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Monday, November 7, 2016

Don't Exercise When Angry │ Androgen Deprivation Therapy for Prostate Cancer Increases Risk of Dementia │ Chemical Features of Chronic Fatigue syndrome Identified

The fool within me took control last night.  As a result, I never got to bed until far too late ─ maybe even on the order of 1:30 a.m.

How it is that this nearly unquenchable need to sit here so late into the night in utter dissolution continues to manifest itself, does sometimes put me into some despair.

I need inspiration and hope, but God seems unwilling to allow it into my life.

It doesn't help that I think yesterday was the second consecutive day in which absolutely nothing accrued into my AdSense account.

And I sure didn't need my younger brother Mark showing up that evening stinking drunk, and virtually senile in his senselessness.

So I had a shaky start on the day this morning.

No one was home ─ I expect that my youngest step-son Pote must have had another exceptionally early start at work.  As I correctly surmised, he was to be home by midday ─ probably late in the morning.

These short workdays that ensue his exceptionally early start do me no damned good ─ he gets home again before I can get much precious alone time here.

I put some work this morning into the new edit I am making to an old post at one of my hosted websites, and then I knocked off to start readying for a round-trip hike of at least four miles that I was not too enthusiastic about.

I had noticed a strong break of sunshine during the morning, but it was grey when I set forth by approximately 10:40 a.m.  That helped.

But my vision was poor, and there was something most odd about my gait.  My footing seemed awkward ─ as if maybe my boots were clumsy to wear.

This sensation was never to change.

My initial destination was the new Coast Capital Savings building over by the King George SkyTrain Station.  I had a small monthly expenses reconciliation cheque that Mark had given me on the weekend ─ I wanted to deposit it in the ATM.

Then I worked my way over to Surrey Place (Central City) to mail a payment on one of the credit cards my wife Jack keeps using.  I prefer mailing items at Pearl Photo / Canada Post as opposed to just dropping the envelopes into a mailbox where there may or may not be a pickup that day...or even the next.

My final errand was a hike to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard elsewhere in Whalley.

I bought a dozen cans of Ironhorse beer (6.4% alcohol) and a bottle of dark rum.

I had noticed a couple of separated hookers on 105th Avenue between City Parkway and 134-A Street, and they were still in the same section when I was returning with my purchases.

This Google map may help in understanding the streets.

Normally I follow City Parkway from the top of the map to 105th Avenue, and then turn right along it to reach University Drive.  But I decided not to court any sort of unwanted engagement with either of the ladies, and so I took 134-A Street in order to avoid the short section of 105th Avenue that they had staked out.

134-A Street is itself very short, stretching just from 105-A Avenue at Tom Binnie Park and ending at 105 Avenue. 

This Google Street View shows that stretch of 105 Avenue where the two hookers were, and from the perspective of standing at the mouth of 134-A Street at 105th Avenue, facing towards City Parkway.

One of the hookers was only a few feet along at the left and seated on a cement barrier, while the other had been well down the avenue on the right and was seated on another barrier on that side of 105th Avenue.

But before I had reached 105th Avenue as I advanced along 134-A Street, some idiot in a car that had been moving towards City Parkway stopped somewhat this side of the hooker on that same right side of the street.

After some seconds, its nearness motivated her to check out if she was being invited to come to the car and make a connection.

She casually walked until she was by the passenger side, but I suppose she could see that the driver had no interest in her, and so she kept moving on towards the bottom of the Google Street View.

I had meant to cross 105th Avenue right at 134-A Street, but she was almost at that point, so I just turned right onto 105th Avenue and headed towards University Drive as this Google Street View should display.

She kept doing the same on her side of the avenue ─ the side where I was wanting to get to ─ and thus delaying me from crossing.

I finally had to cross over before I reached University Drive, for I was going to be crossing University Drive and turning left.  As I glanced back to make a traffic check before crossing over to her side of 105th Avenue, she was very near.

She had on dark stockings or something that covered her slim lower legs, but her upper legs were bare in a rather short skirt.  She had on a white fur-like wrap or something that had one of her bare shoulders on display ─ I can't imagine how she was not chilly, for she had been sitting on a cement barrier earlier.

