Coffee heat rising

NOT the fungus that ate Arizona, after all!

Today: the second time in a row that I walked out of the Mayo Clinic feeling tremendously relieved.

The young doc’ — a resident, unless I miss my guess — listened to my woeful tale and surmised:

a) probably not thrush
b) probably chemical irritation from the stuff I used to clean my night guard device

I had thought this scenario was a possibility, but since

also a) I do wash that stuff off carefully and so there shouldn’t be enough left to cause a problem;
and b) thrush can spread into your esophagus, at which time you do have a troublesome issue…

for these reasons I feared (as usual) the worst.

She conferred with her attending physician, who agreed with her hypothesis.

Advice: do not do anything, do not apply anything, do not swallow anything. Just wait. It will go away.

Blood pressure, even though their underling did everything wrong (feet hanging off the edge of a table, arm hanging down at my side: systolic = 126.

This was after I’d run up three flights of garage stairs, which I like to do when I go out there because it’s a nice opportunity to get some gratuitous exercilse.

So, once again I’m not at Death’s door. After all.

As for Young Dr. Kildare? His office never called me back after their robo-answering machine serenaded me for 10 minutes before forcing me to leave a mechanized message. So we’ll be saying good-bye to him, oince and for all. Not so much to him but to his employer. Good-bye, Samaritan Health Services or whatever you’re calling yourself these days. 😀

 

Never a Dull Moment…

Crap. So here I am sitting around listening to an endlessly annoying robo-answering machine yakathon, trying to get through to Young Dr. Kildare’s office. Ad after ad after ad after “do you have [THIS SCARY DISEASE?]” and “we just hired [THIS EXPENSIVE NEW SPECIALIST]” blats. Damn, it’s worse than the vet’s office.

Looks like I’ve come down with a case of thrush — a nasty little fungal infection of the mouth. Hurts. A lot.

{chortle!} While I was writing that whole long series on overuse and misuse of prescription drugs here in the US and throughout the developed world, I was thinking isn’t it odd that this Claritin stuff doesn’t seem to have ANY side effects?

The stuff not only beats back the most obvious allergy miseries, by clearing out the head — and presumably the aging Eustachian tubes — it has made the episodes of vertigo (accompanied by a terrifying sensation of heart palpitations) go COMPLETELY away. I haven’t had another of those unpleasant moments since I started taking these handy-dandy little pills.

Well, so it seemed. Until a couple of days ago when the tongue and the inside of the lips started to swell up.

I assumed it was irritation from the damned dental nightguard that I have to wear to keep from pulverizing what remains of my teeth. Stopped wearing it.

Irritation just got worse. Nothing, of course, helps.

Last night I’m about to gulp down an allergy pill so as to be able to breathe through the night and think…uh oh!

Look it up.

Yup. One of the potential side effects of Claritin indeed is, yea verily, thrush! It’s not actually listed as a direct effect, nor does the infection itself appear in more credible sources. It comes about indirectly from the dry mouth the drug can cause.

Okay, after almost 15 minutes YDK’s yak-a-thon shunted me over to the “leave a message” recording. See, there was a REASON i wanted to speak with a human…

So after leaving word and hanging up the phone and feeling pretty irked, decided to see if I can get in at the Mayo. It really isn’t THAT much further than YDK’s new office is — he’s way over on the westside now. And driving to far east Scottsdale does not require trekking through mile after mile after dreary mile of slums.

Besides, on the way home I can stop at the Fancy Fry’s Market at Tatum & Shea. Got an appointment at 2:30, convenient because it does not require doing battle with rush-hour traffic. For a change. That will leave some time for an errand.

And the Mayo puts classical music on its answering machine, choosing not to insult you with annoying advertising messages.

