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Monday, June 20, 2016

Study: Vaccination Rates Drop When the Public Is Given Detailed Information of Adverse Risks │ Opioid Painkillers Proving Addictive...and Ineffective ─ They Actually Prolong the Duration of Pain

My wife Jack did show up last evening, just as she had texted in the late afternoon or early evening that she would.

I learned something of her total disappearance ─ with nary a word ─ from here late Saturday morning.  It seems that she had kept some sort of a medical appointment, and afterwards found herself 'turned around' ─ she got lost.

When she finally found her bearings, she just decided to head on in to Vancouver ─ she had lost enough time.

It was awhile before she left here last evening to return to Vancouver, and I barely managed to make it to bed ahead of midnight.

When I made a time-check this morning with an eye to rising for the day, it was only 6:38 a.m. or so.  I opted to hold out until it was after 7:00 a.m., though I never managed to fall into a nap.

I found my eldest step-son Tho's car gone, so he must have gone to work.

His younger brother Pote rose about an hour after I did, and soon hustled away to catch his bus to work.

I was alone in the house at last!

I completed the edit of a January 7, 2012, post that I had been amending since last Thursday at my website My Retirement Dream, and now the update is published:  Medan to Bali Flights.

Soon, I became beset with considerable anguish.

I had wanted to do some local grocery shopping, but I also had a bill payment to mail off that is due on Wednesday.

I logged into my chequing account, and realized that once the cheque for our annual home insurance payment has been cashed, my account will be almost $100 too short to cover the monthly mortgage payment that generally gets debited around the 22nd, but which could even strike as early as the 21st ─ that is, tomorrow.

The bill payment I was mailing today was a cheque for $200.  It would probably get negotiated the same day that it is received, so it could well be applied against my account on Wednesday.

And then there is the hit the account would take from any debit card based grocery shopping that I might do.

I became so distraught, there was no way I could do the shopping.  My confidence and mindset were completely off track.

I did hustle off to mail the payment, however, at a mailbox about four blocks away.  It was 10:22 a.m. when I dumped it in.

So now I am going to have to contact my wife Jack later today to alert her about the state of our chequing account.  She has something over $400 in her personal account, but I dare not transfer any of it over without a conversation with her in case she has a payment coming due.

Our only alternative will be her youngest son Pote who ─ unlike his wastrel older brother Tho ─ seems able to keep his little account growing.

I had applied on Friday to have a $2,500 redemption made of some RRSP money in a dwindling account that I have, but I was warned that the direct deposit could take from five to 10 business days to actually occur.

Thus, it might happen by Friday; but not in time to pluck me from this looming financial crisis with the mortgage.

It really sucks living like this.

Anyway, I felt a little better after I was back home from mailing the bill.

The day was fairly cool at the time ─ the sky was mostly overcast, albeit lightly.

By midday, there was a fair bit of sunshine out there.  So just at the end of the noon-hour, I sat in a chair out in the backyard while donned in just a pair of shorts, and faced towards the Sun for just over 45 minutes.

Why is it that we never cease hoping and praying that God will deliver a financial miracle ─ possibly even one that would forever rescue us from worries about money and debt ─ when He has never done so countless times in the past?


I love this story about some researchers who wanted to prove something concerning the HPV vaccines to a bunch of the public who were considering getting the shots.

The premise of the researchers was that by informing the people about everything negative concerning the vaccines, these prospective vaccine recipients would be even more bolstered than before to have the shots because there would be no more negative mystery about the vaccines in play.

Education and truth should banish mistrust and any absence of confidence in the product, right?

It looks like they might have to start calling Missouri "The Don't Show-Me State" -- at least as far as vaccines are concerned.

For years I've been telling you that the more people know about the risks of vaccines, the less likely they are to agree to them.

But a group of University of Missouri researchers set out to prove me wrong.

They bet that they could educate people about all the side effects of vaccines, and they'd line up for the jabs anyway.

What happened may be the greatest backfire in research history. And it's leading to some very dangerous recommendations that could put you and the people you love in harm's way.

It's bad enough that the mainstream regularly tries to force us into getting vaccines without breathing a word about the dangers.

And after this latest study, don't expect that to get any better.

You see, researchers from the University of Missouri got a crazy idea in their heads. They figured that even if they took the time to inform patients about the potential risks and reactions of vaccines, those folks would still get the shots.

They thought it would build trust. Want to guess how that went?

