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Saturday, September 24, 2016

Elevated Blood Sugar Linked to Permanent Memory Loss │ Psoriasis Can Lead to Arterial Calcium Buildup

My bedtime last night was 12:07 a.m.

I think I may have had my first disruption of sleep unusually early ─ possibly before 2:00 a.m.

And I was up for the day ahead of 7:00 a.m.

I hadn't worn my earplugs to bed, so I cannot help but wonder if my sleep was affected due to ambient sounds.

I had hoped to publish the post I have been working on since Tuesday at my Siam-Longings website, but the morning expired and I still had lots of material to add to it.

Consequently, I have to be realistic and say that its publication is not going to take place until tomorrow.

I dutifully wore the Uvex S1933X Skyper Safety Eyewear that I acquired yesterday with the intention of blocking damaging blue light from the screen of my computer, but my eyes feel as taxed as before after several hours of work.

I am having to strain too hard to read text, since the glasses render text much less distinct.  Also, I work with colours to some degree, and the glasses render some of them indistinguishable from one another.

It's actually more relaxing to remove the glasses to look at the monitor.

I am truly torn about continuing use of them.

One other issue I have with them is how tightly the frames clamp to the sides of my head.  Over the hours, the pressure becomes unpleasant.

I remember back in the early years of CDs when things like portable CD players were the rage, I had the typical headphones of an unpadded type that clamped rather firmly against and into the entrances to the ears, and after a few hours the pressure became agonizing.

You would have to have experienced it for yourself to understand.

The frames of these glasses are not that serious, but they do get uncomfortable after a time.

I also wonder if maybe the glasses may just slightly fog up ─ not enough to be apparent, but enough to help cause that indistinct text problem.

So overall, maybe instead of relieving eyestrain, these glasses are causing eyestrain of their own.

I just wish to Heaven that I was not in such a desperate plight to earn an income via the Web that I have to keep putting in these hours day after day.

I still had to lie down in the midday because my eyes were bothering me so much after the morning's website work.  Of course, my back and butt were also distressed....  


I have a photo I wish to post, along with the description I gave it in the Google album where it is filed:

This is one of several photos that I took of my wife Jack in the afternoon of September 8, 2016.

She is standing by a fence separating a neighbouring home from ours ─ our house is immediately to the right border of the photo, and thus unseen.

The sidewalk just in front of Jack runs the length of that side of our home and leads to a gate accessing our home's open carport.

Research is revealing that high blood sugar levels can adversely affect memory ─ specifically, episodic memory.

Specialized memory tests were run from 2006 to 2012 on 950 diabetic seniors and 3,469 non-diabetic seniors.

The subjects' hemoglobin A1c levels were measured at the start of the study.  People whose population of 'sugar-coated' hemoglobin A1c measured 6.5% or above displayed diabetes; a level of 5.6% is deemed normal.

Apparently once hemoglobin in a blood cell becomes glycated (or 'sugar-coated'), it remains so for the life of that blood cell ─ which typically is about 120 days.

The researchers concluded:
Higher HbA1c and diabetes were both associated with declines in episodic memory, with this relationship further exacerbated by having diabetes and elevated HbA1c. HbA1c appeared more important for episodic memory performance among women than men.
The issue here is that any of us who consider ourselves non-diabetic can also have periodic spikes in the percentage of our blood cells that have glycated hemoglobin.

And these spikes will in turn have some ultimate effect upon episodic memory.

You can read about the study for yourself here:


Now here is something that is very related:  it has been claimed that 80% of folks with Alzheimer's disease just also happen to have insulin resistance or type 2 diabetes.

That is quite a declaratory relationship, and it is one we need to take good stock of.  After all, it is within our own power to manage how much of our hemoglobin becomes glycated.

