It's Official: Separate Marital Bedrooms

With my industrious wife home all day yesterday, I got enlisted in a project that I did not believe to be possible for just one day, let alone a 'mere' two or three hours of the afternoon (I don't think that it took longer than that).  

The project was to clear off the bed in this room where I keep my computer so that I could start sleeping here, and my wife take over our bedroom ─ since early October when I began to become severely ill, she has been sleeping on the chesterfield in her sons' den area downstairs.

I see now just how badly I stained our mattress while I was ill during the final couple or so days mid-October before I finally surrendered all resistance and allowed myself to be taken to the Surrey Memorial Hospital where I was diagnosed with "COVID pneumonia" and spent just over 11 days there in recovery ─ I had to prove myself fit enough to come home, for they intended to keep me longer than those 11 days.

I had become so helpless in those couple or so days prior to going to the hospital that I was urinating myself because once the urge presented itself, I would never have been able to get to the bathroom in time. I was too feeble to manage that trip to the bathroom on my own, and the need to micturate was far too frequent for me to reasonably be soliciting assistance. Besides, once I had begun to wet myself ─ and I was fully clothed in bed ─ my garments were too embarrassing unpresentable. I wanted no one to be witness to my incapacitation and descent into incontinence.

The mattress ─ my entire half of it ─ is wickedly and disgustingly stained now. My wife slept on her former half of the mattress last night, well separated from the mess that has become my former half.

I never saw the distasteful visual damage until today after my wife had gone to work ─ she had an 11 a.m. start at the Thai restaurant where she is employed part-time, and will work until around mid-evening when the restaurant closes.

Her plan is to soon purchase a new mattress. Ours was rather aged anyway, for I had become aware earlier this year that my section of the mattress had a noticeable depression, with a detectable rise in the centre of the mattress where neither my wife nor I would lie.

As for the pair of us now sleeping in different beds and in different rooms, it may be for the best. I do not discount that I might well have originally become infected through some form of "vaccine shedding", since my wife has been 'vaccinated' and I have not. If there is a sound chance that this shedding might continue to be so were I in her proximity the night through, then it would be best that I not subject myself to that sort of risky exposure, even though I am now supposedly immune to the SARS-CoV-2 virus. 

This little room where I am now has sundry packed boxes and bags ─ and portable shelving stacked with documents, literature, and related materials ─ piled against every wall not immediately adjacent to the bed that I used last night for the very first time.

The room was once my younger brother's daughter's when she was a youngster; she is now 28 years old and lives in Washington State with a boyfriend, and has not visited us in quite a few years.  

Whether or not it was due to not being in my own familiar bed last night, I had quite a poor sleep. I felt too enlivened instead of weary and inclined to sleep.

There was a curious episode that demonstrated how infirm I am when my wife and I were bearing a heavy shelving unit from a cold storage room downstairs that is attached to the boys' den area and accessed by a sliding glass door.

I had the heavy end of the structure, and was leading the way backwards.

After first climbing three or so steps from the den area onto the main floor, we then had to bring the unit up another 10 or so steps to get it to this room. With my weakened, scarred lungs, I struggled to breathe adequately, and I could tell that my heart-rate was accelerated as that organ fought to supply sufficient oxygenated blood to the various working cells of my body.

I definitely considered of the possibility that such strain could well inspire a heart-attack. And indeed, I was not without valid concern. I am 72 years old.

But here I am, apparently unscathed.

Today has been a very wet one. I am hoping that tomorrow when my brother goes to pick up his girlfriend Bev at 10 a.m. to drive her to work (she only works three days a week at present), I will feel up to imposing upon him to take me along with him so that I can buy some beer and wine at the government liquor store near where Bev lives.

The store is two miles from here, and I am in no shape to be walking there and then trying to hike home with two dozen cans of beer and a four-litre box of wine. (I do not drive.)

He and I watched some videos that I selected for us this latter morning ─ we watch our videos on T.V. via our wondrous Android TV Box. Otherwise, they would not likely be seen. I cannot spend hours a day watching videos on my computer; and my brother is computer illiterate, so the technology is beyond him.

The first video was just under 15 minutes in length and uploaded to BitChute on November 26; it presented information concerning a very recent study that verified how the COVID mRNA 'vaccines' are dramatically dangerous to cardiovascular integrity: TLAV Circulation Magazine mRNA COVID Vaccines Dramatically Increase Inflammation Vaxed Deaths Higher. 

The second video was posted to BrandNewTube on November 24, and covered the actions taken (on Remembrance Day?) by some protesters who were legitimized by the presence of Drs. Mel Bruchet and Daniel Nagasi outside Lions Gate Hospital in Vancouver: 13 Stillborn Deaths in 24 Hours at Lions Gate Hospital Caused by Covid-19 Vaccines.

The two doctors spearheaded a legal action that wholly warrants watching the video to see for oneself.

Note that I could not locate the video with our Android TV Box at the link I gave above, so we watched it at a different source.

The third video was dramatic and a striking call to action, very accurately delineating what the various 'vaccine passports' will lead the world into ─ it was 17 minutes in duration, and posted to BitChute on November 28: THIS PIVOTAL MOMENT Episode 1.

The fourth and final video featured a delightful female doctor I have come to find myself attracted to because of her mischievous laugh which strongly reminds me of another Canadian I adore ─ actress Emily Hampshire (especially in her role as kooky Jennifer Goines in the T.V. series 12 Monkeys).

This fourth video was posted to Rumble on November 28, and was 59 minutes in duration: Behind The Curtain with Dr. Jessica Rose - Episode 90. 

I am going to cease today's post here because I want to try and cram in a Christmas movie before my brother returns home ─ he went out mid-afternoon to hook up with one of his drinking buddies.

💀☠💀☠💀☠ A Fall

My younger brother was intent on calling it a day last evening at 11 p.m., so I was faced with the prospect of getting to bed relatively early. My wife ─ who had shown up late that afternoon ─ had gone out and was not yet home.

I did not go to bed early. Instead, in my most wayward fashion, I sat up until fruition at 1 a.m. And there is really naught else I need say, except that it was early October when last I plummeted. Of course, this is not to say that I wholly abstained from a precipitous dance at the verge ─ there were a number of those risky occasions. But this early a.m. witnessed my plunge.

Once more, my actions were probrus and not probus. It is ever so.

Had things been otherwise last night, this morning I might well have gone with my brother when he left to pick up his girlfriend Bev at 10 a.m. and drive her to work ─ he could have taken me to the government liquor store near to where she lives. I am no longer in shape to make that four-mile round trip hike ─ nor do I care to invest the time that it requires. (I do not drive.)

I am not home alone today, so I have little time to spend on this post. All else I shall mention is the rather different interview that Ted Kuntz of Vaccine Choice Canada hosted with his guest, a British chap my brother and I do not recall having heard of previously: The Iconic David Icke - "Self Respect Brings Down Tyranny."  

The video that was posted two days ago was nearly two hours long, but definitely interesting ─ even though some of what David espouses is not exactly in alignment with what my brother and I are able to put credence into.

Also, I am a physical, fleshly being. David's heavy sermonizing on "frequencies" at so many levels is not anything that I am on a plane to quite fathom.

But if that sort of thing is something you are more open to, then I will here link to David's two websites that were not linked to in the video description:

https://davidicke.com/

https://www.ickonic.com/

And this is where I conclude today's post.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Can Shop!

With considerable self-satisfaction, I am able to report having gotten out and done some local shopping this rainy weekend. Both destinations were about four blocks from home.

My first trip was early yesterday evening to the Cedar Hills Shoppers Drug Mart near 96th Avenue & 128th Street (Google Map) here in Surrey. Unfortunately, two of the items I was seeking were not in evidence in the nutritional supplements section.

I walked quite leisurely so as not to overtax my weakened body and lungs (I was in the hospital for just over 11 days last month with "COVID pneumonia"). Happily, I was not at all inclined towards any coughing while in the pharmacy, so I now have the confidence that coughing fits are not a feature of my condition as I know would have been the case had I just recently had a fairly bad cold.

This morning I walked to the same Cedar Hills shopping centre to do some shopping at Deepu's No Frills market. It opens at 8 a.m., so I wanted to arrive there soon enough after it had opened in order to avoid a population of other shoppers. The down side was that I actually got up just after 5 a.m. despite probably not getting to bed last night until midnight. I did return to bed after a while ere it was yet dawn for maybe 40 minutes, but of course I never slept.

Perhaps because this walk was so soon after last evening's, I found that my pace while returning home from No Frills was markedly slow.

