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Thursday, March 9, 2017

Your First Childhood Flu Imprints Future Immunity │ A Third of Antidepressants Prescribed Unnecessarily │ Ten Pregnancy Tips

Last evening was one of those in which my younger brother Mark chose to get 'stinking drunk.' I suspect that after he got home from the bar where he went after work, he must have dipped into his liquor supply.

And then he capped it all off with five cans of beer (5.5% alcohol). He had a difficult time keeping his addled thoughts to himself as I tried to watch T.V. Around 10:20 p.m., he was passed out in his chair.

Sometimes when he's like this, conversation on T.V. must penetrate his alcohol-addled brain, for he will suddenly speak out a statement that might as well be the work of demonic possession, for I rarely understand it.

That happened last evening.

The first time, I did not realize that he was passed out, so I spoke out for him to repeat himself. Then I saw his eyes fluttering like Mr. Magoo trying to make sense of his environment. I realized then that I had disrupted his unconsciousness, but he was quickly back into it.

He is only 64. To be drinking to this level while still a working man betokens nothing but utter dissolution once he retires after he hits 65. He isn't even going to be functionally able to live on his own before he's 70.

I held to my one can of strong (8% alcohol) beer. I was so game to take my leave of him that I was in bed before 10:40 p.m., I believe. He was still downstairs mostly passed out in his chair.

How he manages to get up at 4:20 a.m. ─ and sometimes even earlier ─ to put in a day's work defies my understanding, but he never misses a day because of inability. The only time he misses work is if his work truck is being repaired.

When I had a fairly good night's sleep, I checked the time this morning at 6:13 a.m. and decided to rise for the day. Mark was long gone.

I have a suspicion that my eldest step-son Tho did not spend last night at home. When I rose, there was no sign that he had been up and readied for work, yet he was not here. Only his younger brother Poté was present ─ still in bed. Poté mustn't have had to start work until later in the morning, for he rose and left the house somewhere in the neighbourhood of 8:15 a.m., and I was finally home alone.

I put in quite a lot of work on the old post I am editing at my Siam-Longings website. I would probably have the post finished and published tomorrow if it was not for the late-morning appointment I have with my ENT specialist. I am very curious what he is going to tell me of my healing left cheek wound.

I am recovering from a blocked parotid gland duct that resulted in a huge (imagine a very large orange or small grapefruit) swelling in that left cheek which housed an abscess.

The wound opening was still draining a clear fluid yesterday ─ early last evening I had to replace a saturated absorbent pad covering it. But I was to find out today that the new pad only got wet centrally overnight, and then the wound stopped draining and closed right over. When I finally checked the pad ere having a bath, I found that the drainage had already dried in the pad.

And so I now have nothing covering the wound.

Considering the amount of clear fluid that had been dripping steadily from it, the concern has to be just what the consequence of that steady seepage inside the wound is going to be when it has nowhere to drain from. Can my body resorb the liquid harmlessly, or will swelling begin anew?

That is what I am curious about where concerns my appointment tomorrow with my ENT specialist.

The afternoon hereabouts has seen a fair amount of rain after an overcast morning ─ what snow we still have may well be mostly an historic footnote by tomorrow. The five-block or so walk to my ENT specialist's office ought not to involve any remaining snow on the sidewalks whatsoever.

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I received the following three days ago, but I never acted on it ─ I am not American, so I doubt that the USDA gives a damn about what I would like.

But if you are American and care about what farming methods are practiced in the U.S., maybe you'll consider acting on this before the deadline tonight:

ACT BY MIDNIGHT MARCH 9: Tell the USDA What You Want Food & Farming to Look Like in 50 Years

On Thursday, the Organic Consumers Association took advantage of a unique opportunity to present our vision for the next 50 years of food and farming to the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) in Washington, D.C.

Now, it’s your turn—the USDA wants to know what your vision is for the U.S. food and farming system over the next 50 years.


When we heard that the USDA was going to hold a “listening session” on the Visioning of U.S. Agriculture Systems for Sustainable Production, we saw a great opportunity to address the three interrelated challenges facing agriculture over the next 50 years—soil loss, diet-related disease and climate change. Each of these problems has a common solution: healthy soil.

The best way to reverse soil loss, sequester carbon and grow lots of nutrient-dense food is to continuously cover the soil with a diverse array of living plants. This feeds the microbial communities that perform 90 percent of soil function, including carbon storage.

The plants that we (or grazing animals) eat give the carbon those plants generate through photosynthesis to soil microorganisms, which in turn provide plants with water and nutrients. This process works best when there are lots of different plants exchanging lots of different nutrients with lots of different microbes.

Plant biodiversity is the key to soil carbon sequestration. It’s also a great way to grow more food than you ever thought possible on less land than you can imagine (to quote John Jeavons, author of several books, and director of Grow Bio-Intensive). Plus, food from healthy soil is flavorful, aromatic and so nutritious that it could cost-effectively reverse diet-related diseases.

We think this is the future of agriculture—not GMO monocultures that strip soil of nutrients, and of its natural ability to draw down and sequester carbon. What do you think?


Thanks!
I couldn't see anyplace to add comments at that link, but maybe I overlooked something.

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Somehow I seem to have missed coming across information this past Fall that told of an influenza study wherein it was concluded that people who get exposed to and 'catch' the flu in childhood become more or less immune to that and all related flu viruses.

Apparently there are primarily two main categories of flu virus ─ Group 1 or Group 2; they are classified according to the type of hemagglutinin present.

That Wikipedia link doesn't clarify much for those of us who are non-scientific. And I can't explain hemagglutinin in simple terms ─ see if you can handle the explanation given at PDB101.RCSB.org: Hemagglutinin.

