but it quit for all day practically after I was out the door.

Only mom was home when I arrived; Alex was off finally getting their repaired car.

I discovered my lamp (sun) switch is about beyond my ability to repair; I may be compelled to buy a new kit.

I had a starchy lunch with mom & Alex; Phyllis & Sherry dropped by during the latter part of my feed (Alex went out as they arrived), but didn't stay long.

Mom & Alex are going to a party tonight, and the supper there was supposed to be at 6:00 p.m.; so at 2:30 p.m. they tried to get some rest.

Bill phoned within the half hour of my departure preparation time of 3:00 p.m., but I said I would walk home, and promised to stop in at his place; his Negro friend Mike supposedly invited us to supper ─  if he called by 6:00 p.m. to confirm it.

Mom gave me a jar of jam.

Bill was home when I got there, awaiting Mike's call.

Bill said he was at Zelda's Thursday night; they have a pizza smorgasbord for $2.

Anyway, I stayed till shortly past 5:00 p.m., then came home to shower, promising to return after.  But Bill came here; our date was on. 

Mike lives just up and across the street from me.

I really detested my meal, feeling quite queasy as I dutifully spooned down the fattest and richest pork morsels I have ever tasted; finally I brought up my aversion, only to be told I was eating mutton!

Mike looked like one of the televised images of a Negro in hip garb right up to his cap; he was slim and of about my height.

Later as he showed us some photos, I learned he served 4 years in a, I believe, Congo army; he was even an Olympic runner!  He's about 36.

Bill & I stayed much later than I cared to, and we even each had a bottle of beer.

I never got to bed till a minute or so past 11:00 p.m.  
Alex had been involved in a car accident a couple of weeks earlier ─ possibly while he was coming home from work.

I used a sun lamp on my face during the months when sunning was impossible ─ I always tried to have a rosy complexion to camouflage my complexion troubles.  I had been doing this since at least 1970, I think.

It was my older maternal half-sister Phyllis who dropped in during my lunch at my mother's home, bringing along her young daughter Sherry.  

My old friend William Alan Gill had a bachelor suite in New Westminster, and was living about three or four blocks from my room.  We often got together on weekends.

He would have driven out to pick me up ─  he loved an excuse to drive, even though he wasn't particularly good at it.  However, I was determined to walk back to New Westminster ─ but not by the very long morning route.

The place "Zelda's" sort of rings a bell, but I cannot remember where it was, nor just what it was ─ a club or bar, perhaps? 

Anyway, I do recall that supper Bill and I had with the Black chap, Mike.  I never ate pork for many, many years, although bacon could tempt me.  The decision was based upon religious and health reasons. 

Ditto for shellfish.

So I was presented with this lavish meal, and all the while I believed that I was having to politely swallow down fatty, strong-tasting pork.

It really was nearly nauseating.

And then Mike caught on, and let me know that it was mutton.  And suddenly, everything was perfectly fine.

He said that he personally knew people who wouldn't touch pork, so he never blindly prepared it for guests because of that very reason.

I didn't remember that he lived that near to where I was living.  

Bill must have had Mike as a co-worker.

Whatever the case, I don't recall that I ever met the fellow again.

Before I proofread this and publish the post, I want to report hearing on the radio that we broke some sort of temperature record for this date, reaching at least 17º Celsius.
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