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Wednesday, August 17, 2016

★ Marimar Quiora: Unusual Beauty Vlogger │ Bariatric Surgery and Increased Risk of Bone Fractures

My basest nature held sway last night and prevented me from a timely bedtime ─ it was 2:30 a.m. before I was finally into bed, not at all at peace with myself.

The first serious break in sleep was just ahead of 6:00 a.m.; and I believe that it was 7:14 a.m. when I gave up hope of further sleep, although it took me some minutes before I  managed to force myself from bed.

The streak of hot, sunny weather continues.

I put in some work on the post I have in progress at my Lawless Spirit website, but I had to break from the work to commence preparation for that four-mile round-trip hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley.

Incidentally, that website ─ one of six that I have hosted online ─ is my second weakest insofar as visitors are concerned.  When I logged into it on Monday, over the span of 28 days prior, there had been no visitors at all on July 19 and August 1.

The government liquor store foray was to be my effort at reconciling the position I find myself in today ─ too ill-slept and dispirited to engage in the usual exercise breaks that I would have undertaken over the day here at home.

And of course, my youngest step-son Pote and his girlfriend have the day off work and are here together ─ far better I make this venture today than on some day when I could have time home alone.

In addition, my wife Jack may be here tomorrow and/or Friday, so the hike would not be possible in that scenario.

My stock of beer was rather ample ─ the trip wasn't an emergency.  I had four dozen and 10 cans on hand.

But it is always preferable to have an abundance of beer than too little.

So I readied myself for the hike, and by 10:50 a.m. I was on my way.

There is truly little else worth mentioning.

I bought my usual two dozen cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer, and bore them the two miles back home with me.

I did have a nice chat with two female staff members at the liquor store ─ I really do find the  personnel working there to be an engaging lot overall.

Even the members who only work there on a rotational basis, for many liquor store employees have to work at various store locations as may be assigned.  Only employees with tenure manage to get a posting to one location on a permanent basis.

As I was making my way home, I noted that the police seemed to be actively involved with one or two street walkers I had seen earlier in the area of 105th Avenue & 134-A Street ─ the two I had earlier seen at a distance did not appear to me to be all that marketable.

But I had left that determination for the return leg of my journey, for my route home would have taken me right past them.

I was back home by 12:20 p.m., and Pote and his girlfriend had apparently risen and made themselves a lunch in my absence.  However, they were back in bed again with the lights out, watching a movie or something on her laptop.

I helped myself to a good feed of some of the fare that my wife Jack had prepared yesterday when she was home; and then at 1:47 p.m., I was in bed in search of a good nap ─ earplugs and blindfold in place.

Alas, before it was even 2:15 p.m., I was pulled from sleep's embrace by a call from Jack on my cellphone.  She wanted me to locate her Thai ID card, and let her know the issue and expiry dates.

Locating the card in my fogged state was not an exercise I had much heart for, but I did manage to eventually find what she was after ─ I had never even seen the card before.  She had only acquired in on June 2nd, apparently, since that was the issuance date.

I returned to bed, but I realized that my mind was too engaged to easily allow me to sink back into a sleep anytime soon.

And so I rose, forsaking restorative sleep.

I will not be fool enough to be sitting up over-late tonight.


Here is another photo that I scanned within an old album belonging to my younger brother Mark ─ his girlfriend of long ago (Catherine Jeanette Gunther) wrote their names inside the front cover and dated it as November 26, 1974.

The photos in the album are all glued into it, so I have to scan the images directly as they are situated.

The description below the scanned image is from the Google album where I have the scan stored:

This photo is likely from 1974, and was taken at the Surrey home my younger brother Mark rented with his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther and her two young daughters.

It is so long ago now, but I think the house may have been located along 144th Street, above 108th Avenue. 

I remember that the rather deep ravine of a creek was at the rear of the backyard; and the only creek I can see on any Google map is Bon Accord Creek.

That is Mark's friend Al Cotts clowning with a huge Texas mickey ─ and there did indeed seem to be some manner of drinking party taking place
As I said in yesterday's post, Al Cotts was a close friend of Mark's back then, but by the arrival of the 1980s they had gone their separate ways and all contact was forever lost.

I liked the guy.


I watched a video today ─ it was just published to YouTube two days ago ─ featuring a 21-year-old vlogger named Marimar Quiora.  (I believe that she is now 22 years old.)

She was born with a facial tumour called cystic hygroma, and had to undergo numerous surgeries to reduce its size.

Due to the terrible distortion the tumour caused her face, she cannot speak nor even eat.  She has to use sign language in her videos.  And to eat, I believe that the video telling her story said that she has to receive nourishment via a tube directly into her stomach.

She cannot even breathe through her mouth or nose ─ she breathes through an opening made into her neck.