So depending upon what group the flu virus that first infected you as a child was, you will thereafter have considerable immunity to all other members of that same group.

If you think you grasp this, then check out these articles reporting on the study:

DrMicozzi.com

ScienceDaily.com

CBC.ca

UniversityOfCalifornia.edu

The published study the reports link to requires a subscription in order to access if in full, but this seems to be it as a .pdf document at biRXiv.orgPotent Protection against H5N1 and H7N9 Influenza via Childhood Hemagglutinin Imprinting.

I also found another .pdf document that is essentially a colorful slideshow of images and graphs attempting to explain the text of the study ─ this .pdf is at MISMS.net: Potent protection against H5N1 and H7N9 influenza via childhood hemagglutinin imprinting. But don't attempt it until you have familiarized yourself with those four reports I linked to.

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The only antidepressant I will ever take is alcohol, so I  just cannot identify with people who gullibly fill the prescriptions and swallow the medications doled out to them by their doctors.

Well, according to a new study, it seems that almost a third of such prescriptions have no validation whatsoever ─ and antidepressants are bloody dangerous drugs to be taking!

Here are some reports on the study and its findings:

MedicalXpress.com

CTVnews.ca

Consumer.HealthDay.com

JacksDailyDose.com

Definitely see another doctor if yours is prescription-happy where antidepressants are concerned.

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The following article for pregnant women was interesting to me, but I thought it highly impractical ─ few mothers will be in a position to be able to follow these recommendations:

LifeSpa.com

Even the suggestion of a daily abdominal massage as an "opportunity to get massaged by a loving partner" is going to be unlikely, except for the very rare and lucky lady.

But how wonderful if all pregnant women could have such a blissful pregnancy!

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I shall now close with an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

That small affair that I was renting was in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.
THURSDAY, March 9, 1976

I had a very broken night's sleep, finally calling it quits at 6:00 a.m.; tonight, I may sample the efficacy of placing my mattress on the floor, for my bed is very sinky.

Oh boy, is this place cold!

I did my laundry today; a garrulous old Hindu woman came in half way through, while another gal began toward my finish.

I bought a comic and a 'Chico and the Man' TV Guide.

When I leave for downtown shortly, I'll mail to the Kinsmen Rehabilitation Foundation of B.C. for a lottery ticket.

I first went to London Drugs and bought a hair trimmer comb and 10 razor blades. My next goal was Army & Navy, but I met Art. He bought me a coffee at the Metropolitan, then we went to Army & Navy; I saw a possibility there in a jacket, but we tried Field's first.

I finally bought in Army & Navy ($11.17, including a lighter).

We walked (the truck isn't working) to his place.

Judd's wedding was apparently as much a bomb as his marriage; Art stopped by here that night for me, but I guess that was the night I spoke with Pat née Kerr in Mr. Sport ─ to which Art & Angie later that night went anyway; good thing I wasn't there long.

Angelina is ill today; I believe she's missed some work.

Art fed me a decent meal, and 2 vodkas; I left, he walking me to the corner, with some potato salad and cole slaw he made, plus some plain Mrs. Willman's goods. It was about 3:00 p.m.

I came home to find the landlady finally back; she came down, and let me know that the furnace had been malfunctional the past few days. 'Tis to be repaired today.

But not necessarily; one man came and failed.

I'm retiring well before 7:00 p.m.

And then came Bill.  Seems Cathy phoned cause mom was worried about my not having visited; I was to return her call, he said, but all I did was watch TV till 10:00 p.m.

He wants me to pay a Chargex bill for him tomorrow at the Royal Bank near Woodward's; I guess the peanuts I ate were my wages for the errand.

I bed at 10:15 p.m.
Back then, I really had no idea that anyone from India could be other than a Hindu. Most people I referred to as such were probably Sikhs. I used to have to launder in a laundromat that I suspect was up on Sixth Avenue, near the public library.

This is probably the cover of the TV Guide I bought:


When I went down to Columbia Street to shop, it was my older friend Art Smith that I bumped into. He lived in a home he rented in New Westminster with his wife Angie (Angelina) and their three kids.

His younger brother Judd (Gerald) had just recently gotten married, and I was supposed to attend the wedding. But I guess I was drinking in the Mr. Sport (formerly the Russell Hotel) with my younger brother Mark, Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther, and my old friend William Alan Gill. 

What was memorable about that day was that we were approached by Pat née Kerr, a former girlfriend of Mark's, and who subsequently got temporarily involved with me, seducing me into my first sexual experience. That was around 1970, and as yet in 1976 I had not yet gotten so involved with any other woman.

She had an enormous impact upon me, and I still remember what being with her was like.

Anyway, Angie worked as a waitress at the Pacific Café that was then down on Columbia Street.

I recall nothing of any "Mrs. Willman's goods," but I bet it was this business mentioned at Bloomberg.com: Company Overview of Mrs. Willman's Baking Limited.    

When my friend Bill dropped by ─ he was renting a bachelor suite, maybe four or so blocks from my room ─ it was my brother Mark's girlfriend Jeanette who had asked about me. My mother Irene Dorosh was concerned because I usually visited my mother two or three times a week, but I had just recently gotten out of the hospital after being in it until my twelfth day as a result of an emergency appendectomy. To visit my mother required a 1½-hour hike, so I was not yet feeling up to doing that ─ and repeating it to get myself back home again afterward.

I have to get this post proofread and published ─ someone phoned me while I have been working on this post, and I said that I would call her back in half an hour. It has been well beyond that promised time!
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