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Monday, July 31, 2017

💀 ☠ Men's Risk of Deadliest Prostate Cancers Increase with Inches ─ Both in Midsection and Height │ "50 Ways to Live a Longer, Healthier Life"

My younger brother Mark never showed up last evening until just after 10:00 p.m. When he is this late, it is impossible to not speculate that he may well have been nicked, and will not be coming home that night at all.

I had given up on him and towards 9:45 p.m. tuned in an episode of The Leftovers. I am still watching the first season ─ this specific episode was the fifth in the season and titled "Gladys."

He of course missed that horrific and revolting opening scene where Gladys is hauled off into the woods, possibly duct taped to a tree, and then slowly stoned to death by a gang of hooded people.

By using the term 'slowly,' I mean that each rock was hurled by itself, and was not thrown in a hailstorm of rocks.

So Gladys had some time to 'feel the pain.' In fact, before her demise, she was even talking and thereby breaking her vow of silence ─ it was the only way she could beg for her life...futile as that effort was.

Mark was involved with something ─ probably paperwork of some description ─ and proceeding from the dining table to his bedroom upstairs a few times, audibly muttering the 'F' word quite a number of times.

When finally he sat into his chair in the living room to watch the show, he was soon passed out. I expected that I would be leaving him there when I was done with the T.V. for the night, but oddly enough he was only out for a half-hour at very most.

But he sat up until around 11:00 p.m. before heading on up to his bedroom for the night. He would still shave and probably brush his teeth before 'hitting the sack.' Thus, he would likely be feeling 4:30 a.m. when his clock-radio came on to rouse him for work.

Nevertheless, it was I whose conduct last night was truly malignant. And it was 1:08 a.m. by the time I was in bed ─ and that was only due to relatively rushing the decadence; otherwise bedtime would have been considerably later.

I am fundamentally sick and foul ─ there is no question of it.

It was 6:42 a.m. when I decided to rise for the day. Initially I was concerned that my eldest stepson Tho had not gone to work and I would have to suffer his presence all day, but the fear was unfounded.

My youngest stepson Poté was up and readying for work. In fact, it was 6:55 a.m. when he headed out the front door to his car.

And I was alone to try and salvage what I could of my inner self, slowly working at restoring some sense of self-worth.

Naturally, I spent most of my morning adding to the edit of an old post I have been constructing for about a week now at my hosted website Siam-Longings.

I definitely did not feel like having any exercise out in the backyard tool shed, but not exercising would have corroded that self-esteem I was trying to resurrect.

I think that it was just ahead of 10:00 a.m. when I finally found myself out there. Fortunately, I was able to handle a full session without taking any prolonged breaks.

When I weighed myself afterward, wearing just my undershorts, I registered about 188 pounds (at a height of five feet 10¾ inches).

I wanted a sundeck sunning session, but I had grown far too hungry over the morning to forestall my first meal of the day ─ I usually try to sun before eating. I ate most moderately, though ─ two slices of left-over pizza, and a good-sized bowl of my latest batch of naturally fermented vegetables (green cabbage, leeks, and fennel).

I haven't been able to use the sundeck for sunning since last Thursday, and much of that deprivation was due to a household of my neighbours. I had been reduced to just sitting in a chair in the backyard, and facing into the Sun, with my back to them.

For whatever reason, those neighbours had a huge party Friday evening, and had been setting up their covered upper deck in preparation.

Unfortunately for me, anytime they are actively involved with their upper deck, most of my backyard privacy is gone.

I took this photo today to illustrate ─ I was standing just beyond the side of our heavily shaded sundeck that is farthest from the neighbours:


I had taken the photo at 9:22 a.m., and our backyard has little Sun exposure that early.

If you enlarge the photo a little, you will easily enough recognize just how intrusive the neighbours' covered upper deck might well be anytime people are using it. I hardly feel like lying on my deck in a pair of brief shorts at the age of 67 to sun myself when there is traffic up there.

Note that our old fence is well over six feet tall, and is perfectly adequate in affording privacy from passers-by. But that upper deck of the neighbours is quite another matter.

Whatever noisy event they held Friday night resulted in some recurring visitors all weekend long, so there always seemed to be a few people up there anytime I went outside.

Today was the return to full normalcy. I started my session at 12:21 p.m., and maintained until 1:25 p.m.

The neighbours are certainly good enough people ─ I just don't enjoy having anyone invading my privacy when I feel like I have so very little of it as is. 

At my age, I have come to wonder if I might have a touch of some prostate dysfunction. 

A recently published study came up with indications that the risk of developing a deadly form of prostate cancer not only increases quite markedly with accumulated inches around the midsection, but this rate was even increased along with men's height.

Now how unfair is that? 

We can try and do something about those midsection inches, but not those amounting to our height.

If you 're interested in reading about the study, try these reports:

Telegraph.co.uk

TheGuardian.com

JacksDailyDose.com

I wonder why that first article's opening sentence has not been corrected since it was first published back on July 13?
Tall men are more likely than shouter counterparts to die from prostate cancer, new research from Oxford University has found.
I don't like loudmouths very much ─ I would prefer that they be more likely to die than tall men.

But of course, that's not really what was meant. And that is why the mistake should be corrected.

None of those three articles linked directly to the study, nor even quoted its title. I doubt any of us are going to bother trying to read it, but this is it: Tall height and obesity are associated with an increased risk of aggressive prostate cancer: results from the EPIC cohort study (doi: 10.1186/s12916-017-0876-7).

The conclusion is impactful enough, though:  
In summary, the findings from this large European prospective study provide evidence that men with greater height and adiposity (high BMI and waist circumference) have an elevated risk of high-grade prostate cancer and prostate cancer death. The data presented illustrate the complex association of adiposity and prostate cancer, which varies by disease aggressiveness.
On a fairly related theme, here are a huge number of simple suggestions that ought to see anyone's lifespan escalate:

AARP.org

I would expect a reduction in prostate troubles would accrue for any men who followed all of those health directions.

Normally I finish up my posts with an entry from my journal taken from exactly 41 years earlier, but I don't have an entry to offer.

Yesterday's entry ─ it was a Friday back in 1976 ─ included ruminations I had made about not being keen enough to go on a camping trip with my younger brother Mark and his beautiful girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther to care to be walking to their home that evening in Whalley from my room in New Westminster.

Jeanette had phoned me the previous day where I was working, and in giving me the invitation, had said to come over to their home after work on the Friday.

Apparently I had "equipment" I wanted to take if I went camping, and I just didn't feel up to hiking it over to Whalley.

I didn't have my own phone, so I watched T.V. and just killed time, wondering if they would want me along strongly enough to bother coming into town and picking me up.

I had written just before my intended bedtime of 9:45 p.m. that if they were going to come for me in the morning instead, then they had best do it early ─ I was not going to be hanging around waiting on them.

So did I go to bed at 9:45 p.m. as stated? I don't know. I do not read ahead in my journal, and I sure do not remember this incident from over four decades ago.

All I can tell is that there was no weekend journal entry whatsoever. The next one after that Friday entry is an entry for Monday.

So I suppose we all are just going to have to wait until Wednesday's blog post to find out what happened that weekend!
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