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Thursday, December 15, 2016

Sleep Apnea's Huge Link to Lung Cancer │ Type 2 Diabetes Drug Jardiance: Not All Good News │ Food Allergy Labeling Not Always Adequate

Although I was in bed last night by 11:05 p.m. (and neither of my stepsons were yet home), I was up twice during the night to not just use the bathroom, but to try and gain clearance of a clogged nasal passageway impeding my breathing.

Normally by 7:00 a.m. I would have been okay with rising for the day, but I was still so tired that ─ after yet further effort at gaining breathing clearance ─ I returned to bed, but I am unsure if I managed further sleep before giving up.

The deep-freeze continues, with brilliant sunshine too ineffectual to bring any meaningful warmth.  

As I sat here working on a new post at one of my six hosted websites, I finally heard stirrings downstairs indicating that my step-son Pote and/or his girlfriend had gotten up.

It was approaching 10:30 a.m.

I wasn't even sure if the girlfriend was actually here ─ sometimes she has to leave very early to get to work.  I wasn't hearing any conversation downstairs. 

In short order, I heard the front door open and then close, and that motivated me to go to a window to try and catch sight of whomever it was. 

I was soon to see the girlfriend making her way through the alleyway beside the house as she surely headed off to catch a bus.

Not too long later, I heard Pote in the kitchen, and could only wonder why he had left his girlfriend to make the cold trek to the bus stop by herself. 

As I said, I had not heard any conversation.  Maybe she thought he was sleeping and did not want to disturb him, and he was perfectly happy to feign the role until after she left.

So I have had him home all day ─ it is 4:21 p.m. as I type this.

The two went out together in the latter afternoon yesterday, and as I said, had not returned by the time I went to bed.  Did he actually go to work, or did they go off for some other reason?

How is it he is here just about every bloody day if he has two jobs?  I just don't get it, and it annoys the hell out of me.

I want my peace and solitude back.

At least I was able to go out late in the morning while wearing cut-offs to have some very cold exercise in the backyard shed.

I am reluctant to appear in the cut-offs when anyone is here ─ especially when it is an outsider.

But when Pote is up and by himself, he essentially spends the entire day doing nothing but sitting on his ass at his computer in the boys' den area, entertaining himself.  I can generally expect that I will be unseen as I pass by the doorless entrance to that part of the house.

The den is where Pote's bed is, and it is in full view as one passes by that den entrance.  However, the computer is off to the side, and anyone seated at it is essentially out of the range of vision.

I don't know what Pote's older brother Tho is doing ─ I haven't seen him since Tuesday.  If he's keeping late hours, but still managing to get to work on time, then I am fine with it.

I just wish Pote would disappear, too.

But I expect that he'll continue to sit on his butt at the computer until his girlfriend is back here once she's finished work.  I am so damned sick of the relentless presence of the two of them.  

To get out of this discussion, I am going to now post some further photos that I believe were taken this past October 30 when my wife Jack and some of her family visited the ruins of Ayutthaya in Thailand.

Jack had never visited the ruins before, and that may well hold true for her family, as well.

The lad is Daniel, the son of my wife's sister Penn:

That is Penn with Daniel in this next photo:

Daniel has disappeared to the far side, but that is his mother Penn ─ the nearest woman holding the orange drape:

Both Penn and Daniel are evident in this next photo, too:

The last two photos that I will post today feature my wife Jack:


My hampered breathing at night due to these nasal passageway blockages that I keep suffering has me wondering if I am at risk for the same pathologies that sleep apnea sufferers are threatened with.

A recent study of mice has found that sleep apnea results in an increase of specialized exosomes that help cancer cells grow and spread.

This is one rather technical explanation of just what these exosomes are ─ a little more helpful, I am sure, than the Wikipedia article that I linked to just above:
Exosomes are microscopic spheres that transport proteins, lipids, mRNAs, and miRNAs between cells, similar to courier messengers delivering packages. They play a central role in cell-to-cell communication and are involved in promoting cancer cell growth. When exosomes increase in number and change their content, tumors become bigger and metastasize more easily.
I located three reports on the study ─ this first one is undoubtedly the easiest to understand by anyone without any background in science: 

These other two reports are somewhat more difficult to apprehend:



Folks who are probably suffering sleep apnea because of being overweight have got to lose the pounds.  Are carbohydrates worth literally dying for? 

Lung cancer is one of the really bad ones.

Turn away from the starchy carbohydrates, and give a modified paleolithic or Mediterranean diet a good try. 


Type 2 diabetics have a new blood-sugar control medication to try out ─ Jardiance.

And it's claimed to positively yield cardiovascular benefits, according to a study ─ of course, performed by the drug-maker's own researchers.

You can read the glowing words in this report ─ only towards the end does anything negative come out:


For another assessment of Jardiance that is coming from a source with no reason to look for false hope, check out this report:


If you care to see an overview of side effects of this medication, just refer to Drugs.comJardiance Side Effects.

It never fails to amaze me that people choose to resort to risky medications instead of taking on the lifestyle changes that have been demonstrated to reverse type 2 diabetes.

