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Sunday, April 23, 2017

Faulty Initial Medical Diagnoses Are Almost the Norm │ Proven: With Age Comes Trouble Sleeping │ Love Handles Signify Heart Disease Risk

I was home alone last evening, and could have gone to bed before 10:00 p.m. However, with my eldest step-son Tho's car gone ─ he sold it earlier in the week, since he is under a one-year driving suspension ─ I felt the house (and myself) to be vulnerable with no more vehicles parked in the double carport or the driveway.

This was especially the case when it was probably known that so many Surrey residents were likely drawn to the four-square-mile area that was the primary focus of the Vaisakhi celebration. As GlobalNews.ca headlined, Surrey’s Vaisakhi Day Parade draws record 400,000 people, say organizers.

So for all any passerby in the rain who might be an opportunistic break-and-enter threat knew, no one here was home. And I usually retire to bed with earplugs.

As a result, I did not get to bed until after 10:30 p.m. ─ maybe even closer to 11:00 p.m.; and I dispensed with earplugs. I also left a light on in the kitchen.

After an intermission in sleep a couple of hours later when I opted to visit the bathroom, I saw at least one extra light on downstairs, so I knew that one of my step-sons had come home. And so I applied the earplugs and sought further sleep.  

It was a typical night's sleep ─ in other words, well broken. When I checked the time at 6:30 a.m. this morning and decided that it was time to start my day, it took a few minutes to actually do that.

But soon I was at work adding content to the post I am putting together at my Amatsu Okiya website. It might have been lightly raining when I first rose, but that was soon enough to stop. Still, the sky remained very heavy with threatening cloud.

I had hoped to get out for some grocery shopping, but I was put off the impulse by an online check of my banking account. The $1,600 monthly mortgage will most likely be debited sometime tomorrow, and I was unsure what else might possibly get applied to the account.

While I wrestled with this dilemma, my younger brother Mark arrived home from overnighting at the home of his girlfriend Bev. And since it is rather a major production for me to ready myself for shopping expeditions, and I only care to do so when no one else in the house is privy to my intentions, Mark's presence was the deciding factor in the cancellation of my outing.

I persevered at the website post until I had amassed a typical day's content, and then with no other worthwhile purpose for my time, I sought a nap. I was in bed for an hour, dreaming. I think that I even dreamed that I had finished my nap and gotten up, for I remember some uncertainty ─ just before I rose ─ as to why I was still lying in bed when I dreamily recollected already getting up out of it.

And that was when I did so for real.

I seem to be dreaming a whole lot of late. And overnight, there came a point when my feet were extended beyond the mattress, and I wondered how it was that I had slipped so far down into my bed. It almost made no sense, for my pillow was still reasonably in place ─ not situated above the top of my head as would be expected.

It was when I checked the time to rise for the day that I realized that I had gotten somewhat transverse in the bed, and my feet had been protruding out from the side of the bed where my wife Jack normally sleeps. Thus, I am not only dreaming considerably, but I am also somewhat active as I sleep.

My body feels overworked today from prior exercising, so I won't be trying to maintain a full day's regimen of exercise even though I will be going nowhere ─ shopping excursions are one of my two primary excuses for abandoning some of my home exercise activity.

The other excuse is the presence of my wife Jack.

And with the mention of her name, I might as well post further photos taken when she was back in Thailand on credit last Fall to see her mother for the first time since early March 2013.

The home village is Nong Soong, which is perhaps a 15-minute drive from the city of Udon Thani.

As for the setting for this batch of photos, I can only guess that it is the countryside within the environs of Nong Soong, or else somewhere fairly near to the village.

This is my wife Jack taking a selfie with the countryside as the backdrop:

The woman in the next photo is someone Jack has always identified to me as being her "sister-cousin" (Jack has two actual sisters):

More of Jack:

I don't know if Jack's dear old friend Daisha (left) does it purposefully, but he is definitely superb at caricaturing a ladyboy ─ a 'gender' with which he identifies:

I am unable to identify the smiling woman at the right in the next photos:

Daisha striking yet another caricatured ladyboy pose:

This is a 'bridge' to assist crossing over a small klong or canal:

This is Lumpoon, the eldest of Jack's two older sisters:

Lumpoon's husband is taking up the rear behind the woman unfamiliar to me:

More of Jack:

Jack just texted me to take a couple packages of meat out of the freezer, so she is evidently planning to come home at some point today from Vancouver ─ I had better get on with this post.


So...just how good is the doctor you may be seeing, or plan to see?

You might be surprised just how generally poor physicians can be when it comes to making a diagnosis ─ at least, that's according to one rather small study.

These reports tell of the results:




If all a person did was scan the titles of those three reports, the first one would likely bring on the conclusion that only a little more than 20% of patients were victims of a faulty diagnosis. However, that percentage comprised patients whose diagnosis was entirely wrong. Another 66% had diagnoses that required subsequent revision ─ those initial off-the-mark diagnoses could have meant distinct trouble for the hapless patients.


It seems that at least once a week, I come across research concerning sleep ─ something of specific interest to me, troubled sleeper that I am. But I blame that on household environmental influences.

These reports tell of the latest research into sleeping problems:




Only twice in my life do I remember experiencing such darkness that it was total.