A detailed article about this was published earlier this month:

Psychology Today

People, we have to quit consuming so damned many carbohydrates, and start focusing on majoring in saturated fats.  These fats have wrongly been incriminated as leading to obesity whereas it has been the carbohydrates that have always been too blame ─ complex or not.  Just avoid them.


Do you or anyone you love have psoriasis ─ even just a small touch of the condition?

The inflammation of psoriasis goes well beyond the surface ─ it affects the entire body.

This can result in calcium-buildup in the arteries, ultimately leading to coronary artery disease, atherosclerosis, and coronary heart disease.

Here are a couple of reports concerning a recent study about this:

Psoriasis News Today

The study is recent, but there are earlier ones with similar findings, such as this one from the British Journal of Dermatology that was first published in 2006:  Psoriasis: a possible risk factor for development of coronary artery calcification.

I wonder if licorice root would have any benefit for psoriasis sufferers?

I found this suggestion at NewMarketHealth.com:
Plain old licorice root is a natural inflammation fighter and is available as a gel or lotion that can give you some quick relief when applied to the skin and is especially helpful for psoriasis patients.

Here is where I bow out with a 41-year-old entry from my journal back when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The small unit I was renting was in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.
WEDNESDAY, September 24, 1975

I got up at 5:15 a.m.

I believe hence I shall forsake late TV and retire earlier so as to gain more sleep without need of a daytime nap.

Just 4 more days till the Olympic draw!  I must win!

I wrote Terri a letter, and will mail it on my way to visit dad.

I stopped in at the Bluebird and bought 2 comics.

Dad & Marie were both sober.

I ate more than I should have, but damn it, it's their fault; they fuss around making lunch till I am ravenous.

Dad & I are both concerned about how Sunday's Olympic turns out for us.

The day was on the cloudy side, but by no means cool enow for this jacket wearer.

At nearly 7:50 p.m., with my light on, came ruddy knocking; I deduced David, but Art called out.  

Blast!  Why can't I be left alone?  I need that lottery, so I can be assured all the solitude I want.  Must I hide like a mole all winter, afraid to have on a light at dark?  It isn't just.  I retire tonight at 8:00 p.m., and planned so all day.  Why couldn't the guy have come just after, when my light would be off, and I could thus be spared guilt and lies?
It was the Olympic Lottery that so fed my yearning.  I saw no other way of having a change of course to my barren life.

Terri Martin was an American pen-pal I had quite recently begun corresponding with.

I find it peculiar that I can no longer recall the Bluebird store where I purchased the two comics.  It was in fact through a Marvel comic that Terri and I had connected ─ one of us had seen the other's fan letter published in the comic and decided to write. 

My father and his girlfriend Maria Fadden were living in an apartment at a building that may have been 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby.  I would walk all the way to their appartment, and then walk back to my room later on.

Visiting them was always something of a draw as to whether or not I would find them sober.

As I have tried to explain previously, I could ill afford a decent diet, so when I was confronted with much food, I was unable to resist overeating.  I would too often overeat to the point of physical incapacitation.

I wore my jacket back to my room because of having overeaten ─ my belly would be distended, and the jacket was my means of hiding it from the sight of the public.

I initially thought that the knocking at my room's door was originated by my old friend Philip David Prince who had his own room elsewhere in New Westminster; but it was not him.

Art Smith was an older friend in his early 40s who also lived in New Westminster, and who would only come around to haul me off back to his home to spend the evening and wee hours of the a.m. drinking with him.

It was just 10 minutes until my bedtime when he came knocking, but I had no intention of answering and have him pressure me into falling in line with his desires for me instead of following my own course.  

His will just about always overpowered my own, and I hated myself for it.

Consequently, even though my light was on and a sure indicator that I was home, I was going to ignore his knocking and calls, and feign somehow being absent.  When next I saw him, I would have to lie and say that I must have nipped out and neglected to shut off the light ─ or else that I was in the shower, and never heard him.

Sadly for me, I never won a big cash prize to change my life and give it lasting meaning and direction.
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