.dropcap {float:left; color:#4791d2; font-size:75px; line-height:60px; padding-top:4px; padding-right:8px; padding-left:3px; font-family:Georgia}

Google+ Followers


Saturday, March 25, 2017

A Brain-Healthy Breakfast │ Meniscus Tears and Surgery │ How Best to Eat Fruit?

To my considerable surprise, my wife Jack showed up from Vancouver late last evening. My younger brother Mark and I had finished watching T.V. shows via our Android TV Box, and were embroiled in trying to figure out his new cellphone issued to him from the cartage firm he contracts from as an owner-operator of his own truck.

The company had switched wireless carriers.

He was trying to manually add all of his contacts from his previous phone, but it was a maddening task. Each time he would start typing someone's name, the darned phone ─ a Sonim ─ would fill in some random word that matched the letters he had begun entering.

We had no idea how to stop that feature; and neither did we know how to delete text.

I should explain that no manual came with the phone.

I located one online, but trying to negotiate a lengthy .pdf document late in the evening without a familiarity with the phone was just too difficult ─ my computer is upstairs, and Mark was downstairs fussing with the phone.

We couldn't even migrate contacts using his old phone's SIM card because the Sonim used a different-sized SIM card.

It was frustrating, and the hour was growing late. So it all had to wait until this morning when he got some assistance from both of my step-sons.

Jack actually went to bed ahead of us. By the time I joined her, it was 12:08 a.m. But the sleep would not easily come ─ and that seemed to go for both of us.

When I eventually checked the time to see how long I had lain there fruitlessly, I saw it to be 1:22 a.m., and I was no closer to falling asleep.

I knew better than to keep peering at the time, so I cannot estimate how much later it got to be ere sleep finally arrived.

I was aware once that Jack actually got up and exited the bedroom, shutting the door. I don't remember her return, so she must have stayed up for awhile.

Whatever the case, I called it a night ahead of 7:00 a.m., finding my youngest step-son Poté up. His overnighted girlfriend had to leave earlier in order to go to work ─ he would either have driven her, or taken her to the SkyTrain; it depended on where she would have been bound.

She has two part-time jobs ─ one in Vancouver, and the other over in Guildford.

I never expected that I would be able to put in a day's work on the post I am compiling at my Latin Impressions website, but Jack must have had a horrible night ─ I finished what I wanted to get done, and she was still not up.

When finally she did get up ─ and even her eldest son Tho was already up, and that lad loves sleeping in ─ it was to a day mixed with cloud and some Sun.

It was clear that she intended to do some cooking, but first she was to go out shopping. I don't know where exactly she went, for she never apprised me; but her major stop was at Henlong Market here in Surrey.

Following her return, she proceeded to cook, and seemed to be in fairly good spirits ─ last night when she got home, she was subdued and obviously tired.

Mark headed away for the day (he'll probably spend the night at the home of his girlfriend Bev) around 2:30 p.m. And very soon after 3:00 p.m., Jack also left, probably to return to Vancouver.

That's the sort of communication she and I have ─ minimal. She rarely offers where she is going, and I rarely ask. For all I know, she won't return until next weekend.

But this is apparently how God wants my life and marriage to be. That is the only explanation I can conjure as to why my pleading prayers have gone unanswered these past several years as matters deteriorate into greater and greater hopelessness.


The following from NewMarketHealth.com offers some great breakfast tips from the standpoint of optimal brain health:
Could breakfast be your brain's best friend?

It most certainly could, recent research suggests, provided that your breakfast includes some very enjoyable "brain foods" -- starting with your morning cup (or more) of coffee.

A study done at Indiana University found the caffeine in coffee is among two dozen compounds that help increase levels of an enzyme called NMNAT2 that reduces the damage certain proteins can do to brain cells.

By getting more of this enzyme, the study author noted, you can create a "chemical 'blockade' against the debilitating effects of neurodegenerative disorders," of which Alzheimer's is a prime example.

The team's previous research on NMNAT2 found that it both helps protect neurons from stress and fights the formation of those misfolded proteins associated with Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and other serious diseases of the brain.

Then there are blueberries. They're rich in antioxidants, anti-inflammatory flavonoids, and were found to improve brain function in seniors who were given them in concentrated juice form by researchers at the University of Exeter in the U.K.

Of course, rather than drinking your blueberries, you'll probably want to put them on some oatmeal. This breakfast standard is among the foods that make up the MIND Diet, which was specifically formulated to promote brain health.

And before you're done, don't forget to have at least one egg. In a study of nearly 2,500 middle-aged men published in January in the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition, researchers from the University of Eastern Finland found that eating eggs was associated with better performance on various mental exams, including verbal fluency tests.

