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Saturday, September 3, 2016

Barking Dogs │ Intravenous Vitamin C Therapy ─ A Sound Treatment for Viral Infections

'Twas either 11:47 p.m. or 11:49 p.m. when I found myself abed last evening.  But that first break in solid sleep came earlier than I was comfortable about.

In fact, I may have awakened as early as 3:30 a.m., but I was not sufficiently cognizant of what was about until nearly 4:00 a.m. ─ that's when it dawned upon me to use the bathroom and try to get comfortable enough again to sleep.

It was raining outside.

I spent the remainder of my night upon my stomach, and probably rose for the day around 7:30 a.m., if not before.

Initially I thought that it was a weekday.

My youngest step-son Pote was already up.  His girlfriend had left earlier after having spent the night with him.

He left for work ahead of 10:30 a.m. ─ I think he may have gotten a ride, for I heard him speaking outside to someone who had a male voice.

The day has been heavily overcast, although there have been some rare sunny breaks.

And the hound beyond the backyard fence has been barking for hour after hour.

Its owners should be sued, or even worse; and the dog taken away.

Hell, I would love to see the owners run right out of town!

I spent most of my morning working on the new post I began a couple of days ago at my Latin Impressions website, but I did not put in as much work as I had hoped to get done on it.

Some of the blame for that can go to the hound ─ it had become so stressful to keep hearing its barrage that I began feeling a most uncomfortable tightness of chest.  So I stopped my efforts and actually sought refuge in my bed, eyes blindfolded and earplugs in place, until I had attained some inner calm.

Constant exposure to the sound of barking really can induce extreme physical and psychological distress.  It has even led to violence when the victim felt unable to bear it another day.

I've suffered this beast for at least three years, and maybe even four.

Am I expected to endure this for the life of the dog, or else until I die or move away?

I have complained to the City of Surrey three times in the past ─ and I see that the first time was September 29, 2012.

The first two times, a bylaw officer ─ someone different in each instance ─ did contact me; but I never heard from anyone when I complained the third time.   All I got was an acknowledgment of my complaint.

So I have given up.

I have slain that animal in my imagination so many times, and with so many different methods, that it truly is uncountable.

I have been in tears and in emotional rages because of the unrelenting stress that I am futile to do anything about, since I cannot stop the noise short of violence.

I have even harboured unmentionable ill-will towards the thoughtless owners.

People do break.  My time may yet come when I do.

And if that does finally happen, it will unleash a berserker that all concerned will rue the birthing of.


Here is an old family photo from my mother's collection ─ the description below it is from the Google album where I have the scanned image stored:

This is Alex Dorosh, my mother Irene's husband.

I don't even remember Alex looking this young ─ the photo must surely be from the latter 1960s.

If so, it predates their marriage.

I wonder if it's possible that the photo is even earlier?

I remember a mirror resembling the one on the wall, but I cannot be sure about any other objects in the photo.

That device behind Alex that has a strap on top, and resembles something electronic, does look a little familiar.

I wonder why the mainstream medical profession is so blinkered when it comes to intravenous vitamin C therapy?

A report was published recently in the Journal of Orthomolecular Medicine that described how a Zika virus patient in Puerto Rico was successfully treated by physicians in just three days using this method.
This is a case report of a 54 year-old Hispanic female who arrived at the clinic with symptomatology congruent with the Zika fever. The patient was treated with high doses of intravenous vitamin C over three days. The symptoms resolved after the infusions without any side effects at day four. Recovery from this viral infection takes normally around two weeks. Based on the positive outcome in this case, we propose that intravenous vitamin C should be studied further as a potential treatment for acute viral infections.
That's from this four-page .pdf document at csom.caHigh Dose Intravenous Vitamin C Treatment for Zika Fever.

As the report explains, vitamin C taken orally has limitations because the blood plasma cannot possibly achieve the density of the vitamin necessary to be effective against viruses.

When taken orally, some of the vitamin C will be absorbed in the gastrointestinal tract; but the rest will be excreted via the kidneys and will not enter the blood.