Damn it, though! I’d planned to use today to do some writing and to send an article proposal to a new editor. Driving halfway to Payson and back will consume the entire afternoon, especially if I have to drop by a drugstore on the way home. Actually, the Fry’s has a drugstore…but that entails standing around for 15 or 20 minutes while they prepare the stuff. Takes a full hour to get out there…so I leave here at 1:30, kill half-an-hour or 40 minutes there, kill half an hour on the way home picking up the drug, continue the journey for another half-hour…that’s a minimum three hours. Then I have to go to choir this evening. By the time I get back, I’ll just have time to fix and bolt down dinner before shooting back out the door.

I am so, so, so-o-o-o-o tired of going to doctors!

Buying: The Herd Instinct

Today I donated two ever-so-slightly pricey tops — or maybe very short dresses, depending on your point of view. They were cute enough, in their way. Quality construction, well made, handsome enough in their way. But every time I put one of them on and looked in the mirror, I wondered what on earth POSSESSED me to buy this? What? Herd instinct, that’s what.

There are three of us who like to go shopping together in an olde-towne shop in darkest Glendale. It is a cool little store in a vintage house. The owner has a killer eye for a certain type of clothing. We all like each other and have a great time. And we like the owner, because she’s quite a hoot, one of those gifted sales people who knows how to sell without seeming to be selling. Every time we go to this place, we all stumble out beneath the sheer weight of our purchases.

I bought each of these things there, probably during different outings. And here’s the problem: they have ruffles.

Ruffles are not my style. Decidedly not. In fact you could even say I hate ruffles. But for reasons unknown to personkind, I purchased not one but two garments with ruffled hems.

Ugh. Why?

The only explanation is that we were resonating off each other so vibrantly that we would each buy anything the others said was “cute.” One vote for “cute” would be persuasive. Two votes: a clincher.

It was far from the first time this phenomenon has struck in my precincts. I used to hang out with a friend, now long gone, whose tastes were far snootier than this pair’s. She lowered herself to shop in Saks.

One time she and I were shopping for Eileen Fisher at the local Saks, and we hit a mother lode. Everything we tried on (we assured each other) was exceeding cute. Not a thread of it was on sale.

That day I bought four or five hundred dollars worth of clothes. Yeah, that’s true: !!!!!

I got the pile of rags home — and with Eileens, you can’t miss. Modeled them in front of the mirror for myself. Was impressed. Clearly my taste was impeccable.

Then looked at the receipt that fell out of the bag and thought…holy shit!

Five hundred bucks was about $450 beyond my clothing budget.

So, without ever mentioning it to Her Snootiness (I kid you not: this woman, while married to a guy who owned a Kentucky bluegrass race horse farm, used to go to fashion shows in New York and buy designer outfits directly off the runway), next day I packed up all those clothes and took ’em back to Saks.

To my amazement, the saleslady accepted the returns without batting a proverbial eyelash.

No way on God’s Green Earth would I have have bought all that stuff if I hadn’t been in the store competing to try on clothes with my then-friend.

See what I mean? Herd instinct.

It got better, that incident did. Two or three weeks later, I happened to be passing through Saks and noticed they were having one of their seasonal sales. Naturally I trot over to the designer racks (doesn’t everyone?) and start to paw through them.

What do I find but almost all the rags I’d brought back…marked down about 50 percent.

Couldn’t freaking believe it.

This time — in the absence of my resonating friend — I picked out the pieces that I really liked and that really looked good on me. Walked out of there with the best of the things she thought I’d purchased, at a fraction of the price.

Never told her that, of course. She thought I was walking around in a $500 wardrobe.

Is there a moral to the story?

Sure:

Never shop in the company of friends.

The Drugging of America: Lifestyle as Remedy

In considering the plague of overprescription afflicting our country and many others, we’ve seen that huge numbers of Americans regularly take pills — prescribed or over-the-counter — that are unnecessary, inappropriate, redundant, or otherwise ill-advised. Many of these remedies, inflicted on patients for reasons both altruistic and self-serving, do not treat the chronic problem for which they are intended. Some of these people should never have been deemed “patients,” and their supposed problem is not a real problem at all. Often the drugs do not prevent future drastic health events, but instead inflict harm on the people who are persuaded to take them.

