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Saturday, July 1, 2017

'Polictically Correct' Medical Terminology ─ Is This Getting Too Foolish? │ Melanoma Surgeries with Full Lymph Node Removal Found NOT to Be Life-Extending

I was hoping that I might feel especially well and adventurous on this, the 150th Canada Day. It would have been nice to have gotten out and hiked somewhere to possibly take a few photos of some manner of local celebration hereabouts.

But for me, it is just another day shut up in the house.

With my younger brother Mark home from the bar a little after 8:00 p.m. last evening, I was to be sitting up a little later than usual watching T.V. with him ─ since he did not have to work today, he wasn't faced with the need to be concerned about getting sufficient sleep overnight.

He spent some of the evening unconscious, as seems to happen more often on any particular evening than not.

It was not too far ahead of midnight when we watched our last shows ─ the second and third episodes of season one of the wacky comedy series Wrecked.

I think Mark might have been willing to stay up for one further episode, but I had stayed up late enough. I had even consumed a second can of beer ─ I have been making a practice since around mid-February of trying to settle for just one can of the strong (8% alcohol) beer I keep myself supplied with.

And so I found myself in bed just after midnight.

It was a night of typically broken sleep. I could have risen long before 7:00 a.m., but I sought just one more short block of sleep and thus surpassed that hour.

But I did not feel well-rested, nor particularly well at all. I correctly speculated that it seemed unlikely that I would be tackling any exercise in the backyard tool shed that morning.

I spent most of the morning adding further content into the post I am developing at my hosted website Latin Impressions.

Mark rose earlier than he usually does on Saturday morning ─ well before 9:00 a.m.

He was to seek a nap much later in the morning, as did I quite early into the noon-hour following a fairly light first meal of the day.

I was in bed for well over an hour, I think, but I did not feel particularly restored (my eyes and vision are especially bad). I could see that Mark had already vacated his bedroom, and I presumed that he likely had already gone for the day ─ but I was wrong. He was outside doing some yard work.

My eldest stepson Tho was supposed to have mowed the lawn this past week, but had not yet done so. Mark was using a string trimmer at the peripheries of the lawn; and I also noticed him doing some cleaning up of debris.

He seems to love using a weed killer called Killex ─ he has a couple of large containers of the stuff, each with an attached hose allowing what I suppose would be a controlled nozzle spraying of the toxin on things like dandelions.

I no longer walk barefooted on the lawn because of the prevalence of this unnecessary product. The most I will do is sit in a chair and take off my shoes so that I can benefit from some earthing or grounding.

Anyway, the day is lost to me. It will be too warm to be exercising out in the tool shed, for Mark is still home at 2:57 p.m. as I type this.

[Note: Mark was to announce his departure at 2:59 p.m., saying in response to my query that he doubted he would be off to do anything special.]

I will not even have time for sunning after he has gone, even if I had the inclination with one or both of my stepsons home.

So yes, this is a lost day. And it impresses upon me just how socially isolated I am. Canadians will be out celebrating this national day, but I will not be. I have little inclination to do anything like hike the mile or so to the nearest location that I know of where there will undoubtedly be activities going on.

It is too warm to be out walking, certainly. But I am alone. Apart from my brother Mark, my two stepsons, and my wife Jack who spends most of her time downtown in Vancouver, I have no one to socialize and be festive with.

Mark will probably stay away for the rest of the day, spending the night at the home of his girlfriend Bev. I will likely find myself home alone as the evening progresses towards my bedtime, and I will just watch some T.V. and have my singular can of beer if I can fend off the doldrums that could well compel me to indulge in at least one further can.

This is my life at the age of 67. I feel no inclination to achieve 70 if this is all I will have to look forward to in the meantime.

By the way, Jack texted me at 3:02 p.m. ─ at least she was thinking of me:
Hi how r u !! Happy Canada Flag For Canada Emoji (Google Hangouts / Android Version) day
The following scanned photo belonged to my mother Irene Dorosh ─ a scene from some holiday that she and her husband Alex shared together. However, I have no idea at all when the photo was taken, nor where:


That appears to be some sort of leaning tower beyond what must be a bridge; and the photo was taken aboard what was probably a vessel very much like the other two in the distance ─ ferry or tour boats?

I am not one who appreciates 'politically correct' language and terminology, but I don't think that I was aware that it had even been extended to the medical field:

JacksDailyDose.com

This is not some development that has just made its appearance this year, either. 

Nor is it limited to the U.S. ─ note this January 28 (2017) article from DailyMail.co.uk: Doctors banned from using word 'mothers'.  

That first commentary is absolutely right ─ we're awash in a world of emotional 'snowflakes.'

Anyway, here are a selection of older reports telling of similar official limitations of terminology being laid upon physicians:


Just this week I included mention in one of my posts about a study into melanoma surgeries ─ those in which all of the lymph nodes adjacent to the melanoma were removed. 