For their study, researchers gave more than 1,000 people access to data from the federal Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS) on the HPV vaccines Gardasil and Cervarix.

That's right -- the same vaccines I've been warning you about for years that have left hundreds of kids in constant pain, paralyzed, and even dead.

And once people saw these horror stories in black and white, they weren't rolling up their sleeves -- they were running for the hills!

The patients in the study were actually significantly less likely to agree to vaccines after seeing the VAERS reports.

These researchers said they were sure that the VAERS data would "make participants feel more assured that vaccines are safe." What they discovered, however, "was the opposite."

No kidding. There's a reason the mainstream has been trying to keep this information from us for years.

Now you'd think a study like this would be a wake-up call. You'd hope the mainstream would finally realize that we all take these vaccine risks a lot more seriously than they realized.

Yeah, not exactly.

Instead, the researchers concluded that the media needs to be careful about how it covers vaccine stories. Because the more we learn, the less likely we'll be to get vaccines.

That's right -- they want to make sure you and everyone you know is kept in the dark even more than before. How do these people look themselves in the mirror?

The good news is that you don't have to rely on the media or the mainstream for information on the dangers and side effects of vaccines.

You can access the VAERS website yourself right here.

Doing a little digging will help you make the best (and most informed) decision about which shots are right for you and the people you care about.
Here's another report about the study ─ the report was written by the actual researchers:

I noticed how staunchly it is pointed out that a VAERS report of the death of one certain little boy did not necessarily mean that it was the HPV vaccine that brought on his sudden death two months after his vaccination.

I'll grant that.

However, there was nothing to indicate that the vaccine wasn't responsible, either!

Why not stress that, too?


The knee surgery I underwent on the evening of November 5, 2010, to reattach my left leg's quadriceps tendon to my patella (knee cap) resulted in pain enough afterwards ─ I cannot imagine having full knee-replacement surgery!

We hear so much about opioid addiction by people with chronic pain ─ even the musician Prince who apparently eschewed alcohol was not above getting himself addicted to the dope his physicians prescribed for him.

Maybe he should have drank instead?

Regardless, the following report touches upon two recent studies involving opioids that ought to open many eyes:

There you are, ready to leap out of the hospital bed and take your first steps on your brand-new knees.

And that's when the pain hits you, and it hits you hard.


You want to scream. Heck, maybe you WILL scream -- because the pain of arthritis is nothing next to what you can feel in the days after knee replacement surgery.

Your doc likely won't warn you ahead of time about that pain, but it's practically a guarantee -- and that's how seniors just like you end up making one of the biggest mistakes of their lives.

You might be so desperate for some relief that you pop opioid painkillers.

Despite all the warnings over these meds, docs are still passing them around like hot dogs at a Fourth of July BBQ -- and the latest research shows how knee replacement surgery can put folks who never would've dreamed of getting hooked on opioids on the path to addiction.

Eight percent -- nearly 1 in 10 -- of patients who WEREN'T on the drugs before knee replacement end up taking them six months after surgery. And if you're on the drugs before surgery, good luck getting off them -- because 53 percent of those folks are STILL taking opioids six months after a knee replacement.

Given the intense pain known to follow this procedure, I can't blame them for wanting to take the strongest med a doc is willing to offer.

But what these folks don't realize is that the very promise of that powerful relief is built on a lie -- because a second new study finds opioid painkillers don't kill pain after all.

They can make it worse -- increasing severity and DOUBLING the duration of pain.

Because the drugs deliver a quick hit of short-term relief, odds are you won't even make the connection between the meds and the increased pain over the long run.

But experiments on mice found that the drugs activate spinal immune cells, increasing inflammation and -- eventually -- pain, making the mice more sensitive to pain after using the drugs for just five days.

Next thing you know, your "quick and easy" knee surgery is setting you on the path to a long-term battle with pain unlike anything you've ever faced before.

Fortunately, you may not even need that knee surgery in the first place as natural therapies can do what all the drugs and artificial joints in the world can't: They can slow, stop, or even REVERSE the damage of osteoarthritis.

For example, cod liver oil can block the enzyme responsible for joint cartilage damage in osteoarthritis patients. And don't forget the old standards, glucosamine and chondroitin.

Better yet, take all three for best results, and you might never need to see an opioid painkiller in the first place.

With news your knees need....
I had no choice about my knee surgery ─ I wish that I had.  But had I not had the surgery, my quadriceps muscles would have essentially disappeared in time; and I would never again have been able to bend that knee.

