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Monday, October 31, 2016

Cocoa │ Androgen Deprivation Therapy for Prostate Cancer │ Post-Meal Walking Reduces Blood Sugar Levels

With some delight, I made it to bed last night ahead of 11:30 p.m.

That first break in sleep arrived, and at 4:22 a.m. I made use of the bathroom.

It was 7:58 a.m. when I checked the time and rose for the day.

It had rained last evening, and that carried through the night and into the very early afternoon.

This hasn't been our wettest October, but it has been our greyest or gloomiest, with 27 days of the month having some rain.

I had thought that there must surely be something unusual about how many of the 24-hour periods of the month seemed to be wet.

I wanted to do some local grocery shopping, so I only did a half-day's work on the edit of an old post I am involved with at one of my hosted websites.  By the time I knocked off and readied myself, it was at least 10:53 a.m. when I set forth on the round-trip hike of maybe eight blocks.

I am presently slow-cooking a hearty feed centred around some ground beef ─ I had to buy lean because there was no regular ground beef ─ I prefer the fatty regular.

As I type this, it is 2:02 p.m., and I have no sure idea if my youngest step-son Pote is here and still in bed ─ with or without his girlfriend.  But I put the feed together anyway.  It usually takes close to an hour to slow-cook.

It was last week on Monday that my wife Jack took a 10:00 p.m. or so flight to Thailand, and as yet I have found no trace of her ─ she hasn't contacted me or either of her sons.  Neither has she posted to her Facebook account ─ nor has either of her two sisters or a village friend of hers posted to theirs.

It is almost bizarre.

However, I asked my eldest step-son Tho last evening, and he said that she is definitely there ─ he was briefly in touch with one of his aunts via Facebook on the weekend, but she had to cut it short because her Wi-Fi connection was failing.

At least Google has been in touch with me ─ it notified me today that it has put together a collage to celebrate this day exactly four years ago:

I don't recall the exact details, but I am reasonably certain that the festivities were taking place in Vancouver, and I was not involved.  It all may have taken place at Celebrities Nightclub.

I have located the original photos, so let's go over them, beginning with the left column.

The first photo sports Scott and his lovely wife Fanta, somewhat crouched down.  I cannot identify the woman just beyond her who has her arm around Scott, although I am familiar with her:

The same attractive woman is at the left in this next shot, and it is Chu Chu in the red jacket.  Fanta is in gold, and saluting with a glass of wine:

I don't know who the guy is in this third photo, but that is my wife Jack cosied up to him:

And now in the second column, the top photo again has the unidentifiable woman, and also Fanta.  Jina is at the far right.  I cannot identify the fellow at the far left:

Finally, Fanta, my wife Jack, and Jina:

I wasn't interested in being all the way downtown, nor paying nightclub drink prices, so I  had nothing to do with the event.  I can't afford myself in a bar of any sort.

However, I am somewhat tempted to nip out later ─ if I do not, then I will just be here upstairs, hiding from the 'trick or treaters.'  As of last year, I stopped wasting money on candies and such for Hallowe'en.

For one thing, I don't like answering the door ─ I am rather reclusive.  But neither do I enjoy the interruptions.

It would be different if my wife Jack was home.

My step-sons can do what they want ─ they both are working.  If they want to buy lots of unhealthy candy, that's up to them.

Two years ago, I ended up tossing a hundred or so mini-chocolate bars into the compost bin long after Hallowe'en.  My step-sons didn't want to be bothered being torn away from their computer or whatever else they were involved with on Hallowe'en, and I derive no fun from door-answering.

So there were many, many leftovers.  I don't eat the junk.

Back when I was a kid in the late 1950s and into the very early 1960s, candy was healthier than it is today.  There wasn't fructose and HFCS in everything, along with all the many artificial colours and flavours that manufacturers have come up with since then.

Even the wrappers are likely harmful, coasted with things like bisphenol-A and bisphenol-S.

I actually feel rather guilty for passing around the crap that is on the market today.

Well, Pote does seem not to be home!  Maybe he spent the night at his girlfriend's home for a change; or else he got up early to drive Tho to the SkyTrain, and never bothered coming back here.  He probably had to work today, too. 


