.dropcap {float:left; color:#4791d2; font-size:75px; line-height:60px; padding-top:4px; padding-right:8px; padding-left:3px; font-family:Georgia}

Google+ Followers


Monday, December 5, 2016

Germy ATM Keypads │ Red Flagging Repatha and Other PCSK9 Inhibitors │ Rates of Medication-Related ER Visits By Older Americans Escalating

Last evening I managed to make it to bed around 10:58 p.m.  However, I rose three times during the night ─ twice to use the bathroom and drink water, and one time more just to drink water.

I had some bizarre dreams ─ I think for the second consecutive night.  However, not enough of them remain in my memory to allow any recounting.

It was after 7:30 a.m. when I finally rose for the day.  As I dressed, I realized that we had gotten some snow, and it was still lightly snowing.

I wasted little time in going downstairs to take the following images ─ I was a little shaky with this first one displaying our driveway:

Notice the kids' tether ball in the tree in the next two photos?  That thing has been there for at least three years:

The next two complete the sweep of our front lawn:

Then I went to the sliding glass door leading to our backyard sundeck and took these:

This next photo is of the trees just beyond the covered barbecue that you can see in the preceding photo ─ I simply raised the camera to capture the view above it:

And then I did the same for the small backyard shed:

The photos were taken between 7:46 a.m. and 7:48 a.m. ─ that is mostly why things seem so gloomy. But I wasn't sure if the snow would turn to rain soon and start washing the snow away.

I needn't have worried ─ by mid-afternoon there were at least three times as much snow on the ground.

However, by then I didn't feel like taking further photos ─ I had been out trudging in the stuff and was no longer enamored of it.

I left here at 11:39 a.m. and first hiked the two or so miles to the government liquor store at 108th Avenue & King George Boulevard here in Whalley to buy a bottle of rye whisky ─ the bottle of liquor I had on hand was just about empty.

Then I trudged alongside the King George to do some shopping at Save-On-Foods.

Between those two businesses, my hands were dreadfully stiff and stinging from the wet cold, so once I was in the latter store I took my time to allow them to warm up again ─ and there was some fierce stinging of the fingers attendant with that as the warm blood coursed through the near-frozen digits.

But the hike for home thereafter was not as bad ─ it must have been the open exposure on the main highway that was at fault.

I think it may have been as late as 1:39 p.m. by the time I was back, so I was gone for two hours.

I was looking forward to cooking up some ground beef, but my youngest step-son Pote was still in bed ─ the freezer where my meat is hidden away is in a storage room and accessed via a sliding glass door immediately at the head of Pote's bed.

And I didn't even know for certain if he was alone in bed.

I am supremely fed up with his recent working hours.  I don't need the 19-year-old here all bloody day long ─ I want him working during the day again and out of here.

I need my privacy and solitude back during the day in the work week ─ this utterly sucks.  I can't get anything done.

His mother ─ my wife Jack ─ phoned me around 2:30 p.m., and says that she would pay us a visit from Vancouver tomorrow.

That suits me ─ I certainly don't want her driving around in the miserable conditions out there today.


A study has been published giving the results of an extensive CSI-like assessment of the ATM keypads of New York City ─ apparently the samplings were taken back in June and July of 2014.

You have probably heard how filthy cash is.  Now you can keep this in mind the next time you're using an ATM keypad:



Those two references don't sound too alarmist, but this next one goes further:


So is this protozoan "species closely related to the human parasite Trichomonas vaginalis" harmless to people?  According to the study, the species that was found on the keypads "was originally isolated from avian sources."


 How does this headline sound?


Darned promising, right?  The 'miracle' drug is Repatha.

Well, here's an alternate report on that drug:


That second report identified the danger associated with PCSK9 medications, of which Repatha is one.  This article from July 2013 went far deeper into just how dangerous PCSK9 medications are:


That same website had more to offer in August of last year:

The 'Pharmaceutical Industry' is not in business to do anything but make a profit.  That anyone might ever actually be helped by any of their products is merely a nice secondary outcome.