People are just sheer lazy.


I don't have any food allergies that I am aware of, nor do I know of anyone close to me with any such condition.  Consequently, I did not realize that food packaging labels were not necessarily explicit enough to alert consumers with allergies that the product held potential serious risk.

This article explains:


An 11-year-old boy died during the U.S. Thanksgiving holiday period merely from eating a piece of cake:


These tips are offered by NewMarketHealth.com concerning such allergies:
#1: Don't trust a simple "food allergy panel" to diagnose true food allergies. Researchers at the Nationwide Children's Hospital in Columbus, Ohio said that while the panel tests are marketed to doctors as being convenient, it's rare that they offer any "useful information for patients."

Instead, experts say that children should be tested for allergens one at a time. And where food allergies are concerned, it's better to consult with a specialist rather than your primary care doctor or pediatrician.

#2: If someone in your family accidently eats something they're allergic to, don't think everything is okay if there's no immediate reaction. As Oakley's mom found out, a serious, life-threatening one can also come on slowly. While his family had an EpiPen on hand, they didn't think it was needed... until it was suddenly too late.

#3: While most food allergies start in childhood, they can also develop in adults. If you think you might be having a reaction to something that has never bothered you before, you may want to start a trial elimination diet or a supervised food challenge to find out.

#4: New research has found that giving peanut products to babies before their first birthday may protect them from developing allergies later on. One caveat to that is if your child or grandchild has already been found to be allergic to eggs, exposure to nuts should only be done under a pediatrician's supervision.

I must close now, so here is 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 tiny affair in was located on Ninth Street, perhaps just one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

My bedtime the evening before the entry was 9:30 p.m.
MONDAY, December 15, 1975

Strangely, I didn't get up till about 4:45 a.m., which is quite a lengthy sleep.

An older fellow was at the laundromat ahead of me; I took a book to the library (I nigh wore my eyes out on the past half-dozen days labouring on copying so much of its ─ The Health Food Dictionary ─ information, and am glad to be done), and bought 4 comics.

I'm still thinking about Bill.  His mother kept phoning him last night, insisting they were spending Christmas at Holberg, or wherever it is, on the Island

Bill supposedly planned, with Mark & Cathy, to play Santa Claus for the kids, so he kept telling his ma he wasn't going; besides, he didn't feel he'd enjoy himself there.

Finally his aunt called him, and he relented.  Yank the apron strings hard and long enough, and momma's little boy will do as bade.

I don't say this hostilely; just sadly.  It's too bad Bill is so enfeebled.

My $50 S.A.N.E. cheque is in my hands.  I'd hoped to cash it earlier, but couldn't leave my comics unread.  So, the time working toward the late hour of 11:30 a.m., and a blemish I can't effectively conceal, combine to lead me to decide on cashing it tomorrow.

That cord coursing within my penis has me upset.  What is it?  And why?

Dad and Marie called, sober.  However, I was a fool and acquiesced to dad's suggestion I bring out a little something to aid his nerves.  

And from there I paid.  

They bickered, and spoke endless nonsense.  And stayed, on and on.

They originally interrupted a letter I was typing to Ron.  So I was forced to abandon this, and nearly my work-out as well.

Perhaps they came 2:30 p.m. ─ and left 7:00 p.m.

Yes sir, I suffered.

Anyway, I learned from dad that a hardened vein in the penal shaft is no condition peculiar to me.  Comforting.

Bed by 9:30 p.m.

I lent dad $20.
If I remember correctly, the laundromat as on Sixth Avenue, very near to the public library.  But I don't recall where I bought what were probably Marvel comics.

My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite maybe three or four blocks from where I lived.  I had watched some colour T.V. at his place the evening before.

As I said yesterday, his mother Anne Gregory could truly bully him into just about anything she wanted.  And Bill was 29 years old at this time.

In addition, at a height of maybe five feet 10 inches, he likely weighed over 300 pounds.  That was why he would have made such a good Santa Claus.  The kids were the two little girls of Catherine Jeanette Gunther, my younger brother Mark's girlfriend.

As for the apparently 'calcified' vein that stretched the length of my penile shaft right from the foreskin, I still know nothing of how it seemingly developed overnight.  I wrote of its disconcerting discovery in the previous day's journal entry.

My father Hector and his girlfriend Marie Fadden were living in a Burnaby apartment.  I didn't have a phone, so they likely risked a cab ride to drop in on me.

I can't say that I even recall the visit any longer, and did not realize that they had ever been in my room.

They had a big alcohol problem, but my father was the dearest man when he was sober.

I wonder what the heck booze I had on hand?  That rather surprises me.

The letter I had been typing was to Ron Bain, an American pen-pal that I had.

By the way, the $50 cheque was for my one-day-a-week working as a truck swamper for the New Westminster charitable organization S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is now known as Fraserside Community Services Society.

That was likely a full month's payment for working each Friday.  I was employed with them through an initiatives or incentives project that was in place between them and New Westminster social services, so I also qualified for the single rate for social assistance each month.
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