Pote did show up ─ around 3:00 p.m.  He had a fragmented workday in that he had to go to Metrotown this morning for some sort of orientation session that was supposed to take an hour, but actually extended to 1½ hours.

Then he had to get over to Guildford to put in what remained of his usual shift.

He did not have use of his brother Tho's car.

Tomorrow morning he has to start at 5:30 a.m. at Guildford, but only work until something like 9:00 a.m.

I had noticed that he has been wearing glasses the past few days, so we had a chat about it. I never realized that his left eye is so bad that from across a room, he cannot identify somebody.

He said the bad eye is 20/70; but his good eye is only 20/50.

My right eye is supposedly legally blind, according to a specialist back in 1997; but I can still make out someone's identity across a room.

He seems all gung-ho now to get me to go and visit the same vision centre ─ Warehouse Optical.  He said that he and his girlfriend would take me ─ she seems to have some sort of connection to the place that yielded him a discount.

Whatever the case, I would like someone with the training to be able to tell if I have any underlying eye disease. 

By the way, Pote said he might take it upon himself to hand out candy later, but he was unsure.


This article published on October 20 is a little concerning ─ I buy non-Dutched (or non-alkalized) cocoa powder to mix with my instant coffee, so I don't need to see some ridiculously escalated hike in price soon:


Perhaps I wasn't paying attention early this year, but there were a spate of headlines about a world cacao shortage being imminent, according to my Google search that I have just enacted.

A study was referenced at the end of the Dr. Micozzi article:  Chocolate intake is associated with better cognitive function: The Maine-Syracuse Longitudinal Study (doi: 10.1016/j.appet.2016.02.010).  

Only the abstract is available to the general public without payment of a fee, but this was its tail-end:
It is evident that nutrients in foods exert differential effects on the brain. As has been repeatedly demonstrated, isolating these nutrients and foods enables the formation of dietary interventions to optimise neuropsychological health. Adopting dietary patterns to delay or slow the onset of cognitive decline is an appropriate avenue, given the limited treatments available for dementia. The present findings support recent clinical trials suggesting that regular intake of cocoa flavanols may have a beneficial effect on cognitive function, and possibly protect against normal age-related cognitive decline. Longer-term clinical trials will shed further insight into this association between chocolate, rich in cocoa flavanols, and neuropsychologial health, and the mechanisms linking them. It will be important in future studies to investigate optimal quantities and duration of consumption to produce short or longer-tem effects while taking into account overall dietary patterns, where foods high in flavonoids are consumed in combination. Enhancing chocolate and cocoa consumption whilst ensuring appropriate caloric intake will be an important consideration to optimise the benefits obtained from these foods.
No, we do not want any dramatic shortage of supply!


I cannot imagine undergoing androgen deprivation therapy (ADT) as a treatment for prostate cancer.

For one thing, older men have precious little testosterone and related hormones as is!

But a recent study has revealed something else, as the following report on the study details:


Men who underwent ADT were twice as likely to develop dementia within five years of the treatment than men who did not receive the so-called therapy.

The published study finished with this:

As survival rates following cancer diagnoses continue to improve, the population of older, long-term cancer survivors is expected to increase. Therefore, the chronic health implications of cancer therapies will become of increasing importance. Here, we demonstrate an association between the use of ADT and increased risk of dementia in a general population cohort of men with prostate cancer. Our study extends previous work supporting an association between use of ADT and Alzheimer disease and suggests that ADT may more broadly affect neurocognitive function. This finding should be investigated in prospective studies given significant individual patient and health system implications if there are higher rates of dementia among the large group of patients undergoing ADT.

It's bad enough that men would be getting depleted of the hormones that make them men; but they are also doubling their risk of developing dementia within five years of the treatment?

Life sure seems unfair at times. 


Here is good advice for anyone with type 2 diabetes ─ the following articles are reporting on a recent study:




Here is the final paragraph of that study:
In conclusion, while the existing data are arguably sufficient to recommend at least 10 min of walking after meals, additional research would enable this advice to be further refined. Many patients with type 2 diabetes mellitus may not be able or willing to undertake physical activity of greater intensity. However, it would be helpful to know whether a longer walk would produce a greater benefit when undertaken after the meal providing the highest amount of carbohydrate each day. A study of longer duration would demonstrate if the reduction in postprandial blood glucose levels translates into an overall improvement in glycaemic control. Perhaps most important of all would be research aimed at identifying means of achieving adherence with advice to increase physical activity.
If able, I think that the patient should try to exceed those 10 minutes, treating them as a 'bare minimum' therapy.


