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Monday, April 17, 2017

Caution Against Total Knee Replacement │ More on Contradictory Interpretations of a Vitamin D Study About Cancer │ Warning About MRI Contrast Dye

I had expressed my anticipation at the end of yesterday's post that my younger brother Mark would likely be passed out over much of the evening, but it was only for a relatively short while in the early stretch.

He probably revived after one of his very rude sneezing fits had set in ─ these things comprise a roaring sneeze that is essentially a shout, and which occur ever 15 or so seconds. The session will last a few minutes.

In all, there will probably be over a dozen ─ sometimes nearer 20 ─ such outbursts fouling the atmosphere more and more with each successive sneeze.

I had a plate of food that I intended to eat ─ it was sitting helplessly on the coffee table in front of the chesterfield where I was seated. As soon as he launched into that first bellowing roar of a sneeze, I grabbed the plate and took it upstairs, putting it upon my bed and closing the bedroom door.

Even if I am just drinking from a can of beer, I keep my thumb over the opening. The whole experience waiting for one of these sessions to run its course is utterly disgusting.

There is clearly something wrong with the guy. He has been doing this for years, but only when he's plastered. The sneezing happens a few times a week, but I don't recall there ever being two such sessions in one evening ─ thankfully.

Frankly, it is so disgusting that I am unable to forbear wearing a grimace reflecting that unsavoury fact. I cannot help but visualize the ever-increasing accumulation of spewed wet particulates drifting about in the living room ─ moist matter that had formerly been within his mouth, trachea, and the depths of his lungs.

The uproaring sneezing sessions are doubly rude because each time, I have to sit there trying to hear the T.V. show I am tuned into, and it utterly affects one's ability to become deeply involved in what is taking place in the programme. Anything being spoken onscreen is impossible to hear when a sneeze bellows forth.

Yet as often as not when one of these sessions start up after Mark started gagging unconsciously in his chair, he will continue to sit there with his eyes shut ─ as if all is well with the world ─ as these sneezes ensue for the handful of minutes that the whole sneezing session may last.

However...enough of that.

I was in bed last night by 10:45 p.m. I think that it was 1:42 a.m. when I next checked the time after broken sleep, and made use of the bathroom, and drank some water.

I decided to rise for the day after a time-check of 6:18 a.m., but I lingered a few minutes before actually doing so. I had heard my youngest step-son Poté's overnighted girlfriend cough; but the twain had left for work before I had risen and removed my earplugs.

However, I did not realize that they had gone initially, for the kitchen light downstairs was on. However, both of my step-sons are prone to leaving it on when they leave the house for work.

Once I had come downstairs to make my morning's mug of hot blended instant coffee / cocoa, I saw that Poté's car was gone.

Yet, as the water for my drink boiled and I fussed about preparing the beverage, I was certain that I head a male's subdued cough. When my beverage was all fixed up and ready to take upstairs here to my computer, I saw that there were no lights on in the boys' den area ─ no one should be present.

And then when I got to the stairs with my mug, I saw that the bathroom door upstairs was shut. And I knew. Eldest step-son Tho had not yet gone to work.

And he never did.

I heard him talking on his phone to his girlfriend as he wandered about afterwards. It was loud enough that I believed her to be asking him if he had yet phoned in, and he seemed to be saying in reply that he was awaiting 7:00 a.m. before doing so.

The weakling just cannot bear to get up early and take public transit to work after having three days off. He needs four.

Yes, there is no shortage of things to tell of that irk me. It may be partly attributable to my advancing age ─ at 67, I might just be getting crabbier and crabbier. But there is also so much frustration and the overpowering feeling of impotence arising from the debt that keeps me a shut up prisoner of this house.

At least my AdSense account accrued 1¢ after all yesterday ─ there had been nothing there for the day when I had checked before going to bed last evening. Thus, blogging since late 2008 continues to pay off ─ according to my AdSense account, I have accrued 28¢ in total over the past 28 days.

Now ain't that rich? ─ and a most fruitful way to be spending many hours each and every single day of my life since that time.

(If you were able to read those statements and not inkle the intended sarcasm, then you must deem me simple of want indeed!)

The day is overcast. Rain has been forecast ─ the entire day was supposed to be a wet one; but all is dry out there still at 1:56 p.m.

My wife Jack went to the Thai Buddhist temple (Wat Budhapanyanantarama) in Burnaby yesterday in some observance of Songkran, getting rather dressed up and taking some food with her.

After her return last afternoon, I captured these shots of her posed in our backyard just after 3:00 p.m. ─ it had become mainly sunny. Let's lead off with her seated at a very old picnic table:

Do you notice the turfed lawn behind her? We have no idea what creature is digging it up like that ─ it's no mole, for there are no mounds. The turf is literally torn up and strewn about.

A crow is not endowed with sufficient beak or toe strength to accomplish what has been done, nor could a squirrel do it ─ some of the clumps outweigh a squirrel.

My best guesses are that it is either the work of a skunk, or even a raccoon. But why? It's sheer vandalism!

Anyway, here are seven shots I took of Jack with our very rustic fence that is in need of repair:

Jack afterwards prepared us a rather hearty small meal, so I took a few photos of her showing off some of her effort just before 4:00 p.m. First, though, I never took this close-up, and have no idea how it managed to become a part of the collection:

Maybe Jack borrowed my camera for the close-up, and I just do not remember. But here she is:

I wish to blazes that I could get us out of debt, and take her away somewhere in an effort to revitalize our marriage and relationship.


I know something of what it's like to have bad knees. Since the mid-1970s, I could hear soft grinding in mine when I would climb stairs ─ it sounded just like there was a small sack of finely ground glass or sand within them. It didn't hurt to climb the stairs, but obviously the cartilage was adversely affected by what I figured were excessive freestyle squats.

