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Saturday, October 1, 2016

Our Toxic House Dust │ Zika Virus and the Adult Brain │ Hold off on That Prostate Cancer Surgery

Occupation here at my computer kept me up a little beyond midnight last night, I believe; but at least it was constructive occupation.

I have lost recollection of just when I had my first break in sleep that compelled me to check the time, and when it was that I checked the time and decided to rise in the morning.

I finally finished and published the post I began last Monday at my Amatsu Okiya website:  Die Geisha II.

Perhaps it is a sign of my life's dwindling vitality, but I felt most lacking overall physically, and shortly after 10:00 a.m. had returned to bed.  I could have stayed there far longer than I did ─ it was exceptionally comfortable, even if I was mostly conscious.  But after a little better than an hour, I realized that I was just wasting my day.

Even so, it took me 10 minutes or so to finally make the effort to actually get up.

My younger brother Mark actually retired to his bed just before I rose, and he remained there for at least twice as long as I had. 

The string of sunny days that led to the end of September have given way to an overcast first day of October.  We are even having some rain.


I remember when we used to be told that the dust that accumulates in our homes is composed of ─ among other things ─ our dander, the dead skin cells and such that we have shed.

House dust had always seemed largely innocuous to me, but a U.S. study has found that this is most definitely not so ─ just about every article in our homes sheds elements of their composition, as well.

And since so much of what is in our homes are composed of harmful chemicals, these are finding their way into the dust ─ rather dangerously so, since we are breathing this stuff each time we disturb any dust.

We even absorb the chemicals through our skin by contact with dust.

It doesn't take too much imagination to realize what this might mean for the very young ─ the long-term prospects of such exposure.

Notice how all of them ─ except for the unknown health hazards of the chemicals from fragrances ─ adversely affect our reproductive systems?

NewMarketHealth.com offers these suggestions to deal with this toxic dust we all have:
Tip #1: If you have a duster-type vacuum attachment, use it in as many places as you can. Especially go over books and under furniture. And if you don't already have one, buy a vacuum that has a HEPA filter, which will trap the dust instead of blowing it out again.

Tip #2: In places where you can't use a vacuum, don't dry-dust. Either use a damp rag or one of those disposable dusters with a spray of water on it.

Tip #3: Buy a room HEPA air filter. That will not only reduce dust in your home, but also be helpful for anyone who suffers from seasonal allergies.
The article also offered this:
Regular hand-washing -- which has a multitude of benefits -- will also reduce exposure to flame retardants found on the surfaces of furniture.
But we're putting our hands onto our furniture constantly anytime we're sitting down ─ it's not like we keep our hand in the air, after all.

Why the blazes can't the industry that's responsible for producing all of these products just stop using anything harmful?

It's enraging.

If I ever came into the money, I would consider having all-natural stone and wood ─ my home, and everything in it!


Our brains contain tiny pockets of neural progenitor cells that are able to replace brain neurons when they die.

A study using mice has found that the Zika virus may be able to target the neural progenitor cells and actually kill them.

For whatever reason, the Zika virus seems especially attracted to these specialized brain stem cells.

Adults don't have nearly as many of them as babies do whose brains are still forming, and this is likely why adults rarely display the effect of Zika infection that babies do.

Here are some reports on the study, if you are interested:




The consequences of this would be cognitive declines, a higher risk of Alzheimer's disease, dementia, and depression ─ and all due to decreasing active brain volume.

As if we don't already have enough causes of cognitive decline to worry about!


I touched on this topic recently already, but it bears having further exposure ─ it concerns prostate cancer, and the wisdom of forestalling surgery or treatment in favour of watchful waiting

There were 1,643 men involved in the study, and they were separated into three groups:  active monitoring, surgery to remove the prostate, or radiation plus a short course of hormone-deprivation therapy.

I will simply allow you to read the report on a study that proved out the value of watchful waiting:


I do, though, want to quote this rather astonishing detail:
The study shows that “you have no business treating low-grade prostate cancer in someone with a life expectancy of less than 15 years” because the side effects outweigh any benefits, said urological surgeon Dr. Peter Albertsen of the University of Connecticut Health. The Oxford scientists reported that 46 percent of men who had their prostate removed were using adult diapers six months later (versus 4 percent in the monitoring group). Similarly, only 12 percent of men who got surgery and 22 percent who had radiation could sustain an erection, compared to 52 percent of the monitoring group.
Did you catch that?  

Almost half of the men whose prostates were removed were using adult diapers six months later ─ what about a year later...or two or more?

I don't quite understand why 4% of the 'watchful waiting' group required diapers, though ─ I thought nothing was being done to them?

The erection news was pretty pathetic, too ─ and was this to be the men's fate for life?


As my afternoon runs out, here to close today's post is 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 house I was renting the small unit in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

My day's agenda was to involve a long, long hike out to visit my mother Irene Dorosh in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.  That house is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

The hike directly to her home was only about 1½ hours at a fast clip.  However, I had recently begun doubling that distance by first hiking all the way out to Newton (Newton Road is 72nd Avenue); and then taking the railway tracks that crossed through there, I would turn right and follow them to where 90th Avenue had its terminus on Holt Road just short of Scott Road (120th Street).

My mother's home was just a half-dozen or some homes down 90th Avenue on the right-hand side of the road.  

I had gone to bed at 8:30 p.m. the evening before this journal entry.
WEDNESDAY, October 1, 1975

I slept fitfully, my night being filled with dreams; I arose 3:50 a.m.

My damn suite sure is muggy.

As usual, I'm leaving for mom's via Newton at 5:30 a.m.

I felt logy, so chose to jog on the easy stretches; I jogged easily to the start of the highway curve below Ruby's from the New West side of the bridge; then from 104 Ave. I leisurely jogged to the tracks on Newton Road, amazingly enough, having lost my morning stuffy feeling.

My whole trip to mom's at most took 2 1/3 hours!

I weighed in for a second time at 184 lbs.

Mom heated up my chicken stew for breakfast, and though I glutted, it was well before noon, and I left feeling quite recovered.

I have a lot of tissue to take to dad's tomorrow.

I won't see mom again till after everyone returns from visiting Greta.

The day was absolutely clear.

All my running has made my right leg's shin splint condition somewhat sensitive again, but I don't plan on any running for 6 days, so I should recover.

My $160 welfare cheque was here awaiting me.

My bedtime:  9:00 p.m.
I no longer remember just where Ruby's Drive-In was ─ it was a fairly popular eatery, but I don't know if staff came out to the cars of customers as used to be done at places like A & W or not.

When I left my mother's home to return to my room in New Westminster, I took the direct route home.  Apparently I had a lot of bathroom tissue that my mother had picked up during her duties as an evening janitress at New Westminster's Scott Paper (now Kruger Inc.).     

She and her husband Alex ─ along with my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ were  planning a drive out to Barriere.  My mother knew a German or Dutch woman named Greta living there ─ they used to work together hereabouts, but I'm fuzzy now on just where.

I was collecting social assistance, but I was also working a day a week as a truck swamper for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.  They were involved in some sort of employment initiatives or incentives programme with New Westminster social services.

And now I see that is is after 6:30 p.m.  I must proofread this and then get it published ─ I have some T.V. viewing and drinking ahead of me this evening as I sit alone in the living room.  I'm not expecting my brother Mark to come home tonight ─ he usually spends Saturday night at his girlfriend Bev's residence.
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