But at least I now know that I am able to handle reasonably-distanced walks, and that I can venture into stores without concern of bouts of embarrassing coughing.

My strength is building, as is my capacity to draw in a full breath. Sometimes I will almost spasmodically make a quick full inhalation that is entirely automatic and unconscious ─ it's almost like experiencing an unexpected hiccup. This seems to happen a number of times a day, especially when I am relaxed as when I am reclined on the chesterfield and watching T.V.

It is almost as if my body is at work reconstructing ─ in this case, forcing an inflation of my damaged lungs as if by way of exercising them. It's a rather strange phenomenon, but I am comfortable with it.

I now want to mention a few videos that I have very recently watched with my younger brother on T.V. via our Android TV Box.

In the latter morning yesterday, I tuned in an hour and 23-minute October 20 (2021) YouTube interview made by a guy named Aubrey Marcus of a Professor of Clinical Psychology at Ghent University in Belgium: Why People WILLINGLY Give Up Their Freedoms W/ Prof. Mattias Desmet. 

The description:

What are the conditions in any society that will cause a people to willingly sacrifice their freedoms? Mattias Desmet has studied and lectured extensively on this phenomenon. He is a professor of clinical psychology at Ghent University has and holds a masters degree in statistics. After noticing some anomalies in the statistical analyses conducted during the pandemic, he became concerned by the consensus narrative. He joined me today to discuss his expertise in a phenomenon called ‘mass formation’, a type of collective hypnosis essential for the rise of totalitarian regimes. He provides the step by step formula for this collective psychosis to take hold and how this relates to our current situation. He cautions against the dangers of our current societal landscape and offers solutions both individually and collectively to prevent the willing sacrifice of our freedoms.

Even my generally oblivious brother recognized that we had seen Mattias Desmet being interviewed before concerning the same subject matter ─ that time it was an interview being conducted by someone named Dan Astin-Gregory, and the video was posted to YouTube on September 21 (2021): WHY DO SO MANY STILL BUY INTO THE NARRATIVE? 

Mattias certainly makes a strong case, but I do considerably disagree with one of the conclusions he and his host Aubrey seemed to have come to that those behind what is happening to the world for nigh two years now are not malevolent and evil people, but merely victims caught up in their own "mass formation". 

They surely are malevolently evil, and deserve trial and the strictest sentencing.

Toward that end ─ at least in the U.S. ─ this morning my brother and I watched on BitChute this November 24 interview hosted by Dr. Joseph Mercola: Roadmap for Prosecuting COVID Crimes- Interview with Francis A. Boyle.

The video was an hour and 10 minutes with this description:

Francis Boyle is a repeat guest; I’ve interviewed him twice in 2020 about the likelihood of SARS-CoV-2 having been engineered in a lab. Boyle’s background includes an undergraduate degree from the University of Chicago, a juris doctor (lawyer) degree from Harvard and a Ph.D. in political science. He’s a professor of international law at the University of Illinois College of Law, and wrote the book, “Biowarfare and Terrorism.”

• The Biological Weapons Anti-Terrorism Act of 1989 imposes fines and prison sentences on anyone who “knowingly develops, produces, stockpiles, transfers, acquires, retains or possesses any biological agent, toxin or delivery system for use as a weapon”
• The problem we face today is that our federal government has been captured by forces that seek to destroy the U.S. from within. As such, we cannot trust the federal judiciary to prosecute and hold those responsible for the pandemic and the toxic COVID shots accountable
• To circumvent the corrupted federal judiciary, we need to focus on locally elected prosecutors instead. Depending on the state, they may go by titles such as district attorney, state attorney, prosecuting attorney or county attorney
• Organize locally to find people willing, as a group, to call on your local, elected district attorney to convene a grand jury and indict the individuals suspected of being involved in the creation of SARS-CoV-2, and those responsible for the COVID shots
• The charge that applies is “murder and conspiracy to commit murder.” For starters, 15 researchers listed on a key paper can be indicted, plus those who funded the research. Those to be indicted in relation to the COVID shots include the chief executive officers, chief operating officers and chief scientific officers of Pfizer, BioNTech, Moderna and Johnson & Johnson

I choose not to link to Wikipedia's biography of Francis Boyle. I do not know enough about him to recognize if he is treated negatively or not, for I have no recollection of having ever heard of him before.

By the way, I see that I am approximately 5½ months older than Francis is ─ I had thought that he was my senior.

The only other video of this general theme that I shall mention ─ my brother and I watched it this morning ─ was not quite 10 minutes long. It was Odessa Orlewicz's latest: Nov 26 - Canadian Doctors Office Raided By Insane Health Authority.

That title refers to a doctor in the province of Alberta.

Of purely entertainment value, last evening my brother and I watched a 2017 movie titled The Scent of Rain and Lightning.

The movie's plot is much better described at Original-CIN.ca: The Scent of Rain and Lightning: Slow-burn Thriller Strikes All the Right Notes. 

My brother didn't bitch about my choice this time ─ I expected resistance from him. What was the more surprising is that the movie's production and acting seemed quite amateurish ─ he did comment that he sometimes had trouble realizing that the movie had suddenly lapsed into a scene from the past and we weren't watching an incident that was supposed to be contemporary.

I am perhaps exaggerating, but it seemed as if a fifth of the movie was comprised of scenes from the past.

It was nonetheless interesting enough, but the denouement was very disappointing. Main character Jody Linder (played by actress Maika Monroe) was apparently not to learn that her uncle Meryl Tapper murdered her mother.

I actually had to do considerable researching to come up with Meryl's last name ─ my brother and I thought that he was another of the Linder brothers, but he was evidently an in-law.

Also, I had no idea who it was that villainous and unbalanced Billy (Crosby?) killed in the Linder household when he went there to seek vengeance for the mysterious shooting of his wife. I thought that I heard that it was someone named "Red" that was killed ─ another Linder brother, perhaps?

But no ─ it was apparently "Red Bosch", the man we see in the beginning of the movie whom Jody Linder sometimes takes as her lover.  

The movie was unclear in many ways. And who the heck did shoot Billy's wife in the face, setting him off on his final rampage?

Well, my wife has shown up here just after 5 p.m., so I am going to consider this my post's conclusion.

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Four Interesting Videos

With such an ignoble rehabilitative walking record thus far this week, I am relieving myself of further pressure concerning it ─ if ever I find myself awake in the weest a.m. hours and feel inclined to dress and go out for a walk, then I will do so. 

Sitting up late as I now do ever since returning home on October 28 from my 11-day stay at Surrey Memorial Hospital due to "COVID pneuonia", I just do not have the motivation to go anywhere when I awaken in the early a.m. and come here to my computer to kill an hour or two or even more before returning to bed.

My younger brother has come to expect me to sit up late with him, operating our Android TV Box that he doesn't understand how to operate. 

Between doing that last evening, and then dealing with E-mail here at my computer afterwards once my brother had gone to bed, it was 12:37 a.m. by the time I was finally putting my own carcass to rest. Yet not three hours later, I was up again and sitting here, passing some time constructively before returning to bed to find some further sleep.

I was too ill rested to care to be out walking anywhere.

I honestly have little else to report concerning my day ─ I am only posting to mention four videos that I tuned in for my brother and I late this morning to watch on T.V. via our Android TV Box.

The first was one recorded two days ago by Odessa Orlewicz ─ another of her interviews with guests. This time, the guest was George Douklias: Nov 24 - I Interview The Ceator Of Jabless Jobs Canada - A New Service!  

If it is not apparent, George created a service to link employers with people seeking employment ─ the difference being that these employers are not demanding their employees to be 'vaccinated'. So anyone who has lost a job because he or she has refused an employer's mandate to be 'vaccinated' may find employment through George's website: JablessJobs.work. 

Apparently there are even lots of professional offerings, so it isn't just a website for the sort of work that one might find at a day-to-day labour service.

The second video was very brief ─ not five minutes: Dr. Mercola- Call for COVID-19 Vaccine Injury Testimonials.

His description is quite long for such a short video:

I want to share a very personal story and confession with you. When I was in medical school in the late ‘70s, I was on the front cover for the national medical student handbook. I’m sharing this photo with you that shows me administering a vaccine. At that time and for the next 15 years, I rigidly followed all vaccine guidelines.