Despite the title of these two reports on adverse drug events, it does not limit itself to casing just seniors:


But seniors too often take far, far too many medications.
With the number of drugs seniors take these days, it's almost a given they'll end up in the hospital sooner or later as a result.
That quote is from this HSIonline.com related article:  Experts reveal there’s no safe way to take multiple Rx meds.

It's heart-breaking to see trusting, frail elderly women and men taking out a pill dispenser with filled segmented ompartments for various medications that are to be taken throughout any specific day.

How can doctors ethically do this to our most vulnerable populations?

Modern medicine has taken a most lamentable course.


My youngest step-son Pote took off afoot just before 3:30 p.m. ─ no doubt to catch a bus and go to work.  I suspect that he was too timid to try and drive his older brother Tho's car in our nasty weather.

Anyway, I was at last able to get out some frozen regular ground beef and slow-cook myself an excellent feed of the beef with onions, many garlic cloves, mushrooms, a chopped-up large parsnip, a chopped-up portion of a rutabaga, and a chopped-up potato.  It was all well-spiced, although I entirely forgot to add some frozen hot red chili peppers.

By the way, Google took it upon itself to amalgamate the photos that I took of the front yard this morning, creating a somewhat distorted panorama that I find rather interesting:

It is unfortunate that the image is so compressed.

It is time now 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 small affair in a house located on Ninth Street near to Third Avenue.

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

I was a swamper on their blue pick-up truck.

In those years, S.A.N.E. was housed in a building that no longer exists, but which was part of a string of buildings that were along Carnarvon Street right where the New Westminster Skytrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon.
FRIDAY, December 5, 1975

Boy, did I have a rough sleep; I finally decided to get up some minutes beyond 2:30 a.m.

I left about 3:20 a.m. for my dozen laps, which seem to be affecting the shin area of my legs to the point of concern; I mailed 3 letters on the way there (Olympic Lottery ticket order; book order; letter to Jean), finding the night back to its frosty-type cold.

A morn of weakness:  February's bottom-view about 9:15 a.m.; complete, but not intense.

At S.A.N.E., I arrived just in time to leave with substitute driver, again, Joe; we made an easy pick up, then came back to do a Vancouver to West Vancouver moving job.

Two girls in a car led us after we picked up Bill Sevenko, who said Bill Anderson has been home from the hospital about a week, and is well enough to procure his wine.

The moving job was not intolerable, and the 3 of us lunched in Vancouver at McDonald's (I had a Big Mac and 8 ozs of milk) gratis.

After that job, we returned to S.A.N.E., and I did nothing else, being discharged by Verna and getting home, at latest, by 4:00 p.m.  I took with me a paperback:  Those About to Die by Daniel P. Mannix, an account of the Roman Games.

Bed at 7:00 p.m.

In my mail box was a proof of registry card for the election next Friday; it's Provincial. 
I had been doing a stretch of morning runs at the New Westminster Secondary School track, getting there extremely early to avoid any students.

One of the letters I mailed on my way to the track was a letter to Jean M. Martin (née Black), an American pen-pal I had.

After I was back home, I later got led astray by some pornography.

Usually my driver at S.A.N.E. was Esther St. Jean, a truly fun gal in her early 40s.  But now for the second consecutive Friday, "Joe" drove.  I am no longer certain, but I think that he may have been an extremely large young Aboriginal Canadian lad.  Bill Sevenko was an older chap who was of late usually my co-swamper, but I can no longer recall what he looked like, nor even working with him.  And I have absolutely no memory of Bill Anderson.  

I do not recall this specific moving job, but such were fairly common.  We just needed to be assured that the job was manageable, and not something overwhelming. 

One of the guys I was working with that day must have sprung for my lunch at McDonald's.

Verna (Williams?) seemed to have a managerial capacity at S.A.N.E.   

If I had been up since just after 2:30 a.m., I am confident that I would not have any trouble getting to sleep at 7:00 p.m.

Well, maybe I will check outside now and see about shoveling the driveway if the snow has stopped.
Post a Comment