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Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Surgical Morcellator Victim Dr. Amy Reed Finally Passes │ Drugged Driving Deaths Now Exceed Those of Drunk Driving (U.S. Report)

I have lost sight of just when it was that my wife Jack made her appearance from Vancouver yesterday ─ probably very early in the evening. It was well before my younger brother Mark arrived home from the bar.

Naturally Jack got busy cooking. But unfortunately for me, I had cooked myself up a ground beef supper that I was going to have to eat, so I never got to taste her efforts.

There was an amusing incident while she was seated on the floor in the living room, eating her supper that she had laid out on the coffee table. I was watching T.V. with my brother Mark passed out in his chair just to my right (Jack was well to my left).

Jack loves chewing up soft bones, entire smallish shrimp (i.e., shell and all), and cartilage. I have no idea what it was that she was relishing at this time in the evening, but it was nearly as if she was crunching up ice cubes ─ except louder.

As her relentless crunching threatened to drown out the dialogue on the T.V., Mark suddenly quit softly snoring in his chair and jerked himself conscious.

I looked over to Jack with a smile, and she was herself wearing a bit of a grin as she politely got herself erect and took her noise-generating dish into the kitchen where I expect she finished it without interrupting my brother's unconsciousness any further, for he quickly enough was back into that state once she was out of the room.

I wanted to bring up that incident with her today to enjoyably rehearse with her, but I entirely forgot to.

Mark eventually returned to reality in time to watch nearly the last half of an episode of Shades of Blue that I had tuned in on our Android TV Box. And after that, we watched the season finale of Modern Family.

By the time the comedy was done, it was almost 10:30 p.m., and so he announced that he was heading on upstairs to his bedroom ─ he has his clock-radio set for 4:20 a.m. to rouse him for work.

I remained up, of course, never knowing just when Jack will be ready to turn in. She roams about from kitchen, to bathroom, to bedroom. I had thought that my chance to get to bed had arrived at one point, but just as I was about to make my move, she made hers ahead of me and went into the bedroom for some reason.

She wasn't there for too long, and then went downstairs. That was when I made my play, disrobing and hopping into bed, and then inserting earplugs and applying my blindfold. It wasn't yet quite 11:45 p.m.

To my considerable surprise, it was not too much later that she also came to bed. I peeked at the time once the light was out, and saw that it was just midnight.

I suppose that I had a fair night's sleep, but it ended when I heard her respond to her eldest son Tho's summons to get up and drive him to the SkyTrain so that he would not have to catch his usual bus. When she exited the bedroom and shut the door, I peered at the clock-radio and saw that it was 5:50 a.m.

So I got up and dressed, and was soon enough at work setting up a new post at my Lawless Spirit website.

Jack of course returned home after driving her lazy eldest son to the SkyTrain, and then she went back to bed. I kept at work until probably close to 10:00 a.m., and then decided to see if I could succeed in catching a nap on my brother Mark's bed ─ I had the forethought earlier to keep my earplugs and blindfold with me when I rose from my own bed, fully expecting that I might later be doing this.

Jack's youngest son Poté never had to work today, so he remained in bed until into the early afternoon.

I think that I may have spent over an hour covered up with a quilt atop Mark's bed. Jack had meantime risen at some point and was downstairs preparing some dishes for everyone's supper.

This past Sunday, I related here how much I had enjoyed watching the final five episodes the evening before of a 2015 T.V. series called Hindsight. I had watched the earlier five episodes over the course of the two previous Saturdays.

Only 10 episodes were ever produced of the series, but they were enough to make a fan out of me for the Vancouver-born Canadian actress who had a pivotal secondary role in the series ─ Sarah Goldberg.

I had read that she had roles in a couple of earlier movies, so I decided to watch one of them while Jack was busy. I selected one that featured Burt Reynolds and that was titled A Bunch of Amateurs.

It's a darned good thing that the movie had enough draw to keep me watching, for the only glimpse I had of Sarah Goldberg was at the beginning of the movie when I noticed her as one of two young ladies present in a screening theatre where the character played by Burt Reynolds was reviewing his role in a recent action movie he had starred in.

I would never have watched the movie if I was not just killing time, for I figured that Jack was likely to be returning to Vancouver sometime in the afternoon. And this she did ─ I think it was not yet quite 2:00 p.m. when I saw her off.

The day has been heavily overcast, so sunning was out. I might have exercised ─ I am actually feeling very ill-slept, and mostly fueled by coffee; but I didn't have the inclination with Poté hanging around. There will be tomorrow.

So I opted to watch the second movie that was supposed to feature an appearance by Sarah Goldberg ─ a Cameron Diaz effort called Gambit.

Well, I am not even certain that I ever noticed Sarah in the movie ─ maybe she was an office employee or secretary who briefly entered into and left someone's office.

I watched all of the movie, finding myself somewhat interested in how it was progressing. However, I did find the finish rather disappointing.

And that has been my exciting day ─ it is 5:38 p.m. at this very moment.