• For 15 years, I rigidly followed all vaccine guidelines, until one of my patients patiently shared a personal testimony about her vaccine-injured son, Jack
• She opened my eyes to a reality that I was previously unaware of: that informed consent was practically nonexistent and there were serious medical risks of vaccines being covered up by pharmaceutical companies and the federal government
• Serious adverse reactions to COVID-19 shots are occurring, but victims are being silenced and discredited
• Vaccine mandates have led to injuries, devastation and deaths — while the brainwashing “get your vaccine now” campaign is being used to divide and conquer
• If you want your voice to be heard, I will help you share your testimony; please share your story with us, and encourage others you know who have a story to share theirs

The third video was a James Corbett Report featuring guest Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., and was just over an hour long: The REAL Anthony Fauci with Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

How is it that Fauci has not been executed for his uncountable capital crimes, let alone imprisoned for them?

Finally, the fourth video was the third in a series that is titled Cult of the Medics. There seems to be five videos in the series to this point in time, and you ought to be able to locate them on BitChute at the channel of dwtruthwarrior.

It truly is amazing how "dwtruthwarrior" ─ that is, David Whitehead ─ has been able to create such high-quality, professional-looking videos.

And that is all I care to spend time talking about concerning today.

Still Unwalked

I have little to report on this rather rainy day.

I never got in a rehabilitative walk overnight ─ my third consecutive night of such a failure. I had checked the time soon enough after 2 a.m. ... or was it after 2:30 a.m.? Whatever the case, I was just too darned tired to care to be thrusting myself out into the wet and chilly night. Keep in mind that it was probably just about midnight when I got to bed.

I did get up, though, to do some reading here at my computer. I always deal with Dr. Joseph Mercola's daily mailing. Normally he has two new articles and an updated article that could have originally been published nearly a year earlier ─ I ignore those reworks.

Fortunately for me last night, one of the new articles was concerning a topic that is too alien for me ─ airy-fairy blather that is too irrelevant to my life's situation as I sit here nearly infirm after a serious bout of "COVID pneumonia" last month that has left me with scarred lungs at the age of 72. As well, I have so much credit debt that I will never get out of it alive without a financial miracle such as a major lottery win.

I also have profound personal problems that I will not here broach.

Consequently, seeing an article titled "The Profound Health Benefits of Being Grateful" turned me right off. I am not one of those who sees nothing but blessings and positivity everywhere he looks in his life ─ to my mind, only a simpleton can have that sort of outlook in the face of genuine, life-limiting conditions. 

Free me from financial debt and all of the retrained limitations and dependencies it imposes, and bestow upon me robust health and exceptional physical prowess, and I will go through my days beaming with sincere gratitude and positivity.

While I was up, around 3 a.m. I heard what must have been my youngest stepson come home. I have no idea where the lad went. He did go out just before I originally went to bed, but I just assumed he was nipping off for some fast food or coffee or something.

Perhaps he was continuing with the celebration of his 24th birthday which is either imminent or just newly past ─ his mother (my wife) took him and his older brother out late last afternoon for a dinner at the Thai restaurant where she works part-time. They left around 5:30 p.m. and did not return until around 9:30 p.m. ─ or I should say, that was when the boys returned. My wife must have just dropped them off and headed back to join her friends to continue partying (her boss in one of her best friends). I never heard her come home later.

She had to work a full day today. Certainly, the restaurant does not open until 11 a.m., but she looked far from full of life when she got up to begin readying herself this latter morning for her long day.

I am going to finish up this post simply by mentioning two of the rather interesting videos that I tuned in this latter morning for my brother and I to watch on T.V. via our Android TV Box.

One of the videos was a 56-minute interview performed by the Canadian Citizens for Charter Rights and Freedoms' retired Major Russ Cooper: C3RF "In Hot" interview with the Honourable Brian Peckford.   

The last living First Minister responsible for the patriation of the Canadian Constitution and its embedded Charter, the Honourable Brian Peckford, goes beyond recounting the history associated with our "supreme law" to chronicle its abject decline in present-day, "pandemic" Canada. In doing so, he rolls "In Hot" with Major Russ Cooper (Ret'd) to discuss the current, and unprecedented, loss of civil liberties to discuss just what can, and needs, to be done to pull back from impending disaster and despotism. Time is of the essence as our young ones stand to be inoculated with potentially dangerous gene therapies as we speak.

I have yet to do so, but I will most likely add my name to LawyersStandUp.ca as a "concerned citizen".

The other video I wish to mention was a 36-minute interview by Liberty Coalition Canada's Michael Thiessen: Former Alberta Nurse: Protocols & Mandates Are Killing Healthcare.

Former nurse Julianne Johnson explains why good doctors and nurses are being pressed out of health care by senseless protocols, and gives advise and courage for dealing with vaccination mandates.

Julianne's story was very similar to those told by B.C. nurses who have been interviewed by Odessa Orlewicz. 

I live in B.C., incidentally.

But that's enough for today.

A Nighttime Plumbing Emergency

Last night just before I went to bed, I learned that my wife will continue sleeping on the couch in her sons' den area until she acquires a new mattress for our bed, so there is no immediate rush to clear off the cluttered bed here in the room where I keep my computer.

I don't wish to re-explain what is behind all of this ─ it is covered in yesterday's post. Suffice to say that since quite early in October, my wife has been sleeping downstairs due to me becoming progressively iller until I was finally admitted to Surrey Memorial Hospital and diagnosed as having "COVID pneumonia" where I remained for just over 11 days. 

I speculated in yesterday's post that it is possible that I became sick as a result of sleeping with my wife ─ she and her two sons are 'vaccinated' against COVID-19's SARS-CoV-2, whereas I am not. I am of course referring to the "shedding" possibility, for I truly believe that I should have had superior immunity over her and her sons, as well as my younger brother, even though I am the eldest in the household.

I take numerous nutritional supplements, and make my own fermented vegetables.

Also, I never went anywhere. I do not drive, so once a week I might hike off to do some shopping. Meantime, my wife and her two sons both have jobs and rich social lives; and my brother goes out every afternoon to do his own socialization and have a few drinks.

I remain home. I have no social life beyond this house. I do not get visitors, nor do I visit anyone.

Anyway, for the present I will continue to sleep in our bed by myself, while my wife sleeps on the couch in her sons' den area.

Last night my sleep was disrupted just after 2 a.m. by my youngest stepson rapping loudly on my brother's bedroom door and calling out to him. My brother is the handyman of the house.

It developed that when my stepson was about to have a shower, the hot water tap flew off and the hot water came jetting out in an unstoppable fashion. The lad had no idea how to turn off the water.

So my brother had to get up and kill the water to the house, and gave the tap situation a sound examination. There was nothing that could be done at that time, he concluded, for he felt that the tap cartridge had been damaged and needed replacement ─ the assembly had been fused tight and could not be separated. Most likely, this was due to my eldest stepson constantly twisting the tap as tight as he possibly can. Sometimes his mother gets after him about it because she has trouble turning on the water for herself once he has showered.

But he is obstinate because he seems unable to unlearn anything. He will either continue to do this out of forgetfulness now that my brother has replaced the cartridge after going out very early this morning to buy one; or else the lad will twist the tap tightly shut when he is done his shower, and then realize his error, and loosen it somewhat.

In the latter case, we will never know that he is still forcefully compressing the washer and cartridge whenever he finishes a shower. The harm will have been done, and over time will eventually again be an issue because he sometimes showers twice a day. Cranking the tap as tight as he possibly can ─ even if he immediately relieves the pressure ─ will still prove damaging over time.  

He is 27 years old, I think. His younger brother is ─ or is about to be ─ 24 years old. In fact, my wife and her two sons have gone out late this afternoon for a celebratory supper at the Thai restaurant where she works part-time. I could not accompany them, of course, because I am 'unvaccinated' and thus one of the unclean who has no right to be in a public place like a restaurant unless I can prove my 'vaccinated' status.

In that vein, late this morning my brother and I watched a documentary just over two hours in duration titled The Complete Documentary of What is Happening In This World. We watched it on T.V., for I easily enough located it via the browser apps that I have downloaded into our Android TV Box.

It should be required viewing, but few among the 'asleep' have any desire nor intention of ever being awakened.

In concluding this post, I will only report that last night was the second consecutive night in which I did not get out for an early a.m. hike. With everyone up after 2 a.m. and fussing for the longest time, this private matter of mine was not possible. Besides, I was dreadfully tired, and after lapsing back into sleep, it was after 4 a.m. when next I checked the time.

Perhaps I will have better fortune in the wee a.m. tonight.