This is happening for a variety of reasons, ranging from doctors’ natural concern for patients’ well-being to the exploitation of these concerns by the spectacularly profitable pharmaceutical industry, which stands to gain many billions of dollars by putting the aging Baby Boom generation on long-term drug therapies. Two examples of this — among many — are the new vogue for diagnosing and treating scary-sounding “pre-conditions” and the campaign to lower the threshold for diagnosing “hypertension” to the point where some two-thirds of the American population are targeted for blood pressure meds.

As a result, more and more people are taking more and more drugs, often to no useful purpose. There’s even a name for it: “polypharmacy”– taking five or more prescription drugs to treat chronic conditions. By 2013, the Mayo Clinic estimated that 20% of Americans were taking that many drugs at a time; 70% were on at least one prescription. It gets worse as you get older: some 25% of people aged 65 to 69 are on five or more drugs, and that figure jumps to 46% for those between 70 and 79. This is not a benign thing: polypharmacy results in a wide variety of health problems and can lead to death.

The problem has become so pervasive that public agencies in the United States, Canada, Great Britain, and Europe have launched “de-prescribing” campaigns, efforts to inform the public of the risks of overprescription and to get people off unnecessary medications. These public-education schemes provide useful guidelines for identifying drugs that you might not need to be taking and for reducing the number and potential toxicity of drugs taken to treat real conditions.

Understand: I am not a doctor, and so what follows does not constitute medical advice. If you have a life-threatening ailment — or one that compromises the quality of your life and is unlikely to go away on its own — you need to see a doctor and follow a doctor’s advice. If you question that doctor’s judgment, get a second opinion; do not base your decisions on what you read on the Internet.

But here is what seems to be the case…

Some ailments, as we have seen with the “pre-condition” fad, are not ailments. They might (or might not) indicate a vulnerability to some ailment, but they are not the ailment. Furthermore, some real ailments can be treated with physical therapy,; by laying off the tobacco, the sugar, and the booze; and by building an all-around healthy lifestyle.

Yeah, I know: heard it on the Internet…

But a review at The NNT (“number needed to treat“) caught my eye and convinced me to look further into the “lifestyle change” gambit. This study showed that for people who have not yet begun to show signs of heart disease, the so-called “Mediterranean diet” does indeed work to help prevent heart attack and stroke. Say the researchers: “…based on a 30% reduction in events the Mediterranean Diet represents the most beneficial and least harmful intervention we have seen.” Even then: only 1 in 61 were helped; but none were harmed, contrary to the pharmaceutical approach.

Okay, that’s fine if you have no cardiovascular symptoms and you’ve never enjoyed a cardiovascular event. But what if you’re already sick with one or more  heart and vascular issues? Read on…

Way back in 1998, a five-year randomized study of heart attack victims (of whom 10% were women) showed that people who had already experienced a cardiac event were much more likely to stay well if they ate a Mediterranean diet rather than the diet then recommended by the American Heart Association — which, we might add, was far lower in cholesterol and sodium than the standard American diet. After about four years, 8% of the 303 people in the control group had died; but only 4.67% of the 302 Mediterranean dieters died. Got that? Thirty-four AHA dieters vs. fourteen on the Mediterranean eating pattern. That’s more than twice as many deaths!

Additionally, 33 members of the control group (8.2%) experienced nonfatal heart attacks, vs. 8  in the Mediterranean group (2.6%). Thirty-three? Forgodsake, that’s four times as many recurrences of cardiac events among the people who eat modified, low-fat American fare!

