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Monday, February 26, 2018

Endoscopes Are Still Making Patients Sick...Or Worse

I watched the closing ceremonies of the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympic Games last evening ─ but only for an hour or so. And then it was on to three of the usual T.V. series I follow.

I now forget just when I was to bed, but I think that it was ahead of 11:15 p.m.

I slept a little better overnight than I have been doing of late. It was almost 4:00 a.m. before I finally felt like checking up on the time due to wakefulness.

I knew that my younger brother Mark would be getting up to ready for his second-to-last workweek (he is finally retiring at the age of 65), so I settled back there in bed to bide time until he had left on his drive about an hour later.

I actually succeeded in getting some further sleep, for it was at least 5:15 a.m. when next I checked the time and rose.

Mild weather has returned to us after a week of snow and some freezes.

I had laid the foundation for a new post yesterday at my website Latin Impressions, so I got busy adding content to it today. The website is the worst of my six hosted websites where visitor attraction is concerned.

And I think that WordPress indicated that over the previous 28 days, there were six or even eight days with absolutely no visitors. This is discouraging because the website has been online for eight years minimally.

The post I am presently working on is a fair bore, alas. Yet I stuck with it this morning until I had supplied about 1½ mornings' worth of content (I only work on my websites during the mornings ─ afternoons are devoted to this blog).

My eldest stepson Tho never bothered getting up for work today. When this happens, I never know if it's because he's too damned lazy to bother himself; or if he was notified of a shortage of work.

I always suspect the former.

His younger brother Poté rose for work, however, and I think he may have been on his way by 7:50 a.m. ─ or was it an hour later?

Once I was done the website work for this morning, I dallied vilely awhile before seeking a nap, but I was nonetheless back in bed before 10:30 a.m.

Some dreaming attended the napping; and it is possible I was abed over 1½ hours. Whatever the case, it was around 12:15 p.m. when I got myself up, discovering that at some point Tho had finally risen for the day.

I had my day's second hot beverage, and then fairly early in the overcast afternoon I went out to the backyard tool shed to do some exercising there.

It was chilly, but I wore cut-offs; and once in the shed, I further stripped down to a tank top for the workout.

Either I am overtrained, or else I am simply lacking in vigour. I  managed what amounts to targeted averages in repetitions; but where the four sets of pull-ups were concerned, it was a definite strain.

Speaking of Tho, though, this weekend I had a short chat with him about Mark's retirement. I previously had one late in the week with his younger brother Poté, who had not realized that Mark was soon to retire.

Tho was aware, however. Mark had apparently brought it up ─ probably during one of his drunken interactions with Tho in a recent evening.

Mark ─ who is half-owner of the house, plus has a $40,000 down-payment to his advantage ─ has long threatened that after his retirement, we would be selling the house.

His major gripe is that he pays half of costs such as the mortgage, annual property taxes and home insurance, and the utilities; and he will no longer be in a position to do that once he has to rely on a retirement income.

My stepsons rarely contribute anything. They do not pay any rent; and despite being heavy users of the Internet, they have never contributed towards it.

However, neither wants to move and give up the house ─ this is the only home they have known since the two of them came here to Canada from Thailand in September 2008.

And even back in Thailand, they had only ever lived in the family home in Nong Soong, a very large village perhaps a 15-minute drive from the city of Udon Thani.

Thus, I am preparing them for what is ahead. They must either step up and let Mark know that they will become active contributors on all of those expenses; or they are going to have to embrace forsaking the house.

I will not here take the time to speculate on what life would be like thereafter from my own selfish vantage, for I have often enough done that in the past. Maybe the unpleasant projection will not have to take place.

My wife Jack is nearing the end of an extended holiday in Thailand to the family home to visit her mother, and I have just realized today that her scheduled flight back is set for next Monday ─ I had been thinking that maybe it was that mid-week at the earliest, if not even at the end of that week.

Whether or not she read a message I left here in her Facebook account to forewarn her about Mark's retirement, I cannot certainly say. But at least she will be back in time enough to be properly apprised for the group conversation we all will be having with him at some reasonably near point concerning the fate of the house.

I posted over two dozen photographs in yesterday's post that I had taken from her Facebook posts of that day ─ she had a major role in the marriage of a niece, the daughter of Jack's sister Lumpoon.

I have never seen Jack look so glamorous. The fancy hairstyling she had undergone changed her beyond any measure I would ever have imagined.

She posted a few more photos from that event today, so I have eight more that I am going to post.

The first five show Jack involved in what may be a sort of Thai dance with Lumpoon ─ Jack is the taller of the two sisters:

The next three photos involve the bride (she is with the groom in the first photo) and also my wife Jack's nephew, who is the son of Jack's sole surviving brother Santi:

Obviously the bride and Jack's nephew are cousins.

When I first saw photos of him earlier into Jack's trip, I had no idea who he was ─ even though I had met him in 2005, the last time I was in Thailand.

I have no photos of him then, but he was clean-cut and working as an usher or some such in a ladyboy showcase venue in Bangkok's Nana Plaza.

He was not wearing those enormous glasses that make him look practically comical.

He changed his appearance for quite some time after 2005. I saw photos of him where he had a very long ponytail and he looked veritably crazed. 

When I saw him in Bangkok at work, wearing a white shirt and a pair of dressy slacks, he only looked serious.

Evidently that is not his natural demeanour.

