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Sunday, July 24, 2016

Over 50% of Adults Unknowingly Have Preclinical Heart Failure; Common Medications That Can Cause Heart Failure

Not a cent accrued in my AdSense account yesterday ─ that's never easy to see and accept.

I'm unsure now, but I may not have managed to get to bed last night before midnight ─ I just don't remember.

The big reason for my delay in getting to bed was tuning partway into a commercial-free 1961 black & white movie featuring Stuart Whitman as a 'recovering' convicted child molester that had done his time, and was now employed, and dating a widowed blonde woman with a precocious and cute little blonde daughter.

The community knew nothing of his past.

And then a reporter recognized him.

I was hooked.  I had to see how it played out ─ this is the Wikipedia write-up on the movie:  The Mark.  

I don't think the show ran any later than 11:15 p.m., but I next went outside and watered the plants in the front yard.

And then I came in and did my usual monitoring of the E-mails that had accumulated since I had last visited my Inbox.

So I might have gotten to bed ahead of midnight ─ I just don't know.

When I had my first break in sleep to compel me to check the time, it was something like 5:56 a.m.

I took a bathroom break, and returned to bed, but sleep was extremely elusive.  I decided to get up when I checked the time around 7:12 a.m.

I heard my youngest step-son Pote returning home in his older brother Tho's car ─ Pote had most likely just taken his overnighted girlfriend somewhere.

He was soon to leave for his bus to take him to work ─ it was 8:26 a.m. when he headed out the front door. 

I put a fair amount of time adding to a new post I am building at my Thai-Iceland website, but it's going to be touch-and-go to have it completed and published by tomorrow.  We'll see.

I probably put too much of my physical resources into it, however.  I had wanted to get out today and do a little sightseeing, including the Fusion Festival just about a mile away from me here in Whalley.

However, I was quite hungry, so I had a big bowl of the Thai curry my wife Jack had cooked up yesterday, as well as a smallish slice of blueberry pie that she had bought and brought home.

And that basically incapacitated me.

It's a completely sunny day.  There was no way I wanted to be going anywhere with my uncomfortably distended belly.

So well ahead of noon I returned to my bed to try and rest up.

I checked the time once when it was not yet midway through the noon hour, but I was feeling so darned sleepy.  I know I had napped a little by then.

I heard my younger brother Mark come home from wherever it was in Abbotsford that he had overnighted with his girlfriend Bev in his van; and Tho was up from bed by then ─ he was not yet home when I retired last night.

The next time I checked the time it was around 1:24 p.m.  Tho had just gone into the bathroom to shower, and Mark was gone.

I still felt like the dickens, but I hauled myself out of bed and changed into a pair of cut-offs ─ I could see no way in which I could possibly recover enough to be going anywhere, so I at least wanted to sit out in the backyard facing into the Sun.

I started a 40-minute session at 1:30 p.m. ─ my bare feet on the ground to benefit from some earthing, and I was shirtless. 

But just what brings me so physically low on some days?  Is it as simple as a very bad night's sleep?

Or is it some deleterious effect from staring for several hours at this computer screen and the blindingly white backgrounds I work in when editing posts like that at my Thai-Iceland website? 


Here is a fairly old family photo I wish to post ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the scanned image stored:

This is my mother's husband, Alex Dorosh.

The photo may have been taken in the 1970s, judging by his appearance.

But where?  That is clearly the sea, and not some lake.

No more than about five days ago, I read about a condition called preclinical heart failure, "also known as heart failure (HF) stages A and B." 

An examination of 6,770 people whose average age was 51 "found that the prevalence of preclinical HF is close to 60 percent. Furthermore, individuals with stage B HF were found to be at increased risk of death, as they had greater circulating levels of cardiac stress biomarkers."  

Do you understand that?

Over half of these average people were identified as being in the early stages of heart failure, but they did not realize it until the study was run.