However, when the vitamin is administered intravenously, blood plasma concentrations can reach 30 to 70 times the levels that are possible when intestinal absorption is relied upon ─ and it is those vastly higher levels that seem necessary for antiviral activity.

My wife Jack has come home, so I cannot dwell further on this topic.  But that .pdf report is not very complicated.

And a great related article published February 27 is available here:

Again ─ why are our own doctors so mindfully blind to the possibilities?


Well, there have been quite a number of lengthy sunny breaks during the latter afternoon.

My wife Jack cooked us up some supper; and then after she got all dressed up, she took off around 5:00 p.m.

I have no idea where.

She told Pote ─ who evidently did not go to work today, for he was home about 4½ hours after he left this morning ─ that she would not be back before his girlfriend's birthday tomorrow, and thus will not have any timely gift to give her.

I am going to close now with 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 house I was renting the room in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I had gone to bed the prior evening at 8:40 p.m.  

I see that I had plans to go and visit my mother off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.  That house has since been demolished, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

The direct hike to get there from where I lived was about 1½ hours of fast walking.

I specified "direct hike" because I had quite recently begun getting to her home via a much longer, roundabout route that probably doubled the distance.  However, even though I do not state in my journal just what my route was, the Econo-Mart I shopped at was part of a now-defunct supermarket chain, and located in the Scott-Town Plaza (96th Avenue & Scott Road).

The much longer route would have taken me nowhere near there. 
WEDNESDAY, September 3, 1975

I got up at 3:45 a.m., but had been awake quite a while; all night I had frequent rather lengthy periods of wakefulness.

I left again at 4:30 a.m. for my 11 laps.

My visage is in a terrible state.

I set off for mom's, stopping at Econo-mart where I bought a can of McColl's and a Fall Preview TV Guide; they had no meat.

My only mail at mom's was a Plain Truth.

She had my chicken pie for me (it was a stew last night for their supper), and I truly gorged on foods.

Sherry was dropped off by some woman while mom was at a grocery store; this was the kid's first, and very short, day at school.

Later Lisa came over for a while.

I left for home with some plums I plan to take to dad tomorrow, along with a roll of toilet paper; the plum tree is thick with the ripe things.

Coming home over the bridge, I met and waved at Mark going home also.

And as I was nearing 6th St. along 3rd Ave. I saw Mike Schutz go strolling downhill.

Along the tracks earlier, I found 2 Playboys, and messed around with them after getting home.

Bedtime, ending this mainly sunny day, at 8:10 p.m.
Those 11 laps were performed at the school track at New Westminster Secondary.

My complexion was bad enough for me to warrant mention of it.  

When I stated that Econo-Mart "had no meat," I am sure that I meant that they didn't have any inexpensive enough for me to be able to purchase.  "McColl's" was a large tinned brand of peanut butter.

My mother's home was my main mailing address, but all that came for me was The Plain Truth magazine.

The chicken pie my mother had baked for me was based upon a stewing chicken that I had previously bought and left with her.

I guess my mother nipped out to do a little shopping, and that was when Sherry ─ the daughter of my older maternal half-sister Phyllis ─ was dropped off by a woman I did not know. 

I can't say now who "Lisa" was, but it seems reasonable that she might have been a neighbour girl that Sherry played with.

My mother and Alex had lots of vegetables and fruit in their backyard ─ more than they could consume ─ and so I was welcome to take whatever I wanted.  The toilet paper would have probably been from defects discarded at Scott Paper (now Kruger Inc.) where my mother worked as an evening office janitress. 

During my hike back to my room, it was my younger brother Mark whom I waved to as he and I crossed the Pattullo Bridge, going in opposite directions from one another ─ he was driving, of course.

And then as I was following Third Avenue and approaching Sixth Street, I saw Mike Schutz hiking downhill.  I liked Mike, but I probably didn't draw attention because I just wanted to get back to my room.

He was my age, but about 6½ feet tall ─ albeit with a physique akin to John Cleese.  In other words, he was extremely lean.

As for those two Playboy magazines I had found on the railway tracks, it would seem that I was tempted by them once I was back to my room, but I managed to find the resolve to break away before earning the guilt trip that would otherwise likely have ensued.   

And once more, an early evening to bed.
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