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A Sleeping Conundrum

I was able to get out in the wee a.m. yesterday for a chilly walk ─ it was probably around 3:30 a.m. My eldest stepson was still up, but he had just ensconced himself in the bathroom with the fan running. This was all the encouragement that I needed, for I did not wish for my activity to be known to him. So I hustled and dressed, and was away before he emerged from the bathroom (which is immediately adjacent to my bedroom).

I was later to find that he had taken a shower, so I did not need to rush.

Anyway, I believe that I likely walked for approximately a mile by the time I was back home, and I pushed myself a little in order to challenge my "COVID pneumonia" scarred lungs. I hope that heavily breathing the chilly, moist air was beneficial for my lungs, and does not serve as a pathway for some complication.

Unfortunately, I soon enough found in the afternoon that the outer muscle running alongside my left leg's shin was strained and had become sensitive, most likely due to unaccustomed stretching after not walking for maybe a month and a half as a result of being laid up with that "COVID pneumonia".

I think that I suggested in a very recent post ─ maybe my last one ─ that it has been around two months since my last walk, but that seems an overlong estimate.

This straining of the muscle alongside my shin concerns me because I have been afflicted by it in the past, with the eventual result that it inhibits my ability to walk ─ it can cripple me by making it too difficult to raise my heel and rise up onto the ball of my left foot when I am stepping as I walk. 

Recovery can take many weeks, so I dearly hope not to find myself in that limiting predicament. Perhaps I can stretch the muscle and related tendon here at home with some exercise directed at it, and possibly ease out the tightness and halt the onset of crippling inflammation. I seem to recall that there may be an association with the foot's lateral longitudinal arch, which I have previously encountered problems with that resulted in it also becoming somewhat inflamed. 

Whatever the case, I most definitely would prefer to 'nip this in the bud' and prevent myself becoming more disabled at walking than I presently am.

It was my hope to get out again in the early a.m. today, but when I found myself awake and checked the time overnight, it was already a minute or two after 4 a.m. This was much too late. I am often awake and up by as much as two hours before this. So even without going anywhere, it was just after 5 a.m. by the time I had finished up a few tasks and gotten back to bed. To have added a walk would have delayed me excessively; as it was, my actual morning was to start just after 8 a.m.

By the way, after joining my younger brother for some T.V. yesterday morning, I ventured to him that hereafter I would be availing myself of him on occasion for some shopping, since it will be a long while before I am walking any distances.

As I believe I mentioned in my previous post, I pointed out to him that it would be a boon for me to be able to ride with him some Monday, Wednesday, or Friday morning when he goes to pick up his girlfriend Bev to drive her to work (she is presently part-time). He picks her up no later than 10 a.m., and she conveniently does not live far at all from the nearest government liquor store around two miles from here where I usually do my alcohol shopping.  

I also asked that whenever he plans to nip out in the morning or earliest afternoon to do some special shopping at a location that might be of interest to me, then let me know ─ since he would be returning before he heads off for the afternoons to do some drinking elsewhere, it would be most convenient for me to be accompanying him for that shopping of groceries or whatever. 

Since I first started becoming seriously ill in early October, my wife has been sleeping downstairs on a couch in her sons' den area. Well, today she asked about the small bed here in the little room where I keep my computer. This room is immediately next to our bedroom, and was formerly the bedroom of my brother's daughter (she now lives with a boyfriend in Washington State where they have some rural property and a variety of animals like some horses, at least one donkey, and I honestly have no idea what else ─ apart from any dogs or cats, of course.

The snag about the bed is that it is buried beneath boxes and piles of papers and publications, books, clothes, and an assortment of other things, for which there is nowhere else to store everything ─ that is why it has all accumulated on the bed and elsewhere in this room, leaving just a small area of the floor free of clutter.

To my thinking, if it was possible to get a small and plush mattress of some sort, a far easier alternative would be to sleep on the floor on that and just ignore the bed ─ I would be willing to sleep here if the floor 'mattress' was sufficiently soft and comfortable for that purpose.

I can't imagine just sleeping on a narrow couch as she has been doing ─ I don't think that she can even fully stretch out on it.

Anyway, I would prefer that she doesn't start 'rearranging' everything in this room ─ there are certain items such as paperwork I have within easy access that I would prefer she does not irretrievably file away.

I do not believe that I suggested this in my blog before, but I do have some suspicion that I may have gotten sick from some possible 'vaccine shedding' that came from my wife during the nights when we used to sleep together in the same bed ─ she and her two adult sons have been 'vaccinated' against SARS-CoV-2, and my brother and I are unwilling to subject ourselves to any such risk, for we are fully aware of the lies being spread concerning the safety and efficacy of this genetic experiment being wrongly called a vaccine.

Also in my last post on Sunday night, I was too annoyed over my brother to care to discuss a movie that I had tuned in for us earlier that evening via our Android TV Box (which he does not understand how to operate). 

He bitched as soon as he recognized that I was tuning in a movie, and I reckon that was the course he set for himself. I thought that it was undeniably interesting, and it had something of a shock and definitive ending. The viewer was not left hanging and left to imagine for him- or herself what was to come next in the life of the characters. To my mind, the movie had a proper enough finish.

Nevertheless, my contrary brother had to grouse miserably that the time spent watching the feature was an hour-and-a-half that he would never be getting back.

That was a wholly undeserved and unnecessary statement with the sole purpose of offending me, and he did succeed. It left me furious. I wanted to call it a night and depart from the miserable ass.

The movie was the 2014 Shailene Woodley vehicle White Bird in a Blizzard.          

Sure, it wasn't any kind of blockbuster, but I wouldn't NOT recommend it to someone if I was asked about it.

This morning my brother and I watched a good Odessa Orlewicz interview of three guests that she had on her show. Unfortunately, though, it is presently only available on her Facebook account, so it is not going to remain there ─ Facebook will probably eventually delete her account, or at least delete the video.

For now, here is the Facebook link: Nov 22- I Interview Nurses About What They've Witnessed & Their Thoughts On The Strange New Children's Stroke Propaganda.

As I said, that link is probably not going to remain valid, but it is the only one that I know of ─ Odessa has yet to upload the video anywhere else more secure.  

This was her video description:

These 3 nurses do not know each other and all work(ed) at separate hospitals in BC, Canada.
I open the show with a damning video interview with a doctor to do with Pfyyyyzer  trial cover ups to do with jabbbing of the 12-15 yr olds...

Odessa's three nurse guests were Sean Taylor, Andrea Henders, and Chrisitine Nurse. I don't know if that last guest's name is both a misspell and should be "Christine"; nor if the surname is just a pseudonym in the stead of the young lady's real last name, if indeed it is not "Nurse".

At just shy of 1½ hours, the video was interesting enough for my brother and I, since we were viewing it on our T.V. in the comfort of our living room through our Android TV Box. If these videos were only available on my computer, they just would not be getting viewed. I cannot sit here for that long glued to a computer screen; and my brother doesn't even know how to use a computer.  

My wife had to work this afternoon with a 4 p.m. start at the Thai restaurant where she is employed part-time, so she left here shortly after 3:30 p.m.

It is already dark as I type these words at 5:37 p.m., but I am going to pay a visit to the small (unlit) toolshed in our backyard and fetch a large roll of foam rubber that my brother has out there. I know that material emits noxious vapours over time, but perhaps for the short term I can use it to sleep on in this room until something more innocuous is acquired. I will have to bring it into the house to check the dimensions of the large pad, though, for it may be too wide and even too long for the available space that exists on the floor here next to the cluttered bed and just in front of my computer.

So with that said, I am taking my leave for the day right here.

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Finally ─ A Short Walk

With the target in mind of getting out early this morning to see if I could handle the four-block hike to the nearby Shoppers Drug Mart ─ my first true walk since early October, the month that was to see me fall prey to a severe "COVID pneumonia" infection that hospitalized me for just over 11 days ─ I did not spend time overnight sitting up when I found myself unable to sleep due to nasal passageway blockage.

When I checked the time overnight, it was well after 3:30 a.m., so essentially all I did was rise to blow clear much of the rather bloody mucous clots that seem to attend and spoil my nights.

Then I returned to bed and never checked the time again until just after 7 a.m. ─ which was something of a shock, for I needed to smartly get myself up. The pharmacy opens at 8 a.m., so I wanted to try and be there as soon after that as possible.

But of course, it would depend upon whether I could handle the walk ─ my legs are unaccustomed to the activity, and my scarred lungs have not been challenged with anything as sustained as this sort of venture. Also, I have not been outdoors for any length of time, so the chilly and moist November air was an unknown factor for me.