Incidentally, once I was home from the surgery, I took Tylenol that first night, but I don't believe I took anything after that ─ just beer and rum.

The first study that was mentioned involved the illustration of just how dependent full knee- and hip-replacement surgical patients could become on opioids ─ this is the study:  Trends and predictors of opioid use after total knee and total hip arthroplasty (doi: 10.1097/j.pain.0000000000000516).    

Here are a couple of reports about that study:

And this is the study concerning rats (not mice) that revealed how opioid use paradoxically extended the duration of pain in a sufferer ─ note that only the abstract of the study is available for free to the general public:  Morphine paradoxically prolongs neuropathic pain in rats by amplifying spinal NLRP3 inflammasome activation (doi: 10.1073/pnas.1602070113).

I was able to access the full study as a 10-page .pdf document over at Sci-Hub.ac.

Nonetheless, here are a couple more reports about the study:


I've never gotten a tattoo, but that has always been due to financial limitations.

My wife Jack actually has three ─ all from Thailand, I believe:  a big Pisces symbol on the outside of a thigh, a Chinese or similar character on the back of her neck, and her name 'Supranee' down an upper arm.

People are dropping like flies thanks to bad meds and poisoned foods -- and what's the FDA worried about?


You just can't make this up, my friend... but the agency that can't even protect you from listeria in your cheese is now trying to protect you from "body art."


There was a time when you weren't a man until you got liquored up one night with your friends and got some ink.

Maybe it was the name of your beloved, inside of a heart. Maybe it was an anchor or the USMC logo.

And of course, there's the classic: MOM.

Today, some ink on the arm isn't enough anymore. Some folks have so many tattoos they look like "The Illustrated Man" at the carnival.

That's not my thing. But if that's what you're into, I'm not going to judge.

The FDA, on the other hand, IS here to judge. The Fun Destruction Agency is declaring war on tattoos -- warning that a simple tattoo can give you some kind of horrible infection.

Sometimes, it might be a skin reaction to the ink. In other cases, the ink itself could have germs in it... giving you an infection to go with your new art.

Then there's the fear over dirty needles.

Never mind that any tattoo joint worth your time and money will use NEW needles on each customer, and will even take them out of the package right in front of you. (Run the other way if they don't.)

You'd think the FDA would have more important things to worry about, like fixing its own monster mistakes first.

They've already got their hands full with their own inspector general, who said the agency is downright incompetent when it comes to protecting the food supply.

Yet here they are, issuing warnings over tattoos. Drawings of dolphins and dragons, for crying out loud!

Listen, I'm not going to say the risks aren't real.

There are risks in everything we do. You can get creamed by a truck just crossing the street.

But a little common sense, like looking both ways, can cut the risks. In this case, there are simple ways to make sure a tattoo doesn't come with any of the extras the FDA is warning of.

If you're looking to commemorate your retirement... or the birth of your grandbaby... or the passing of a loved one... you should know about the special needs of older skin, which is less elastic and more likely to bruise

Ask friends or go online for recommendations of a legit tattoo parlor with artists who'll work more slowly to create a shallower -- and less damaging -- design.

And remember that the needles they use may draw some blood, so beware if you've got any circulation issues or are on blood thinners.

Spilling ink....
I've found other articles about this FDA warning, but nobody is linking to anything recent from the FDA.  The best I've been able to locate are two FDA pages that have each been updated on May 3, 2016:
Here's one of those other reports:


My burning eyes ─ and aching, cramped body ─ dictate that it is time for me to close today's post with this entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I rented a room in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

Back then, I only worked one day a week ─ Friday, usually ─ at a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today calls itself Fraserside Community Services Society

I served as a truck swamper on S.A.N.E.'s company vehicle ─ a blue pick-up truck whose carrying capacity was increased with wooden removable siding that increased the height of the bed, allowing us to pile more into the back when required.

We often even moved households when the job was manageable in a few loads.

My employment was through an incentives programme in place with S.A.N.E. and New Westminster social services.  The latter paid me whatever the usual monthly welfare rate was for a single person, plus the stipend merited for my weekly service with S.A.N.E. 

But each month I had to submit a declaration of my need to social services in order to be paid.
FRIDAY, June 20, 1975

I slept badly again; toward 2:00 a.m. my back's itch nearly drove me to get up.

The morning is overcast.