Earlier this afternoon, I learned of the death of a 44-year-old American woman I had previously read about: Amy Reed. A physician, she had undergone treatment for some uterine fibroids.

Her husband is also a physician, but neither of them had anything at all to do with the specialty that her condition fell under.

The specialist who was to work on her to remove the fibroids was to use a device she and her husband had never heard of before ─ a power morcellator.

Well, that was to prove a disastrous mistake. A cancer was present, and the morcellator shredded it to bits and helped spread bits and pieces of it.

HSIonline.com

Philly.com

The second reference becomes rather biographical, but she merits being known about.

Another item that caught my attention today was about a U.S. report that has declared that the year 2015 ─ the most recent year researched ─ marks the first time that driving while drugged has claimed more death victims than has driving while drunk:

CNN.com

DrMicozzi.com

A person doesn't even need to be on something like pot (marijuana). Look at the recent incident that Tiger Woods is laying claim to for his arrest. Supposedly he was wiped out on Xanax and Vicodin, and is now seeking treatment for an addiction to such pills.

I saw the video where he was being 'interviewed' by cops prior to his arrest, and he looked to me to be as drunk as it is possible to get and still be conscious ─ but he was blackout conscious.

He could hardly understand the police, or respond to them. He couldn't do the simplest physical task. And he admitted that he had no idea where he was ─ he thought he was maybe in California (but he wasn't too far from his home in Florida).

I don't drive, but I think that I would be fearful of doing so after dark in the later hours ─ that's probably when the worst of the drunk and drugged drivers are risking taking a drive.

I would not be at all surprised if drugged driving deaths have exceeded those of drunk driving here in Canada, too ─ why would things be any different?

Perhaps it's becoming a worldwide phenomenon....

But I don't want to get drawn into this topic. In fact, I am going to drop it entirely and post the following old image ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the image filed:

My mother Irene Dorosh must have kept this post card just as a souvenir of one of her many visits to Reno, Nevada, over the years.

I think that I can probably blame my older maternal half-sister Phyllis for the damage ─ she had a number of photos of our mother's in a plastic bag that she allowed to get wet inside.

Some of the glossy photographs irreparably stuck to one another, and could only be separated with unavoidable damage.

The reverse of this post card is printed with the following:

COACH INN
500 N. Center St.
Reno Nevada
Phone (702) 323-3222
20 new Quiet Units • two blocks to Clubs ─ 1 block east of highway 395. Individual controlled heat and cooling • queen beds • free TV and ice.

Some further information on the reverse probably details the photographer or publisher of the post card:

Frank Parker, 2971 So. Clyde St., Las Vegas, Nevada
And I believe that I will call it quits for this post with the following journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. I was paying rent for it in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was to be having dinner or supper this day over at the bachelor suite of my old friend William Alan Gill, who was living perhaps four or so blocks from my room. It was the weekend, so he would (as usual) have his mother Anne Gregory over from her own rental over in Maillardville.
SUNDAY, June 13, 1976

I got up about 7:30 a.m.

I love pies and yogurt! This morning's breakfast was cherry pie covered with cherry yogurt.

I'm leaving for Bill's place shortly after 1:00 p.m., though only his mother will likely be there; he be playing softball with the Whalley gang.

My prediction held true. I guess I may have seen Bill for all of a half hour today. After supping he had to again rush off for a ballgame at 6:00 p.m. So I spent the day, till shortly after 8:00 p.m. when I walked home, with Bill's mother; she gave me a fairly large quantity of granola she questioned Bill would eat.

My supper was enormous ─ nigh 3 full plates.

I wrote a quick letter to dad; next week is Father's Day.

Bed at 9:35 p.m.
"The Whalley gang" just referred to my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther, and any friends of theirs ─ along with any of my maternal cousins the Halversons, and any of their friends.

It's interesting to me that I do not reveal anything of how I felt about spending most of the afternoon and some of the evening shut up with Bill's mother. Perhaps it was not too bad, particularly if I had full control of Bill's colour T.V. and its cablevision.

I had no colour T.V., nor cablevision back at my room.

Besides, Anne would have probably been quite busy cleaning dishes and doing other cleaning for Bill ─ that was why she was there just about every weekend. She also would do his laundry, of course.

I was avoiding my relatives the Halversons and one of their friends because of a botched bit of employment they tried to arrange for me. It was only to be for several days' work, but I never showed up.

I already had a job of three or four months' duration. But the job that had been lined up for me by them involved me getting out to somewhere in Surrey early on the first day, and I had no easy means of doing that.

So I decided to just not bother, and stick to the job I had. I didn't have a telephone, so it was all a big bunch of fuss.

Had I gone, I would have been a garbage collector on one of the trucks during a special couple of weeks' of Spring cleaning when homeowners were allowed to put out practically anything at all to be picked up and disposed of.

It would have been different if I had lived out in Surrey and could have gotten a ride with my cousin Randy Halverson or his friend Billy Little ─ both of whom worked for the garbage outfit. But that just was not the case.

And so I felt that it was best I just avoid my relations until any hard feeling softened up.
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