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Monday, July 13, 2015

★ Mandatory Vaccination │ Prostate Cancer │ Low Testosterone and Depression

This has not been a quality day for me, and I will blame sitting up far too late last night as the root cause.

Towards 5:00 a.m. I had considerable trouble relaxing back into any further sleep.

I am finding myself beset with financial worry due to deep debt, and it isn't helping much that I have to have the house mortgage 'early renewal agreement' signed and at the bank by the 16th.

It helps even less that my younger brother Mark ─ when drunk ─ still harps on about the house getting sold once he is retired.  However, this is not the place where I care to reveal aught about why his determination on the fate of the house should matter.

I only discovered this morning that the mortgage 'early renewal agreement' paperwork has to be signed by my wife Jack, too.  Thus, I cannot just sign it, dump it into the mail, and hope that it arrives at the bank in time.  Failure to make the deadline nulls or voids the agreement.

Perhaps she will make an appearance home this evening, but it would be better if she came tomorrow afternoon ─ she could then deliver the document, for the specific bank branch involved is located in New Westminster.

It feels like I rose depressed this morning.  It is no way to begin a day.

Although the day commenced with overcast skies, clearing set in during the latter morning.

I did not want to postpone yet again a hike for beer, so I did my best to keep that a priority.

Still, I got involved doing some work at my Lawless Spirit website that ate up much of my morning, and that ─ coupled with the time I spent readying myself for the two-mile hike to the government liquor store in Whalley at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard ─ delayed me; it was around 11:00 a.m. before I set forth on the errand.

I left under a pall of despair.

My youngest step-son Pote was still in bed ─ at least 12 hours after he had retired last evening.

He had begun working yesterday at a Nike shop ─ his first day of paid employment ─ and had an 11:00 a.m. start.  Could it be possible that he was to have started at 11:00 a.m. today as well, but was sleeping in?

That preyed upon me.

So many things ─ some I cannot bring myself to reveal.

Even my vision was troubling me.

I bought the two dozen cans of beer I wanted, and managed to hike them the two miles from the liquor store to home.  But it was slow ─ the Sun was strong, and I was garbed in boots, jeans, a long-sleeved denim shirt, and a black denim sleeveless jacket.

The plantar fasciitis that surfaced nigh on a week ago became something of an issue on that return hike ─ apart from the normal ache, it started to burn a little.

Anyway, I made it back, and found Pote still in bed as 12:30 p.m. approached.

He was to remain abed for at least another hour; and I had to lie down for at least 20 minutes to try and recover from my venture.

As I type these words, it is 2:56 p.m., and Pote now has his girlfriend visiting ─ they went forth and bought a small pizza.  Does he, then, not have to work today at all?

I have no idea.

At least a couple of times in previous posts, I have reported on the awful trend California has taken in making vaccinations mandatory.

Still, I am Canadian, and not American.  Let any concerned Americans read this editorial on the topic by Dr. William Campbell Douglass II that he put forth a couple of days ago:

WARNING: Vaccine laws robbing you of your most basic rights
It's time to take the bear off the California flag -- it's been extinct for nearly a century anyway -- and replace it with a more fitting symbol for the state: a big needle!

California has become the first U.S. state to require vaccinations for all kids, eliminating every exemption except the almost-impossible-to-obtain medical exemption.

This ugly new law just signed by Gov. Moonbeam takes the most important medical decisions about children's health out of the hands of parents and even out of the hands of their doctors.

Now, faceless school district bureaucrats will decide which shots are required -- and any kid who doesn't have every single one will get tossed out.

This STUNNING power grab doesn't just cover all the shots on the current schedule. It gives those bureaucrats the blanket power to add any shot to the required list at any time.

If Big Pharma manages to rush an experimental vaccine through the approvals process in response to some fabricated threat -- monkey flu, chicken fever, Martian Ebola, you can bet they'll come up with something -- your school district can IMMEDIATELY make it required and kids who don't get the shot will be expelled.

And if you think that could never happen, just look at how we got to this point -- because I strongly suspect this whole thing was a setup from the start.

The "Disneyland measles" outbreak that kicked this off was in the news almost every night. Then, it vanished as the kids all made a quick recovery.

The media didn't cover that part.

Here's something else you didn't hear on the news: The outbreak wasn't caused by hippy-dippy Californians refusing to vaccinate their children. It was traced to the Philippines, which was in the middle of a huge measles outbreak at the time.

The common-sense solution is to get tougher on people coming into the country, especially if they're coming from known disease zones.

Instead, we're getting tougher on our own people.

It makes ZERO sense ...until you follow the money, because vaccine laws are being funded by Big Pharma in a big way.

"Dr." Richard Pan, the state senator who co-sponsored the vaccine bill, collected $66,957 from the drug and health products industries from 2009-2012, the most recent year we have info on.

He also raked in $266,975 from "health professionals," $48,649 from "health services" and $35,649 from "hospitals & nursing homes" in that same time.