Yet she has become upbeat and full of life and purpose after doing her best to hide herself away from the public in her earlier life.

So what does she usually 'vlog' about?

Beauty ─ make-up and such.

The photo shows her with her family.

When I watched the profile about her, I just assumed that she lived in some other part of the world.  However, I believe that California is her home.

Here's that five-minute introduction to the young woman:

Inspirational Vlogger Redefines Beauty: BORN DIFFERENT

Can you believe that wretches out there ─ Internet trolls ─ actually make nasty comments to her vlog videos?

She of course has her own YouTube channel, if you're interested:  MakeupArtistGorda66.


Poor Marimar Quiora above had no choice about needing to be fed via a tube directly into her stomach, but many people voluntarily choose that fate ─ or one nearly similar ─ when they undergo bariatric surgery to lose weight. 

So many of these patients take the surgery with the mistaken notion that it is the easy way to weight loss, and they won't have to diet.

But these surgeries impair the body's ability to properly digest and absorb the nutrients it needs from food, and studies are revealing that the risk of bone fractures takes a dramatic upswing as compared to both obese people who have not had the surgery, and non-obese folks.

The most recent study was published in the British Medical JournalChange in fracture risk and fracture pattern after bariatric surgery: nested case-control study (doi: 10.1136/bmj.i3794).  

You can find a report about the study here:

But back on December 24, 2015, reuters.com reported on similar findings in an earlier study:  Weight loss surgery may increase fracture risk.

Obviously there are a myriad of other health issues taking place that go beyond weakened bones.  And once the stomach has been tampered with in such dramatic fashion, there isn't always the possibility of undoing what the surgery has wrought.

I think I would just give up those damned carbohydrates of any description, and focus on a diet high in natural animal fats.  

The mainstream low-calorie diets are not working, and are based upon misguided understanding anyway.    


Well, I am ready to knock off for the day, so here to close with 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.

I was renting my room in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I cannot say why I was choosing to hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.  That was the sort of visit I would make during the week when her husband Alex was at work.

My mother's home was my mailing address, so I frequently checked in (and got some good eats).

The little house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue; and to hike there from my room in New Westminster would take me about 1½ hours at a goodly clip.
SUNDAY, August 17, 1975

I got up about 6:12 a.m., still feeling logy; it should be to my benefit to cease attending the smorgasbord, at least weekly.

My situation improved after easy leg-raises and a shower.

For breakfast I indulged in pancakes.

Two machines were going, but nobody was in the laundromat when I arrived; however, when I left there were 4 adults plus a witling kid.

I shall leave a note telling Bill I am going to my mother's.

There, my mail proved to be a $5 tithe receipt, some further Western Lottery order coupons from the Canadian Big 4 Amateur Football Conference, and an Olympic Lottery ticket from Montreal.

I had a lunch there.  

I arrived about noon in cloud and some occasional misty rain, and left at 3:30 p.m. in sunshine.    

On 3rd Ave. between 3rd & 4th St. a heavy-furred ginger cat cut me off meowing a greeting; the pleasantest experience of my entire walk.

Bill's car was at home, and my note on my door, so I guess he must work tonight.

I had quite a bit of heartburn today, but by evening was rid of it; by then I was hungry.

After dark, running my 11 laps I had the track to myself, except for 2 punk trespassers; but leaving, 2 individual joggers began their thing.  

I have a slight sore throat.

Bedtime shall be by 11:20 p.m. a latest. 
I don't really remember going to that laundromat almost weekly, but my impression now is that it must have been on Sixth Avenue near the public library.

I had forgotten the word "witling," but I know what I meant.  A referral to my old two-volume Funk & Wagnalls Standard Dictionary of the English Language (International Edition) has this definition:
A person who has little wit or understanding.
I did not easily like children.

I left the note on my door for my old friend William Alan Gill because he often visited me.  I had known him since at least as far back as 1962, and maybe even before that.  

It is rather strange to me now, though, that I cannot recall just where the bachelor suite he was renting in New Westminster was located ─ it was evidently not too very far from where I was living.

There must not have been anything worth recording about my visit to my mother's home ─ apart from an itemization of the mail I received, and mention of a lunch.

I never had much money, but I was a loyal tither back then ─ I had been for years ─ to the Worldwide Church of God, despite never having attended.

Anyway, after hiking back to New Westminster and having the delightful interaction with a ginger cat, I noted that Bill's car was at the apartment building he rented in, and my note was still on my door ─ he had not come by.

The 11 track laps I ran after it had gotten dark were done at the school track of New Westminster Secondary.

I forlornly wish that it was possible for me to embrace fitness once more, instead of being shut-up here in my debtor's prison like I am.
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