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Monday, January 9, 2017

Canned Foods and Bisphenol A (BPA) │ Side Effects of Gastric-Bypass Surgery Can Last a Lifetime │ Rheumatoid Arthritis Begins in the Mouth

I failed to take note of the time that my wife Jack finally went to bed last night, and I was able to do the same.  It must have been around midnight.

She had arrived home earlier in the evening with her eldest son Tho, having picked him up from somewhere ─ he had not been home since he left for work on Friday morning.  Or at least, I never noticed him here.

Jack had come home from Vancouver to spend the night so that she could take Tho to traffic court this morning ─ he is charged with driving while under a licence suspension.  I think he got nabbed the second time back in November.

I heard her phone sounding an alarm this morning ─ maybe 7:30 a.m.?  I never looked to see.  She didn't immediately get up.

When finally she did, quietly dressing in the gloom so as not to disturb me, it was well before 8:00 a.m.  Once she had exited the bedroom and shut the door, I, too, rose for the day.

Tho was in the bathroom readying for a shower, so I went downstairs to prepare my morning's hot beverage.  I saw poor Jack curled up on the living room chesterfield, trying to seek a nap as she waited.

Jack seems to sleep worse here at home than I do.

I got to work at one of my six hosted websites, and waited for mother and son to head off.  When they did, I managed to take these five photos of them through the living room window ─ they are in the sequence taken:

It was 8:23 a.m.

I managed to get a lot of content put into the edit I am making of an old post at my Siam-Longings website, but I want to put in a whole lot more before publishing it.

It was right around noon when I heard Jack return, but she was alone.  She walked upstairs wordlessly right past my back as I sat here at my computer in the room just before our bedroom; and after using the bathroom, I heard her shut herself into the bedroom, apparently seeking a nap.

She couldn't have gotten too much of one, for she was soon up again.

And then around 1:30 p.m. as I worked at taking down and disentangling a mass of Christmas lights that festooned a sort of archway just outside our front door, Jack was leaving again ─ it was maybe 1:30 p.m.

She said nothing, but she had left some meat on the counter by the kitchen sink, so I expected that she was off on an errand.  It soon dawned on me that she had a driver's road test that she had set up online here at home yesterday.

Although she has been driving for several years, she has only ever had the N or novice licence.  She had tried for the full licence several times, but they keep taking her $50 and coming up with an excuse to fail her.

Tho showed up some while after she had gone.  He seemed in good spirits, so I just made a joke, asking if he'd somehow managed to escape.

Anon Jack returned.

Just as when she failed a couple of weeks ago, she was in an oddly good mood.  I think maybe this is how she rides out the embarrassment of her ongoing failure to qualify for the full driver's licence.

She was soon busy cooking, periodically interacting in bantering fashion with Tho.  It was all Isaan Thai, so I have no idea what these verbal contests are ever about.  

Around 3:30 p.m. I decided to go outside and try and shovel the ice from the sidewalk.  It was work, but the stuff is finally lifting.  The day has been mostly overcast, and I think there was even some light rain for awhile.

I made some effort to also shovel part of the driveway, but it was just too much after the sidewalk.

It was at least 4:30 p.m. when I came back into the house.

I soon saw a white car parked out in front of our driveway, and Tho seemed to be bustling about.  I correctly presumed that someone was waiting for him, but whomever it was had a bit of a wait.

Once Tho was gone, Jack said that she, too, was soon going to have to be leaving ─ I expect, to return to Vancouver.

I saw her off.  Despite her reasonably good mood, there was no token good-bye kiss offered.

And I was alone...but not for long.  Poté soon showed up ─ but at least he was alone.

Just prior to commencing today's post, I checked my AdSense account.  I had said yesterday that I never earned a cent on Saturday; and at the start of yesterday's post, there was nothing in that day's balance.

Well, there never was to be anything ─ for the second consecutive day, there were no earnings.

And today?  Again, nothing as of that earlier check of the balance.  Will this be the third consecutive day of nothing at all?

It sure discourages.