The medical industry has been very good to "Dr." Pan... and he's being good right back to them.

It's time to take matters out of the hands of corrupt politicians and put them back where they belong: in YOUR hands.

If you're in California, support the ballot initiatives under way to reverse this outrageously bad law. And if you're not, the time to fight for your rights in your own state is right NOW-- because I can guarantee you, they're already working on laws modeled after the one in California in the other 49 states.

Fighting the good fight,

William Campbell Douglass II, M.D.
If it is still possible to defeat this state law, then all Californians should rally against it.

Dr. Douglass came out yesterday with two other darned good reports that I now want to profile.  The first has prostate cancer as it subject:

The prostate cancer lie that could leave you in diapers
If there's anyone I trust less than a politician, it's your unscrupulous neighborhood urologist.

At least politicians know what to do when caught with their pants down: Cry for the cameras and beg for forgiveness.

With urologists, the tables are turned. YOU'RE the one with your pants down... and when they're caught pulling a fast one, you won't find them begging for forgiveness.

Nope, they'll look you in the eye and act as if they're doing you a favor. They might even want YOU to beg for forgiveness for having the nerve to question them!

All I can say my friend is question away, because a new study proves -- AGAIN -- that these hacks are throwing science out the window to advance their own highly profitable agenda.

Even by mainstream guidelines, millions of men with prostate cancer are candidates for the "watchful waiting" approach. That's leaving the tumor alone -- no drugs, no surgery, nothing -- unless it shows signs of becoming more aggressive.

But very few of the men who meet those guidelines get "watchful waiting," with up to two-thirds getting treatment anyway.

Why? MONEY, and you'll find that not-so-subtle clue hidden right in the study: The men most likely to get the "watchful waiting" approach are men without insurance.

Yup... when there's no cash on the line, urologists suddenly become big believers in leaving the cancer alone.

For everyone else, it's treatment -- and when it comes to prostate cancer, treatment usually means stealing your manhood away with drugs or surgery. By the time they're through with you, you'll likely be left with a limp and leaky member and a lifetime subscription to the Diaper of the Month club.

But that's a club you don't have to join.

Because the best way to handle prostate cancer in most cases is to not even know it's there so you don't stress over it. If you're healthy and don't have any symptoms, don't bother getting screened.

And if you do have symptoms of a prostate problem, don't take anything a urologist says at face value. Get a second opinion, ideally from a naturopathic physician experienced in cancer care. I recommend a member of the American College for Advancement in Medicine.

Watching and waiting,

William Campbell Douglass II, M.D.
That is probably always going to be my tack ─ i.e., I intend never to get tested.

I located the study he spoke about, but only the abstract or summary is available to the general public without payment of a fee:  Contemporary Nationwide Patterns of Active Surveillance Use for Prostate Cancer (doi: 10.1001/jamainternmed.2015.2835). 

However, there is a report concerning it at consumer.healthday.comToo Few Men With Low-Risk Prostate Cancers Get 'Watch and Wait' Approach.

Dr. Douglass' second report of yesterday especially interests me, for I firmly believe that I am victim to this condition:

MEN: In a bad mood? Fix it fast with this surprising hormone trick
Instead of an eye at the top of the Great Seal we should have a finger, because everyone's always pointing at someone else.

We live in a society where no one takes responsibility for anything anymore. No matter what it is, it's someone else's fault -- and folks expect the feds to step in and magically solve all their problems (with YOUR money of course).

But gents, there's a very real problem you could be battling right now and I can confirm you truly ARE blameless for this one.

If your booming laugh has vanished... if you strength is sagging... if your whip-sharp mind has dulled... if your sex life has slowed down from 60 to zero... and if you have no idea where that spare tire came from... I've got the words you need to hear:

It's not your fault!

Mother Nature and Father Time have teamed up to play a cruel trick on you. After middle age, just when you need testosterone more than ever, your body shuts down production faster than a union shop at quitting time.

And one of the first and most noticeable tolls it'll take is on your mood.

You can go from healthy and happy to the living embodiment of a sad sack in no time flat, and new research confirms -- yet again -- that a bad day or bad luck isn't to blame for your blues.

Your finger should be pointed straight at those slumping hormone levels instead.

They don't have to fall too far, either. The new study of 200 men finds that even "borderline" testosterone levels -- we're talking about levels your own doc probably wouldn't be concerned about -- can cause your mood to head south fast.

And the risk isn't small, either. It's HUGE.

More than half of all men with these borderline low testosterone levels -- 56 percent -- also suffered from depression.

In any normal population of men at any given time, we'd expect that number to be somewhere between 3 percent and 4 percent. That means low testosterone increases the risk of depression by between 1,500 and 2,000 percent.

So if you have collected more than a few candles on your birthday cake and you have no idea why you've been feeling so crummy, don't blame yourself. Blame your hormones -- especially if your blues are accompanied by the other signs of low testosterone.

