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Monday, May 8, 2017

Some Medical Marijuana Alternatives │ Surgery and Opioid Addiction │ Big Risks of Short-Term Corticosteroid Use

My younger brother Mark was in worst form again last evening, passing out in his chair in the living room just a few minutes after he sat into it.

And he launched into one of his disgusting, crude sneezing fits without once opening his eyes, bellowing forth a horrendous roar of a sneeze every 10 to 15 seconds until he had possibly totaled out around 20 of them.

I detest him in this state.

But if he has his way, once he has retired later this year, the household will be breaking up within a year after that if he keeps insisting that we sell the house. Thereafter, he won't have to put up with me or anyone else here, and nor any of us with him and his frequent evening besottedness.

It was nearly 11:00 p.m. before I got into bed last evening. It was a comfortable enough night, albeit one filled with dreams and broken sleep. I rose during one of those breaks and used the bathroom shortly before 4:00 a.m., and also drank a quantity of water.

I was much surprised to check the time later in the morning and found it to be 7:26 a.m. ─ time to rise! It was an hour later than I am accustomed to generally getting up.

I was alone in the house ─ Mark and both of my stepsons had gone to work, leaving the front door unlocked. Youngest stepson Poté was probably responsible, for he is just about always the last one to leave for work.

As I worked at the edit of an old post at my Siam-Longings website, no more than 8:28 a.m. I heard Poté come walking through the front door. He must have feigned sick because he was just too damned tired from sleeping all day and sitting up all night over the weekend.

I was almost immediately treated to the scent of him using the upstairs bathroom instead of the toilet in his den to vacate his bowels, and then he went directly to bed. He was to remain there until into the noon-hour, returning back upstairs to the bathroom here to engage in further bowel evacuation.

And then about two hours later, he was at it again.

Yes, it's a sheer treat having my stepsons home!

As may be apparent, I suffer daily irritability and crankiness ─ I am 67, after all, with no apparent chance of any of my dreams for my retirement life ever coming true.

While Poté was sleeping in the mid-morning ─ it was not yet 9:30 a.m. ─ I had readied and left to do some local grocery shopping at Deepu's No Frills store perhaps four blocks away at the Cedar Hills shopping plaza (96th Avenue & 128th Street) here in Surrey.

Amongst the items I bought was a purple cabbage which I will get around to preparing sometime this week for fermentation. I still have lots of juice and cabbage remnants from my first fermentation effort two weeks ago.

I had actually felt at least one drop of rain when I was away to shop; but by the afternoon, I could have been sitting out in the backyard getting some sunshine. However, I did not anticipate this sort of weather turnabout, and so this blog post has priority.

One thing I always longed for was to be able to live in relative seclusion in either the country, or else a forested region.

And that is my cue to post a few more photos taken last Fall when my wife Jack charged to credit the cost of a trip back to Thailand to see her mother for the first time since early March 2013.

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

These specific photos I am posting today were probably taken November 18, 2016. Whether the countryside Jack is enjoying is somewhere within Nong Soong, or else somewhere nearby, I do not know.

I am unable to identify the heavily-covered woman in the first three photos who appears to be doing some field work:

This is my wife Jack:

I see a setting such as that as being therapeutic or healing ─ precisely what I need and crave.


I was only ever a social toker ─ I preferred to just drink instead of smoking pot, but I always used to be polite and toke along with whoever else was doing it if the joint was being passed over to me.

However, I decided nearly two years ago that I am just going to decline any more such offers if I am drinking at some sort of party.

Lots of people smoke the stuff entirely on their own ─ even those who don't smoke for so-called medical reasons.

But for those who do smoke in order to cope with pain, I would be interested to know if they would even consider exploring anything being offered in the following report:


I think that the sad truth is that any medical marijuana users would only use such information ─ if any of the suggestions were actually effective ─ in conjunction with their pot. I've never heard a pot-smoker admit, "Gee, I wish that I could quit!"


And then there are opioids that so many people become addicted to once they start taking the drugs for persistent pain.

A recent study has found that addiction can come even from so-called minor surgeries if the patient opts to accept such a medication prescription:





Warnings are great, but of course no one ever started taking opioids for pain purposes because he or she intended to become addicted to them.

It has primarily been a case of blissful ignorance.

I think we need to do something about the physicians who so freely prescribe these things.


Let's end this section now with a couple of reports about a study on corticosteroids ─ even the shortest-term usage can result in dire physical and mental problems.

And anyone can become physically dependent upon them.



Just because a drug is medically prescribed by a physician does NOT mean that there is never a thing to be concerned with.