A two-week-long study on dogs ought to be ample warning to those of us who are aware of bisphenol A (BPA), and know that we should try to avoid consuming it.

The chemical is in many products, most notably many plastics, and the linings of cans used for food.

The dogs in the study were selected based upon their diets ─ they predominantly ate dry bagged dog food, and not canned dog food, before being taken in for the study, 

Their BPA levels were measured; and then they were fed canned dog food for just two weeks.  The researchers were not expecting the readings that they found when they next tested the dogs for BPA levels.

These reports tell of the study:




That latter reference has the best advice possible ─ there seems no alternative for the health-conscious but to stop buying any kind of canned food. 

And why do the first two reports just say canned dog food may increase BPA levels?  It bloody well did ─ and in just two weeks, for Pete's sake! 

The published study ended with this:
The current studies show that at least some canned dog foods, even one thought to be BPA-free, contained measureable amounts of BPA in the lining of the cans and the food itself. When dogs were switched on a short-term basis from being fed dry-type dog foods, which were stored in bags, to canned foods, circulating concentrations of BPA among the dogs increased by almost three-fold. The concentrations of BPA detected in the dogs after being on these diets for two weeks approximate those detected in various human populations, including pregnant women unknowingly exposed to this chemical. Relative abundance of select bacterial species were correlated with greater serum BPA concentrations in dogs fed either of the two canned foods. One of the bacterial species negatively associated with serum BPA concentrations was Bacteroides spp., a species that possesses the ability metabolize bisphenols. Increasing concentrations of BPA may suppress this bacteria and secondarily lead to decreased bacterial-metabolism of this chemical with greater amount of active BPA than being absorbed across the gastrointestinal tract. With the greater acceptance and support for the “One Health Concept”, including in the environmental health sciences field, the current findings in dogs may have translation to humans. Besides being companion animals, dog share the same internal and external environments as we do. Thus, they may be the best bio-sentinels of human environmental health concerns. These findings in dogs might also have relevance to aquatic and terrestrial wildlife that are chronically exposed to BPA.

I have often mentioned how my old friend William Alan Gill underwent stomach surgery back in the late 1970s as a shortcut to losing weight.

He was employed in a cannery called Royal City Foods that used to be located in New Westminster, and just downstream from the Pattullo Bridge.

It was hard work at the cannery, but he was a sturdy chap.

Well, all that came to an end after he had the surgery and tried returning to the job.  He was spending just about half of his shift sitting in the toilet ─ his bowels constantly needed evacuating.

Or so it felt.  Often, he was just passing some fluid, or maybe some mucous.  But even that material must be passed safely ─ to pass wind without heeding the urge to visit the toilet would result in a noisome mess in one's clothes.

The company told him that they were having to let him go, but that they would recommend him for a disability pension under the Canada Pension Plan.

He never worked again, and had to adjust to life on that limited pension.

Today, he is 70 years old, and in an extended care facility.  He has numerous health problems, and has to be helped up out of bed in order to get into a wheelchair.  He wears a catheter full-time.

I have no idea how he is still alive.

Do something else if you are considering stomach surgery for weight loss purposes.

As a sort of study, patients who underwent a type of stomach surgery called Roux-en-Y laparoscopic gastric bypass were consulted two years after the surgery to see how they were faring.  The following reports speak about that assessment study:





This published study mentioned another study as a reference to the statement that a "high percentage of symptomatic gallstone disease in the first 2 years after LRYGB is a known effect of weight loss."

I referred to the study and found this statement there:
At 6 months, gallstones had developed in 36% and gallbladder sludge in 13% of patients. These percentages remained relatively constant at 12 and 18 months. 
Obviously everyone essentially owns their own body.

Just keep in mind that some things cannot be undone.


John Hopkins' researchers think they may have found what causes rheumatoid arthritis.

And believe it or not, it all starts in a person's mouth!

I am running out of blogging time today, so I will just post these two references for you to follow up with your own reading, if the topic matters to you:



That second reference also mentions other diseases we are prey to that have been identified as originating in our mouths.


I 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.