And maybe running with improper footwear.

I was in my mid-20s.

In early 1990 when I was in my early 50s, after a period of will-enforced regular hard running, I hit a point where the pain just would not go away when I began a run. It had always subsided once I was into one of my runs.

Then I could not run at all. I could barely walk. It was impossible to 'jump' up onto a curb, my knees had deteriorated so badly. And if I was caught in the middle of the road by oncoming traffic while I was jaywalking, hustling to the other side would have been impossible.

I had to make darned sure that there was no traffic in sight anytime I jaywalked.

I was too crippled to even climb into the back of a pick-up truck ─ or even the high cab of a truck.

It was spirit-crushing.

But in time ─ months and months, or maybe even a few years ─ I recovered enough that I could again run or jump if I needed to. I just didn't do it unless necessary.

And of course, there was that left knee surgery I had the evening of November 5, 2010, after ripping my left leg's quadriceps tendon entirely clear of my knee cap (patella) on the afternoon of November 1st.

The surgery to reattach the tendon required the knee to be opened up, for sutures had to be threaded through the upper and lower parts of the knee cap as viewed when one is standing. Of course, to do that threading, holes had to be drilled through the top and bottom of that knee cap.

The upper sutures were attached to the end of the sagging tendon adrift somewhere in my thigh; and I guess the lower sutures were used as the anchor, probably just being knotted after pulling them tight to draw the tendon flush against the upper part of the knee cap with the expectation that after about three months of having my leg immobilized in a straightened position, the tendon would have naturally grown back onto the knee cap where once it was naturally affixed.  

Let me tell you, that knee ached horribly following the surgery!

But I am getting adrift here. My intention was to address anyone who was voluntarily considering knee surgery because of something like arthritis.

Don't do it unless your arthritis has utterly degenerated the knee!

Here are reports concerning a recent study that has found that having the surgery otherwise is simply not good sense and is unjustifiable:






Concerning the surgery on my left knee, whatever was done seems to have spurred cartilage regeneration. At least, I no longer notice the symptoms that affect my 'good' knee, such as the pain that is initially there when I squat down. The underside of the kneecap burns, and feels rather like the top end of a bone from my lower leg is grinding against the kneecap.

I wonder if there is any documentation of cartilage being regenerated entirely incidental to a knee surgery for something else?


Yesterday I posted about a vitamin D3 and cancer study for which I found two rather different interpretations ─ one camp felt that there was no significant difference in the group of women who took the supplement as compared to a group who did not; another camp saw a marked difference in the two groups.

These are two examples of people who found the study to be a recommendation for vitamin D3 supplementation ─ the reports were not among the four sample reports I submitted yesterday:



I was pleased to see that somebody else noticed that there were two quite different interpretations of that study ─ this chap devoted an entire post to that disparity:


Sadly, author Mike Adams is quite right, I fear. And people will see the negative reports and accept such a conclusion, reinforcing their false impression that vitamin supplementation is probably a waste of good money.


I have heard that any gadolinium dye ought to be refused by anyone who is going to undergo an MRI, but I never researched anything about just why we should refuse.

Well, now I know! Check this out:



I had two CT scans in February, so I began wondering about those after reading the above. Is a gadolinium dye used?

I found the following at RadiologyInfo.org in an article titled Contrast Materials:
Iodine-based contrast materials injected into a vein (intravenously) are used to enhance x-ray and CT images. Gadolinium injected into a vein (intravenously) is used to enhance MR images.
So I suppose all I need be worrying about was the radiation from the scans.

As for the condition called nephrogenic systemic fibrosis (NSF) that was frighteningly described in that first reference, the Wikipedia article I linked to says that it was first identified in 1997.

It's nasty enough that NSF causes dark thickening of large areas of skin; but it also can "affect internal organs, such as the heart, kidneys and lungs, and it can cause a disabling shortening of muscles and tendons in the joints (joint contracture)" ─ that's according to the Mayo Clinic.

However, even if no such condition strikes you like some horrible lottery-win, you will still have about 25% of that gadolinium poison somewhere in you ─ again, according to that first report.

If you want to learn a little more about the truth that some gadolinium remains in the body, refer to GadoliniumToxicity.com: Background on Gadolinium.


I had to seek a nap this morning following today's input to the old post I am editing at my website My Retirement Dream. I think I was down for well over an hour, and had what seems to me to have possibly been at least three different and rather peculiar dreams, now mainly forgotten.

Eldest step-son Tho ─ too unable to go to work this morning ─ probably went to the gym this afternoon to maintain his somewhat enhanced musculature. To get to the gym is a walk of a mere four blocks at most. He took off just ahead of 2:20 p.m.

We finally did start getting some rain around mid-afternoon, or soon after. It first started while I was out in the backyard shed taking on some exercise.

Anyway, wrapping up, I have a very short journal entry from 41 years ago to close today's post with. Back then, I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster. My rental was not at all spacious, and was located within a house situated on Ninth Street, about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I had been reluctantly out drinking beer the evening before, and never made it back to my room until just before 5:00 a.m., having jogged all the way from Whalley.
SATURDAY, April 17, 1976

Due to a very overcast day and a quiet house, I was able to stay abed till 1:15 p.m. It seems absolutely like Sunday.

This evening I wrote dad a very brief letter, to be mailed tomorrow.

Bedtime tonight is 10:00 p.m.
Well, I guess nothing there requires any explaining.

I have been noticing an alert from Google, so I finally checked it out. Google apparently went ahead and created an animation of some of those photos of my wife Jack where she is posed against the very old wooden fence in our backyard:

I wonder how she will feel about it when I show it to her?
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