The government can't bail you out of this one, but luckily you can take matters into your own hands: natural supplements such as ram's horn can help kick-start your body's hormone factory back into working order.

And if you're still experiencing troubling symptoms make an appointment to see a doctor who has expertise in natural hormones. He can check your levels, top you off naturally -- and then keep tabs on you to make sure it's working.

Turning your blues into jazz,

William Campbell Douglass II, M.D.
I tracked down the study, but the website hosting it is presently offline due to supposed maintenance, so I have no idea if the study if there for the general public in full, or just as an abstract:  High Rates of Depression and Depressive Symptoms Among Men Referred for Borderline Testosterone Levels (doi: 10.1111/jsm.12937).

I've tried accessing the website for about an hour ─ how long does daytime maintenance take?

Regardless, here are a couple of other reports on the study:
I have a few related issues that I am unable to do anything at all about because I simply do not have the available income.

And it is killing me inside.

It's going to end my marriage ─ and me ─ if my finances do not miraculously improve.  I am 65, and only growing older.  I cannot much longer bear everything that is bowing me so very low.

I have courted thoughts of suicide since I was a teen.  The struggle against finally ending my lifetime of anguished disappointment and loneliness is becoming increasingly difficult.

Here to close is an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 24 years old, and living in a cheap housekeeping room in New Westminster.
SATURDAY, July 13, 1974

I bought some batteries on my way to Burnaby Lake; also, a Penthouse whose Kathy Moore did it.

I have a letter to mail to Jean, and a $6 tithe.

I walked to Mark's for my work-out, but the fleshy part of my left hand is too bruised as a result of the fall I took after snapping off a road sign last night near David's.

Mark & Cathy were at the Dell; Bill was babysitting.  

He drove me home.  

I'll be abed 3:35 a.m.
A secluded spot between Burnaby Lake and the freeway was where I went to sunbathe ─ I didn't have the courage to strip down and do any sunbathing anywhere locally.  I was too infernally backward and shy.

I must have been taking a radio with me.

"Kathy Moore" would have been a model in the (August) Penthouse magazine that resulted in me manually releasing some sexual tension.

Jean M. Black was an American pen-pal I had ─ evidently I had a newly-written letter to mail to her. 

As for tithing, I had been doing it for years ─ anytime I had any money to tithe from.  I generally rounded the tithe up to the nearest dollar.

My brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were then renting a home together in Whalley ─ the house was located on Bentley Road.  I was keeping a set of weights there because I had no space for them in my housekeeping room.

Thus, after my long walk from 333 Pine Street in New Westminster to Burnaby Lake and back, I later hiked all the way out to Whalley.

I walked so much!

I had been wondering where my old friend Philip David Prince had been rooming at this time.  I had known him since Grade VIII when we both found ourselves at Newton Junior High School during the 1962/1963 school term out in Surrey.

He moved to New Westminster in the early 1970s; I had been living there since at least 1969.

I well remember that stop sign that I snapped off of its foundation.

David was living in a rooming house that was almost at the corner of some street that ended at Sixth Street ─ the street could not have been any farther up Sixth Street than Brantford Street, so maybe that was it?

I was very drunk, and must have been coming home from Moody Park where I had gone with some other young drunk ─ a stranger I  met whose name was "Doug."  We had bought and ate a large pizza there.

Anyway, I was heading back to my room when I decided to see how tough I was.

The wooden post of the stop sign was of course sunk into the concrete.

I pulled and pushed on the darn thing with everything I had, and then it just suddenly yielded with a great snapping sound ─ the pole and I were launched out into the middle of the street, and I in fact found myself beyond the centre line.

It had made such a loud noise that I quickly scrambled up and ran.

David later told me that he heard the noise and went to his window to look out, but saw nothing.  He simply assumed that some car had hit the pole and kept going.

Memories of such stupid acts of vandalism now rather haunt me.  But I did not do it with vandalistic intent ─ I was simply exploring my prowess without much depth of consideration.

Anyway, continuing with my journal entry, I walked out to Whalley to have my workout, but my left hand was just too sore to handle weight.

My old friend William Alan Gill was babysitting Jeanette's two little girls while she and Mark had some beers in Whalley's Dell Hotel ─ it was no more than a block from where Mark and Jeanette lived.

The hotel was demolished just a few years ago, unfortunately.  I always rather liked it there, dive though it seemed.

I guess I hung around and visited with Bill until Mark and Jeanette came home and relieved him.  Maybe we even had some beers.

He saved me the nuisance of walking all the way back to my room in New Westminster, for he also lived there.

This is an old photo of Jeanette's oldest daughter, Michelle Lee Gunther ─ both she and her little sister Pamela Susan Gunther were beautiful little girls.

I estimate that the photo is likely from the year 1975, if not even 1974. 

Reminiscing like this makes me miss the 'me' I used to be ─ and the people in my life back then who I loved so much, and are now gone.

It is scant wonder I often feel like there is little reason to continue much longer.  Things have become so barren for me.  It really hurts to reflect.
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