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Friday, May 26, 2017

Walking and Peripheral Artery Disease │ Resveratrol Found to Reduce Aortic Stiffness │ Bad Diets Cannot Be Burned off with Sufficient Exercise │ Alzheimer's Disease and Thinness

It took my younger brother Mark at least 45 minutes to finally bring himself into the house after arriving home from the bar last evening around 8:15 p.m.

I will not elaborate. To know of him is to understand.

When his bedtime rolled around ─ normally 10:30 p.m. or so, for he has to rise at 4:20 a.m. on workdays ─ he must have felt too rejuvenated to be heading on up to his bedroom quite so soon. And in fact, at 10:40 p.m., he cracked open a final can of beer.

This delay on his part to retire of course delayed my own bedtime, and it was 10:58 p.m. before I was finally bedded down.

And the short blocks of sleep continue, the first terminating during the midnight hour for the second consecutive night. When I found myself awake enough to check the time around 12:45 a.m., I opted to use the opportunity for a bathroom break and a drink of water.

Thus progressed my night of fitful bouts of sleep. At least I was comfortable enough there in bed.

I think it may have been around 6:41 a.m. this morning when I made my last check of the time and decided to rise to continue work upon the post I am constructing at my Latin Impressions website.

I was to find that my eldest stepson Tho had gone to work; and my youngest stepson Poté rose while I was involved in preparing my day's first mug of hot blended instant coffee / cocoa powder. He was soon to also leave for work, leaving me alone in the house.

I felt myself to be a little haler than usual. However, by the time I had put in the day's expected amount of work on that post, I had declined. There must surely be something inimical about being seated here in front of my computer, staring back and forth from keyboard to monitor.

If I was to recover enough to tackle some exercise out in the backyard tool shed, then a rest back in my bed would be required. It was still comfortably in the forenoon.

I did revive adequately, and was soon able to have that exercise.

And then I got busy preparing for a sunning session on the backyard sundeck, for the day was sunny and cloudless. My session began at 12:11 p.m., and extended through to about 1:54 p.m.

I use a sort of mat to lie upon ─ the type of cover that would be used to protect items of cargo in the back of a big truck. It isn't padded too much. After about a half-hour, my pelvic joints begin to dramatically suffer. My femurs feel as if they have practically become dislodged from their sockets, and I have to use the utmost care to try and shift position when it becomes time to roll over ─ the painful discomfort makes me concerned that a dislocation could indeed occur in initiating the position change.

I nearly truncated my session out there due to the great discomfort. It is too unpleasant to keep enduring day after day. This was just my second such day, and as said, I almost called it short.

I had half-expected that Tho would show up early from work, but he never did.

With my sunning session finished, it was time to have my first meal of the day. Included was the third and final chicken foot ─ my wife Jack had inadvertently left the dish of three in the fridge when she left here on Wednesday to drive on back in to Vancouver. As I explained in yesterday's post, she had phoned me late on Wednesday, and asked that I try to eat them, for she was unsure when she might be back home.

Somehow, she deems chicken feet to be a delicious delicacy, but they give me the creeps.

I dutifully steeled myself yesterday and managed to munch down the toes, cartilage, and little bit of flesh attached to the two I confronted yesterday, but I had to leave the third one for today. Even thinking of chewing up the unpalatable morsels is making me involuntarily screw my face up into a wince.

I will impress upon Jack that she must not be so careless again as to leave such challenging fare for me to have to clean up.

She phoned me towards the mid-afternoon today, enquiring about a batch of bok choy or some such vegetable that she had set up to naturally ferment ─ Monday evening, I think. It had been left in an aluminum pot, and I had advised that it was likely better off being in a small plastic bucket that had once held honey.

She wondered to me if I had made the changeover, which I had. Satisfied, she then asked where it was: "Sitting on the counter."

So she asked me to place it into the fridge.    

She gave no indication that she planned on coming home at any point today, so I am not expecting her. But one never really knows.