But a change of topics now!

I had occasion today to wonder about a medical device that I suppose would be a nasal endoscope. I will get to why I was wondering about such a device in a moment.

First, though, I want to refer you to the following article warning of the continuing deadly dangers that endoscopes are still presenting to the patients they are being used on:


The article cited one reference, but it did not link to it ─ I shall:


Anyway, as far as I know, I have never had one of these things inserted into me anywhere, with that one nasal exception about a year ago.

I was paying my final visit to an otorhinolaryngologist that related to a healing enormous infection that arose when the duct to my left parotid gland somehow became blocked.

I never sought help until I almost looked like I had an orange embedded in the side of my face:

That was me on February 9 of last year ─ I was still trying to avoid seeking medical attention. I don't believe that I went for another day or two.

The pain was nearly beyond withstanding ─ keep in mind that it was not my actual cheek that had swollen to those proportions, but the area right around where the jaw joins the skull (i.e., the temperomandibular joint).

So there is not all that much skin there to allow any kind of ballooning or stretching like that.

Here are a couple more photos ─ February 12 and February 15 of 2013:

Anyway, the abscess was to eventually get drained, and I was on a daily course of antibiotics for maybe three weeks.

And when I had my final visit to the ENT specialist, as an afterthought he pulled out his nasal endoscope in the examining room just to have a peek into my nasal cavity, I expect.

Well, I had never anticipated this procedure, and the more he tried to insert the end of the damned thing far enough back into my nose, the farther back I leaned.

He finally had to jocularly exclaim that his arms were only so long ─ I had to quit resisting. 

I don't think he got the tiny camera and light as far back as he wanted, and so he relented.

But if the sort of endoscopes that get inserted into colons and down our gullets and maybe even into our windpipes can carry deadly infectious agents, could not a nasal endoscope as well?

That deserves some thought!

I am going to bring this post to a close now with this 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 [Google map], and two houses up from Third Avenue.

The previous day's journal entry was very short ─ it ended with me writing that I was leaving my room at 4:20 a.m.

Apparently the plan was a very long hike all the way out to Newton, and from there I was to work my way back over to the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey where my mother Irene Dorosh lived ─ her home was my main mailing address.

That little house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue [Google map].

After a visit there, I most likely would have hiked the under-three miles over to the duplex unit my younger brother Mark was renting located a short distance along Semiahmoo Road [Google map] from where it attached to Old Yale Road.

I failed to fully live up to that rather impressive enterprise that I had planned ─ the latest journal entry tells of it.
SATURDAY, February 25, 1977

It is 5:35 a.m., and I've just walked home from Mark's after a sleep following the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I was questioned just after crossing the bridge by an officer investigating complaint of someone throwing beer bottles around there.

Anyway, after getting to Mark's yestermorn, I remained, rather than head off for Newton Rd. [72nd Avenue.] My left lower shin has been painful since Thursday, being aggravated by the pressure of my boot.

It's a good thing I waited, for when I did set off for mom's soon past 6:30 a.m., it was in a cold rain.

Mail at her place included the disappointing rejection of my postal clerk application, and John H. Tobe's mollifier, No-Cook Book.

It rained miserably till mid-afternoon, when the cloud system began to drift away, the sun shone, and I was at last able to return on my own back to Mark's.

Alex [my mother's husband] had come home from work early.

I bought an $8.95 money order, plus some stamps, and $1.40 worth of groceries at Safeway. Mark had gone to work before I arrived.

[Mark had an afternoon / evening shift at the wood mill that employed him, but I had ready access to his suite.]

The phone rang on one occasion that evening, unanswered.


Bed again: 6:00 a.m.

I next arose near 10:20 a.m., to a very cold suite.

I typed up a letter to Terri [Terri Martin, a U.S. pen-pal I had back then].

Early this eve after eating, I trimmed my hair, but am not pleased with the result. And my complexion and colouring aren't good either.

I am going to head off to Moody Park [Google map] to be with God if it is still possible to reach Him; on my way I'll mail Terri's letter, an order for Iroquoian stamps, and an $8.95 order for John H. Tobe's "Security From Five Acres." 


I found it to be lightly raining, and of course quite cold. In a park trash barrel I found a number of unused copies of today's Sun newspaper, so brought  one home.

My lower shin is very sore.
I wish that I still had all of the books I used to own during my eight or so years in New Westminster.

John Tobe lived on a Vancouver Island farm, but his books were published by Provoker Press in Ontario. He was passionate about healthy living. He also had one or two health letters people could subscribe to ─ my mother certainly did.

You can gain some idea of what his books were about by checking out this list of some offered by the U.S. Amazon: John H Tobe.

I actually think that the The Golden Treasury of Natural Health Knowledge may still be here in the house, but I wouldn't want to take any bets about that.

The Iroquois stamps I was mail-ordering were Canadian postage commemoratives ─ I wasn't a collector, I just liked to use commemoratives on the mail I sent out.

And I sent out a lot of mail!

I mentioned not bothering to answer Mark's phone. I think that I had a few too many experiences of doing so and finding someone on the other end who only called because he wanted Mark to go drinking. And since Mark was at work, then I became victimized, for I always had a heck of a time just telling people that I wasn't interested.

So best just to leave the infernal nuisance alone.

How at odds that today I no longer have any friends to drink with, even if I could afford to on my limited pension ─ everyone has moved far away...or died. 
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