I only quickly glanced, so I didn't make eye contact nor get any appreciation of what her age may have been, nor what she might have looked like.

It is not that I wanted nothing to do with either of the young ladies.  Rather, I just cannot afford to get involved in any conversations, and maybe even get asked for some sort of help ─ even just a small handout.

I wish that it was not so.

Anyway, I was home by 12:20 p.m., and Pote was back ─ he had been using his older brother Tho's car.

And because he had been required to unlock the door because I had properly locked it when I went out earlier, the jerk had locked it again when he came into the house, forcing me to unlock it to get myself in ─ even though he was here.

He and his older brother typically do this.  I cannot but take it personally ─ it is as if the two are getting back at me by imposing the same inconvenience upon me that I had done to them.

I see it as a selfish, thoughtless gesture on their parts.

Anyway, about an hour later he took off again, and returned with his girlfriend to take to bed.  And that is how they have been spending the afternoon.

Even though they had slept together last night.  She must have had to work today, too, and that is why I found myself alone in the house when I rose this morning.

There has been some rain since I have been back from my outing ─ not too much, but it would have been unpleasant for any hookers out on the streets.

Sometimes I feel that I would rather have their occasional society than keep putting up with the shenanigans of my 18-year-old step-son and his omnipresent girlfriend.  He hardly ever helps out with the crushing monthly mortgage.

I don't need this.


Over my lifetime, there have been many, many times when I have undergone extreme physical activity whilst energized from some sort of rage due to one thing or another that had me upset.

I have found that the emotion can be nearly like an adrenaline boost, elevating my potential.

But a study titled Physical Activity and Anger or Emotional Upset as Triggers of Acute Myocardial Infarction (doi: 10.1161/CIRCULATIONAHA.116.023142) seems to have results that indicate this is a dangerous thing to do.

Here are some reports on the study:






That last reference is just a one-minute video.

This is the last paragraph of the study:

We report that physical exertion and anger or emotional upset are common in the 1 hour before the onset of symptoms of AMI [acute myocardial infarction] and that either exposure may act as an external trigger for AMI. The greatest magnitude of association was seen in those with both physical exertion and anger or emotional upset in the 1 hour before the onset of symptoms of AMI. We report no differences by geographical region, previous cardiovascular disease, cardiovascular prevention medications, cardiovascular risk factors, and INTERHEART risk score.
I always thought that I felt better after the physical activity ─ it helped me burn off some of the rage.

I was wrong?

Here is advice from NewMarketHalth.com:
So the next time you feel stressed out and ready to blow a fuse, try these tips:
  • Take a step back. Sometimes we overreact way beyond the significance of a problem. Sure it's annoying when (fill in the blank) doesn't put things away or return something they've borrowed. But honestly, is it worth risking a heart attack over?
  • Take a deep breath. Controlling your breathing has the power to calm you down almost instantly.
  • Turn on some music and try to turn off what made you so upset to begin with.
And remember, staying healthy is the best revenge of all!
Easier said than applied, perhaps?


I just recently included some mention of this atudy, but I will do so again, since I cannot fathom why I would ever undergo androgen deprivation therapy as a treatment for prostate cancer ─ at the age of 67, I am sure I have little enough male hormone as is!

The study found that men who underwent the treatment had an escalated risk of developing dementia ─ here are a few reports about the study:





This is the final paragraph of the published study that is called Association Between Androgen Deprivation Therapy and Risk of Dementia (doi: 10.1001/jamaoncol.2016.3662):

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.

Anyone affected by chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) may find the following article of interest:


He references a study called Metabolic features of chronic fatigue syndrome (doi: 10.1073/pnas.1607571113) that is no easy read for a layman.

This fairly short report on it might help to some degree:


This report on the study is practically simplistic by comparison:


A website devoted to chronic fatigue syndrome ─ or myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME) ─ tackles the study:


Finally, there is a printed interview with the lead researcher concerning his study ─ it fast becomes rather technical:


It isn't an easy disease, including the understanding of it.

Despite the research, mainstream medicine probably is not the place to turn for anyone suffering from CFS (or ME).


