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Saturday, April 15, 2017

The Perfluorochemicals in Your Life (and Body) │ Americans: Know Your Hospital "Observation" and "Admittance" Status Differences │ Colonoscopy Musings

It may have been as late as 8:30 p.m. when my wife Jack left last evening ─ ultimately to return to Vancouver ─ and saying that she would be back again sometime today.

I was to bed well before 11:00 p.m. My youngest step-son Poté had already retired to his. Eldest step-son Tho was still away somewhere with his girlfriend, and had never been home at all to enjoy his mother.

My night was almost a turmoil of dreams and physical struggles in bed to find elusive comfort. I rose after a 2:41 a.m. time check to use the bathroom, and discovered that Tho was finally home ─ he was watching T.V. downstairs in the living room.

I had originally gone to bed wearing earplugs and a blindfold, correctly suspecting that I would need as much shielding from extraneous disturbance as possible in order to best sleep. I cannot imagine how I would have otherwise fared had I been prey to every noise of any description outside through the bedroom's partially open window ─ it 's open at least a foot wide.

It was 6:08 a.m. when I made my night's final time check and decided to rise for the morning so that I could get to work at the edit of an old post that I am engaged with at my website My Retirement Dream. I rose feeling as if I laboured for a living ─ so many aches and manifold stiffness.

I saw that at some point overnight it had rained outside.

I accomplished the allotted minimum day's work that I had expected of myself on that post, and it was not yet 10:00 a.m. But I was too short-changed on sleep to be accomplishing anything else this day ─ there was naught to do but have a return to bed shortly after 10:00 a.m.

That was to add better than another hour to my total bed-rest. I did indeed nap, and dreamed. All I can recollect of any of the dreams is having some sort of social engagement ─ possibly familial ─ that I ought to have attended, but two extra large blemishes on my face to the right of my nose were so deterring that I had no intention of making an appearance.

When I had checked the time after finishing that nap, the dream was sufficiently fresh in my imagination that I actually thought that the pair of enormous blemishes were my reality, and it was off-putting. But that notion was happily short-lived, and my full senses returned, banishing the notion that the blemishes existed ─ it was relieving.

The rest considerably improved me. And I noted that there were sunny breaks in the heavily clouded sky outside. Might things improve enough that I can catch some time out in the backyard later in the afternoon, seated in a chair and facing into the Sun?

On that possibility ─ as well as knowing that my wife Jack might show up at any time now ─ I have gotten an early start on this post. It is presently 12:44 p.m.

I want to post a few photos from the trip she charged up last Fall in order to fly back to Thailand to see her mother for the first time since early 2013.

The family home is in the very large village of Nong Soong, which is maybe a 15-minute drive from the city of Udon Thani.

My best guess is that these photos were taken on November 13 (2016) when Jack and some of her family and at least one good friend went out for a meal. The location seems to have been one of those venues that offer a sheltered platform stretching out from the shore and over the edge of a pond or small lake.

Guests seat themselves on one of this platforms and are served food and drink.

This first photo shows Jack (left) with her dear friend Daisha ─ they are probably riding in the back of a truck:

I like Daisha. He can be rather extreme in that he fancies himself as a ladyboy.

A couple photos of just Jack in the back of that truck:

The crew have arrived at their destination ─ here is Daisha trying to appear provocative:

Now I don't know for sure, but it is just possible that there might be fish or some other edible creatures in these tanks:

And I will stop at that for today ─ there are many, many photos from this enjoyable outing Jack and the others that were with her participated in.


If I ever got rich, there are so many darned things that I would do to recover and improve lost health and vitality. But I live under such a debt load, there just seems no point. I do not want the life I am forced to be living, so I have no motivation to try to enhance my well-being as I know I could otherwise do.

Make me debt-free, and allow me a life worth living, and watch me burgeon!

My wife Jack keeps us stocked in all manner of non-stick cooking ware. Older items ─ especially one deep frying pan ─ are practically scratched bare from careless use of metal utensils.

There is no question that everyone in this household has long been consuming perfluorochemicals, but they are also in such an array of other products that it is impossible to entirely avoid them.  

But at least it would be nice to know that I am not directly eating them.

Unfortunately, Jack is not interested in getting any sort of complicated health instruction from me concerning these chemicals, and her command of English is too limited for her to be able to fathom articles about them.

I haven't the income to be able to toss away our pots and pans and replace this large assortment of non-stick cookware with cooking ware that is safe.

Yet there is not a human on this Earth whose body would not test positive for having perfluorochemicals stored within it.

I am 67 years of age, and regularly question why I would want to reach the age of 70. I am so weary of living like some caged creature in this debtors' prison that is my unreasonably mortgaged home.

I am shut up here. I have no friends. I do not drive.

Thus it has been since my retirement in early April 2011.

I staunchly devoted myself to trying to wrest a second income from the internet, but I accept that I am a flop. Meantime, I let my marriage ─ my close relationship with my wife ─ slip away. It is now irrecoverable.

Or at least, it cannot be recaptured as long as I am in my present financial circumstances.

I know that I have lost my wife's respect on more than one level, and one of them is as a provider. I have retired, but she still struggles to supply what my limited pension income cannot.

Of course, we are both to blame for our debt. While I was still employed at a job that was killing me, I weakly allowed her to pressure me into twice remortgaging our property, beginning back at least as far as 2010.

Had we not remortgaged so that she could twice get into Thai restaurant businesses that both failed, our mortgage would probably be below $100,000 and quite manageable insofar as the payments were concerned.