I have been steadily sampling portions of a batch of fermenting purple cabbage and purple onions that I prepared ─ possibly over two weeks ago. It is still unrefrigerated, and so deliciously sour that I use it to top off my meals. It seems able to clean off any lingering morsels of the meal from my teeth, rendering my choppers squeaky clean.

But as soon as I finish the helping of fermented cabbage / onions, I have to rinse off my teeth with plenty of water. I seriously believe that the juice has become so acidic that it is probably dangerous for my teeth to leave any of the 'bath' remaining in my mouth.


My poor father Hector may have suffered from peripheral artery disease ─ I just never knew that it had a medical term. The skin around his ankles was purple and ulcerated, with much flaking of surface skin tissue.

He seemed to have had the condition as long as I knew him, but probably not as bad as in his later years. He died from a heart attack ("acute myocardial infarction") in Vancouver's Kingsgate Mall in 1983, 10 days after his 62nd birthday.

He also had "pulmonary oedema" and "generalized atherosclerosis."

Those are all quotes from his Registration of Death.

He had just come from a doctor's office where he had gone to try and get use of something like an oxygen tank because he was having such a hard time breathing, but the doctor had turned him away because my father had no appointment and the doctor preferred to believe there was some hypochondria in play.

Yeah, right.

I think my father may have at least been given a prescription for nitroglycerine. His new wife left him seated on a bench outside of a pharmacy while she went in to get the prescription filled, but his attack struck in the interim.

Emergency medical personnel were of course summoned, and he was lain upon the floor with his shirt torn open while they worked on him. His wide, terrified eyes were locked upon his new wife's where she stood with a gathering crowd of gawkers.

But I am digressing badly. I wanted to quote this piece concerning peripheral artery disease ─ a small study has found how certain stretching enabled sufferers to handle a return to walking as a therapeutic exercise. This is from NewMarketHealth.com:
You know that walking is really good for your health, but if you're one of the millions who suffer from peripheral artery disease, a simple walk around the block can be nearly impossible.

It's a vicious cycle -- that aching and burning in your muscles prevents you from staying active, yet, by not doing so, you're only making the problem worse.

A preliminary study presented at a recent meeting of the American Heart Association, however, may have found a solution!

The research team had 13 peripheral artery disease sufferers (whose average age was 71) do half-an-hour a day of leg stretching exercises with the help of a splint that improved flexibility in their ankles.

The results were extremely encouraging, reducing pain and improving blood flow to the point where participants could walk farther during a six minute test, as well as prolonging their ability to walk before having to stop.

Senior author Judy Muller-Delp, a professor of biomedical sciences at Florida State University College of Medicine, described the therapy as "a very safe, easy intervention that can be done at home and has the potential to really improve your tolerance for walking." The therapy is recommended for anyone whose ability to walk has been curtailed by peripheral artery disease.

If you've never used a splint to help you stretch, a physical therapist can show you how to wear and adjust one. The researchers believe this simple solution can restore your "comfort and confidence" in walking to the point where you could even participate in a walking exercise program.

And that sounds a whole lot better than being sidelined with pain that can make simply walking into the kitchen an ordeal!
Here are a couple of other reports about the study:



I miss my father.


This is something I just recently included mention about in my blog, but the study ought not to be neglected ─ it concerns a surprisingly beneficial effect that resveratrol had on severely hardened aortic arteries.

These two reports tell you about the study and resveratrol:



As I said when last I broached the resveratrol subject, I had to quit supplying myself with the supplement after I officially retired in early April 2011 ─ my monthly pension just couldn't handle the cost burden.

But perhaps the supplement has become more reasonable in pricing? I intend to give it a check the next time I stock up on other supplements I still keep myself supplied with.


When I was a younger man, I believed that sufficient exercise could compensate for a poor diet. I guess I had in mind old-time loggers, miners, railroad workers, and farmers who might eat like horses three times a day, but who also worked from sunup to sundown.

Well, there are not many people who can exercise to that degree.

And some researchers are espousing this fact ─ that is, that diet is far, far more important to weight loss than exercise could ever be.

Here is one commentary on this:


This was the research that commentary was referring to ─ and for a change in a research journal, it is a rather easy read:


Unfortunately, the 'myth' that a bad diet can just be burned off with sufficient activity will not easily be dispelled.


