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Sunday, February 19, 2017

Parotid Duct Obstruction Treatment: Day Ten │ Rose Hips, Brown Fat, and Weight Loss

My bedtime last evening was especially early ─ possibly as early as 10:07 p.m. And for the past half-dozen evenings at the least, I have limited my self to just one strong (8% alcohol) beer in the evening.

I just want to be done with these antibiotic IV drips ─ ALL antibiotics, in fact, for I do not want to next have to be taking them in tablet form. Rather, I want to try and get hold of as good a probiotic as I can to help restore the population balance of ideal gut flora. I have been getting these antibiotic IV drips since February 10 ─ this is getting to be too much.

This morning at 10:00 a.m. I had another etrapenem IV drip scheduled for the Jim Pattison Outpatient Care and Surgery Centre. That medical centre is located a little over a mile from where I live.

My youngest step-son Poté had driven me Friday morning, but he has ever since seemed to be doing his best to remain isolated from me so as not to get involved in any conversation with me that are going to commit him to drive me.

And I refuse to ask him for a ride. If he wishes not be be bothered, then so damned be it.

I walked yesterday, barely arriving on time. Today, I left 20 minutes earlier, and had an easy go of it. The morning was overcast, and it was trying to start raining.

But before I left, the first thing I did after rising this morning ahead of 8:00 a.m. was to remove the dressing that a nurse had applied over the opening of the infection cavity in the swelling on the left side of my face. Around the start of this month, my main parotid gland's duct had apparently become blocked; and soon, an abscess began forming. The swelling grew to resemble a hard-boiled egg embedded in my face, until at its worst it looked as large as a very big orange.

I had self-diagnosed my trouble as temporomandibular joint dysfunction. When by about the ninth day (February 9) I finally had to resort to three Advils that day to help bear the pain, I knew I needed medical intervention. A hellishly bad night's sleep proved it.

And so on February 10, I entered the medical system.

I never did take more than three Advils a day; but I think today is now the fourth since I have stopped taking them.

But as I was saying, the first thing I did this morning after rising was to remove the dressing to try and use a shaver and trim my beard down to a stubble. All yesterday, a clear liquid had been dripping from beneath the dressing and running into the beard on my chin, and then coldly dripping down onto my neck and chest. I finally had to wear a small towel like a bib.

(I am experiencing some of that annoying draining today, too.) 

A couple of days ago, an ENT specialist had manually squeezed everything that he felt that he could from the infection ─ I had to endure it, lying on an examination table with teeth gritted and hands clenched to the table sides, all the while my booted feet were fluttering and even kicking as I growled from the pain.

He had finished his ministrations by stuffing a goodly length of an antibiotic ribbon dressing into the cavity.

Well, when I removed the dressing covering the swelling opening, that ribbon was almost entirely extruded from the cavity ─ there were about six inches of it just barely hanging on. And it was thick with pus. And so was the area of the opening ─ I had a thick stretch of it about the size of the joint of my thumb to the end of the thumbnail.

Shaving would be impossible without first trying to wash off the nearly gelled pus. And by the time I had managed most of that, I then had to wait for my beard to dry.

I finally discarded the ribbon dressing because it came loose from the infection cavity.

I had time to make an instant coffee, so I did that and tried to enjoy some of it here at my computer while the beard drying proceeded.

And eventually I was able to shave. There was one small area by the infection opening where the beard had become matted firmly to my face, and I could not work the teeth of the shaver beneath the bit of matting.

The walk to Jim Pattison was almost a pleasure compared to yesterday's hectic rush to get there on time.

I was given the antibiotic IV drip, and a nurse changed the new dressing I had covered the wound with ─ even as I was doing so earlier after shaving, there was pus oozing from the infection cavity opening.

I was to learn from the nurse that the ribbon dressing is expected to gradually be rejected from the cavity, so its inadvertent removal by me was not even an issue.

She saw the chance to use her fingers to manually expel a good quantity of pus from the infection cavity, and then she seemed to be possibly irrigating it. And finally, she wanted to pack some more ribbon dressing into it.

She isn't as ruthless as the ENT specialist, though, and didn't stuff as much into the cavity as she felt that she could and wanted to. She knew that it was hurting me like the dickens.

