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Thursday, March 23, 2017

Coping with Cancer-Related Fatigue and Cachexia │ Proper Neti Pot Therapy for Healthy Sinuses │ Sugar ─ Nothing but a Metabolic Poison

My youngest step-son Poté's occupation of the bathroom last evening was the prime factor in the delay of my bedtime until what I believe was 11:35 p.m. But even so, I felt unusually awake, as if I had taken some sort of stimulant.

This has been the case at least the past couple of nights now.

It also seems to be responsible for short blocks of sleep throughout the night ─ there is no initial long block of three or even four hours.

My sorry day began in the neighbourhood of 6:15 a.m. Poté had spent the night by himself, and was soon to rise and head off for work. A suspicion I had concerning his older brother Tho was borne out ─ I heard him stirring downstairs not a half-hour after his brother had left for work.

But at least Tho also left ─ perhaps before 8:00 a.m.

I put some work into the new post I began yesterday at my Latin Impressions website, but I could have done so very much more. Instead, I was to surrender to 'the dance upon the brink,' and may have Poté's unexpected arrival home midday for preventing a dark plunge into despondence.

He was not home for too long, however. I had my brunch, and was almost self-congratulatory about the near escape. Yet anon, I was back at the sordid addiction.

I broke from the pursuit to clean up after myself in the kitchen, and then Poté was home from work for the day. It was not enough to wholly put me onto a straighter path, but at least I was able to soon ease myself from the nonsense and seek the rest in bed that I ought to have embraced two or three hours earlier instead of occupying myself as I did.

At least I made a rough draft of Poté's income tax return. Last year he was of some financial help in that he got a fairly large refund, and when it arrived he chipped in a couple of hundred dollars towards the monthly mortgage.

That won't be happening this time. By my determination, his refund is only going to be $30.27. In 2015, he had only worked a portion of the year, and so he got back all of the income tax that was taken from his pay; but last year, he was employed throughout the year.

I have yet to work out the tax returns for my wife Jack and I.

We're getting some sunny periods this afternoon ─ the sort of weather that makes me deeply rue that I am financially housebound as I am. Removed from the natural world, one becomes unnatural.

Yesterday in my post I included three photos of flowers that I supposed were taken on November 10, 2016; and my guess was that the setting was likely within the city of Udon Thani.

My wife Jack's home village is no more than about a 15-minute drive from there. She had charged up the fare last Fall to fly back there in order to see her mother for the first time since March 2013.

Here are further photos taken at that same location ─ there seem to be many types of flowers on display:

Jack is posed in these next three photos, and looking rather tired in the first one:

A couple of selfies by Jack:

Another selfie:

Jack took several photos of this special structure, which seems to be in tribute ─ maybe to the late King?

And that was the last of the photos from that specific location.


Unless you have some experience of what's involved in a battle with cancer ─ and the mainstream treatments that are part-and-parcel of that battle ─ you may be unfamiliar with the terms cancer-related fatigue and cachexia.

The former can often lead to the latter.

Unfortunately, too many physicians cannot look beyond medications when it comes to trying to help someone with this sort of relentless fatigue.

The following two reports tell of a couple of better options that a recent study has uncovered:



That latter report is helpful.

But so is Mercola.com ─ that link is to where I did a search using the term "cachexia." Some of the articles are fairly old, but that is no reason to discount their content.


If I ever manage to get the surplus cash, I would love to try regular nasal irrigations to ensure that my sinus cavities are not harboring organisms that are doing me no good.

I have been aware of the reputed value of using a therapeutic tool such as a neti pot, but until I read the following article, I had no idea that a person should not fail to employ a specialized oil to keep the sinuses properly lubricated ─ the last thing a person needs are dried sinuses, and that's just what is likely to happen following use of something like a neti pot:


Once tax season is over, I will have to see about obtaining a neti pot and this nasya oil.


This next article is a great explanation of why we ought to do our utmost to eradicate sugar from our diets ─ I have no idea why anyone even buys so-called table sugar.

The premise that some dietary lapses where sugar consumption is concerned is acceptable ─ as long as we "burn it off" ─ is without any foundation:


Just don't buy the stuff!


And once more, I am running late with a post. I conclude 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 paying rent for that small space in a house located on Ninth Sreet, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

In store for this day was a hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. Her home was my main mailing address.

Although that little house she shared with her husband Alex no longer exists, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. To hike there from my room normally took about 1½ hours of rather fast walking.
TUESDAY, March 23, 1976

Again, last night it took awhile for me to sleep, but this due to coughing.

I got up short of 6:30 a.m..

As of today I worked myself up to 100 leg raises. Yesterday I began a return to push-ups.

About 9:05 a.m. I left for mom's.

She was out for some groceries, but soon returned.

My mail was a Rockwood Gardens catalog, the Weirdbook Nine Appendix, and a letter from Terri.

I discovered I weigh about 186.

I didn't eat too well nutritionally, though not too heavily either.

Mom gave me a decent T-shirt Alex didn't care for.

Cathy phoned her; they're using Bill's car today, having acted as his chauffeur to work; he's to sup with them after work.

It poured all day in the afternoon.

I got a ride to 10th St. & 3rd Ave. by mom on her way to work with Kay.

I took a 1976 Stanley Cup Toto ticket from mom, the $1 for which I have yet to pay her.

I'll bed about 9:00 p.m.
I was rehabilitating from a very bad case of ruptured appendix surgery that had me in the hospital until my twelfth day ─ so from February into March. I had been doing 400 leg-raises prior to the surgery.

Weirdbook was a fanzine of horror, fantasy, and related fiction that I subscribed to. Apparently it was put out by a chap named W. Paul Ganley

The letter I received was from my American pen-pal, Terri Martin.

The telephone call that I mentioned my mother receiving was from Catherine Jeanette Gunther, my younger brother Mark's girlfriend. Their car had been demolished on the weekend, I believe. So apparently my old friend William Alan Gill was pitching in so that Mark could get to work.

I guess they would drive Bill to work, then use the car for their own purposes, picking Bill up later. Bill was an extremely good friend.

"It poured all day in the afternoon." That's almost funny.  

My mother and her friend Kay Kris or Krys were partners in an office janitorial contract. Since they had to go in to New Westminster anyway, I caught a ride with them. I only lived a block from where they dropped me off.

My mother and I did our best to win a lottery, but it was never to happen. 

And a major win is the only thing now that I think can save my life.
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