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Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Mammograms Overdiagnose Breast Cancer and Result in Severe Treatment Side Effects │ Ayurveda │ Inadequate Sleep Leads to Depressed Immunity

I was expecting my wife Jack home from Vancouver late last evening, but my youngest step-son Poté said that she was not planning to come home until sometime today.

We have what must be over a foot of snow outside. I dressed up to go out and get at some of it last night, but my two step-sons rallied against it, and Poté said that he had today off work and so would be able to do the driveway.

It is presently 12:40 p.m., and he is still lolling about with his overnighted girlfriend. But they only just got up late in the morning.

I shared with him and his older brother Tho last evening the swelling over my temporomandibular joint, and their reactions were rather dramatic. They cannot believe that I  am not seeking medical attention ─ Poté declared that he would take me to a doctor today if I was no better.

Since I do not wish to go into the entire narrative of just what I am speaking of, I will post two selfies I took today, and the description the photos have in the Google album where I uploaded the images:

One of two selfie photos of myself taken at 12:04 p.m. on February 7, 2017.

I am fairly fresh from a badly needed nap, and feel as miserable as I look (at the age of 67). My beard is disheveled from lying in bed.

This is my fourth or fifth day of suffering with that swelling that you can see on the left side of my face.

It had originally started out as just some vague morning sensitivity in the temporomandibular joint area, such as what one might find after some excessive chewing.

But the sensitivity increased over the course of the day.

The next day, the swelling had begun in earnest, and felt to be roughly about the size of a quarter (25¢ piece). It was sensitive, but manageably so.

On the third day, the swelling resembled a hard-boiled egg partially embedded inside my face.

Two night ago for the first time, the pain was disrupting my sleep. All of yesterday was unremitting pain that would have been tolerable, but it just would not let. I suppose that after a few days of enduring it, my entire body was starting to feel the stress of that now-chronic pain.

And the pain is radiating outward somewhat, making surrounding areas sensitive to the touch.

I started feeling physically downtrodden, as if I was coming down with some oppressive malady like a flu.

When I eat, I can only open my mouth wide enough to insert a barely rounded spoonful of food; and I have to control my yawns, stifling them so that I do not open my mouth wide. I do not dare.

I have not sought the services of a doctor at some walk-in clinic, for I cannot see what can be done. I do not take pain medication.

For now, the plan is to just weather this, and wait for the pain and swelling to subside. I am just thankful that I am retired and do not have a job to worry about missing.
I slept so poorly last night that I could barely tolerate working at compiling content into the post I have been working on since last Friday at my Latin Impressions website. Yesterday I had amassed more content than I usually would over a morning, but today's shortfall wiped out that surfeit.

I did what work I could, and then the pain and oppression dictated that I return to bed. I managed some further sleep, and felt better thereafter. Enough to take those two unflattering selfies.

Incidentally, eldest step-son Tho did not go to work early this morning. He finally left the house at 9:10 a.m. after showering and drenching himself in cologne or aftershave, but I cannot say that he was going to report in to work late. I hope he is able to do so, however.

He is serving a driving suspension, so he isn't driving. In fact, he has let his car insurance lapse, and the vehicle is sitting idle.

We have a very bright, sunny day. I know Poté hasn't the physical resources to handle all of the shoveling that is needed, so this evening I will see about trying to do some on the public sidewalk adjacent to some of our property. I just hope temperatures do not sink below freezing and make that job beyond me.


A couple of breast cancer studies are gathering some attention. I learned of them from the following ominously-titled commentary:

I dug up some alternate reports on those two studies, if you are interested. Let's begin with the first one which found that many mammogram-discovered cancers never required treatment:




And here are an equal number of reports on the second study that finds breast cancer treatments to be unduly harsh on patients undergoing them:




I find it harrowing that there are women out there walking around exclaiming how a mastectomy saved their lives...yet many of these women never even needed treatment, let alone surgery to deface them. They were conned.