Due to prolonged readiness preparations, it was after 8 a.m. before I was on my way. I set off on a good pace, and applied myself to the hill just a few homes from my own.

The hill is possibly a half-block in total length, but before I was halfway along it, I was breathing quite heavily through my mouth, and my hamstrings were tightening as surely as if I was doing thigh curls with a weight. And I slowed my pace right down. 

Due to the chilly, moist air, my nasal passageways were aflow, preventing me from breathing other than through my mouth. But at least I did not seem to be falling into the grip of any spells of embarrassing coughing. However, that did not mean that such a state would not strike as soon as I was into the dry environment of an air-conditioned pharmacy.

The morning was sunny, incidentally.

Well, I walked for maybe three blocks, and by then had given up the plan to shop. Judging by how spent I already was, I didn't care to add on that extra distance, and then have to deal with the pharmacy's dry air.

I basically just came back home, but via a different route that added a further half-block of distance. So in all, I may well have put in seven blocks of walking by the time I was back home.

I definitely did slow down. Even so, I know that with some practice, I would quickly reacquire the ability to handle such a relatively short distance as was my goal this morning. And so hereafter, I am going to do my best to force myself to get out in the wee a.m. each night and walk some blocks. Otherwise, I will never build the stamina.

One good thing is that after getting back home, the air here within the house did not set me off on any coughing spells, so my lungs are not affected in the same fashion as they would have been if I had a bad cold.

Also, I now see that I could do some shopping as early as tomorrow, but only if I rode to a store with someone. In the late afternoon / early evening yesterday, I got busy and shaved my head and beard, for I had done neither in nearly two months. I left myself with a moustache joined to a bearded chin. The way I had been, my beard growth was unkempt and would have required lengthy work to make it presentable if I wanted to go public ─ thus, it was not feasible that I would have been able to go anywhere with someone to do any shopping.

Now, I can do so in very short order. 

As for the rest of my day, despite it being so auspicious, I fouled my afternoon from roughly 2 - 3:30 p.m., and my younger brother proved quite the spoiler where my evening's T.V. with him was concerned.

Since I have no desire to relive any of this, I am going to end this post here.

Steadily Improving

As explained in my previous post, I have not been in further touch with the man from whom my elder half-sister Phyllis purchased a small bottle of liquid ivermectin back on Wednesday, November 10. I was unaware she had done this ─ consequently, it was with considerable surprise that she paid me a visit later that afternoon to give it to me, along with instructions from the shop proprietor where she bought the item.

I followed the man's instructions for the first three days, taking double the dose strength that was listed on the bottle's label. I then phoned him, and was directed to take triple the label's dose for three further days.

I was to have phoned him once I had done that, but when I did, a different proprietor at the store answered my call and said that the other chap had gone home for the day. It was only 3:20 p.m. or so. This guy seemed to know that his co-proprietor was quite involved with ivermectin without me even mentioning the substance; and upon hearing how much I had been taking, he was almost flummoxed, maintaining that the label should not be deviated from.

Well, the conversation had gotten a little uncomfortable for me, so I brought it to a close, and was invited to call the other fellow the following day ─ he was expected in the shop by 10 a.m.

I phoned the next day around an hour earlier than I did the day before, but when the phone rang six times and I got no response, I just hung up. I decided that this was getting to be more trouble than I felt it was worth.

The ivermectin label also said not to take it for more than seven days (the "maximum"). Since I had taken those super-doses for six days, I finished the final day according to the dictates of the label. And then I retired the bottle.

I E-mailed Phyllis and explained all of this to her. In a reply that I got yesterday, she included this:

If I drive past the store, I will go in to check. For all we know, [the proprietor we had dealt with] has been 'found out' and they've removed him.

I expect that she was referring to the conversation that I had with his co-proprietor, who seemed consterned by how much ivermectin I had been taking.

I feel quite good. If not for my limited breathing due to my supposedly scarred lungs as a result of the "COVID pneumonia" I contracted last month that put me into the hospital for just over 11 days, I would think that I am as normal as I was in September.

Of course, if I tried to exercise, I would fast find that I am a weakling compared to my conditioning in September. And a look at my naked self in a mirror would immediately reveal that I now have spindly, wrinkled upper arms in place of the rather muscular arms that I had before. 

I have not shaved scalp nor beard in nigh two months. I am planning on maybe doing so tomorrow so that I can 'go public' early Sunday morning to do some shopping at a Shoppers Drug Mart four blocks from here that opens at 8 a.m.     

However, if on that first walk that I would be taking since before I got sick early in October, I find myself starting to cough excessively or find that my legs are feeling excessively taxed from the unaccustomed effort, I would likely just come back home and continue the wait of rehabilitation ─ I supposedly have "long-haul COVID", after all.  

Yesterday I also E-mailed two other people to let them know about my dreadful October, and my November thus far. One of these people is a cousin who resides in Edmonton, and obviously I have not been in touch with him since at least September.

I know that he got 'vaccinated' earlier this year, so whenever we have such pauses in our communication, I begin to wonder if maybe he has succumbed to side-effects. That also applied to the other fellow, who is into his 80s and has also been 'vaccinated'.

Fortunately, both are presently okay.

However, most unfortunately, my cousin presented the following lie:

I hope you will follow the science and go get vaccinated when you feel better. It's proven that vaccination provides a higher degree of immunity than getting the disease.

Even a doctor at the hospital proclaimed that same nonsense.

I included this in my reply today to my cousin Doug:

As for COVID-19 immunity, you and I must be reading about very different studies! (See for instance 81 Research Studies Confirm Natural Immunity to COVID ‘Equal’ or ‘Superior’ to Vaccine Immunity.) Never before in the history of immunity has a vaccine been superior to natural immunity. And the COVID-19 variety don't even target the virus ─ only the spike protein. All the virus has to do is mutate the spike protein, and the vaccines are impotent ─ they won't recognize the spike protein any longer.

Natural immunity results in all proteins of the virus being recognized by our antibodies and T cells ─ the virus would have to mutate into something entirely different to avoid that recognition.

But only time is going to tell what the truth is.  

Amen to that.

My afternoon has just about expired, so I am going to bring today's post to a close. I want to enjoy a little T.V. and have some supper before my younger brother gets home ─ he left ahead of mid-afternoon to go and visit one of his drinking buddies, so I rather fear that he will be returning early this evening in a pronounced state of inebriation.

I will still watch T.V. with him this evening if he does show up in that state, but I will not like it.

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Day Six Now Finished on Ivermectin

Despite what I claimed in my post of three days ago, I never did get away in the earliest a.m. that weekend to pit myself against the challenge of walking a few blocks ─ I have not walked anywhere since falling ill early in October, and then spending just over 11 days in the Surrey Memorial Hospital (October 18 - 28) diagnosed with COVID pneumonia.   

I was deflected from the outing by the presence of my late-night eldest stepson who sat up until 3:30 a.m. ─ I had forgotten that he was on an afternoon shift. When he is so scheduled, he will sometimes remain up until the approach of 5 a.m.

I had hoped to be able to make it to a credit union ATM four blocks from here in order to deposit the monthly expenses reconciliation cheque that my younger brother had written out to me at the beginning of the month. However, if my eldest stepson was privy to my intention, then I do believe that he would have insisted upon driving me, solicitous of my relatively frail state.

I felt myself with no choice but to abandon the outing.

I have since realized that the monthly mortgage I wanted to apply the cheque towards is not set to be debited from my chequing account until the 22nd ─ for some odd reason I had been viewing the 18th as mortgage day. Consequently, I still have another weekend before the payment is due.

Nevertheless, I did not remember this until after asking my wife last night if she could deposit the cheque today when she goes to work, and now the deposit is no longer my concern.

Something that I neglected to mention in that previous post when I was citing some movies I had watched here at home with my younger brother via our Android TV Box was the 1996 film Trainspotting. I had placed the title of the movie on a list because I was almost smitten over actress Kelly Macdonald in this year's Line of Duty series (season six) in which she played a detective chief inspector (DCI) who was under suspicion by our heroes of the fictional Anti-Corruption Unit 12 (AC-12).

In Trainspotting ─ her first acting role ─ she played Diane, a teen schoolgirl who seduced the central character and compelled him to continue a relationship under threat when he learned how young she really was.

The actress was probably 19 during the filming, and had essentially just turned 20 when the film got released.

She had a nude scene in the movie ─ she was definitely a healthy young thing! 