I have a photo to post ─ the description beneath is from the Google album where I have the photo stored:

One of the four Thai ladies I was with took this photo at a Koh Samet beach in late January or early February 2003 ─ my first visit to Thailand.

It is impossible for me to know if any of the subjects in the photo were part of my little group, which also included a young boy who was the son of one of the gals.

I have always wondered on the photo.  After all, why would anyone have taken it if nobody in it was part of our group?
It is now just after 6:00 p.m.  Whoever said that blogging is easy? 

It certainly isn't as easy as lying in bed with a girlfriend like my youngest step-son is still doing, for Pete's sake. 

I am going to close now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

The house I was renting the little unit in was located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

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

I served as a swamper on their blue pick-up truck.

When I was involved with them, their 'store' and storage facilities were housed in a building situated on Carnarvon Street, right about where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now extends out onto that street.

The evening prior to this journal entry, I had gotten to bed at 7:00 p.m.
FRIDAY, November 7, 1975

Early last night I heard Art lightly knocking.

This morning I arose barely past 3:30 a.m.

My sunlamp shorted out after the cord nearly broke right off from its switch box; I'll have to see if I can repair it.

I've just heard today is the postal strike's 18th; something is amiss with my counting the past few days.

At last my phlegm seems to be breaking up.

At 7:00 a.m. a memory struck me:  Verna requesting I come in at 8:00 a.m.; I don't know if this is an actual event I'm recalling, or dream, or even if the correct come-in time was 8:00 a.m. ─  maybe we were to have arrived somewhere at 8:00 a.m.

I hurried on down to S.A.N.E. with a bag of clothes I was forced to leave inside a fridge at the back; I arrived about 7:30 a.m., but no one was there.

I returned.

At least I found a large screwdriver on my way down.  Too, I then completed my final group of exercises for the day.

I could use more sleep; apparently at different times during the night I spent too much time conscious.

On my way to S.A.N.E. I stopped at Safeway and bought 2 24-oz loaves (70¢ total).

At the store I assisted unload clothes from a car.  Then in it with the tall dame who works there, we were off to rendezvous with the truck at the P.N.E. where loads have already been made, beginning last night and, yes, early this morning; Gordy & Joe were with Esther.

We made one load; returning, Esther dropped me off on 9th St for lunch.

Having eaten fast, I am to rush back to S.A.N.E. and start unloading.  Then we head back for a new load.

Apparently Art & Took got drunk and never went to work at all; I thought possibly he last night may have been trying to get hold of me to work then or at least be ready for an early morning today; obviously no.

Going back, I was greeted by Sam & Rossie in the school yard.

Quite a bit of work was done, though on this occasion Bob assisted most.  There were two other fellows, one called Frank.  They are all deficient, and it is rather demeaning working equally with them, pleasant sorts though they may well be.

I worked my full time today, and came home with a load of books, mostly on foreign languages.

Bed at 7:00 p.m.
Art Smith was in his early 40s ─ a  married man with three kids.  But he loved to drink, and did his utmost to get hold of me to have me sitting up late into the night at his home so that he would have someone to drink with.

I liked the guy, and the family, but I had better things to be doing with my time than babysitting him.  Consequently, if I knew that he was knocking at my door, I rarely would answer it.  

It was his daughter Samantha that hailed me from  her elementary school yard when I was returning to S.A.N.E. after a fast lunch at home.  "Rossie" must have been a girlfriend of hers.

I often wrote into my journal over the course of any one day ─ that is why it can seem so disjointed in structure.

Verna (Williams?) seemed to manage S.A.N.E.  She was a rather attractive Indigenous Canadian.  Esther St. Jean was usually my truck driver ─ she was a sweetheart in her early 40s.

I don't really recall the other folks I mentioned ─ certainly not "the tall dame who works there."  I do remember that "Took" was also an Indigenous Canadian who was a part-timer at S.A.N.E.

Often some mentally handicapped lads would get assigned to work as swampers from time to time, and it sometimes bothered me because I was concerned that people might think that I was also mentally handicapped ─ I was extremely self-conscious.

Man, today's post took a long time to compile!
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