It is 5:16 p.m. as I type these words.

I want to turn off the light in this room so as to best hide away from the imminent Hallowe'en high-jinks, and thus I had best close off now with this journal entry of 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.  

I was renting the tiny unit in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

I worked just one day a week ─ generally Friday ─ at a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today is known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

Back then, S.A.N.E. was housed in a building on Carnarvon Street, roughly where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto that street.

My role was that of swamper on their blue pick-up truck.

I had gone to bed at 7:00 p.m. the evening before this journal entry. 
FRIDAY, October 31, 1975

My sound sleep ended toward 1:00 a.m., and little more was had till I arose shortly after 3:30 a.m.

When I leave for S.A.N.E. I shall have to stop at the welfare first and see about collecting my $160 cheque, and then go and cash it.

I believe today is the 11th of the postal strike.

I completed every one of my allotted exercises in the morning; thereafter, how I loved my light pancake & peanut butter repast.

As I was about to leave this wet morn, I found a note from David; he wants to move, and live with me while searching for a new place; he expects to see me today. 

In line-up at welfare I managed to avoid being seen by Art; but he found me at the bank.  

Apparently Angie caught him attempting the act with her friend last night during a party they were having, and that's about it.

He wouldn't take me to S.A.N.E. after getting me into his truck, but to his place.  He forced a drink on me and tried to get me to skip the day; but I was adamant.

I still didn't get to S.A.N.E. till after 11:00 a.m.  The truck was gone.

Verna gave me some info re a chance for Art to earn straight cash all next week; when shall I hand him it? 

I skipped lunch when Esther returned.

Bill Anderson is hospitalized for an ulcer operation, so this retarded fellow Joe swamped.

We never did much, but my left knee-cap seized upon me and affected me all day.

We stopped both at Georgina's and Evelyn Lee's.

Back at the store, Joe was discharged little beyond 3:30 p.m. ─ so I took the remainder of my day off too.

I shopped at Safeway.

I bed at 7:00 p.m. once more.
My employment was through an initiatives or incentives programme that was in place between S.A.N.E. and New Westminster social services.  This meant that I received the single social assistance rate, plus a stipend for my work at S.A.N.E.

My old friend Philip David Prince had left me the note ─ he had only moved to the room a month or two earlier that he was now wanting to vacate.

There was no way in which I could have borne David staying with me ─ I was too structured.  I regularly exercised through my day, and I also liked to read.  There would have been no privacy whatsoever, and I knew that he would be unlikely to put much effort into room-searching once he was settled in with me. 

Art Smith was an older chap in his early 40s with whom I had established a friendship as a co-worker st S.A.N.E.  However, he would have loved to have me sitting at his home every evening as drinking company if he possibly could, so I had begun trying to avoid him.

He used to crush my will with his own, bending me to comply with his desire for my company.

I hated it ─ and I hated being so weak that I only rarely denied him. 

Angie (Angelina) was his wife.  There were also three children.

I don't really remember this incident, but it sure sounds as if his drinking may have gone one act of indiscretion too far.

Verna (Williams?) seemed to have a managerial capacity at S.A.N.E.  I suppose that she was expecting me to relay the special one-week cash employment offer to Art, but I definitely did not want to be visiting him to tell him about it.    

So "Bill Anderson" was my co-swamper?  I had been thinking that it was a fellow named Bill Sevenko.  But...no matter ─ I cannot remember either man.

I may possibly recall "this retarded fellow Joe" who helped out that day.  My driver was a dear woman in her early 40s named Esther St. Jean.  I recollect a young fellow once asking me in the truck if I was mentally handicapped, too?

I replied, "I must be.  I'm working here, aren't I?" 

That broke Esther right up.

I haven't mentioned Georgina Junglas in my journal for a long while ─ I thought she was absolutely gorgeous and so very 'hot!'  But I don't recall "Evelyn Lee" any longer.

Well, while I have been working on this final section of my post, my wife Jack actually texted me from Thailand!
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