The movie was interesting enough in that it kept my drinking brother watching, but I certainly would not rate it as highly as it was acclaimed, according to Wikipedia. Even so, I now see in Wikipedia that there was a sequel in 2017, so I will have to tune it in at some point.

Last evening my drinking brother and I watched Songbird, a 2020 movie based upon a hugely magnified COVID pandemic. It became something of a romance, which I do not mind. However, my inebriated brother only bitched at the movie's conclusion.

I recognized that the movie was not exactly of epic proportions, but I quite enjoyed it. It took me about a half hour into the movie before I recognized the actor playing the main character, a bicycle courier immune to the virus. He was KJ Apa, the same young man who played Archie Andrews in the T.V. series Riverdale which my brother and I are still working our way through. 

Actor Peter Stormare ─ whom my brother and I enjoyed in the T.V. series Swedish Dicks and (to a much lesser extent) LA to Vegas ─ played such a detestable villain so effectively that I was delighted at his eventual demise.

I want also to mention two very interesting interviews that Odessa Orlewicz hosted with medical experts on the topic of SARS-CoV-2 and our scamdemic / plandemic / casedemic.

The first interview was titled Nov 15- I Interview Dr Paul Alexander Who Was Part Of The Covid Advisory Team Under The Trump Administration, and was a little over 1½ hours long. She hosted the interview around 8 a.m. yesterday.

The second interview was last evening, and was not too very much over an hour in duration: Nov 16- I Interview Dr Nagase About The Horrific Corruption And Cover Ups Of Treatments. 

Yes, the title indicates today's date for whatever reason.

Okay, the final item I wish to mention in this post relates to the ivermectin that I have just finished taking for six days as of the nine-drop dose that I took this morning.

My elder half-sister had surprised me last Wednesday by paying me a visit just to present the ivermectin to me ─ she had managed to find a source earlier that afternoon. The proprietor she had spoken with at the health food store she had been to had given her written instructions that I was to take six drops twice a day for three days, and then phone him.

I took my first dose that evening; my final dose was this past Saturday morning, so I phoned him that afternoon. He instructed that I was to start a three-day schedule of nine doses twice daily for another three days, and then phone him again.

And that is what I finished doing this morning.

However, when I tried to phone him this afternoon ... well, I will just quote the E-mail that I sent to my sister in explanation of my call to him:

Following up on this, Phyllis, I phoned for B. today around 3:20 p.m., and got a younger guy on the line. He said B. had gone for the day.

What caught me off guard was that B. had said that calling him would reach him night or day ─ I think he said something about the call getting automatically forwarded to him at home if he was not at the store. So clearly that was not in play.

So I just told the younger guy that I was returning a call concerning a certain protocol B. had me on.

At that, the young guy just quoted the ivermectin label without me identifying ivermectin, saying that I just had to take three drops twice a day for a full week. Since I figured the young guy must be somewhat familiar with what B. is up to, I then described how I had already taken six drops twice a day for three days, and now just finished another three days at nine drops twice a day.

At this, the young guy exclaimed that I did not need to be taking that much ─ just how heavy was I, anyway, he asked? I guess he thought that it was possible I was obese or something.

Anyway, he definitely counselled that I oughtn't to be taking more than the three drops twice a day, and for no more than a week. And here I am at almost a week, having taken twice that daily amount for the first three days, and then triple that amount for the next three days.

At the conclusion of our conversation which I wanted to bring to a close, he said to give B. a call tomorrow ─ he should be available back in the store anytime after 10 a.m.

I really don't know if I will or not. I likely will, but I'm not feeling too enthusiastic about it. I'm definitely not feeling all that keen on being an experiment for B. if that's what is going on with me.

Note that the ivermectin does indeed state that three drops are to be taken twice a day for a maximum of seven days!

Here are a couple photos of the product ─ the first shows the box that it came in, and is set alongside a litre carton of whipping cream for size comparison:

Note that the "Rx" prescription symbol is on all four sides of the small box, and no other print is anywhere on it.

This is a photo of the actual bottle,:

The label does not make total sense to me ─ here is all that it has on it:

IVERMECTIN 

Aqueous Oral Solution 15 ml Drops
Dosage: 3 drops 1.5 ML WT   2 times/day
As Recommended by your Healthcare Practitioner
Adjusted by weight
Exp: 10/2027

I don't see how the three-drop 1.5 ML WT (whatever "WT" indicates) possibly relates to the "15 ml Drops". 

Also, note that nowhere does the label indicate the actual contents of the liquid if it is some sort of formula, nor does it indicate where it was produced, nor what the name of the entity is who produced the product.

There is no package insert ─ you now know as much as I do about what I have.

By the way, the top of the bottle does not quite come to the baseline border that is just below the "Rx" on the box, so it is definitely quite a small bottle.  

Maybe I'll call the guy tomorrow afternoon, and take a final does of three drops this evening and then again tomorrow morning to achieve the full seven days indicated on the label, even though I will have taken far more drops than the label directed for those first six days.

Anyway, that's where I stand as of now.

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Continuing With Ivermectin

Well, this morning was my sixth dose of ivermectin, according to the instructions of the fellow who had sold the product to my older half-sister Phyllis.

She had located a health food store that sold the substance, no doubt on the 'down-low.' This was back on Wednesday ─ three days ago. The proprietor had given her instructions that I was to take the liquid ─ yes, a liquid and not a dry form such as tablets ─ at six-drop doses twice a day for three days, and then phone him.

Since I commenced this protocol Wednesday evening, this morning was my sixth and final dose, and thus it was that towards mid-afternoon I phoned the chap.

He seems to have some education in ivermectin, claiming to have helped quite a number of people. He has even consulted with a couple of specialists on ivermectin in Mexico, and also has an ivermectin-knowledgeable physician locally whom he is conversant with.

Anyway, what has he adjudged now that I have completed my third day? 

To my surprise, he said that I should continue with his protocol for another three days, and to in addition 'up' the dosage strength from six drops to eight drops twice per day. 

I must admit that over the three days in which I have already taken his ivermectin, I feel better than I have over any other three-day period since I fell victim to this malady ─ which was quite early in October until it got out of hand and mowed me right down mid-month, resulting in me being taken to the Surrey Memorial Hospital for a stay of just over 11 days (October 18 - 28).

In fact, I was fortunate to have been able to get released even then ─ I had to push hard. The institutional consensus was that they were going to keep me because my oxygen breathing levels too often dropped excessively low, and they felt that I should continue to have recurring general assistance from a breathing tube with two prongs which were left inserted into my nostrils.

I hated that thing at night ─ it was extremely interfering of sleep. I had a couple of nights in which I was convinced that I never slept at all because of not being able to freely shift about in bed. Sometimes I like to roll over onto my stomach as I pursue comfortable sleeping postures. To just lie upon my back is for me unnatural.

To this point, I cannot tell that I take ivermectin ─ that is, I am unable to notice even any remotest side-effects. Heck, I can barely taste the stuff. There is no discomfort from it whatsoever. All I can attest to is that seeming unique three-day improvement I spoke of.

May the next three days prove to be at least as beneficent in this recovery process!

I abstained from a beer in the evenings these past three days, but I am not going to continue to do so. I have no certain instructions that I need to abstain from light drinking. And even though I have read on some websites that ivermectin should be taken on an empty stomach, the FLCCC website (Ivermectin in COVID-19) claims that ivermectin is fat soluble:

Do I need to take Ivermectin on a full or empty stomach?

When taking Ivermectin please take the medication with or after your meal.

Ivermectin is a fat soluble drug and the absorption of Ivermectin is enhanced in the body’s tissues with a fatty meal.

Nevertheless, I will likely still avoid eating a meal within an hour of taking ivermectin, for I take nutritional supplements with my meals, and something might interfere with ivermectin's full therapeutic impact.

I forgot to ask the chap I was speaking with this afternoon about these issues of alcohol or meals (or even nutritional supplements) potentially interfering with ivermectin in a sense of limiting its potency. I will simply gamble that if he knew of aught, he would have specified something about it without any urging from me.

I have been watching so much T.V. since being home from the hospital ─ over eight hours a day! My younger brother is especially happy about this because it means that in the evenings, he does not have to limit himself to our basic cable T.V. package (or my youngest stepson's Netflix account). We have an Android TV Box, but my brother does not understand its operation, and relies wholly upon me for this.

And so we can watch an almost limitless number of T.V. series or movies.

Last evening we watched a mysterious 2018 movie titled Freaks. I refrained from reading Wikipedia's description of the plot because I prefer to be surprised by the features I am enjoying, so initially I wondered if the movie was going to be something of a fantasy involving the imagination.