When she was done, I mentioned that for some reason it was burning me with pain, and she explained that this would only last some minutes ─ the ribbon dressing she had used was imbued with salt. This stuff supposedly helps draw out infectious matter.

When my swelling was again all bandaged over and I was free to go, it was something like 10:54 a.m. when I was out of the building and beginning my leisurely walk back home.

My younger brother Mark had meantime gotten home from his girlfriend Bev's residence where he had spent the night. Poté never got up until into the noon-hour. And even though he has basically been home all weekend, I have not exchanged a word with the 19-year-old since Friday. If he wants that badly to be distanced from the inconvenience of giving me rides, then so be it. I will not ask for help.

However, tomorrow is going to be difficult for me otherwise. I am scheduled for an ultrasound procedure at Jim Pattison, and have been variously directed to arrive at 7:30 a.m. or 7:45 a.m. The actual procedure is either 8:00 a.m. or 8:15 a.m.

I am not at all liking the prospect of having to get up so darned early ─ I would need to be up by 5:30 a.m. in order to comfortably be at Jim Pattison on foot by 7:30 a.m.

Technically, I expect that the ultrasound is going to be used to identify the offending sialolith or stone blocking the duct. Once it ─ or they if there are more than one ─ are found, a further course of action can be devised for it or their removal.

Note that I have already had two CT scans, so I am not in the least liking that I am having these health-threatening procedures.

Anyone interested enough to want to learn more about treating sialolithiasis can find some information at the following:
Rather compounding my logistics difficulties tomorrow is the next scheduled antiobiotic IV drip ─ it is scheduled for 12:15 p.m. at Jim Pattision. I have absolutely no desire to walk there and back home again in the morning, and then have to do it later again around midday!

When I was leaving the area at Jim Pattison today where I had gotten the IV drip, I checked in with one of the medical receptionists. She immediately recognized my dilemma, even if she did not know about my need to be walking the distance. So she said that once the ultrasound was all finished with, then I should just report back to this section and ─ the Good Lord willing ─ my IV drip just might get bumped ahead so that I would not have to show up later.

May it be!

Once the IV drip is done, I would then just go and visit my ENT specialist ─ I have an 11:15 a.m. appointment with him. He is located roughly halfway on my walk home from Jim Pattison. I don't want to walk all the way past his office, only to have to cover the same five or so blocks later to keep that appointment.

Believe me, I am really getting fed up with this stinking condition! What the hell's wrong with my body that it fails like this?

Well, again, I took no photos today, since my swelling is all covered over. But I discovered that yesterday, Google sent me a notification that it had created a collage from some of my wife Jack's photos on that day back in 2012:


My wife Jack had charged the fare to fly back to Thailand to visit her mother at the family home in Nong Soong, a large village that is likely no more than about a 15-minute drive from Udon Thani.

Here are the original photos, beginning with the three in the left column. The first photo shows Jack's nephew (Jack's brother Santi's son) being hugged by one of Jack's two sisters, Penn. Just beyond them is Jack's mother:


I have no idea who any of these boys are:


That is Jack's mother in the foreground, but I cannot confidently suggest who anyone else is:


This is a nice photo of Jack hugging her mother, while Jack's sisters Penn and Lumpoon stand on the other side of their mother:


And finally Jack by herself:


I am not entirely sure, but it is possible that those shots were all taken in the Nong Khai area ─ and maybe even on February 19, 2012, for I really doubt that Jack's camera had its date setting changed.

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I have before read that rose hips are able to enhance the development of healthy brown fat, and to even turn white fat into brown fat. Brown fat is the good body fat that has nothing to do with weight gain, and which in fact is metabolically active and expends lots of energy (calories).

White fat is the type we especially do not want accumulating around our internal organs as visceral fat. Brown fat can actually help to burn visceral fat up, if I remember correctly.

I have no idea what rose hips supplements might cost, but they certainly sound like a good choice for anyone faced with the need to drop weight. Check out this article by Dr. Marc S. Micozzi:

DrMicozzi.com

Domestic rose hips lack by far the vitamin C content that their wild relatives do, so I suspect that domestic rose hips also likely lack in the potential weight loss realm, as well.

If you happen to have access to lots of wild rose hips, just ensure that they haven't been sprayed with anything toxic, and are not growing on land that may have harmful commercial chemicals mixed into it.