I shall close out 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. The house I was renting in was located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I had been drinking the night prior to this entry, and never got to bed until about 5:00 a.m.
SATURDAY, May 8, 1976

I arose about 10:00 a.m. to another sunny day that circumstances will witness me waste. I'm sorry to be abusing the Sabbath as I have, but all will change when I lottery win.

Around 12:30 p.m. I returned to bed for 2 hours.

I was about ready to go to Bill's when he knocked; his mother was in the car, and they suggested we go out to mom's.

When we did I gave her 4 plates with winter scenes for wall display, and told her she could have a certain cooking utensil I'd left there.

Apparently my 1000 - 400-I.U. caps of vitamin E were picked up by her, so I owed her about $2½ duty; and I also bought a derby sweepstakes ticket ($2). I didn't pay her anything, but plan to give her a quantity of the vitamin E capsules next week-end when I go to claim them, having left the vitamin with her.

I forgot to pick up any powdered milk.

Other mail items were an offer from St. Joseph's School in Nelson to buy Olympic & Western Lottery tickets, a $16 tithe receipt, and a catalog of items from Canasphere Marketing Ltd.

Resolved to buy Kentucky chicken, we 3 were heading up 6th st and stopped at 6th Ave ─ right behind Allan & Marie, the 2 people we most wanted to avoid! But discovered, Bill & I were invited to her birthday celebration at Nell's, asked first to stop over at their place.

Well, in dejection we supped on a bucket of chicken, a snack pack, an apple pie, and a pint of almond Dutch chocolate.

We didn't rush ourselves preparing, and after taking home Bill's complaining mother, we set off to Nell's determined to get away early. I still felt hungover.

Here's our luck: we arrived just as Al & Marie and another girl (Deanne?), and 3 guys in 1 other car were leaving in the dusk for the Scottsdale Inn, for no one was home at Nell's. 

Imagine that! We could have been free!

So we were asked along in spite of our poverty (I had $12) and dozen ciders.

Everyone went to the cabaret and there we stayed until 1:45 a.m. Bill & I spent nothing, but were gotten a few drinks; we were sober all night.

As last week I had to resist Marie's urging to dance. Bill had 1.

When we headed home, at 7/Eleven Bill bought me a pint of milk. He'd already bought me a small card for mom's Mothers Day and a "Sexiest Girl in the World" certificate for Marie from us. However, I put $6 toward our $10.88 (?) Kentucky feed.

I got to bed about 2:45 a.m.  
My old friend William Alan Gill rented a bachelor suite that was possibly little more than four blocks from my room. He usually had his mother Anne Gregory over every weekend to do his cleaning, cooking, and whatever else. She was renting her own residence over in Maillardville

My mother Irene Dorosh lived out in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey with her husband Alex ─ their home was my main mailing address. Their home no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

My mother's birthday was May 6 ─ two days earlier. I actually forgot about her birthday on that specific date this year, remembering it only earlier today. 

She died mid-March 2006.

Bill and I knew of Marie Varga's birthday, but we were essentially broke and hoping not to see her or her husband Al, thereby avoiding the expense of getting mixed up in a celebratory party.

And so we ended up at a traffic light immediately stopped behind them, getting recognized almost immediately. 

It sounds like Bill and I didn't bother visiting them before going to my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson's home 'way out in Surrey where the actual celebration was supposed to be taking place. Al and Marie were living in New Westminster in an apartment.

Bill and I at least picked up a dozen ciders at a government liquor store.

Maybe we should have stopped at their apartment. They were not home. And if we had done so, then we would have arrived at my Aunt Nell's home after Al and Marie and the others had gone, since no one was there to welcome everyone in.

Instead, we got pressed into going to the Scottsdale Inn cabaret, and I expect that I had a rather dull time of it, being unable to afford cabaret prices. The Scottsdale Inn also had a beer parlour or big pub where at least I would have been able to afford some draft beers.

That place no longer exists, but it was located just into Delta, and very near the intersection of Scott Road (120th Street) & 72nd Avenue.

I didn't refuse dancing with Marie for any reason other than being far too timid to dance, even at the age of 26. Rest assured ─ Marie was very attractive. 

Poor me! Unable to afford to drink, but with a dozen ciders sitting out in Bill's car that he and I could not access!

And now here I am today. Since roughly mid-February, I have been limiting myself to just one can of strong (8% alcohol) beer an evening in order to free up more funds for other things.

I have no friends like my brother Mark does ─ he can afford to go to the bar every single evening, and he does. I cannot afford to be in a bar on my pension ─ I wish that I could. Being as socially isolated as I am is mentally and spiritually corrupting  ─ it is undeniable. 
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