Happily ─ especially for my brother's sake, who hates that sort of thing ─ it turned out to be hardcore science fiction along the lines of the sort of people who might populate a Marvel Comics Earth.  

The actress playing the main character ─ a seven-year-old girl ─ was Lexy Kolker. At times when she looked intense, she seemed so very familiar to me. I realize now that I have seen her in both Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D and Shooter, but I have no specific memory of her in either series.

A few of the other movies we have seen include 2017's The Beguiled, a remake of the 1971 Clint Eastwood Civil War movie of the same name. I recognized actors Colin Farrell, Nicole Kidman, and Kirsten Dunst without knowing that they were acting in it.

It definitely kept my brother and I interested.

We also watched a piece of improbable 'coming of age' fluff from 2013 that my brother did not like titled The Spectacular Now. I had added the title a couple or more years ago to a list because it featured actress Shailene Woodley, but even she could not make this movie anything near stellar. Oh, make no mistake ─ she was very good. It was just that her co-star's character was preposterously unbelievable where my brother and I were concerned.

I will mention just one further movie that we have watched since I have been home from the hospital ─ 2011's War Horse. It deservedly merits the description 'epic'. That is all I will say ─ except that my brother and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Before I close for today, I want to say that I am contemplating getting out in the wee a.m. tonight and having my first walk in over a month. The plan is to see if I can walk four blocks to an ATM where I would like to deposit the $270.04 monthly expenses reconciliation cheque that my brother gave me at the start of the month. 

The monthly mortgage is supposed to be set to be debited from my chequing account each month on the 22nd, but at present its balance is shy of that figure by about $900. I have no further income of my own coming into the account, but my eldest stepson should be transferring over something ─ hopefully as much as $300. And my wife owes the account $500.

If absolutely necessary, I have another account with something over $300 from which I can make up any shortfall. It is always possible that my eldest stepson will be more generous than the $300, but we shall see. He had just better not be stingy and only contribute as little as $200!

I may find myself unable to handle the walk, however. Even if it starts to cause me to begin coughing strenuously, I will have to give it up, for I do not wish to attract any attention ─ even at 3 a.m. in the morning, if that is when I head out! 

I am defenceless because of how weak I have become from my illness due to muscle-loss, but I will wear a knife and bring along a stun gun flashlight that I have. Hey ─ I am 72 years old, after all!

And that's enough said for today.

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Ivermectin

Yesterday my older (by about six years; I am 72) half-sister Phyllis visited a health food store that my younger brother identified to her as being the source where his friend Greg managed to acquire some ivermectin awhile back. 

Supposedly the product "flies off the shelves" anytime the store gets any, so my brother didn't expect that our half-sister would have any success.

During the latter afternoon yesterday, she phoned him to say that she was going to pay us a visit (we live in the Whalley area of Surrey, whereas she lives in Langley, well outside the city of the same name). 

Well, he was soon to head off for the afternoon and the earliest evening, but he let her know that I would be here.

And eventually, come she did. What was wholly unexpected was that she had bought and brought me a small bottle of ivermectin, along with some written instructions from one of the proprietors of the store. He wants me to phone him after I follow his instructions for three days ─ since I commenced his protocol last evening, my third day will end late Saturday morning.

I was directed to take the ivermectin twice a day, so I have selected 10:00 p.m. and 10:00 a.m. I am also taking two drops of oil of oregano every two hours that I am awake.

Obviously I have no intention of identifying the name nor location of this store. But I will say that the ivermectin seems to me to be someone's recipe of the substance. It is a liquid, and the small bottle or vial comes in a little brown box that is only marked with a rather fanciful capital letter "R" near the top of all (I think) four sides.

There is no insert with the bottle, and its small label looks to me like one someone produced themselves. It reveals surprisingly little, but does offer the instructions to use half as much as the store's proprietor had written out that I am to be using.

I will be having my third dose this evening, and thus far am unable to notice anything different at all. If there is anything harmful about taking this doubled dose, it is certainly not obvious to me.

My half-sister does not know that I also spend just over 15 minutes each morning inhaling nebulized hydrogen peroxide ─ thus, I have no idea if this is a therapy that the proprietor of the store is aware of. 

And although I am not presently using any, I have some Miracle Mineral Supplement (MMS) here on hand. Don't Google that, by the way ─ use a browser like Yandex that won't censor the results and fetch you only those that are highly negative.

Of course, I take some traditional nutritional supplements that are purportedly of value in my recovery from the COVID pneumonia (long-haul COVID) that I fell victim to last month.

So we shall see if the ivermectin is able to fast-track my specific recovery ─ I hate to be in this for the so-called "long haul"!

My "COVID Pneumonia" Lung Limitations

I feel slightly improved since my post of six days ago, but I have yet to attempt something like a simple walk around the block (to refresh, I spent just over 11 days ─ (October 18 - 28) in the Surrey Memorial being treated for severe "COVID pneumonia", as it was diagnosed to me after admittance.

However, I am pathetically scrawny and weak. Before I took sick in the fairly early part of October (yes, I delayed going to the hospital until my life was in jeopardy), I had quite nicely-muscled upper arms. Well, no more.

Now I have skinny arms with sagging and heavily-creased skin ─ the longitudinal striations are what one would see in the advanced elderly. It looks as if practically all of my collagen has been lost.

Back in the Summer, I had managed to drop my weight ─ I am about five feet and 10.75 inches in height (or 179.705 centimetres) ─ down to around 177 pounds and was doing well at maintaining that level.

Note that I had my 72nd birthday in October. And for most of my adult life, I have weighed in the lower half of the 180s (pounds). There have been times when I did dip down into the upper half of the 170s (once at the age of 31 I may have achieved 174 pounds); and often enough I have been in the upper half of the 180s, and even into the lower half of the 190s.

Well, three days ago I thought to weigh myself on an empty stomach.

Initially, I could not interpret what the bathroom scale was displaying until it finally dawned on me that the reason was because it was registering lower than anything I ever imagined. The reading on the mechanical scale turned out to be approximately 161 pounds.

No wonder my arms look like they've been dehydrated!

The last time I weighed this little was likely when I was around 16 years old and thus still in high school. 

How am I ever going to regain the lost muscle mass / bulk at my age? 

It is not that I am just weak. I also have cripplingly reduced lung capacity. It feels as if I only have half of the breathing lung range that I did when I was healthier.

Remember, a doctor at the hospital said that my lungs were "scarred".

I no longer have a robust sneeze ─ I sneeze like a wimp. When I stand after sitting for any length of time, I have to consciously breathe rapidly as fully as is comfortable to do to stave off dizziness.

I have been trying to perform a little exercise, beginning about eight days ago when I tried a full-range push-up on the carpeted living room floor. I could only achieve one. The strain to push myself back up after just brushing the carpet with my thighs, chest, and chin made me consider that it was as if I were on some far more dense planet where my body weight was insanely increased.

The day thereafter, I managed two push-ups; then three on the day after that. And now for three or four further consecutive days, I find myself stuck at four push-ups.

Even 50 calf-raises have me breathing hard, and even coughing a little from the strain.

The day I weighed myself (three days ago), I happened to be home alone. So I attempted 50 free-style partial squats.

The end result was frightening. I could not draw in enough air. I was downstairs, and frantically came upstairs almost choking while noisily wheezing in as much oxygen as I was able in as rapid a process as was possible for me.

I was expressing so much noise while doing this that anyone here would have easily believed that I was suffering severe emphysema. I actually wondered if I might pass out ─ I seemed not to be getting relief, and I was feeling some panic.

But I gradually did settle down where I had come to be seated at the edge of my bed.

The scare now has me afraid to challenge myself physically, and I have no idea how long it is going to take me to have my lungs ever come near to feeling normalized. (And there subsequently has come the realization that I might have been courting the threat of a heart-attack.) Maybe at my age, my lungs will not ever noramlize. Sure, I will improve over the next few months, but there is never going to be a return to normal.

So how to build muscle when I am this damned feeble? I cannot even consider trying to lift anything heavy. I cannot do curls, for example, with anything that would require me to begin to breathe intensely.

The following is from WebMD.com here:

How Many People With COVID-19 Will Get Pneumonia?

About 15% of COVID-19 cases are severe. That means they may need to be treated with oxygen in a hospital. About 5% of people have critical infections and need a ventilator.

People who get pneumonia may also have a condition called acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS). It’s a disease that comes on quickly and causes breathing problems.