Today...well, let's just say that what the mortgage balance had been before the first remortgage in 2010 was not even a third of what it is today; and our monthly payment is more than double what it was back then. Heck, until I turned 65 and started collecting my Old Age Security pension, the Net that was available after deductions on my monthly pension was only about a match for what the monthly mortgage payment had become.

I was left with virtually nothing else to spend upon myself ─ or for anything else such as bill payments or groceries. I had to rely on what I could obtain from my working wife.

It was truly bleak. I had retired at the age of 61 from a job that I hated, and then found that I was desperately clinging on to my sanity and wits, and yearning to be that much older so that I could finally have the additional income that I would qualify for because of having become the age of 65.

However, I see that I have gotten myself distracted from the topic that I was intending to broach: the pervasiveness of perfluorochemicals.

Why should we care if they are accumulating within our bodies?

This short article touches upon a little of what is known concerning them:


Much of the information in that article concerning the suspected harms and health concerns of perfluorochemicals was obtained from an article in the April issue of Scientific American magazine.

I don't have a subscription, and you likely do not, either.

Nevertheless, I did locate a copy of the article which I would not be surprised will soon be made unavailable ─ but if it still remains accessible, you can locate it here:

I'm not American, but reading this difference in status concerning someone being treated in a hospital in the States was almost frightening.

If you are American, do you realize that in Medicare's eyes, there is an enormous difference between being listed as being "admitted" into the hospital, and being housed there instead under "observation status"?

Apparently you might never know that you are not "admitted" because everything taking place where you are concerned would be identical to what you would experience while under "observation status."

I haven't a clue if anything like this takes place in Canada under our Canadian Medicare. There is even an Australian Medicare ─ just how many countries use the term for their medical systems, I wonder?

But concerning the States, here is the problem ─ and it is financially penalizing ─ with which term you are listed under when placed into a hospital:



Why is it that all T.V. medical shows portray hospital personnel as so generally altruistic? I am sure there are probably those in the hospitals who would explain these admission perplexities to new incoming patients, but I am also sure that there are probably far more who would just keep silent.


I have never had a colonoscopy ─ I never get myself checked out for anything until things have gone drastically wrong, unfortunately.

But I have noticed claims that colonoscopies are not the safest option for this sort of cancer check. And I even read recently that when it comes to young adults, more of them actually die from bungled colonoscopies than ever would from colon cancer.

I tried to find the information I had read that went into some detail concerning the vulnerability of young adults, but the best I can come up with is this rather weak statement:
Routine screening tests for colorectal cancer are not currently recommended in people under 50 who are considered to be at average risk because the number of cases is so low that universal screening tests would most likely do more harm than good, experts say. Colonoscopies, for example, are often done with sedation and can result in serious complications, such as perforation of the intestine...
That's from a NYtimes.com article titled What Young People Need to Know About Colon Cancer.

There is a movement in the States by certain medical authorities to reduce the number of colonoscopies that are being performed ─ at least, that is the recommended path concerning seniors:



One commentator thinks that's utterly outrageous ─ for kidney patients, anyway ─ and that it is nothing more than a bid to save health care money:


Personally, if the time ever comes when I feel much more like ensuring my longevity, I would look into some other option besides colonoscopy.


It is now 4:16 p.m., and the clouds seemed to prevail this afternoon. They are simply too large and slow-moving to allow the Sun much chance to shine. I took a break just before starting this section so that I could have some exercise in the backyard shed, and not once was there any sunshine in the 20 or more minutes that I was out there.

My wife Jack has yet to show up, so I am going to close out now while I can with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster

The house I was paying rent in was located on Ninth Street, about two houses up from Third Avenue.
THURSDAY, April 15, 1976

I got up at nearly 7:40 a.m., feeling very stiff.

I took my declaration form to the welfare office. 

I had planned to investigate at Manpower ─ the Rehabilitation section ─ about a vocational course, but a leaflet I have didn't include New West in the list of branches.

Coming home, I met Gilles on 7th St. above Queen's Ave. He is still interested in purchasing property somewhere, and building a home if necessary; and he still wants to tie me up into his venture.

When we broke up, I went to Woodward's and bought 4 cans of mackerel (55¢ apiece).

I discovered a letter here for me from dad.

I spent a day that found me struggling hard to resist napping.

Being a holiday, I guess Alex will be home tomorrow.

I bed at 10:00 p.m.
I was collecting social assistance, and had to submit a monthly declaration indicating need, including my rent receipt.

Manpower back then was the Department of Manpower and Immigration, apparently so named from 1966 to 1977. It was the government department responsible for what we now call Employment Insurance, but which back then was Unemployment Insurance. People would go to the Manpower offices in search of jobs, among other reasons.

Gilles was a really nice French-Canadian lad, but I usually tried to avoid him because we had nothing much in common and he was so very hard to break free of. He was also extremely talkative. We had been co-workers for a short time, and that's how we came to know one another. 

I wonder if he ever managed to acquire property? I wish that I could remember his last name to try and search him up, but I just do not have a clue any longer.

Woodwards was located on Sixth Avenue, roughly three blocks from where I lived. The entire complex it once was housed in is now known as the Royal City Centre Mall.

Alex Dorosh was my mother's husband. I normally would have likely hiked out to visit her on the Friday, but I was uncomfortable showing up if Alex was home. My mother always fed me royally.
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