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Sunday, January 28, 2018

Chronic Anxiety May Be a Presage of Eventual Alzheimer's Disease │ How Anesthesiologist Changes During Surgery Increase Odds of Complications

It took me so long yesterday to complete the edit of the old post I have been working on for several days at My Retirement Dream ─ one of my six hosted websites ─ that I had suspended my supper and my evening watching T.V.

The edit may not have been published until as late as around 9:30 p.m., but at least I got it over with.

The post had originally been published on January 13, 2012, but it never contained anything other than a small image and a YouTube video that was no longer available.

I believe that I retained the small image, but absolutely everything else is additional content ─ apparently over 17,500 words, in fact: From Manila to Boracay by Boat.

Anytime I begin work on a new post or even an old edit like that one, I am quite enthusiastic. But after several days, I become wearied with the task. It comes to seem all the same, and I yearn to be done and to move on to a fresh project.

However, my posts are intentionally extremely long, so I stick with the labour. Sometimes, even after spending the full 10 days that I may have allotted to myself for a post's completion, I have to force a stop because there remains so very much more that I could include, and thus the post build-up could be extended more days yet.

I have even worked on posts for which I could foresee no possibility of ever finishing because of the mass of material that could be included, and so I have have to arbitrarily call a halt, basing that decision simply on the number of days already spent working on it. 

So what did I finally watch on T.V. last evening?

There was a Christmas movie whose title I had in mind because I thought that it might be one that I had dropped out of after about 30 minutes several weeks ago.

Titled A Christmas to Remember, I tuned it in, discovering without any doubt that I had never seen any of it. But I stuck with it.

Initially, though, I was distracted by side-trips to the kitchen because I was involved in eating my supper, and that reduced my involvement in the feature.

In truth, I even wondered if I was wasting the movie ─ maybe I simply wasn't into it because Christmas was over a month in the past (and actually less that eleven-twelfths of a year ahead).

Anyway, I quickly finished with my supper and settled into concentrating on the movie, opening the first of two cans of strong (8% alcohol) beer that I was to enjoy.

A big draw in the movie for me was the lead star, actress Mira Sorvino ─ I have long been very attracted to her. I won't get into why, though. I cannot now even remember what early movie it was that so much affected and drew me to her.

Perhaps it was even an early T.V. appearance ─ I just do not remember.

Well, I managed to become very immersed into the movie; and before my first can of beer was done, I was an emotional wreck. This was why there came that second can of beer.

Heck, I even contemplated finding another Christmas movie and continuing my drinking...but I retained some sense. By then, it was well beyond 11:00 p.m., and even a short movie would probably be about 1½ hours in length.

I sleep bad enough as it is ─ staying up beyond midnight only worsens matters, as does accumulating an increasing tally of beers.

Even so, it was still after midnight before I got to bed. For whatever reason, I sat here at my computer and played at least one game of FreeCell to wind down from the evening's movie and the emotion it inspired in me.

Also, it was odd having the house entirely to myself, and knowing that no one would be arriving home later. My younger brother Mark usually spends Saturday nights at the residence of his girlfriend Bev, and my wife Jack and her two sons (Tho and Poté) are presently over in either Bali or Bandung, Indonesia.

I had thought that they were to be in Bali, but in some Facebook posts Jack's sister has made, she has identified the photos as being taken in Bandung.

It was raining last evening after an afternoon with lots of sunny breaks; and it probably rained through the night and is still doing so throughout today, although I see often enough that it does appear to come to a halt at times. Or perhaps it just reduces to a negligible spattering.

I never wore earplugs last night because of course no one in the household was going to be disturbing my sleep. There came a time when I found myself awake, and I soon became sensible of what initially I just presumed to be some distant very small dog erupting into faint bursts of barking.

I realized that it was not some distant dog, but the low sounds of something just outside my open bedroom window on the carport roof ─ the window just has a screen covering the opening.

Carefully I rose and moved toward that opening, and peered through the slats of the blinds that are drawn to help keep out the light from streetlamps.

It was too dark to clearly see the creature(s) moving about just outside that open window, but I am certain that at least one raccoon was there. Had I dared ─ and if the screen was not covering the window opening ─ I could have reached out and touched the animal. 

