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Monday, August 7, 2017

The Mainstream Dietary 'Authorities' Continue to Underestimate How Much Vitamin D We Really Require for Optimal Health

I had two cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer last evening while watching a movie that took some while for me to warm up to. I am not going to identify it because I don't think it deserves what could be perceived as a bad review from me.

It took me until the second half of the movie to start viewing the heroine's fighting prowess with astonished admiration, for the heroine's fighting scenes were the most believable that I have encountered in the big or small screen in probably years.

Now by saying that they were believable, I can't honestly say that they were realistic. But somehow, I can imagine enemy agents being so committed to their causes that they could fight to the death by sheer will and adrenaline alone, long after most humans would have bailed from the pain and abuse.

I think that I may have made it to bed before 10:30 p.m., but I would not wager anything on it. Both of my stepsons were home at that time ─ each with his girlfriend.

My younger brother Mark was spending the night in Keremeos with his girlfriend Bev, so I knew there was no chance that he would be showing up bombed and poor company. This has been a long weekend, and today is B.C. Day ─ he has today off work.

Bev had wanted to go to Keremeos to surprise her father for his birthday, so Mark played the good sport and took her there.

Incidentally, those two cans of beer were my supper. For the second consecutive day I only ate one meal, and that in the very early afternoon. Other than that meal, I never even so much as snacked on a cherry the remainder of the day.

I suppose sleep visited me in a reasonable amount of time, but it became elusive in the latter hours of my night. I rose once to use the bathroom and drink some water.

I'm unsure just when I opted to begin my morning ─ maybe before 6:30 a.m.

I was soon at work adding content to the new post I am building at my hosted website Amatsu Okiya, and wondering if I was going to perk up sufficiently to be able to have some exercise out in the backyard tool shed.

It became necessary to break from that work just around mid-morning to return to bed to try to recover ─ my overall well-being had taken a dive. If I was going to exercise before either of my stepsons were up, I needed some kind of help.

I spent a fair while in bed ─ I wanted to just give up and return to sleep. But I resisted. When I rose, I still did not have it within me to go out to the shed, so I did a little further work on the post.

By then it was around 10:00 a.m., and I could see nothing for it but to seek that nap ─ I was simply too sub-par, for some infernal reason. I felt seriously 'off.'

I retired anew to bed, this time donning both earplugs and a blindfold. But my conscience gave me no peace. After about 10 minutes, I forced myself back up.

There came a point when I was gazing at my bad eyes in a mirror, and it seemed to me that the blue iris of my worst eye ─ the right one ─ looked to be smaller than my left eye.

I raised my eyelids with my fingers to get a better comparison, and then suffered some alarm when I saw the most of the blue of my right eye's iris was just about entirely whitened above the pupil ─ when the heck did that develop!?

This discovery brought me low ─ I feel like there is one thing after another going wrong with me and my life.

I kept my initial urge to panic in check, fortunately. But it is obvious that I am going to probably have to get my eyes checked if just to learn whether I have an actual eye disease.

I understand that ophthalmologists are only covered under the B.C. Medical Services Plan if the visit is through a medical referral, so there is no sense trying to make an appointment with any of these specialists ─ I can't afford it on my own.

Nor is there a rush, for I have no personal doctor. 

And if I find out that I do have a serious eye disease that will ultimately cost me my vision, I am unlikely to submit to surgery. I simply don't have enough to live for that would make me take that choice.

Maybe it will be the catalyst that finally forces my hand to end this sorry life of mine. In other words, one damned thing too far; one count too many against me.

The initial surge of emotional turmoil or despair served to get me out to the backyard shed, and I had my exercises.

Just before I ventured out there, however, I saw that my eldest stepson Tho had the light on in the boys' den area where his younger brother Poté sleeps.

Was Poté, then, not home?

When I came back into the house, my eldest stepson Tho was upstairs showering. And a check revealed that Poté and his girlfriend were indeed gone (Tho's girlfriend no longer spends the night here). He must have skipped out when I had my earplugs in place during that short attempt to nap earlier.

This is undoubtedly a workday for Poté ─ he is involved in the retail field, serving as a stock manager for a sporting goods store.

Since only Tho was home, I decided to sit out in the backyard while facing into the Sun. The sky is much less smoky than Friday and Saturday had been ─ there is actual sunlight and shadow, and a genuine orange globe in the sky. We had at least a couple of days this past week where if one did not know better, it would have just been assumed that the day was overcast with regular cloud cover.

Since last Monday, B.C.'s forest fires have resulted in grey skies hereabouts (I live in the Whalley area of Surrey).