Both Bill & I were trucked by Esther (after I delivered my S.A.N.E. ─ no, my proper welfare paper) to Delta and Surrey for next to no work.  Then while she shopped, we sat in Surrey Place's lot for over half an hour.

There is a dance tonight; both Bills were discharged just after 1:00 p.m., my partner agreeing to appear at the Carpenter's Hall at 7:00 p.m. for preliminary chores.

I accompanied Esther & Myrna while supplies were collected all over, snacking on a couple pink chocolate-centered rolls, peanuts, and grape pop.

When we returned to S.A.N.E., through the building window I exchanged gab with David before being whisked off home.

Travelling earlier by the Surrey Inn, I again saw the fellow who assisted move dad; and Angie was spotted by Myrna on Columbia St.

I was told Mike bought a dance ticket cause he was told I would be present too; so I believe for his sake partly I'll go.  I am to assist setting up at 7:00 p.m.  Entry will be $4.

I went, finding Bill, Howie & girl, and Gordie.

Very few people showed that night (30?) and S.A.N.E. apparently lost a lot of dough on the thing.

Mike, Al Steves, and I sat at a table to ourselves, Al eventually leaving after we had a joint  of Mike's.

Then Melodie and friend Cathy sat at our table, along with shadow Gordie.

The band was four kids, some not even out of elementary school.

Supper wasn't offered till about 11:15 p.m., and I stuffed  mainly on potato salad.

Anon our table was quite crowded with folk like Shirley, Esther, and Judy; Judy even dragged me up for a whirl-type dance, it, or a round with Shirley, being my first.  I had many, mainly with Shirley and Esther, but also with Cathy and the really hammered dame who claimed she worked at S.A.N.E. and thus knew me; Shirley & I won a case of beer, the final 'spotlight' dance prize.

Melodie wanted to have a slow dance with me early in the eve, but when I did finally start obliging askers, she wasn't one.

I helped load some stuff onto the truck after the do, and then unobtrusively made my way home.  Esther thought to get a kiss from me as last time.

I got to bed at 3:00 a.m.; I purposefully left my half dozen beer.  In all, I bought 2, and had one gratis from Shirley.  All night I blew $5.40.    
The itching back was a result of healing from a very severe sunburn that I inflicted upon myself back on June 1.

Esther St. Jean ─ a dear woman in her early 40s ─ generally drove the truck.  On this day, we went out to Delta and Surrey, and then my co-swamper and I had to sit in the truck and await Esther while she shopped in Surrey Place (Central City).

Also in Whalley at that time was the Surrey Inn ─ for the second time in about a week at that establishment, I saw a fellow who had helped my father Hector move a few weeks earlier.

There were two "Bills" involved with swamping at that time, but I now cannot remember either of them.

I can't claim to remember any Carpenters' or Carpenter's Hall, either, but some research shows that there was such at place at 718 Twelfth Street.

It seems that I rode around with Esther and "Myrna" ─ a really nice Indigenous lady who also worked part-time at S.A.N.E. ─ as stock was gathered for the event later that evening.

"Myrna" had noticed Angelina (Angie) Smith on Columbia Street ─ Angelina was the wife of another part-time S.A.N.E. employee, Art Smith.

When we returned to S.A.N.E., I must have been upstairs and noticed my old friend Philip David Prince outside on Carnarvon Street, so I spoke with him through an open window. 

Back then, S.A.N.E. was located in a building roughly where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station spills out onto Carnarvon Street.

It was the report that Mike Shutz or Shutze had bought a dance ticket solely on the basis that I was going to be present that persuaded me to attend ─ I liked long, tall Mike!

So come the evening, I went to the dance.

I needed to get drunk before I would ever get up and dance with anyone ─ and that was always by request, too.  I would never ask for a dance.

I don't remember "Howie" or "Gordie."

I initially sat with Mike ─ and someone named "Al Steves" whom I no longer recall.  After Al left, Esther's youngest daughter Melodie ─ who had designs upon me ─ and her friend "Cathy" (whom I have no memory of) joined us.

I think "Shirley" may have been Shirley Johnson or Johnston, but I could be wrong.  "Judy" was likely Esther's older daughter.

I make it sound like I may have only drank three beers in total, but I really doubt that I had that few.  I would never have likely danced, if that was the case.

It all sounds like I had an actual life in New Westminster...and I guess I did.  

And now here I am today, dwindling away.
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