Perhaps it or they became aware of my imminence through my scent, for movement indicated that whatever was there was moving away towards a row of evergreens immediately accessible at the side of the carport roof.

So I returned to bed and sought further sleep. All of this may have occurred around 2:30 a.m.

I soon dreamed, but in rousing from the dream I believed it to be real, and again almost rose from my bed to go to the window. 

What I thought was happening that time was some cat to be on the roof, and a cellphone that it must have brought with it had begun sounding its alarm ─ and maybe there was even some chatter from a radio personality that the cellphone was tuned in to.

The cellphone seemed to be just to the right of the window where the raccoon(s) had been, whereas the cat was sitting farther off. I concluded that it had brought up to the roof the cellphone that it had found; but when the phone started sounding its alarm, the cat had abandoned the device and was keeping a safe distance from it.

I was going to see if I could easily retrieve the phone, but then I remembered that the screen would be problematic to remove and then afterward replace securely. Perhaps the cat would leave the cellphone and I could better perform the task once it was daylight.

And as I reconciled that conclusion in bed, I then realized that this event with the cat and the cellphone all must be most unlikely ─ I had been dreaming it.

The dream was probably inspired by the earlier actual incident of the raccoon(s).

Overall, I did not have a good night's sleep. Of late, my nasal passageways keep drying out badly every night, and I am sure that having such a late evening supper contributed to that.

I kept trying for further bouts of sleep, but they were not easily gotten. When I wearied of the chore and wondered on the time, I checked and saw it to be 6:09 a.m.

I decided to get up for the morning and get to work founding the edit of another old website post ─ this time at Siam-Longings.

Eventually my younger brother Mark was to arrive home from his girlfriend Bev's suite ─ I believe that she lives in a duplex or fourplex or some such over fairly near to the Gateway SkyTrain Station in Whalley.

In other words, she lives about two miles from here where Mark and I live.

It was after 10:00 a.m. when he showed up, and I had been stalling on returning to bed for a nap because I did not want to lock the front door on him.

I then played at least one game of FreeCell before making that return to bed, and ended up probably spending at least 1½ hours in 'the sack.'

It was well into the noon-hour, and still Mark was up ─ he was involved working on a GST return. As an owner / operator of his own large truck for a warehousing firm, he is technically self-employed.

Mark was never to seek a nap; and by perhaps 1:20 p.m., he left for the afternoon to hook up with one of his drinking buddies.

I expect that Mark will be passing out this evening while we are watching our shows.

Now concerning those Indonesia photos my wife's sister posted to her Facebook account.

This becomes rather tiresome to keep explaining every day that I make a blog post!

My wife Jack left earlier this month on a flight to go back to her home village in Thailand to visit her mother. Meantime, it had been mapped out that her two boys ─ aged 20 and 23 ─ would later take a flight over to Bali.

The two lads had each booked a couple of weeks off from work. 

Tho ─ the 23-year-old ─ cannot set foot in Thailand because he never obeyed the constitutional requirement of all Thai males at the age of 21 to present themselves for military consideration.

He had turned 21 in September 2015, but he has not been in Thailand since a visit there back in the Summer of 2009. He and his brother came here to Canada in September 2008, and both lads became Canadian citizens in September or October 2013, I believe.

But they are both still Thai, as well. So they are constitutionally bound by that potential military conscription issue.

The boys' grandmother helped raise them up until the lads came here to Canada in September 2008, so they are all very close.

However, the only way now that a family reunion can take place will be for the family to visit the boys in a country neighbouring Thailand ─ and thus this trip to Indonesia.

My wife Jack is using money from a drastically drained injury settlement of $30,000 that she received some months ago for damages she suffered a few years ago when her car was rear-ended.

I think only about $13,000 of that money remains. And Jack has covered the cost of flying not only her mother to Indonesia to see the boys, but also some other family members. For certain, I know that her sister Lumpoon and husband went, as well as the sister's son Mark and his wife.

Mark is maybe a couple of years older than Jack's oldest son Tho.

If anyone else went to Indonesia at Jack's expense, I do not yet know of it.

Of course, it is Jack's money ─ and I cannot begrudge her wanting to go back to her home village to see her ageing mother.

How I wish that I had my own mother alive and near!

I just hope that Jack's two boys are at least paying their own way, although I know that their mother's generosity will also extend to them in considerable degree.

