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Monday, January 16, 2017

Another Study Disputes Value of Mammograms │ Low Testosterone Treatments Not for Everyone │ Intravenous Vitamin C Proven to Defeat Cancer

I wondered if my wife Jack might show up last night from Vancouver, but I was not much expecting her. And so it was that when a car pulled into the driveway around 10:00 p.m., I figured that it had to be her ─ it was still something of a surprise, for I thought it more likely that she would be around today.

She was here to spend the night. I now cannot recall just when I noted that she had finally gone to bed, but I expect that it was after midnight.

By the time I was into fragmented sleep in the second half of my night, I was awake when her eldest son Tho rapped on the door twice to rouse her to get up and drive him to the SkyTrain. It was around 7:00 a.m.

Or at least, I think it was Tho. Her youngest son Poté was not here when we all retired last night, so I presumed that he was spending the night at his girlfriend's home and would leave for work from there.

Once I heard Jack and whichever son it was leave, I rose and worked at clearing out my nasal passageways. After 10 minutes or so of that, I returned to bed, but sleep was no longer possible.

In addition to finding myself too awake, I was bothered with the need to get out this morning to mail a credit card payment that is due on Friday.

Resigned, I dressed and came downstairs to make my morning's hot beverage.  And while the water was heating up, Jack returned, and was soon back in bed.

I spent some while putting more content into the new post I began last Wednesday at my Siam-Longings website; and then I commenced readying for a hike four blocks or so to the mailbox outside of Shopper's Drug Mart at Cedar Hills shopping plaza (128th Street & 96th Avenue) here in Surrey.

I was feeling public shy and rather unpresentable, but the payment had to be mailed as soon as possible. As well, we were down to just one postage stamp here in the house, but I felt that I did not have the courage to enter the drugstore and buy more.

It wasn't any later than 10:39 a.m. when I set forth.

The day was overcast, and temperatures clearly much milder than past days. There would be melting ice and snow today.

During my reasonably short hike, I somehow found myself taking heart and feeling better about myself. Thus, by the time I had arrived at the mailbox and mailed the letter, I had the confidence to enter the pharmacy and buy two sets of 10 stamps each.

Apparently domestic postage is now up to 89¢.

Jack was still in bed at my return.

She wasn't sleeping soundly, I knew. She had used the bathroom at one point; and I heard her talking on her phone in Thai for some while to someone.

She rose for the day during the noon-hour.

Then very early in the afternoon, she announced that she had to drive off and pick up Poté from wherever he was.

It makes me feel derisive of those two young men that they are such weaklings that they compel their poor mother to make these trips simply because they want to be comfortable.

It actually disgusts me.  When I was a young man their age, it would be unthinkable to me to impose upon my mother to drive me somewhere, or else come and pick me up.  If it was a distance that I deemed walkable, then I would walk it.

These two are privileged, pampered pussies.

Anyway, Jack was to cook up a couple nice dishes for everyone before she finally left just ahead of 5:00 p.m. to return to Vancouver.

She said that she would be back on Thursday, so I did not bother mentioning that our chequing account is looking bleak from the standpoint of the monthly mortgage that is supposed to get debited on the 21st, but it always seems to happen at least a day later.

But let's entirely switch topics and look at a few photos that may have been taken last October 31, the day after my wife Jack and some of her family had visited Ayutthaya Historical Park.

I had been thinking that they must have gone on a canal cruise, but Jack today said that they had only eaten at a place that was set out over the canal.

Jack loves food.

And I am going to stop there ─ I have to much work to do on this post today.


A newly published Danish mammography study is generating considerable discussion, for it criticized the overall value of having a mammogram ─ here are some reports about the study:





I could not help but take note that Chief Medical and Scientific Officer and Executive Vice President of the American Cancer Society Dr. Otis Brawley is given lots of opportunity to voice his contrary opinion of the study.

And why wouldn't he? After all, according to TruthWiki.org, "nearly 30% of ACS money goes in pockets of CEO, administration and management": American Cancer Society (ACS).