The first time was in a basement or cellar of a small office building. Once the door shut, there were no windows; nor were there cracks about the door to let in a glimmer of outside light. The door had a knob or operating handle with which to reopen it; but I could not help but wonder how someone entirely unfamiliar with the place would fare who was brought into the room blindfolded, and then just given a good shove while closing the door behind him or her.

He or she would easily remove the blindfold, but then what? How long would it take to find egress in such total blackness?

The other occasion was on a drive in the mountains at night. My companion and I had pulled into a densely wooded area in the canopied pick-up truck we were traveling in, and were going to spend the night there. Traveling with us was my younger brother Mark's German shepherd Daboda.

We got out of the truck while its lights were still on. Daboda was let out of the back.

Then all of the lights on the truck were turned off, for we were intending to climb into the canopied back of the truck to sleep.

Well, it was so utterly black that we were absolutely helpless, but at least the truck was there to feel and help orient ourselves. None of this was no real issue for Daboda, though. I recall how I was standing there and pondering the seeming impossibility of what my senses were experiencing, when his nose suddenly poked into my hanging hand's palm.

It was then that I understood just how pathetic my own senses were. If not for having Daboda, we as humans would not know what creature or being might be lurking in such darkness ─ it could have been terrifying. But I knew that Daboda would have been able to suss out the presence of any other lifeforms, so there wasn't too much to be concerned about.

He was perfectly calm, so I knew that we could be, too.

We couldn't even see the stars ─ the trees had us so completely enclosed!


You undoubtedly know what so-called 'love handles' are ─ do you perhaps even have them?

Well, researchers claim that anyone who has owned a pair for at least a decade is practically as much prone to a heart attack as is someone who has already had their first heart attack!

These reports tell of the study:




Now ain't that disconcerting?!


It is 3:44 p.m., so I shall close out while I may before my wife Jack shows up. And here to do that 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 what little I had in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.
FRIDAY, April 23, 1976

I got up about 5:45 a.m., having had many wakeful periods, but no difficulty returning to sleep. At one point I had an erotic dream of such imagination and sensuality I don't see how I escaped having an orgasm. It involved Cathy who was time and again bringing me to such a sexual peak with her bold aggressiveness I may as well have been her slave. She even had me grovelling out of my mind as I obliged her with oral sex. She seemed so unnaturally arousing that merely hugging and caressing her calf was ecstasy as she proffered it, some sexually dominantly.

I did my exercising early today and even typed up Ron a letter, mostly composed yesterday. I plan to drop in and visit Art the remainder of the day, mailing my letter along the way. 

I'm leaving in a rain at about 1:30 p.m., taking Climax, and my Frazetta artbook for him to glance through. 

He turned out to be away, so I was left in Angie's company for at least an hour.

He came home with Took and a 26er of vodka, which we all drank.

Then he and I took Took home, and Art bought a mickey of vodka. Angie had retired, so Art and I drank till Chris & Ida dropped in. 

Finishing it, we three guys went for another bottle. And with the $3 apiece Art got from Chris and me, he bought a 26er.

We worked on this, Chris & Ida eventually went home, Art fed me some fish & chips, a bit of spaghetti, and 2 baloney sandwiches.

He retired after the bottle was done. I waited some while, and finally went home leaving Samantha and Debbie, a friend, watching TV.

I bedded about 2:10 a.m.
Lord, how I do wish that I could dream like that again ─ and vividly remember the dreams!

The dream girl was my younger brother Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther. From what I have read in my journal's past entries, I dreamed of her far more than I realized.

But she seemed just about physically perfect to me, so it is little wonder. 

The letter I typed and was later to mail was for an American pen-pal, Ron Bain.

Art Smith was an older friend I had gotten to know when we were co-workers working on the truck of a New Westminster charitable organization ─ he often drove it. Art was in his early 40s, and was renting most of a house located maybe a half-dozen blocks from my room.

He was married to Angelina (Angie), and the two of them had three kids ─ Samantha was the eldest, a girl almost into her teens.

Climax was a pornographic magazine ─ even though Art was married, he still liked to look.

"Took" was an Indigenous Canadian, as I recall. I now have no memory of any "Chris & Ida" ─ perhaps they were renting the other part of the house.

I should have mentioned that Art loved to drink! And for anyone unacquainted with the liquor measurements "mickey" and "26er," an explanation can be found in this NationalPost.com article: From 'toque' to 'mickey,' ten Canadianisms that leave other English speakers utterly confused.

Anytime I visited Art land it progressed late into the evening, he always seemed to need a long nap ─ or to even go to bed for the night, as he did on this occasion. I likely just hung around for awhile because he had asked me to, and I was willing to spend some time to see if he was down for the count or not.

Had Samantha ─ and whomever her friend "Debbie" was ─ not been there watching T.V. with me, I would have locked up the house and gone home. I was that accepted by the family.

As I have said before when I recount the Smith family, I regret that I never maintained contact with them when I moved away from New Westminster a little later in the 1970s. But my life was to enter a very long and bleak phase.

Now to the present ─ Jack arrived home about 4:22 p.m. I have been proofreading this post, and will now publish it.
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