The new coronavirus causes severe inflammation in your lungs. It damages the cells and tissue that line the air sacs in your lungs. These sacs are where the oxygen you breathe is processed and delivered to your blood. The damage causes tissue to break off and clog your lungs. The walls of the sacs can thicken, making it very hard for you to breathe.

When I was being admitted to the hospital, I had to explicitly declare that I was refusing ever to have to be put on a ventilator or to be intubated. 

I expect that my lower lungs are likely still laden with fluid, pus, old blood, mucous, and even dead lung tissue. But how long it will take before I start to hack up this matter in any worthwhile amounts is not anything I know. As yet, I do not seem able to resurrect this material ─ coughing doesn't seem to reach that depth.

I feel scant motivation to blog, so I am going to bring this post to a close here in the latter afternoon. I will fix myself a mug of hot coffee, and watch some T.V. while biding time until my younger brother ultimately returns home from where he left this afternoon to do some drinking at the home of his girlfriend Bev.

I am certain that he has been enjoying my return from the hospital because each evening I sit up with him and operate our Android TV Box, a device that is a mystery to him. Consequently, he now has an evening T.V. buddy! Prior to me taking sick, I would go to bed mid-evening and then rise in the wee a.m. to sit up most of the night working on one thing or another here at my computer, but I no longer feel like engaging any of that work.

Ahh! My wife just got home ─ I must definitely take my leave. 

COVID Pneumonia

I have not posted since October 6. It was around then that I began feeling unwell. 

Ten days later, I was so ill that I was essentially bedridden while fully-clothed. It had gotten so bad that twice when I in desperation visited the bathroom immediately next to my bedroom, I fell. Whether or not I would have been able to get back to my bedroom, I do not know ─ my youngest stepson (in his early 20s) heard me from downstairs and came to investigate, helping me regain my feet and return to bed.

My first fall demolished a little stand next to the bathtub; my second fall broke the lid to the toilet tank.

By October 17, I was so far gone that I could no longer even rise to deal with each small pressing need to urinate ─ I had given up and was just releasing to each and every urge there where I lay in bed, fully-clothed.

It was that day that my youngest stepson phoned for an ambulance, no doubt with my wife's urging. However, when the attendants came, I refused this unplanned evacuation. I was too ashamed to be leaving home wearing the urine-drenched clothes I had on.

One of the attendants impressed upon me ─ made me say aloud that I understood ─ that I might well be about to die.

Unable for anyone to compel me to leave with them, they had no recourse to leave.

The following day ─ the 18th ─ I had resolved that I would finally go to the hospital, but I would first have a bath and change into clean clothes.

Given some help with that change, that morning (my youngest stepson had learned that the hospital ─ the Surrey Memorial ─ did not have an available ambulance. They instructed to have someone drive me there, and they would begin preparing for me ─ they already knew of me because of the ambulance's visit the day prior.

And so it was that my younger brother (69 years old; I had my 72nd birthday just ahead of mid-month) drove me to the hospital while my wife sat with me in the back seat. My youngest stepson followed in his older brother's car.

Thus it was that I was admitted, nasal-swabbed, and soon enough informed that I had "COVID pneumonia".

I was too weak to stand unaided, and in fact had to basically be wheeled about once I was admitted. Once placed onto a bed, that became my means of getting about, for I was given maybe five different hospital rooms over the course of my stay. The second room of which I was supplied with a roommate, but we (his name was "Reggie")  parted after 1½ days when I was unceremoniously bundled up with my belongings and wheeled away to a room on a different floor.

I was unable to rise to use the bathroom. I had to urinate with an affixed condom-like catheter for maybe three days, and then after that I was given sturdy cardboard 'bottles' to pee into while lying there in bed.

As for bowel movements, despite having a toilet in each room, the staff for the first five days only ever wheeled over a mobile "commode" upon which I was helped up and out of bed to sit. And there I would have to sit in full view of any staff who might enter the room. 

It was most humbling.

On that fifth day, I had such a bowel movement in the latter morning. Meantime, I kept assessing how certain I had become that the toilet was within my improving means of achieving under my own power.

When after my supper that same day I found myself needing yet another bowel movement, I resolved that the diabolical commode would never again see me putting it to use. I got to my feet, and cautiously made my way to the true toilet and ─ with some machine attachment affixed to one of my fingers which barely allowed me sufficient reach to get myself seated on the toilet ─ I did what needed to be done, and then returned to sit upon my bed.

Needless to say, when a nurse eventually came and learned what I had accomplished, she was both impressed and taken a little aback. Up till then, the most that had been done for me by way of physical therapy was to help me to my feet and to allow me to stand unaided, practicing a few different movement such as cautiously stepping from one foot to the other ─ basically marching on the spot. 

Having discovered that I could now use the toilet ─ even at night if I felt the need to urinate, for I never again used one of the cardboard 'bottles' ─ I felt considerable liberation.

I had begun spending hours a day seated in a chair by the window ─ this was my doing, for it was never exactly encouraged. I was growing much more sure on my feet despite not receiving any monitored practice ─ it was entirely my own volition.

I came to think of myself simply being there to be medically monitored and fed three times a day ─ mobility was seemingly of no concern to anyone. And I was constantly having my breathing ─ most especially at night ─ interfered with by having oxygen tubes affixed to my nostrils. These were just a couple of prongs that were inserted into the entrance of my nostrils. 

These darned things would keep me awake most of each night because I was unable to shift much or they would come loose from my nostrils. It was more like torture than any kind of help being hooked up with these prongs because I was unable to shift about in bed ─ I longed to roll over onto my stomach, for instance. My butt had begun to both hurt from always lying or sitting upon it, and to grow alarmingly numb.

After that fifth day, I thought that surely the time must be approaching when I would be getting released to go home. As I said, a few days thereafter, I began to perceive that nothing was being done for my physical therapy ─ I was doing everything on my own. All the hospital was doing was feeding me three times a day, and constantly monitoring me with their machinery. And of course, I was given numerous needles every day.

After the ninth day with no end in sight ─ just some teasing of potential imminent release that was swiftly kiboshed ─ and then the passage of even a tenth day with no end in sight, I insisted to a young doctor on the morning of my 11th day that I felt perfectly capable of being home. The only physical therapy I was getting was the activity I was devising for myself, and spending hours each day seated at a window.

The agreeable young fellow said that he would do his rounds and then begin work midday on the release paperwork if I was fully confident about my capacity to handle being home.

The noon hour came and went; and then when a nurse who was possibly in her late 40s or even her 50s learned of what I was hoping would be done, she vowed that I was not going home that day if she could prevent it ─ my breathing oxygen levels were too low.

This was infuriating. My incarceration was to continue because of a contrary nurse?

Well, the young doctor did eventually check back, and he clearly had been a little 'unnerved' by the older nurse. But I refused to submit ─ I maintained that I would find myself more active at home than I ever would be sitting in my room staring out the window.   

I should mention here that I had no T.V. (it had to be rented) nor even music to listen to. Apart from when one of the medical professionals was dealing with me, all I had were silence and my thoughts.

I wanted to go home where I could at least watch T.V.

So on the latter afternoon of that 11th day, the doctor arranged to have me assessed with a mobility challenge.

Another doctor and a nurse eventually came to test me by taking me from my room under my own power ─ i.e., on my own two feet ─ and begin walking me up and down the hall while taking readings on a mobile monitoring system to which I was attached.

I had to undergo this activity despite no one ever 'exercising' me ─ I had only gotten whatever exercise I was able to do for myself.

I had to walk for between five and 10 minutes ─ and while wearing a damned face mask. Breathing was so difficult that my mouth was wide open beneath it as I sought to breathe and not faint, for I began to think that I might not be able to pass this unfair test that had been sprung upon me.

Sincerely, I believe that I was meant to fail ─ maybe even yield and give up.

Through sheer resolve, I somehow endured the duration of their test. And I got congratulated ─ they approved me.

And so at long last, I got released to go home. My eldest stepson (in his latter 20s) came for me, and awaited outside. I had dressed and was sitting in my room waiting for his call. When it came, I sought some directions ─ I was on the seventh floor, and apparently expected to find my own way out of the place.

Fortunately, one nurse did decide to escort me to an elevator and took me to the ground floor, waving me in the direction that I needed to take to get outside.

It was raining, but the cold wet air was fabulous to my reportedly badly scarred lungs.

And so after entering the hospital on the morning of October 18th, I was released late in the afternoon of the 28th. I was free.