This quote of his should sound some alarms:
"...We have studies that show while we cure some women who don't need to be cured, we clearly cure some women who need to be cured. Therefore, we net save lives."
Part of the "cure" is, of course, mastectomy. So some women are being 'cured' who didn't need to be cured.

It's all part of the gamble.


Well, as the Forbes article noted:
[Researcher Dr. Karsten Juhl Jørgensen] noted that one of his coauthors, breast surgeon Dr. Mette Kalager, left her position as director of the Norwegian Breast Screening Program a decade ago because of her doubts about the value of screening. “She did not feel she could lead a program that she would not participate in herself,” Jørgensen said. 
I think that says far, far more than anything Dr. Otis Bradley can say to me.


I used to wonder if it mightn't be okay to receive testosterone booster shots, but in the recent couple or so years I have swung around to the alternate mindset.

Not that I am in any position to afford such shots!

But if I had the bucks, I would invest them in aids to naturally boost my body's ability to produce the hormone.

Concerning the negative position on receiving testosterone injections, I refer you to Dr. Marc S. Micozzi:


That report of Dr. Micozzi's is dated just four days ago. Peculiarly enough, he published another report with nearly the same title back on October 17, 2014: FDA finally warns about Low-T treatments.


This is most encouraging ─ and it concerns treating cancer effectively and without harm to the patient.

The following are reports on a recently published study:





The NaturalNews.com report ended with some disturbing advice ─ and it involved something that I have never before thought about: "Most vitamin C is made from GMO corn."

I had never heard that claim previously.

However, a little research indicates that this seems to be so, even if there are some natural source varieties of supplemental vitamin C out there.

But are they considerably more expensive?


The time has arrived for me to close 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 space in a house located on Ninth Street, and maybe a house or two up from Third Avenue.

I was only working a 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.

My role was as swamper on their blue pick-up truck.

Back then, S.A.N.E. was housed in a building that used to exist on Carnarvon Street right about where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto that street.

My bedtime the evening prior to this journal entry was 9:00 p.m.
FRIDAY, January 16, 1976

I slept easily, but awoke about 11:00 p.m. due to my formidable indigestion; it gave evidence of being one of my worst bouts.

I got to sleep again only to be aroused by a light "shave" knock, followed by one slightly heavier, then at least three more louder ones succeeded by a series of unsystematized rappings.

I was reasonably sure it was Mark, and at first determined to ignore him till he left, but his unassuming persistence rather began to concern me. Finally he spoke something, so I let him in. He was here to spend the night.

Seems Garry took him out to, I think, the Newton Inn c. 7:30 p.m. From there they went to Cloverdale and learned the hotel closes at midnight. So they finally headed to the Scottsdale Inn ─ and found there both Cathys and some guy.

His Cathy was overheard as he approached telling the guy to take off under her breath.

She conducted herself very suspiciously, but he said naught, till he finally did ask who their friend was; at this, the guy got up and left.

Cathy would have been absolutely unbearable and quite merciless if she found Mark in a similar situation, but Mark supposedly didn't react till Cathy started bickering and was in fact arguing with Garry.

Mark apparently didn't care to endure her, nor to have to bear her unbalanced narrow-mindedness all night, so he got up himself and left, leaving Garry calling after him.

And he walked and hitch-hiked to my place; I guess it was about 2:00 a.m. We retired at 2:30 a.m., him on the couch here which opens up into a bed, fortunately. We then talked on various topics back and forth for an indetermined length of time.

I didn't have too much trouble getting back again to sleep.  

I awoke at 7:00 a.m.

It looks like, if I do my token exercises at all, I'll have to  postpone them for later today.

My massive food intake last night ─ well, yesterday ─ has left me with no ill effects; I am actually hungry.

I wonder about Sunday's turkey dinner if Cathy won't shake the rotten mood I'm sure she's in; maybe she won't pick up the turkey, and mom will roast it.

It must have been before 8:30 a.m. that Cathy came, with Pamela; she was very subdued, and gave me her story quietly and rather sensitively as Mark remained in bed. He didn't arise till at least 9:30 a.m.

I guess Cathy had talked with mom earlier.

She sure hasn't much to say in Garry's favour.

