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Monday, November 28, 2016

Poor Sleep and Atrial Fibrillation (A-Fib) Risk │ Suspect Celebrex Study │ Concerning Statin Medication

It seems to me that I was in bed comfortably ahead of midnight last night, but I cannot recollect the actual time.

I don't know what I am going to do about my alternating clogged nasal passageways that plague me during the latter parts of my nights ─ it's ridiculous.  If it truly is due to a toxic home environment, then there is nothing that I can do.  I'm too deep into debt to be able to move.

I seemed to have a fair thirst overnight, too.

It may have been a little after 7:30 a.m. when I decided to start my day, and get to work on the post I have been compiling since last Wednesday at my Lawless Spirit website.

I never finally published it until into the afternoon, but at least I am done with it:  Eastern Holistic Arts II.

Since commencing that post, I saw that the website had absolutely no visitors on each of October 27, 30, and 31; and November 21 and 22.

But let's talk AdSense.  I have been most fortunate to have much more than a mere penny a day accumulating in my account during the past week ─ the 1¢ trend had been in play for the earlier days of November.

I took note of the sources of income over the past week; one might expect that North America would be the main source of income generation, but that is not so.

According to Google AdSense, these were my top revenue sources over the past seven days (funds in Canadian dollars):
U.K. = $1.25 
India = 13¢
Canada = 6¢
U.S. = 4¢
Malaysia = 3¢ 
These findings never fail to surprise me.

However, let's talk of my day thus far.

There has been no rain that I am aware of; and the morning even had some intensely sunny spells.

When I rose this morning, I found that my youngest step-son Pote was up, so I had hopes that he would be going to work.  He had earlier used his older brother Tho's car to take girlfriend Priyanka either to the SkyTrain, or else to her job over at Guildford.

Both Pote and Priyanka have two part-time jobs; but one of hers is in Vancouver, and thus she would need to use the SkyTrain to get there.

Both of his two jobs are at Guildford.

She works in the restaurant field, and he is in retail.

I learned about their two jobs from him yesterday ─ he was quite talkative when he arrived home from work in the early evening.

He also said that Priyanka has offered to prepare a Christmas dinner here, if no other plans are being made.  But my younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Bev have been handling that in at least the past three Christmases. 

It was my hope to get out to do some local grocery shopping, and in the early afternoon I thought that my chance had arrived ─ Pote finally left at roughly 1:20 p.m.

He had gone to work, I expected.

I had mostly gotten ready for my little shopping expedition when he was back again ─ with Priyanka.  He had just gone to pick her up after her workday had finished.

And that was that.

One of the items I planned on purchasing was a package of ground beef that I would have separated into several smaller portions for my occasional use, but this is something I need to be home alone to do.

The freezer is in a storage room accessed via a sliding glass door right by the head of Pote's bed ─ where he and his girlfriend tend to spend most of their time when here together.

Thus, there was no choice but to abandon the shopping expedition.

There is also the need for privacy because I would have to bury the ground-beef portions in the freezer so that my step-sons would not likely find them and help themselves to the meat ─ Tho is especially bad for that.

And so it goes.

By the way, speaking of the weather as I had been earlier: I heard on the radio this morning that throughout October, there were only two 24-hour periods hereabouts that did not have any rain; and thus far in November, the same situation is in play.

It is a record for the number of rainy Fall days.

Before I move out of a discussion of my day, here are three photos from my wife Jack's trip back to Thailand to visit her mother and other family members in Nong Soong, very near to Udon Thani.

They are date-stamped as having been taken on October 27 (2016), but I do not know if Jack's camera has had the date settings adjusted; also, Thailand is just over a half-day ahead of this part of Canada as time goes.

The woman in the three photos is someone Jack always referred to simply as Jack's 'sister-cousin.'  I would need to verify that this is indeed a true cousin, and is also one who is as close to Jack as am actual sister:

I believe that the setting is just in front of the front door of Jack's family home.  The 'tiles' are marble, I think; and so are the tops of that bench that stretches right around that patio-like affair.


How well do you sleep?

As I often enough report, I do a poor job of it in the latter half of my night, although I tend not to have any problem first getting to sleep at night.

Research has found what may be a substantial increase in the risk of developing atrial fibrillation is those of us who do not sleep well. 

If this concerns you at all, here are some reports on the research:




I probably do not usually have trouble falling asleep because I have those evening drinks I typically indulge in.

I read that if broken sleep later on is a problem, then possibly time-released melatonin supplements may help.  I don't think I've ever seen any where I shop.

I presently have 3-milligram tablets of regular melatonin, and I dissolve one under my tongue just as I am climbing into bed.


A 10-year study was recently concluded that supposedly proved that the arthritis pain-relief drug Celebrex was "no more dangerous to the heart" than ibuprofen (Motrin or Advil) or naproxen (Aleve).

However,  many specialists question the validity of the trial, as you may surmise from the following articles heralding the study:




This report is the most insightful concerning the study's flaws:


Arthritis pain-sufferers should research relief alternatives for themselves, and not just rely on what skewed nonsense the 'Drug Industry' tells them, or tells their doctors. 


Why do so few consumers question and even research the medications they are prescribed?

