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Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Update on My Painful Swelling over My Temporomandibular Joint │ Coping with Gout │ Type 2 Diabetes Diagnosis May Mean Pancreatic Cancer is Present

This is possibly day six (or seven?) since the onset of what has become a dread swelling at the left temporomandibular joint area of my face.

My wife Jack came home from Vancouver late last afternoon or early evening, so I had to share the bed. Had she not been here, I would have been in and out of bed all the night long, for I am unable to sleep for long; and I spent much of yesterday trying to nap betimes over the course of the day.

By 6:15 a.m. I was unable to bear the discomfort of lying basically with one posture any longer, so I rose. I thought I might try working on the post I have going at my Latin Impressions website, but I could not even try to begin. Instead, I resorted to my working younger brother Mark's bed as I sought escape from the unremitting pain.

One nasty feature of it in my latter time in bed overnight, as well as some while after rising, was a recurring piercing jab of pain in the outer ear ─ it was becoming maddening, and nigh bringing me to tears in frustration to be rid of this, my latest tribulation.

I took two selfies early into the noon-hour yesterday and posted them; here are two I took today, along with the description that I gave them in the Google album where they are stored:


[These are two] selfies I took this morning at 11:30 a.m. on February 8, 2017.

This is perhaps my sixth day since being afflicted with some manner of swelling over my left temporomandibular joint area.

These last two days have been the worst for pain, but I have thus far resisted medication.

Despite urgings by family members, I have not sought medical attention. I am of the mind that this is not of infectious origin, but rather some dysfunction relating to the TMJ itself.

I am 67 years old, and retired, so I do not need to be concerned over lost working days.

I have slept abominably the past three nights. Most of this morning had been spent lying in bed, seeking some relief for the incessant pain. In fact, I had just risen and eaten some congee (thick rice soup) my wife Jack prepared for me last evening.

I am in as much misery as this photo suggests, and not at all concerned about how unkempt I appear.

The pain is exhausting. I cannot bear to be up from bed for too long ─ what little refuge from the pain there is only comes from letting my consciousness drift.

My wife made some fabulous dishes besides the congee, but I cannot dare them. Today, my mouth is able to open even less than yesterday, and I can scarce get a spoon past my teeth.

Besides that, there is the great discomfort of chewing. But it is not a problem with my teeth; the pain is at the TMJ.

When will this condition start to relent?
There is so much good food ─ lots of fresh vegetables, too ─ it breaks my heart that I am unable to benefit from the larder. I need the sustenance, as do my beneficial gut bacteria.

I don't know what to do if this affliction does not commence relenting and I start normalizing. On Sunday, I was able to go out and do the four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store for two dozen cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer, but I would not dare present my face to the public as my face has become.

And on Monday, I had a full day of exercising. Yesterday, no exercises were possible ─ the pain was too much, just as it is today.

Anyway, my wife Jack went somewhere while I was semi-napping late this morning. I feel bad that I am unable to be present for discourse when she is home, but I just cannot endure the pain, and have to seek refuge in bed.

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I was reading two articles today concerning gout ─ definitely a brutal condition anytime someone experiences an attack. I don't have gout, but apparently a large percentage of the population may share the high uric acid levels that a gout-sufferer has.

I tried to track down the study referred to in this first report, but I am suffering far too much to be able to spend time doing so. Besides, if its conclusion was that statins ought to be prescribed to gout-sufferers, then I sure don't need to locate the slanted study:

JacksDailyDose.com

That article contained some suggestions for dealing with gout, as does this second article that also criticizes mainstream medicine and the pharmaceutical industry's interference:

Articles.Mercola.com

🙍🙍🙍🙍🙍🙍🙍

There is a study that has found that people newly diagnosed with type 2 diabetes may actually have the disease suddenly display because they have pancreatic cancer. That's something to keep in mind!

Here are a few reports on the study, if you are interested:

DailyMail.co.uk

JacksDailyDose.com

Medscape.com

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My wife Jack was home with more provisions around 1:30 p.m. While she busied cooking, I spent a lot of time lying down.

She was to return to Vancouver, leaving just after 3:00 p.m. But she was clearly concerned of me, still insisting that I should seek medical attention. She would have taken me to the hospital.

She said that she will probably contact her youngest son Poté this evening to get him involved in taking me for medical attention, but I said that I would not go.

She will call me this evening to see how I am feeling, and suggested that she might try to come home tomorrow ─ she hadn't planned on showing up again until at least the weekend.

To be honest, for awhile this afternoon, I thought that the swelling was even larger than in the earlier two photographs. I just hope that my trouble is not infectious. An infected mass this size so close to my brain is dangerous.

It is 5:22 p.m. as I type this. I was lying down, but I want to finish this post amd then get back to bed until the evening when Mark gets home, and it becomes time to watch our shows while enjoying some drinks.

So to close off, here 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 space in a house located on Ninth Street, and a house or two up from Third Avenue.
SUNDAY February 8, 1976

I don't know when I retired, but it was closer to noon than midnight. I arose some time after 2:00 p.m.!

Brother, I was drunk last consciousness; I found a mess in my garbage bag that belonged in the toilet.

I last night mailed Jean's letter at the Scottsdale or whatever mall.

Cathy sure made a first class ass of herself, and only cause everyone was associating with Garry whom she was mad with. But her life is hers to manage; no other human can.

Marie sure surprised me, sitting on most of the guys' laps.

Anyway, I stayed up today about an hour, then went back to bed. I got up at 7:00 p.m.

I am fed up with my existence; I swear to God if I win Thursday's Western Lottery, my life will be exemplary.

I'm going to bed at 9:00 p.m.
The letter I spoke of mailing was to Jean M. Martin (née Black), an American pen-pal I had..

I had been out in Surrey the evening before helping to celebrate the birthday of my maternal cousin Randy Halverson's wife, Sandy. It included visits to a couple of bars.

At the last one, we came upon my younger brother Mark's best friend, Garry Porteous. So half of us sat at his table.

When the bar closed, he opted to go back with us to the home of my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson to carry on partying. It was there that Jeanette ─ my brother Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ blew up at everyone. 

She had grown sick and tired of Garry hanging around the home she shared with Mark. I guess he was there practically every day for hours at a time, and now he even inserted himself into her night out. She must have felt as if he was impossible to be free of.

Marie was the rather cute wife of Al Varga, both of whom were friends of the Halversons.

By the way, I must have thrown up in my kitchen trash can. The toilet was in a cubicle outside of my room, and thus in the basement proper. I probably just did not feel like jeopardizing my privacy to use the toilet.

Believe it or not, I have barely been able to bear sitting here typing out the above account ─ I am in seriously bad shape.
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