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Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Parotid Duct Obstruction Treatment: Day Six │ Common Pain Meds Taken for Cold and Flu Increase Heart Attack Risk in Anyone by Nearly 4½ Times │ Are We Taking Our Antibiotics for Too Long?

I did not find sleep last night as easily as I have been managing to ─ perhaps partly because I had a strong dose of instant coffee after 6:00 p.m.

I wasn't pleased that I felt obliged to take the day's second ibuprofen or Advil prior to my 10:59 p.m. bedtime ─ I had hoped to have been weaned off them. But the needle extraction point where supposedly all of the pus was withdrawn from the huge swelling on the left side of my face (due to a duct obstruction of the parotid gland) late yesterday morning had fired up with fiery piercings of pain.

The swelling even looked to have grown outward at that point.

They specialist who did the extraction is to see me again on Friday, but he said to let him know if instead of reducing, the swelling becomes even larger.

Well, I cannot say that it is definitely growing again, so I have not contacted him. It is just as big as it ever was ─ just more painful now.

Today ─ a miserably rainy day ─ I had a 2:30 p.m. appointment at the Jim Pattison Outpatient Care and Surgery Centre to have an ertapenem IV drip ─ I had my first yesterday immediately after receiving the eighth and final drip of clindamycin, an antibiotic that had been started up last Friday afternoon.

I was fortunate that my youngest step-son Poté was going to be available to both drive me to the appointment, and to come and pick me up later. Jim Pattison is something over a mile from where we live.

But I did not know of his availability last night, nor this morning.

It was 8:58 a.m. when I checked the time and rose to start my day. I had only risen once during the night around 4:25 a.m. to use the bathroom, and I had a small drink of water.

I am still sweating and making the bedding rather clammy.

I must say, Poté was indeed a blessing to have here today for transportation!

Just before we left for my session appointment, I grudgingly took the day's first Advil. The aggravated swelling where the needle was inserted yesterday morning has continued to be bothersome.

I am sure that it would be useless to mention it to any of the doctors or nurses, but a newly published study has found that medications like Advil (ibuprofen) and even aspirin ─ NSAIDs ─ have been found to increase the risk of suffering a heart attack by almost 3½ times when they are taken for a respiratory infection like a cold or flu:



Fortunately I have no such infection, for that heart attack risk is for anyone, I believe ─ not just people with bad hearts.

But clearly the stuff is just not as safe as the medical community maintains.

Anyway, I was hoping to let an infectious disease specialist with whom I was interviewed yesterday at Jim Pattison know of the pus extraction performed on me when I kept the later appointment with the ENT specialist at another location. However, I never saw him.

The two have a different impression of what my facial swelling is..The former believes that it is a mass of infection practically waiting to burst forth from its encapsulation or containment into my face. He wants to set me up with some sort of sonic treatment as soon as possible to break up the mass.

The latter (ENT) specialist believes that there is little more than a pocket of infection ─ and he used that needle, claiming that he had in all likelihood extracted all of the infectious material.

But all I had to speak with today was a nurse. She was quite interested, though, and obviously stood by her infectious disease specialist colleague ─ she could not imagine something the size of the swelling on my face to house the small quantity of pus that I told her the ENT specialist had withdrawn. 

I may have misheard, but the ENT specialist may have said he withdrew about two c.c.s of pus ─ a measurement that I have researched to be something under half a teaspoon.

Whatever the case, I am to see both physicians again on Friday, beginning again with the infectious disease specialist. I am still awaiting notification about my sonic treatment.

This is how I looked today when my appointment was over, and I was standing outside in the rain awaiting Poté to come and pick me up:

And this is a collage of three photos taken on February 13 outside the same building:

Does the swelling look worse than it did two days ago, I wonder?

I read of some further interesting research today concerning antibiotics, and the instruction always given to take the entire prescription without a miss until the prescription is emptied.

This is apparently outdated and needs revision, but no one is yet sure where to start:


As the article states near the end, it is not up to the patient to decide when to stop. But if a specific doctor is unwilling to discuss stopping if the patient feels normal again and feels cured, then maybe another doctor ought to be nominated for that patient's care. 

Definitely some interesting pieces of information.

But I wish I knew what the blazes to do about the new irritation that the needle extraction of pus yesterday morning has now caused.

I have my next appointment tomorrow at noon at Jim Pattison, although the nurse I spoke with today said that I was to report beforehand for a 'blood work-up.' It apparently involves whatever "CBC, crp" stand for.

When is this going to be done with?


Here to close out today's post is 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 those small quarters in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

It was after 1:00 a.m. before I had gotten to bed the night before.
SUNDAY, February 15, 1976

I arose 5:20 a.m. I was still full of chicken.

Bill last night invited me for a pot roast ($8) supper his mother is to prepare this afternoon.

He returns to work tomorrow, day shift, after a month or more of being laid off.

I mailed Jean's letter last night.

I caught up on my sleep between 9:30 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. I discovered then that I was undergoing indigestion.

The past 2 days I've intended to go a-walking in the daylight for the purpose of weathering and exercise; yesterday my excuse not to was morning rain, while today I am using the imminence of Bill's supper, and also the fact that my left foot still gets tender ─ after all, I'll be going to mom's tomorrow (I hope Greta isn't there), and possibly some added relaxation may facilitate healing of my foot.

Bill came for me soon after 5:00 p.m.

His mother prepared a delicious meal; I padded my stomach well, collecting untold calories.

Bill took her home later while I watched TV, and I finally left at 9:00 p.m. It was raining, and large flakes of snow were falling too.

I'll be in bed just before 9:30 p.m.
My old friend William Alan Gill only lived four or so blocks from my room ─ he was renting a bachelor suite. The evening before, we had been out late, and ended the night with a feed of Albert's chicken, a Kentucky Fried Chicken copy-cat that was very good. Bill sprang for a bucket of 20 pieces, and I managed to eat half of them.

The letter I had mailed that late evening was to an American pen-pal, Jean M. Martin (née Black).

I am unsure now of just what was amiss with my foot, but the hike to visit my mother the next day was about 1½ hours of fast-paced trekking. Greta was a Dutch friend of hers who was supposed to be staying for a few days while she tried to find a new place to live ─ the poor woman was apparently facing break-up with her boyfriend Kurt in Barriere because Kurt had just recently learned her age. She was 14 years his senior, and he couldn't handle it.

But maybe they had reconciled, and Greta may not have needed to come and stay at my mother Irene Dorosh's home out in Surrey; or maybe Greta had not yet arrived, if the break-up had indeed happened.

Bill's mother Anne Warwick Gregory was a great basic cook with a Gaelic background. She was renting her own accommodation over in Maillardville, but Bill often had her at his suite to cook and clean for him.

The job Bill had been laid off from was as a cannery worker at Royal City Foods, a cannery that used to exist just barely downriver from the Pattullo Bridge.

Now getting back to the present, I weighed myself late last afternoon just before a bit of a bath, and I was no more than about 178 pounds ─ I am normally in the low 180s. I haven't been eating too much because I can barely open my jaws wide enough to work in a finger; nor have I been exercising.

I bloody hate this!
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