Dr. Marc S. Micozzi calls statins "metabolic poisons" in this report:


He includes the following reference at JAMAnetwork.comStatins for Primary Prevention: The Debate Is Intense, but the Data Are Weak.  It mentions a very simple decison-making tool created by the Mayo Clinic for folks wondering about taking statins:  Should I Take Statins?

Supposedly, of every 100 at-risk people taking statins for five years, eight are still going to have a heart-attack.

Of 100 at-risk people who do NOT take statins, over five years 10 would have a heart attack.

Of course, the statin-takers have to pay quite a lot of money over those five years, and there are also side-effects.

The University of California at San Diego compiled this description of Statin Adverse Effects.

Non-statin-takers do not have to worry about any of that, while saving prescription money.

Don't get conned into taking this health-ruining crap without doing your own research.


The time has come for me to close out with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.  

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

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

When I was with them, they were located on Carnarvon Street.  That building no longer exists, but it was one of several that gave way so that the New Westminster SkyTrain Station could have open access to Carnarvon Street.  

My bedtime the evening prior to this journal entry was 8:00 p.m.
FRIDAY, November 28, 1975

Up at 3:30 a.m., reasonably well-slept.

I put on my first batch of soy beans.

The night was clear, still, and chill when I left at 4:00 a.m. for my dozen laps.

I am suffering indigestion as I did ever since yesterday's breakfast began to break down.

The 39th day of the postal strike.

As soon as I reported at S.A.N.E., we were off; Joe was the substitute driver, and retarded Joe our helper.

We first delivered a stove at the Gerrards, then made a single load move for an old lady on 12th St. near 9th Ave, taking her to Cassaloma; dad lives there, and was sitting in the lobby and so recognized me; Marie was apparently crabby re money matters.

After this we broke for lunch, and I was driven home by 12:30 p.m., and I ate my soybeans.  So far my indigestion has kept in hand.

After lunch we had a proper work-out removing a lengthy couch via stairs from the 4th floor of the high apartment building at Royal & 1st; there were a few other things as well there, and we were done for the day.

While hanging about at the store (as a couple weeks agone, Alan Olson was there), I went to Safeway and bought Roman Meal cereal (87¢) and some blackstrap molasses (63¢); in line-up I successfully avoided being seen by Mike, the Negro runner, 2 people before me.

Verna discharged us about 4:15 p.m.

Coming home thru the school grounds, I heard the sound of some kids and hoped none were Art's; there were 4 in all ─ 3 of his and their blonde cousin.

Angela kissed me, and she and her sister insisted I visit their pa tonight.  I lied my consent.

But before leaving, I called mom; Phyllis is going to stay there, but probably only from Sunday eve, so I and Bill will be able to bake bread tomorrow.

I came home and grabbed a nap, arising at 6:00 p.m. for The Bob Newhart Show.

Bed at 9:00 p.m.
I had that early-morning run of a dozen laps at the New Westminster Secondary School track.

I think the "Joe" who drove the S.A.N.E. pick-up truck that day was possibly an enormous young Aboriginal Canadian, but I  have no memory of "retarded Joe."  S.A.N.E. seemed to use a number of mentally challenged people as stand-in swampers and store help.

In my journal, I spelled the recipients of the stove as the "Jerrards," but I changed the spelling in typing it out here.  It just seems more likely, but I have no memory of who the family were.

I am unsure if the next destination for the move of the elderly lady was to "Cassaloma" as I spelled it, or maybe "Casaloma" or even "Casa Loma."  However, my father Hector and his girlfriend Maria Fadden were then living at 6038 Imperial Street in Burnaby.

It's too bad that I never knew the truth about soybeans and their high pseudo-estrogen content.

I also do not remember an "Alan Olson."

"Mike, the Negro runner" was someone I had met within the previous two weeks or so.  My old friend William Alan Gill somehow knew him, and got the two of us invited to Mike's place for a mutton dinner or supper one day.

I thought we were eating a disgustingly-strong meal of pork ─ animal flesh I seriously avoided back then as surely as would a Muslim or Jew.

I did my best to appear polite and try and eat the stuff, but Mike noticed the strained expression on my face and volunteered precisely what it was that I was eating.  He apparently knew that many people regarded pork with revulsion.      

As for the running, he had once represented an African nation as an Olympic runner.

Verna (Williams?) seemed to be managing S.A.N.E. back then.  Before heading on home at her release for the day, I phoned my mother Irene Dorosh ─ she and her husband Alex were about to leave on a bus charter to Reno.

I would have dropped in at their home over the week while they were away, but my older maternal half-sister Phyllis ─ who was in-between residences ─ was going to stay there in their absence.

Bill and I had plans to try our hands at bread-baking.  My mother had all the fixings.

The kids I encountered on my way home from S.A.N.E. were Samantha, Angela, and Steve Smith ─ and their cousin.  The Smiths' father, Art, was an older chap in his early 40s whom I had grown close to when we worked together at S.A.N.E.

Art loved to drink, and was always trying to rook me into coming to his place as company.

However, I did not want the late night any longer.  I had begun retiring extremely early so that I could rise exceptionally early, too.

The kiss came from adorable cutie Angela Smith (Dee Dee), Art's middle child.  She couldn't have been more than nine or 10 years old. 

I often wish that I had maintained contact with the family ─ I would love to know how the kids turned out.
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