I was renting the little unit in a house located on Ninth Street, and about one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

I just worked one day a week, usually ─ I was a swamper on the blue pick-up truck of a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today calls itself Fraserside Community Services Society.

The building it used to be housed in no longer exists, but it was located on Carnarvon Street roughly where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto that same street.

Esther St. Jean was usually the driver of the truck.  She was a delightful woman in her early 40s ─ a true jewel to work with.

My bedtime the evening prior to this particular entry was 8:30 p.m.
FRIDAY, January 9, 1975

I slept a very intermittent sleep, arising about 4:16 a.m.

I bought a dozen eggs (85¢) at Safeway and mailed Ron's letter before showing up at S.A.N.E.

Gordie was my help, and a new kid.  Our sole morning task was 25 - 30 bags of clothes from Woodland's, then Esther kept a meeting with Sinton after picking up Judy.

We didn't begin our next task till well past noon, and that was to finish off moving Shirley to 5th Ave. near 10th St.  We did one load, then I got driven home at 2:10 p.m. for lunch; I am awaiting pick-up by the same fellow to chauffeur me over for a second load of moving, as he and my partners went to MacDonald's.

I actually experienced some breast pain from my hunger.

After pick-up, we went to Shirley's and did almost another load.  And that was my day.  Esther was going back for a chair, but she discharged me at Shirley's new place.

However, I had to return to S.A.N.E. for my eggs, a most unfortunate fact.  For going down 10th, just after passing Queens, I saw Art's truck coming up the hill; Samantha and another girl were with him.

He asked me to come over later, and I ruefully agreed to.

After getting my eggs, I discovered it to be raining.

Coming up the foot of 9th St., 3 young girls played coy (they likely weren't yet pubescent), whistling at me.

I came home, and snacked on bread; I was badly looking forward to trying my granola, but why overeat when I know not what's in store at Art's?

I arrived there about 7:00 p.m.  Only Sam wasn't home, while Angelina never appeared until it was about time for Art to drive her to work, and their young relative Ernie was there until his mother came and took him home.

Judd is supposed to marry unimpressive Shirley (of a past New Year's Eve party) February 14.

I drank a vodka and 2 wines, and of course had a meal.

Watching one of the rock concerts, during an Eagles' hit which was backdropped with scenes of pretty girls and so forth, some Frazetta artwork was displayed.

Art had me promise to come over Sunday to view an Ali/Frazier boxing match about 4:00 p.m.

I got to bed about 2:15 a.m.

I originally left a note on my door telling Bill where to find me, but he never visited last night, I guess.
The letter I mailed that morning was to Ron Bain, an American pen-pal I had.

"Gordie" may have been a rather bombastic young fellow who seemed to have no grasp of monetary values ─ he was clearly mentally challenged, but a nice enough young fellow.

I now have no idea who "Sinton" was, but Judy was Esther's beautiful oldest daughter.

I am unsure who the Shirley was that we moved a couple of loads for ─ I certainly do not remember the day.

It would only have been a three-block walk home from this Shirley's new residence, but I had to go all the way back to S.A.N.E.

'Twas Art Smith who came driving along and ruined my plans to get to bed early.  I had been doing my best to avoid him because he was always doing his best to brow-beat me into going to his place so he would have someone to drink with.

He was in his early 40s, and married to Angelina (Angie).  They had three kids:  the oldest was Samantha; then came Angela (Dee Dee); and finally young Steve.

Angie worked at the Pacific Café on Columbia Street. I forget its exact location now, but it must have been near Eighth Street.

I have no memory whatsoever of who young "Ernie" or his mother were.

Judd (Gerald) was Art's younger brother.  The Shirley he was engaged to was a lush I had previously had to fend off at a New Year's Eve party that S.A.N.E. may have sponsored.

As for that Sunday boxing match, according to here:
The “Thrilla in Manila” wasn’t broadcast on national TV until January 11, ’76, though it was fought October 1, ’75.
I had probably left the note on my door before going to Art's home, in the vain hope that my old friend William Alan Gill would drive over and rescue me from a late night.
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