I have read that the fuzzy seeds of rose hips are very irritating to our alimentary canal, and mustn't be consumed. So scoop those out before sampling the outer 'meat' encasing them.

However, please note that I have not attempted harvesting wild rose hips. I am merely relaying what I have read. If my pension was not so limited, I would splurge on the 1,000-mg supplements recommended by Dr. Micozzi...except that I might take that much a couple of times a day.

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After I had my first smallish meal of the day early this afternoon, I sought a bit of a nap. I was successful, but I doubt that I lied down for as long as an hour.

I am really not looking forward to getting up exceptionally early tomorrow morning for that ultrasound appointment.

Here to close today's post is a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

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

I had gone to bed the evening before this entry at 7:30 p.m.
THURSDAY, February 19, 1976

I arose about 5:20 a.m.

I finished typing a letter to Terri, which I'll mail on my way to the welfare office to turn in my declaration and to see about my unsent incentive cheque.

Simple Joe from S.A.N.E. was there, and we spoke.

I was well treated. Mr. Jeffs even saw me; apparently I was still supposed to have been putting in time at S.A.N.E., for he was going to continue my incentive.

Also, he gave me a phone number, and he even dialed it; it concerns maybe 2 months work land clearing in Haney on a L.I.P. grant; however, the woman I was to speak with was out, but my patronym and mom's phone number were taken.

My cheque was put in yesterday's mail and should arrive today, but I think I'll forget about it for now.

I went to the post office and bought 2 money orders ($6 & $4), and returning in the spitting weather, I bought Synthetic Men of Mars and John Carter of Mars second-hand (85¢ apiece) at the Royal Book Mart. Just before, I saw Henry of Nell's going down 6th St with another guy.

Next, I headed out and went to the bookstore at Edmond's I missed yesterday; they've got a good selection, and second-hand I bought Pirates of Venus (85¢), Lost on Venus (50¢), Tarnsman of Gor (70¢; I need it, Mark having sold my original), and de Camp's The Fallible Fiend (70¢). I could have blown more, but dared not.

I headed into a heavy sprinkle for Simpsons-Sears; as far as I'm concerned, the place is inferior to Woodward's, for I bought nothing. But at least I got exercised and weathered.

On my way home I stopped in at the Western Book Store; their selection is good too, but I found nothing I couldn't resist.

I finally fell; 'twas Knave's Audrey at about 3:39 p.m. Since November 27!! This hurts me.

My belly is afflicted with the gas pressure I have known undereating to bring on.

The landlady has been out all day, so it is a good thing I didn't wait inside all day for her to make my cheque accessible.

I'm going to bed at 8:00 p.m.; the place is pretty cold again. My throat feels as if it picked up a bug today.
The letter I finished typing that morning was to an American pen-pal, Terri Martin.

Possibly for as long as a couple of years, I had been working one day a week as a truck swamper for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends). This arrangement was between them and the government as part of an employment incentives programme.

Under it, I received the regular social assistance rate for a Single person each month, plus an extra $50 or so for the actual work.  

However, I had been told that due to underfunding, my contract had been terminated with S.A.N.E. And so I had not gone to work for the past one or two weeks ─ I usually worked on a Friday.

Russ Jeff's was my social worker (I have no idea now who "simple Joe" was that I spoke with in the social assistance offices). Back then, the social assistance offices were on Sixth Street, just up from Columbia Street and on the left-hand side if one were walking downhill towards Columbia Street

I remember nothing of any land-clearing in Haney on a Local Initiatives Project (L.I.P.), so obviously that never came about.

On my way to the Royal Book Mart (then located at Sixth Street & Agnes Street), the "Henry" I saw was an older gent who somehow had gotten involved in the partying that took place each weekend at my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson's home off in Surrey

I now have no idea where the next two bookstores were that I hiked to, but they must have been quite near to where the Edmonds SkyTrain Station is today off in Burnaby ─ I walked a lot back then. 

My younger brother Mark must have borrowed one of my books previously and then sold it, so I was buying that copy again as a secondhand version just to actually read it.

I sure loved my 'sword & sorcery' fiction!

I did not have any mail delivery directly where I was living. Instead, the mailman would deliver all mail into the slot at the front door of the house, and my landlady would in due time come and leave anything for me in a special receptacle in the basement just outside of my room. Thus, whenever she was not home, I would not receive my mail until she finally returned and sorted it out. 
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