So it really does look like breakfast is the most important meal of the day -- especially when it comes to keeping your mind sharp!
I went ahead and dug up a reference for each of those claims, if you are interested. These are in the order mentioned above:





There you go! The rest is up to you.


The following reports on a recent study of surgeries to repair meniscus tears was of some interest to me, and I will explain why after I post two reports on the study:



That second report concludes with the following quote from a surgeon: "...If a meniscus is repairable, I'm very aggressive to perform that procedure."

My supposition, then, is that a meniscus would have to be pretty much demolished before a surgeon would deem it irreparable, right? And that leads the pathway open for lots and lots of meniscus surgeries, since I expect that most cases would be regarded as reparable through surgery.

Well, that being so...what of these reports on a study from last Summer? I will leave the topic at that:
Yes...I just bet that there are a lot of surgeons out there "aggressive to perform the procedure."


I also bet that most of us do not put much thought towards the combination of foods eaten at any specific meal. That is to say, that some foods may not "play well" with other foods when eaten together.

In this case, I am specifically thinking of fruits, as expounded upon in the following article:


I cannot imagine having a meal every day comprised solely of fruit and nothing else.

Heck, I only eat two meals a day! That would mean that all of my protein and fats would have to come from the other meal ─ that's utterly infeasible!

But I suppose for folks who have three or meals a day ─ and who snack readily ─ a fruit meal could well apply.

It's just not for me.


Closing 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 the small space in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

My main mailing address was my mother Irene Dorosh's home that she shared with her husband Alex off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. 

This was to be one of those days that I would be making the 1½-hour hike out there to pay a visit, even though I had a dreadful cough from a cold. 

My mother's house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.
THURSDAY, March 25, 1976

I got up shortly after 6:30 a.m..

I coughed so intensely during the night I was reduced to calling God for relief. And yet I've never had a sore throat.

I somehow managed a NE

I did 200 leg raises this morning. These exercises and push-ups are the ones keeping me from achieving my old standard of fitness, causing as they do such stress on my incision.

I left here at 9:00 a.m. for mom's, meeting her on her way to mail a letter. There was some sunshine.

Mark & Cathy weren't long in following me over, with Pamela.

Cathy wanted me to go with them at some unspecific time and remove their tape deck from the wrecked Vega. However, I guess I didn't display the proper enthusiasm, for after they left, I heard no more from them; they weren't home when I phoned at 2:30 p.m.

My mail was a $16 tithe receipt and a letter from Jean.

Mom made a quick trip to Bellingham with Phyllis and Sherry.

My medical appointment tomorrow is scheduled for 3:30 p.m.

I ate a lot of carbohydrate today, even if a wholesome diet.

I was driven by mom to my Royal Ave. drop-off as she and Kay went to work.

I paid the $1 to mom I owed for the Kin Win ticket.

About 6:37 p.m. I succumbed to Club International's (Jan.) Brigitta and Mai. In exactly 1 week I shall make a stab at commencing a new life.

I did some work on a letter to Terri.

I'm going to bed at 9:00 p.m.
I am unsure why I felt that the leg-raises and push-ups were hindering my return to my pre-surgical level of fitness (I had undergone a serious appendectomy mop-up job that had me in the hospital until my twelfth day ─ from the evening of February 20 until March 2).

Perhaps doing the leg-raises and push-ups rendered such stress upon my incision that I was too leery to dare anything else involving something like weights. 

My younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther ─ and Jeanette's youngest daughter Pamela Susan ─ arrived at my mother's home soon after I did. Their Vega had been involved in a mishap just the past weekend, and was totaled.

The casualty must be in at least one of these old photos from a mid-1970s photo album of my brother Mark's:

Amongst my mail that day was a letter from Jean M. Martin (née Black), an American pen-pal I had. I was to get started composing a letter later that day to another U.S. pen-pal, Terri Martin. The two gals were unrelated.

I am sitting here finding it a little difficult to believe that my mother participated that afternoon in a quick visit to Bellingham with my older half-sister Phyllis ─ and Phyllis's daughter Sherry ─ but it seems to have been so.

My mother and her friend Kay Kris or Krys were partners in an evening office janitorial contract, so I was able to get a ride in to New Westminster with them when they headed to work.

"Kin Win" was a lottery ─ I had been given a ticket by my mother earlier in the week for that draw. 

Anyway, perhaps I should have walked home that day. It might have burned off the nervous energy that I apparently applied to some pornography after I was back at my room. Alas, despite best intentions, my attempt at a new life in a week's time never panned out ─ I remain sordid to this day.
Post a Comment