The reviewer of this study, Dr. Joshua Quaas, remarks that “The magnitude of this study’s results is astonishing. To compare saving a life post-heart attack with this diet (NNT= 30) and with statins (NNT=83) suggests that diet is nearly three times more powerful as a life-saving tool. A few factors make this particularly remarkable. Cancers were also reduced, while some authors have raised concerns about statins increasing cancer risk (without supporting evidence in the industry-sponsored trials to date). Imagine that the control group had been following a typical dietary pattern rather than the AHA recommended diet; the size of the effect could be even greater. Finally, the study suggests that cholesterol, which was not reduced by the Mediterranean diet, may not be as important a dietary consideration for heart disease prevention as currently thought and practiced.” In a 2010 update, Dr. Quaas observed, “Given the existing data and lack of harms the Mediterranean diet seems beneficial and should be strongly recommended at this time.”

The Mediterranean diet is one hell of a lot tastier than a fistful of pills. It will not make you dizzy. It will not make your head hurt. It will not cause you to feel so fatigued you can barely crawl from the bed to the toilet. It will not cause your hair to fall out. And it will not turn a profit for any huge pharmaceutical corporations. Combine it with exercise and modest weight loss, and you can bring your blood pressure down and improve your cardiovascular health without benefit of Big Pharma.

That latter contingency is probably the reason we don’t see every doctor in the land putting patients on a diet of veggies, fruits, fish, and modest amounts of meat swathed in olive oil. Once again we return to the old investigative reporter’s dictum: Follow the money trail. Nobody’s getting rich on it, so it’s not the “treatment” you’re going to get.

The Mediterranean diet also works against “pre-diabetes,” and it can be helpful for people who have actual, real diabetes. In 2009, results of a four-year study showed that people with type 2 diabetes who stuck to a Mediterranean diet with at least 30% of calories coming from fats (primarily olive oil) gained better control over the the condition without diabetes medications than those who ate a low-fat diet with no more than 30% of calories from fat (with less than 10% coming from saturated fat sources). In this study, 44% of people who agreed to follow the Mediterranean diet ended up having to take medications to control blood sugar. But 70% of those in the low-fat diet  group did.

The so-called “Mediterranean diet” is not exactly “health food,” at least not in the way most of us think of the revolting exotica favored by fanatics. It is, in a word, delicious. It is Italian food. It is French food. It is Greek food. With a backyard grill or a decent oven, it is ridiculously easy to prepare. And you can buy the ingredients in any grocery store.

It does require you to learn to cook, in a low-key way. But the labor involved has yet to kill anyone.

And it’s not what I would call a “diet.” No one is going to feel deprived if forced to stick to this cuisine:

  • abundant fruits and vegetables
  • olive oil as the principal source of fat
  • fish and poultry consumed in low to moderate amounts
  • dairy consumption is mostly of cheese and yogurt (less butter/cream)
  • red meat consumed in low amounts
  • red wine in low to moderate amounts

Compared to the wacksh!t diets some would like to put us on (remember when we all had to abandon our butter for margarine? Remember when we decided that oops! all that hydrogenated corn oil not only wasn’t helping you, it was harming you?), it’s strictly from cordon bleu.

If you need a guide to this, here’s a website devoted to hyping it. The Mayo Clinic has a shorter and less self-interested page describing the scheme, nicely organized in one place and easy to understand. And about two-thirds of the recipes in my cookbook, 30 Pounds/4 Months, fall under the heading of “Mediterranean,” as defined by these guidelines.

So, eat well, drink well. Do not smoke. And avoid eating and drinking things that are laced with sugar and other chemicals.

And also exercise well. Contrary to enthusiasts’ insistence, you do not have to go out and beat yourself to exhaustion: you can extract health benefits from ordinary, mild exercise. The trick is to do it regularly and not to hate it. A thirty-minute walk a day will do the trick. Walk the dogs. Go for a brisk stroll in your local park. Walk to shopping instead of driving. Climb the steps instead of riding the elevator one or two or three stories.

Whenever you can generate an opportunity to create some extra steps, do it. In a parking lot, park as far away from the store or office entrance as you can get. If you go into a Safeway and then need to visit the Walgreen’s catty-corner across the street, don’t move your car over there: leave your car in the grocery-store lot and walk across the intersection and back. Have a parking garage at the office? Park on the top floor and go down and back up by the stairs.