Recent research has concluded that although so many Alzheimer's disease sufferers are thin, being thin seems to have had no cause at all for having developed Alzheimer's disease.

Instead, it is likely that having Alzheimer's disease brings on weight loss.

Here are some reports on the study that arrived at this conclusion:




I am not quite sure if maybe part of the plot was lost in that last report.


I have lost the afternoon ─ I must close now.

I shall do so 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 small affair I was renting was in a house on Ninth Street, and perhaps two houses up from Third Avenue.

I had quite recently been hired full-time by a charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society. I think that it was only a three- or four-month contract, but I was hating it ─ there was nothing for me to do, and time wore so darned heavily upon me.

I had worked for S.A.N.E. in the past ─ for many, many months on a part-time basis of just a day a week, usually. But I had swamped on their blue pick-up truck.

But this time, not only did I have practically nothing to do, I had a later start in the day, and thus also got off work later than I cared.

In those years, S.A.N.E. was housed in an old building that used to be located where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon Street.

Note that in the following journal entry, the handwriting becomes very sloppy after I start recounting my day at work ─ I clearly detailed it after getting drunk and coming home.
WEDNESDAY, May 26, 1976

I arose at 6:30 a.m., and am tired.

Bill is going to come for me tonight after work.

I did my laundry, and it's raining; I bought 2 comics and a "Little House on the Prairie" TV Guide.

Gee, did I ever get plastered today.

At noon Dwayne went wild for booze: a couple dozen and a few mickeys. Anyway, we even hit Art's.

What eventually resulted was we boozed at Art's (Dwayne must have blown $20; I'm committed to Tuesday's treat). Angie & I got in some kissing. Hell! I'm doubtless damned!

I'm writing after 7:30 p.m. And I'm obviously drunk; I'm heading to Bill's.

Well, I swam around at Bill's till well past 10:00 p.m., then came home.

I had a note from the landlady saying she wouldn't be home June 1, and to pay the gal upstairs.

Too, I had a "note of appreciation" from the Scotiabank for my account.

Jeepers, I feel like an idiot, discussing Evelyn with Dwayne, and owing him a drunk.

Not too long past 11:00 p.m. Anne Greenwood sneaked me off (Penthouse).

Bed at 11:10 p.m.
My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite that may have been little more than about four blocks from my room.

I used a laundromat to do my laundry ─ I believe that it was up on Sixth Avenue, very near to the library. I have no memory anymore what store it was that I would have bought the two comics and the TV Guide at ─ this is the cover of someone's copy of that latter publication:

Dwayne Johnston or Johnson was one of the truck swampers ─ a good-looking young lad whose sister Evelyn and I were in the early throes of a relationship maybe a year earlier.

However, she was at least seven years younger than I was, so I was reluctant to get intimate with her. I had no doubt that she was a virgin.

I proved too good at keeping her at arm's length, and lost out. I would love to rehearse what actually happened, but the day has grown too late ─ my younger brother Mark will be showing up from the bar at any time now.

Young Dwayne and I must have headed over to the home of Art Smith ─ another former S.A.N.E. part-timer, and who was in his early 40s, married to Angelina (Angie), and with three kids.

Art loved to drink.

I don't recall this episode with Dwayne, but where concerns Art's wife Angie, suffice to say that she liked me a little too much ─ she was in her early 30s, and certainly an attractive enough woman.

As I said, though, I have no memory of what went on that day, so I can explain nothing. But it seems that I was supposed to treat Dwayne to a drunk on Tuesday the next week.

Despite my condition, after getting home and penning a few lines, I did wander over and visit my friend Bill ─ he must have been thrilled.

That "note of appreciation" from Scotiabank was for the bank account that I opened up the week before ─ my very first bank account. And I have no memory of it ─ I always thought that my first bank account was opened up at a credit union.

As for the last item in my journal entry, I will just say that Anna Greenwood was one of the models in a Penthouse magazine I had.

Okay, I must proofread this post and then get it published.
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