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Sunday, September 4, 2016

Retinopathy in Type 2 Diabetics ─ Fish Oil Proven to Prevent It

One of my immediate neighbours certainly had a rousing bash happening last night.  By the time I retired at 12:22 a.m., the ethnic music and boisterous laughter was pouring forth ─  it seemed as if there had to be a few score of guests.

The household is South Asian, although possibly by way of Fiji.

I normally wear earplugs to bed, so I was not long aware ─ the dimmed volume did not  interfere with sleep.

Anyway, it was far preferable to the hound barking and baying beyond my backyard fence throughout the day.

I had one bathroom break during the night; and my day commenced this morning well ahead of 8:00 a.m.

My youngest step-son Pote was up.  His girlfriend had spent the night here with him, and had already left to probably go to work.

He did the same, heading out the door for his bus at 8:19 a.m.

I put in a lot of work on the post I've been building at my Latin Impressions website.  I am positive that I will have it finished and published tomorrow.

I had hoped to get out and do some shopping of one sort or another, but that was not to be.  My time working on the post took too much from me.

My younger brother Mark arrived home a little before 10:00 a.m. from his girlfriend Bev's residence where he had spent Saturday night.

And later in the morning, he had retired to his bedroom to seek a nap.

I retired to my own bed.  My eldest step-son Tho had managed to rise and take off without me even realizing it, so only Mark and I were here.

Around 12:45 p.m. I heard Mark stirring about, so I opted to get up as well.  However, he must not have heard me open my bedroom door, for I heard him leave the house for his van and he smartly drove off.

He had locked the house door, obviously believing I was still napping.

Since it was well ahead of 1:00 p.m., I thought that he might have only gone out on an errand and thus would return, but he had gone for the afternoon.

It had become unexpectedly sunny and warm.  I soon garbed myself for a hike to do some local shopping, but I just could not brave the public.

By then it was approaching 2:00 p.m., and I felt like I had lost the day ─ it is nigh impossible for me to get out and go anyplace in the afternoon.

I felt that I should at least sit out in the sunshine, so at 2:18 p.m. I sat in a chair on the backyard sundeck.

But even that seemed a time-waste, and by 2:30 p.m. I resolved to just forget about it.  The hound had resumed its noise, and the neighbouring household I had spoken of earlier began some activity on an open section of their house on its second floor.

That open area of theirs overlooks my backyard, so I was uncomfortably in full view.

And that basically encapsulates my day thus far ─ it is 3:17 p.m. as I type these words, and I am still home alone.


The description that is beneath the following photo is copied from the Google album where I have the scanned image stored:

This is my mother Irene Dorosh, although she had not yet taken that name in marriage ─ she was still Irene Barcelo.

You can see that the photo must be from a roll of film that was developed in August 1968.

Thus, the date of the photo would be reasonably prior to then.

I have no idea where the setting is ─ the flamingos do look real, so I expect that this is some sort of wildlife reserve in one of the southern States.

I have deep concerns for my vision ─ it is deteriorating so dramatically.

I wish that I wasn't tied down to this computer, desperate to generate a second income to augment my weak pension ─ I know the computer screen is the major factor in this deterioration.

Folks with type 2 diabetes don't even need to be staring at a computer screen for hours a day to develop vision trouble ─ they have a condition all their own called diabetic retinopathy.

How many sufferers of type 2 diabetes are aware of the benefits of fish oil in the prevention of retinopathy, I wonder?

Note this report on a recent published study:

I always find it curious when a minimum daily intake is prescribed, such as the 500 milligrams of omega-3 fatty acids; yet it is claimed that this daily minimum is met by simply eating oily fish twice a week.

Is it necessary to have a daily intake or not, then?  

If not, then why say that it is?

I'm confident that I am achieving at least the minimum daily intake, for I try to have a midday daily swig of Norwegian cold liver oil; and with my supper, I take a capsule of wild salmon, sardine, and anchovy fish oils.

That latter alone contains 300 milligrams of omega-3 fatty acids in the form of 180 milligrams of eicosapentaenoic acid (EPA) and 120 milligrams of docosahexaenoic acid (DHA).

However, I am considering forsaking the Norwegian cod liver oil once my bottle is exhausted, and just taking a capsule of the fish oils twice a day.

My reason lies within this December 23, 2008, article:

In a nutshell, there tends to be far too much vitamin A in relation to the amount of vitamin D in cod liver oil ─ "the ratios can become dangerously unbalanced."

According to that article, some cod liver oil products can have as much as 12,000 times as much vitamin A as vitamin D.

Fortunately, my Norwegian cod liver oil is claimed to have 3,920 I.U.s of vitamin A and 392 I.U.s of vitamin D per teaspoon, so the ratio is 10 times as much.

But ideally, the ratio should be no more than half of that ─ and even less, if possible.

So...better safe than very sorry!  


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

My bedtime the evening before had been 8:10 p.m.
THURSDAY, September 4, 1975

I arose at 4:00 a.m., having slept quite well.

I left for my 11 laps shortly past 4:30 a.m.; I did not perform as strenuously as yesterday, feeling unduly stiff; the track was not thick with fog as yesterday.

I took the plums to dad's, finally forcing Marie to get up (it was at least 10:00 a.m.).

She was really miserable at dad because of a comforter or quilt which was chewed up in the laundry machines when he did the chore; but eventually she was herself.

They were hungover some, but had over a case of beer on which to recoup; I had a bottle.

Supper was macaroni with the usual huge amount of sauce; after getting my S.A.N.E. cheque cashed, I believe I shall provide a can of peanut butter at the place and just eat sandwiches there, for I am encouraged to overeat their sauce or stew dishes, and suffer consequences.

I was obliged to wear home my jacket, perspiring in the sun.  So many interesting girls!

I was nearly overwhelmed with an urge to sleep at dad's, especially about 3:00 p.m.; bed here is 8:00 p.m.
I was running laps at the New Westminster Secondary School track.  

The plums came from a tree in back of my mother's home ─ I had collected them the previous day.

My father Hector and his girlfriend Maria Fadden were sharing an apartment located in a building at 5870 Sunset Street in Burnaby.  Fitness buff that I was, I would walk there, and then walk back home afterwards.

I could not afford to eat much of a variety at my room, so whenever I was confronted with lots of food I was gluttonous ─ I just could not help myself.

I find it somewhat amusing that I thought the solution to curb overeating at my father's apartment would be to buy a can of peanut butter to leave there, and thereafter I would just have a sandwich or two instead of being tempted by Maria's lavish big meals.  

She tended to make a huge pot of something ─ whether a pasta dish, or some sort of stew.  And because she and my father tended to eat rather sparingly (they preferred to drink alcohol), I was expected to eat a lion's share.

The reason I wore my jacket home in the hot sunshine was because of how bloated my belly was from the meal ─ I was ashamed for my distended abdomen to be seen.

After a meal like that ─ coupled with having risen so early in the morning ─ it is no wonder that I burned out by mid-afternoon and felt like having a good nap at my father's apartment.

But I did not, and instead made my way homeward.

I was so lonely for love in my life when I was a young man.

And now here I am today at the age of 66 ─ married, but essentially living in isolation and solitude.  I have a wife who wants nothing of my companionship, and spends most of her time downtown in Vancouver.

Evidently all that has changed with me since my young manhood are my subsequent ageing and physical decline.
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