Anyway, it seems the turkey supper is still on; she denies telling Bill to shop for one 20 lbs.

They all left just shortly before 10:00 a.m.

I went to S.A.N.E. with a single peanut buttered pancake for breakfast (Mark took Tigers of the Sea with him).

My morning driver was Joe, and our partner Bill Sevenko.

We first delivered a small stove to Joe's Fraser Apt. suite. Then we made a fairly simple pick-up that quite covered the back, followed by another that we took ─ with 3 cats ─ to Port Coquitlam. Our lunch was 2 beers apiece in the Commercial Hotel; I bought Bill's (total: $1.60).

Esther was in a meeting, but free when we returned.  Bill quit, as did Joe, and Bob partnered me. We made a stop for his cheque and a chesterfield at a Mental Health centre on Agnes, and I spoke with Gilles a while; David Prince saw me there and, spiritedly, asked I visit ─ he's still at the Y. Alan Olson greeted me there too.

The chesterfield went to Casaloma where dad lives, to a woman I helped move in.

That was it for Bob.

The day was full, anyway.

Earlier, Joe drove me home so I could pick up my $50 cheque, but I never got it cashed.

I got a ride home to 10th St & 3rd Ave., arriving here just after 5:15 p.m.

I supped on my delicious homemade granola; it was slightly bitter.

I picked up a pocketbook called The Witches Workbook: The Magick Grimoire of Lady Sheba.

According to Esther, there is a powerful likelihood I will not be allowed to renew my incentive contract; but she said it is likely I will be selected as a permanent swamper with wage at March's end if I want it, and if S.A.N.E. is given a new grant. I'd rather win a lottery, or have a regular 8 hr. a day job.

Bed at 10:30 p.m.
Wasn't that a day!

It was my younger brother Mark who came calling around 2:00 a.m. He had been out with his old friend Garry Porteous.

I think that the two Cathys they came across at the Scottsdale Inn were undoubtedly Mark's live-in girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther, and a friend of Jeanette's also named "Cathy."

I just about always referred to Jeanette in my journal as Cathy.

I don't remember this incident.  Whatever the case, I guess Mark did not have many options upon storming out of the Scottsdale Inn.  He had no car, and Garry was probably the only guy around that Mark would have been comfortable enough to have sought accommodation for the night.

Concerning the turkey, my old friend William Alan Gill had purchased it in the States.  According to Bill, Jeanette had told him that if we got one, she would cook it up for us.

It cost him over $13, but I contributed $3 towards it. We had left it at my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey, and Mark and/or Jeanette were supposed to be picking it up from her this very day.  

I was relieved to read that Jeanette came over for Mark.  The fireworks seemed done with.

Pamela Susan was Jeanette's youngest daughter; Jeanette had two beautiful little girls.

Now as for S.A.N.E., I was employed with them through an initiatives or incentives programme that was set up between them and New Westminster social services.

Normally my driver was Esther St. Jean, a woman in her early 40s whom I very much liked. I am unsure now, but Joe may have been a huge Indigenous Canadian lad.  Bill Sevenko was probably at least into his 40s, but I do not remember him any longer.

I now have no memory of the Bill who later that day served as my work partner.

I also cannot recall a Mental Health centre that was situated on Agnes Street.  However, apparently Casaloma must have been 6038 Imperial Street in Burnaby, for that is where I believe that my father Hector lived.

The fellas I spoke with at the Mental Health centre on Agnes Street included Gilles, a young French Canadian chap who also sometimes worked at S.A.N.E.; my old friend Philip David Prince; and Alan Olson, someone I have no memory of whatsoever.

I rather thought that Esther's news of me potentially being offered a full-time position with S.A.N.E. would have been great news.  But regardless, it never was to happen.

Returning to the present, it began raining within a half-hour of Jack's departure.

Because of all the work I involved myself with in performing this post, I was able to lose myself and not be brought low after Jack had gone.  We hardly talk anymore when she's home, and the sense is that our marriage is hopeless.

So no, there was no token good-bye kiss.

Lastly, I have a somewhat painful swelling below the left corner of my jaw ─ a lymph node?
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