I wanted to get in at least 40 minutes out under the Sun while wearing just cut-offs; but even though I checked the time at the start of that session of sunning, in just a very few minutes I realized that I had utterly forgotten to take note of what time it was ─ either 12:18 p.m. or 12:21 p.m. Both of those times were in my mind.

So I settled on the latter, and sat in my chair until 1:02 p.m.

Tho was gone by then. I had heard him fussing about in the kitchen with his girlfriend as I sunned ─ maybe he was gathering together some things to take with them. She has a car ─ he is 'enjoying' a year-long driving suspension. Gosh, I think he is better than halfway through it now.

Here now is an old photo of Alex Dorosh, my mother Irene's husband. I have no details on the photo. All I can offer is that Alex looks quite young, so maybe the photo was taken during the decade of the 1970s. And since I do not recognize the setting, I might guess that they were in a hotel room or some similar accommodation:


I often mention Alex in an incidental fashion in my old journal, and so it is possible that he may get mentioned in the journal entry that I will post towards the end of this post. If so, then why not show a photo of the man?

With the 40 minutes of time I have been spending sitting outside over the past week or more, I haven't bothered taking any vitamin D3 supplements.

Once we are back to wintry weather, I will be taking 10,000 I.U.s daily.

I recently posted about some alarmist headlines proclaiming that  people are taking too much vitamin D in supplement form. These are a couple of example articles:
It's hogwash, but I hope that you are able to think for yourself, one way or the other.

Today I read an article by Dr. Marc Micozzi who was highly critical of the so-called study that merited those news reports:

DrMicozzi.com

He was too kind to actually identify the study's young author, "a Ph.D. student from the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis." 

But if you refer to those two earlier reports, you will see that he meant doctoral student Mary Rooney.

You can see a nice photo of the young lady in a related article posted on her university's website: Use of High-Dose Vitamin D Supplements Increasing Among Americans

As Dr. Micozzi declares, the sole danger from calcium buildup is when people are taking calcium supplements ─ calcium derived from our food is an entirely different matter.

For some more on why we need more vitamin D than the mainstream recommends, see these two recent reports:

HSIonline.com

This was the reference given in that report, but it was not linked to like I am doing:

PeoplesPharmacy.com

My heart and mind are not into blogging today, so I am going to wrap it up 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

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I never got to bed until 2:40 a.m. the night before, although I was not doing any drinking. 

I see that I did indeed have plans that day to visit the home of my mother and Alex, who were resident in the Kennedy heights area of Surrey. Their home was my main mailing address.

The little house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue; and the hike to get there from my room in New Westminster was about 1½ hours.
SATURDAY, August 7, 1976

I'm back to sleeping in my bed, and arose at 9:30 a.m.

I worked on a letter to Jean after a heavy breakfast, and shall finish when I return from mom's (I'll leave for there this cloudy day about 4:15 p.m.).

They 2 & Sherry were home as I arrived after a mist-rain walk which was a mite heavier and wettening on my peaceful return trek at 8:30 p.m. 

My mail was August's Good News, and the parcel mom picked up for me ─ my yogurt maker, yogurt and kefir cultures, and a thermometer.

I supped with them, a carbohydrate affair redeemed by fresh lettuce and radish.

My mosquito bites of last night have become very swollen and itching; they're huge. One spot toward my right elbow looks as if an egg were embedden [sic] within my forearm, whilst its wrist, as a result of furious scratching upon getting home, resulted in another great swelling heavily bespeckled with broken blood vessels.

My left arm has a great irritated area on the inside of my forearm, and I have 2 great feeding areas about belt level at the centre of my abdomen.

I'll have to finish Jean's letter tomorrow due to the late hour.

Bed at 11:30 p.m. 
Since the previous Monday night, I had been sleeping on the floor to see if it would ease some lower back pain or strain.

The letter was to be for Jean M. Martin (née Black), an American pen-pal I had.

It would have been about 5:45 p.m. by the time I reached my mother's home, finding her and Alex present along with Sherry, the young daughter of my older maternal half-sister Phyllis. Sherry was temporarily staying there ─ Phyllis was somewhat unsettled, shall we say.... 
  
I don't know if I remember anything of that yogurt-maker or not.

Reading about those so-called mosquito bites, I now wonder if I had a bedbug problem? I never knew back then what a bedbug looked like, but I certainly do not recall seeing anything like them.

Anytime mysterious bites like these appeared, if they were not ascribed to mosquitoes, then they were simply blamed upon fleas ─ 'grass fleas,' if no pet could be blamed.

I can remember having such irritating bites in my past; and in an absolute frenzy of furious scratching to alleviate the maddening itch, there was always the deep hope that reducing the bite to an open, bleeding wound would release much of the toxin causing the problem.

It was probably bad medical science.
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