If ever I am financially freed from my bondage to my computer for hours on end each and every day, I would love to investigate meditation, and maybe even systems such as Ayurveda.

If such a philosophy as that latter holds any interest for you, then you might appreciate the following article:


A couple of times I have attempted the article, but I cannot resist skimming, and I end up gaining nothing from it. Again, I just cannot devote the time.

And of course, today I am just not physically up to it.


You have surely heard or read often enough that sleep is important to help keep one's immunity at its best. Researchers decided to demonstrate it by using 11 sets of twins, The idea was to see if the twin receiving less sleep was actually prone to more illnesses like colds.

Here are some reports on the study:




And that takes about all I have ─ my temporomandibular swelling is dictating that I take a break and maybe even find a nap.


And that nap was interrupted by a call from my wife Jack, wanting me to take some meat out of the fridge icebox. I'm not hearing well, and I was wrenched from a nap, as said. So I don't know if she wanted me to take one, two, or all four packages of pork out of the icebox.

I've texted her back to report that only one meat package is marked as to its identity: "pork slice." Was that one of what I was to take out of the icebox? And if so, then any of the others, too ─ and if so, how many?

But I guess she's in a snit because I didn't absolutely understand her Thai-accented English. I'm always at fault for that when she isn't crystal clear about something.

Poté had been out shoveling the driveway as best he could, and he tried to resolve the meat dilemma, but she never took his call. So he has about six packages of meat pulled out ─ he can't tell what they are, either.   

Hell, I'm going to close now with an entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.
SATURDAY, February 7, 1976

I got up several minutes before 7:00 a.m.

I typed Jean a letter. 

My nap period in this awfully cold place extended from about 10:15 a.m. - 1:15 p.m.

I waited around all day foolishly hoping Bill would come for me to assist in the mass celebration of Sandy's birthday.

At dusk he came.

We split on a case of beer, arriving at Nell's just prior to Mark & Cathy.

Soon, we 4 went to the Neighbourhood Pub, and were finally joined by all the many others.

Closing, we hit the Scottsdale Inn, splitting into two groups cause Garry P. was there.

When we did leave, he came.

I blew $7!

Cathy was a fool. She left Nell's after calling down everyone.

Al & Marie got pleasurably bombed.
I can see that I tried to cram all of that entry into the final few lines of a page, and thus I never bothered trying to give much elaboration.

The letter I typed was for Jean M. Martin (née Black), an American pen-pal of mine. 

My old friend William Alan Gill lived in a bachelor suite he was renting, four or so blocks from my room. This day was to be a birthday celebration for Sandy Halverson, the wife of my maternal cousin Randy.

When Bill finally did show up, we went directly to the home of my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson out in Surrey, for that is where these sorts of events usually took place. My younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther arrived right after Bill and I got there.

Apparently the next venue of the gang was "the Neighbourhood Pub." That identification is no help at all ─ just about all pubs refer to themselves as neighbourhood pubs.

After it closed for the night, we then went on to the Scottsdale Inn, the very large beer parlour or pub of a hotel that now no longer exists, but it was fairly near the intersection of 72nd Avenue & Scott Road (120th Street) just into Delta.  

Mark's old friend Garry Porteous happened to be in there, so some of us joined his table. But when we all eventually left, did he leave for home, or go with us back to Nell's? He only lived a block or two away from the Scottsdale Inn.

I guess Mark's girlfriend Jeanette was into one of her bad moods.

Al and Marie Varga were friends of the Halversons. It is peculiar that I never mentioned anyone else, but I reckon I was doing my best to condense the report as much as possible so as not to have to start a new page.

And I am about ready to return to bed. I have just texted my wife Jack to say that Poté left out six packages of meat. He couldn't tell what any of them are, beyond the marked one. Then he and his girlfriend left for somewhere.

Jack has to try and be more mature, for Pete's sake.

I am going to have an orange before seeking that nap ─ I have had no food all day. Or maybe I won't. The sharp acidity might be a little too daunting right now.
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