It was determined in the study that this procedure does not appear to be particularly life-extending, and of course comes with serious consequences.

Here are a couple of further reports on that study:

JacksDailydose.com

Consumer.HealthDay.com

In researching this, I found a question about this very issue that was posed by someone faced with the surgery ─ the question was asked on June 28 (2017) at Melanoma.org: Odds of getting lymphedema??

Some of the respondents were careless with their replies ─ one or two of them duplicated his or her reply, while another person even tripled her reply.

I am not much in a mood for blogging today, so I am going to close out now with this journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The private home I was renting in was situated on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.
THURSDAY, July 1, 1976

Up at 6:30 a.m. this Dominion Day holiday.

I forgot to mention that the landlady came for the rent while Bill & mother were here yesterday.

After chin-ups I breakfasted on an entire apple pie I baked; this consisted of 1 pint of yogurt, 4 apples, 2 cups flour, and 2 huge tablespoons honey. Also, butter and corn oil.

I'm not particularly keen on it, but I think I'll walk on out to mom's, leaving a note on Bill's car, if it's there, with the goal of getting a ride back.

It's a nice, overcast day.

I'll leave here about ─; I decided to roast my pot roast & vegetable supper first, and will likely not leave Bill any note, though this remains to be determined.

I rested up from 12:30 p.m. - 1:30 p.m., and am leaving 1:40 p.m.

I stopped at O'Farrell's and bought cheese ($1.19 lb) and a can of yeast ($1.99).

No one was home when I arrived, so I ate some chocolate cake.

My mail consisted of a first issue copy of Canadian Stamp News, a 50¢ 96 page newspaper; a list of 1976 books from London's Neville Spearman; and an ad from the Provoker Press for The No-Cook Book.

Mom came home about 15 minutes after my arrival, with Phyllis & Sherry; Alex was working.

I guess mom was at Nell's, and she said Bill was there. I got her to phone him, and arranged for us to meet at O'Farrell's. 

I left right after Alex got home. 

The day was warm and had more sun than I cared.

Mom through her credit union has apparently won a trip to San Francisco plus $200.

When I joined Bill, I learned he intended to try and find Mark (who is to phone with certain directions) alone Saturday, since he wants to stay overnight; he knew I didn't want to.

After picking up my supper, I watched TV with Bill till he left for bingo about 7:15 p.m. I stayed till 11:00 p.m. when he phoned; he "broke even."

I was rather horny there, and even toyed around, but I ultimately resisted.

Bed at midnight.
My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite roughly four or so blocks from my room.

I was getting to be rather handy at cooking and baking. 

The chin-ups were performed with one of those cheap telescoping bars that fit within a doorway. However, my suite was so cramped and low-ceilinged that I needed to duck a little beneath that doorway after the bar was set up. And the doorway was quite narrow.

My mother and her husband lived in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. Their home was my main mailing address. And although the little house no longer exists, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue

To hike there from my room would take about 1½ hours at a fast clip, so it was a fair undertaking.

"O'Farrell's" was a supermarket that used to exist in the Scottown or Scott-Town shopping plaza at 96th Avenue & Scott Road in Surrey, so less than a mile from my mother's home. 

I now live about 1½ miles from that same shopping plaza, but I have not walked up that way in probably at least a couple of years.

Phyllis is my older maternal half-sister, and Sherry is her daughter. Along with my mother, it seems that they had been visiting my mother's sister, Nell Halverson.

Bill was always hanging out either there, or at the home of my brother Mark and Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther.

Mark and Jeanette were planning a weekend camping trip at a Ross Lake that would probably be a drive of nigh on two hours to the east. Bill and I had been invited to join them, but I didn't want to spend a night there.

Also going would have been Jeanette's two little girls, and possibly Jeanette's brother who had been visiting them; and of course, Mark's German shepherd Daboda.  

Bill had a nice colour television with cablevision, so it was a treat to watch T.V. at his suite. If he went to bingo, then it would have been with a group from my Aunt Nell Halverson's home ─ she had a very large household.

I must have been resorting to Bill's pornography in his absence.

I probably left for my room before he had returned ─ it was a simple matter to lock his apartment door behind me when I left.

It is somewhat interesting to me now that there probably was limited recognition of the Dominion Day holiday in terms of celebrations, so it is no surprise that I mentioned nothing then taking place in New Westminster.

Yes, I find myself feeling rather lonely right now. 

I would love to have been able to celebrate Canada Day today with a loved one ─ perhaps some drinks with even just one friend...but I have none. Not within reach, anyway.

I see that the backyard still has much sunshine ─ perhaps I will publish this and go and sit there outside for a time. 

Or not.
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