I would have liked to have gotten out today to do one kind or another of shopping, but my chequing account has less than $40 available until my monthly pension shows up early this coming week.

As I keep maintaining, I am in a virtual debtor's prison, largely confined to this house because of great debt.

All because of the cost of becoming involved with Jack back in Thailand in January 2003; becoming engaged to her over there in 2004; marrying here there in 2005; finally getting her a visa to come to Canada after our third attempt, and having her arrive here in 2006; getting visas for her two boys on a second attempt, and bringing them over in 2008; and on and on.

I cannot afford to go anywhere, so I remain largely housebound. I cannot even afford to visit a bar to drink ─ I can only afford to keep myself in beer here at home, enjoying one or two cans in an evening.

Yes, Jack's $30,000 could have gone towards that debt, but it would have made scant difference overall. Nothing much would have changed.

So better that she gets to enjoy her mother while the old girl is still alive.

I have had enough of the visa headaches ─ I do not care to be immersed into trying to get the mother over here to Canada.

Besides, there are other dramas ahead. Although the house ownership is in my name, Mark actually has better than 50% of its actual ownership.

And he has long declared that after he retires, he wants to sell the house and have the proceeds of his share put towards his retirement fund.

He is now 65 years old, and intends to retire before June of this year.

If the house is sold, I expect that there will be little remaining once my share goes toward the debt I am in as a result of my life with my wife.

And then where would we live? I have no intention of living in an apartment with her sons and their thick involvement with girlfriends ─ there is little enough peace for me here at home as things are now. An apartment would be unthinkable.

So it would mean separation for me from Jack and her boys.

I think Mark has some foggy idea that I would throw in with him, but I would not. Not after bringing about that finish to whatever limited life and marriage I presently have.

This is why I often speak here of it being very possible that I only have one more birthday and Christmas remaining to me. I am 68 years old now ─ I do not care to be entering my 70s with this same pointless life that I am living.

But let's look at those photos posted by Jack's sister ─ I downloaded them from her Facebook account, and doubled them in size.

This first batch of eight appears to me to have been taken in some pub or bar.

These two leading photos are of Jack's nephew Mark (left) and her oldest boy Tho ─ Mark used to be far more muscular than skinny Tho, but that has certainly changed in the past few years:



The next two photos display my wife Jack (left) and her sister Lumpoon:



Here are Tho and his mother Jack:


A couple solos of Jack:



We finish with ─ from the left ─ Jack, her sister Lumpoon, Mark and his wife, and then muscular Tho:


My 20-year-old stepson Poté was not present at that bar, but that may be due to the fact that the legal drinking age in Indonesia is 21. Too, he was probably keeping his grandmother company.

There are three more photos ─ the first two were taken at a beach, and display Poté with his mother and grandmother (and his Aunt Lumpoon is in the first photo, too):



This last photo is a street scene ─ a selfie that Jack took with her brawny son Tho, her sister Lumpoon, and her nephew Mark and his wife:


I wish that I could have seen Mark first meeting up with Tho on that trip ─ Mark would surely have been agog at the change in his cousin.

I now want to broach a couple of health-related topics.

I have been prey to depression and various fears or anxieties since my teen years. 

Well, there's a recently published study that indicates that chronic anxiety may well be one of the early signs or symptoms of eventual dementia in later years.

Note these three reports about it:

JacksDailyDose.com

MedicalNewsToday.com

PsychCentral.com

You can read those for yourself if you are at all concerned for yourself or any loved ones.

The other topic I have to present concerns surgeries, and specifically a change during the surgery of the attending anesthesiologist.

I knew that surgeons often juggle more than one surgery at any one time, but I don't believe that I ever thought about anesthesiologists possibly ending their shifts and having new ones take over the surgical station in progress.

Well, it is apparently commonplace, and surgical outcomes are often adversely affected because of it.

Here again are three reports about the study revealing this:

JacksDailyDose.com

ICES.on.ca

Medscape.com
Complete Handoffs by Anesthesiologists Tied to Poor Outcomes

But being realistic about doing anything about this nasty affair, how many of us being confronted with a serious surgery are going to be insisting on knowing who the anesthesiologist for that future surgery will be; and then have consultations with that person, trying to schedule the surgery such that we can ensure that the anesthesiologist is going to be on duty throughout the surgery?