Stage B of preclinical heart failure is more serious than stage A, yet:
...Nearly 38 percent of people between ages 65 to 75 years and 43 percent of those older than age 75 years had evidence of preclinical HF stage B. Additionally, 32 percent of people less than 55 years of age were classified as stage A HF....
That's from here:

The study is Cardiovascular Health Status and Incidence of Heart Failure in the Framingham Offspring Study (doi: 10.1161/CIRCHEARTFAILURE.115.002416), and some more concerning it can be found here:

This ought to make all of us feel some concern.
An astonishing variety of common medications can actually bring on full heart failure ─ medications you may already be taking.

The American Heart Association recently  issued a warning about this:

But to see the full list of culprit medications, you need to access Drugs That May Cause or Exacerbate Heart Failure │ A Scientific Statement From the American Heart Association (doi: 10.1161/CIR.0000000000000426).

Unfortunately, you will need to click a link to bring up the entire report as a .pdf document ─ give this a try.  It won't be any kind of light read, though.

The dailymail.co.uk has a fairly short report, but of course they are very selective in what they choose to report upon:

More than ever, this should amply illustrate why we should NOT be taking unnatural medications.  But the sorry thing is that some people have deteriorated to the point where certain medication may be the only thing keeping them from death's door.


Now here to close off today's post is an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

The room I was renting was located in a house on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.  However, my mother Irene Dorosh and her husband Alex had gone on a trip 'back East,' and I was entrusted to be keeping an eye on their home ─ it also happened to be my mailing address.

The house is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.

I had just spent the prior night in that house after drinking there with my younger brother Mark, who did not leave until 3:40 a.m. when his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther had phoned in search of him.  I fibbed to her and said that he had already just left.

Mark and Jeanette were renting a home together in Whalley ─ the house was located on Bentley Road, quite near to the intersection of 108th Avenue & King George Highway.

They had just gotten back the previous afternoon after more than a week away while on a trip to the Edmonton area.
THURSDAY, July 24, 1975

I got myself up shortly past 10:00 a.m., feeling none too good; the boozing was not worth while.

It is a cloudy morning.

I won't be starting off anywhere early; I am too ill, largely suffering from the unfortunate feeling one has in the head ─ especially the eyes ─ that suggests a headache, though I have no actual ache in that sense.

I lied down some while, arising after 2:00 p.m.

Then Mark came for the lawn mower, and asked if I cared to go camping Friday afternoon for possibly 3 or 4 days.

I don't really care to leave here (mom's).  I went as far as his place, then walked home to town.

From there, I made my eventual way to dad's.

Supper was one of their poorly sauced spaghetti gluttings.  

I had indigestion before, but when I left at 10:00 p.m., I really had some experiences; I forced my flagging, awkward legs to perform some running, getting  home in 40 minutes.

All day my throat has been sensitive.  
After I rode to Mark's home in Whalley with him, I hiked to my room in New Westminster. 

I must have been expected for supper at my father Hector's apartment that he was sharing with his girlfriend, Maria Fadden.  But that meant yet another hike ─ they lived at 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby, as this Google map may be able to help display.  

Sunset Street is a very short street nearly central in that map, and just below Sprott.  You can zoom out a bit and scroll down to New Westminster to get a greater sense of the distance I had to cover to get to there on foot.

I don't know when I arrived at my father's apartment, but when I left at 10:00 p.m. after overeating earlier, I managed to make it back to my room in 40 minutes with some running ─ despite the fire of heartburn.

Thus to recap, afflicted with my hangover and a potential sore throat/cold developing, I hiked from Whalley in to my room in New Westminster, and then all the way out to my father's apartment in Burnaby; and late that evening, I returned on foot to my room in New Westminster. 

And now here I am today at the age of 66, and I couldn't get myself out to hike what probably wouldn't have been much more than four miles if I managed to do all that I had intended.

However, in my defence, there was no Internet back in my 20s, and I was not stuck at a computer hours and hours every day setting up posts on my hosted websites, nor doing a blog here that has been daily for a formidable run of posts.

If I had the financial resources that made this pathetic bid at generating an extra income unnecessary, I most definitely would not be sitting on my behind like I do.  I would be free to pursue physical excellence.

I just wish this slaving was paying off in some encouraging degree.
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