This proactivity is hardly going to be happening, I fear. I certainly can't imagine me ever getting that involved for myself. 

I might do it for a loved one now that I know about what's going on, but I guess I just don't care that much about me.

Well, I see that it is 5:30 p.m. at this very moment, and my younger brother Mark is sometimes home as early as 6:00 p.m. on Sundays. I suppose I must here make some haste to bring today's post to a close.

Here to do so with is an old journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 27 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and two houses up from Third Avenue.
FRIDAY, January 28, 1977

My clock stopped, so I didn't awaken till about 5:50 a.m. And I had planned on my Newton trip to mom's.

I'll have to atone tomorrow by circuiting Burnaby Lake to dad's.

Anyway, I'm leaving for mom's at 6:25 a.m.

*****

I fed heavily.

Mid-morning mom left me alone to walk over to Sandy's; they had a bazaar in mind to attend.

I got my Plain Truth in the mail, and a return of my $12 money order for 1975 Christmas stamps (out of stock).

Mark came over after I was trying for a nap.

Thanks to him, I got a fair list of industries, and even applied at a MacMillan & Bloedel sawmill.

I napped after he went to work.

Bill never did show up or even phone; I left Mark a note to collect my $32 if Bill comes around tomorrow, as I still intend to visit dad, though I abandoned my lake circuit scheme.

A short distance down Old Yale [Road] after leaving Mark's, a car passed me heading the same direction; I'm quite sure it was Bill's.

I do not have a $1 bill.

Bed at 12:40 a.m.

Oh yes, I masturbated (how crude!) around 6:52 p.m.

My morning bodyweight was about 192 lbs.
Crude indeed!

I think that my father Hector and his girlfriend Maria Fadden were living in an apartment fairly near where today are the Edmonds SkyTrain Station and even Metrotown. What I had thought to do was hike first from my room out to the far right of Burnaby Lake as seen on this map; go right around the top of it; and then turn and follow the left side of the lake from there, making my way to my father's apartment.

That hike would have taken several hours to do.

I walked everywhere I went. I only ever spent money on a bus if I was seriously pressed for time for some reason; or if I had a truly long haul that I needed to cover.

I have never in my life owned a car, nor had a driver's licence.

Had I not slept in that morning, from my room I had intended to follow the King George Highway (now Boulevard) all the way to Newton; and then made a right turn and worked my way back to where my mother Irene Dorosh was living in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.

Her home was my main mailing address. And although the house is now gone, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. But even at a fast pace, just to walk to her home directly from my room would take 1½ hours ─ going the Newton route would have at least doubled that time.

My mother left me during my visit so that she could walk over to the rented home of Sandy Halverson, the then-wife of my maternal cousin Randy Halverson. I am unsure of just where they were living at that time ─ possibly reasonably near Queen Elizabeth Secondary School.

The day before, I had received a letter from the federal department of Manpower and Immigration directing that I had to come in on Tuesday morning to their New Westminster office for an interview to determine if I was still in need of and eligible for the Unemployment Insurance I was receiving. 

I was also to bring along a full history of my job searches since my claim had begun several month earlier.

Well, I had no such record. So my younger brother Mark had suggested that I create one, and he was going to drive me over to Annacis Island to at least capture the names of numerous industries that were operating there. 

I also had genuine business names where I had previously sought to apply for work, provided that I was able to remember them all.

True to his promise, he came over to our mother's house to take me on that venture.

He was working an afternoon / evening shift at the mill that employed him; so after he left his duplex unit to go to work, I remained there.

I think he was living a short distance down Semiahmoo Road from where it attached to Old Yale Road. He was less than three miles from our mother's home, and in the direction of Whalley. 

My old friend William Alan Gill was renting an apartment perhaps four or so blocks from my room. He had borrowed $32 from me a day or two before so that he could bail his car out of an impound yard ─ it had been towed away while he was dutifully giving blood.
   
Bill was a soft-hearted dear friend, but he was very unreliable when it came to repaying a loan ─ despite how eager he always was to ask for one.

***** 

Well, my younger brother Mark arrived home before I was able to finish my commentary, so I have had to even postpone proofreading this post ere publishing it.

I will do that proofreading now, and say nothing more about the old journal entry. 

We've had steady rain over the evening, and right now it is 10:57 p.m.
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