These very simple strategies will help you to avoid developing a chronic healthcare problem, and if you do, they can help you to control it or maybe even make it go away.

What about so-called “alternative care?” Will gulping supplements, for example, cure what ails you?

No.

Snake-oil salesmen come at you from all directions, not just through medical practices targeted by Big Pharma. Remember: those supplements are produced somewhere, and that somewhere is often Big Pharma. There’s as much money in over-the-counter nostrums as in the prescription varieties.

For some time, we were told that calcium, magnesium, and potassium supplements would work miracles for our cardiac health, for example. Not so much, as it developed. For managing hypertension, a 2006 study showed “no robust evidence to suggest that combinations of potassium, calcium or magnesium can reduce high blood pressure (BP) in adults.”

So convinced are we, though, that popping pills must be the key to good health that by 2013 more than half of Americans and 68% of those 65 and older were regularly swallowing vitamins.

The fact is, though, no conclusive evidence has shown that dietary supplements prevent chronic disease in most people. Nutrients that occur naturally in a healthy diet and protect from certain ailments may, when distilled into a pill, have exactly the opposite effect. For a long time, for example, we were told that beta carotene was going to protect us from “oxidation” and the subsequent damage to cells that would lead to cancer. Imagine the surprise, then, when several strong studies in the 1990s showed that ingesting beta carotene supplements increased lung cancer rates among hopeful smokers. We were told that vitamin E, another antioxidant, also would protect us from cancer. Well, no: a 2011 study showed that vitamin E and selenium not only did not prevent cancer, they actually increased prostate cancer rates among men — by 17 percent!

It does not seem to matter whether the pills come to you over the counter or through a prescription. If you do not have a life-threatening or pain-inducing condition — a real one, not one invented to sell drugs — don’t take pills.

There are better ways to maintain health and to treat the conditions (if “conditions” they can be called) that come naturally with living and aging. Healthy eating. Moderate drinking. Moderate exercise. Abstention from known toxins (such as tobacco and dope). None of these things are hard. And none of them cost you or your insurer anything like what a prescription costs.

Series:
The Drugging of America

Out, About, and the Frugality of DIY

Only noon, and this has already been a busy day.

After returning from an early breakfast out with some dear friends, I took it into my hot little head to wash the car, before it actually does get really hot outside. Parked the annoying little tank in the shade, penned up the dogs, and dragged the hose out to the driveway.

Night before last, I’d vacuumed the dog hair out of the driver’s-side carpeting. Cassie and Ruby’s hair forms a film over the tile floors. Even when the floor looks clean, in fact a skiff of dog hair coats it. The loose hairs stick to the bottom of my shoes and shake off onto the car’s fake carpeting every time I get into the vehicle. The stuff is kind of brushy in texture: it grabs every hair and clings tight to it.

You can’t just brush it out. You have to vacuum it, and an ordinary household vac doesn’t work much better than a cleaning brush or a dog-hair removing gadget. You have to wrestle it out with a shop vac. And I can assure you: that is a job.

Also the day before yesterday, I’d gone down to the Target at Bum Central…, uhm, Christown Spectral Spectrum Mall after filling up with gas at the Costco in the same garden shopping center. Target: because I’d learned that lidded plastic kitchen trash bins of the sort I intend to use in the plan to repel garbage-scavenging identity thieves are now so out of style that supermarkets no longer carry them. Costco no longer carries them. And…yeah, Target had one…they wanted 60 bucks for it!!!!

Give. Me. A. Proverbial. BREAK!

Do I really have to order this thing from Amazon? Seriously???

I decide to travel abroad: it occurs to me that The Container Store at Town & Country Mall would be likely to have one of these antiquated designs. They have everything else, after all. And so, it was off to traipse across the city in search of an ordinary plastic trash basket, that rarest of all commodities.

On the way I passed a Bed Bath & Beyond and thought they surely would have the things, probably cheaper. But parking in that mall’s lot is a freaking nightmare, especially around the lunch hour — which, by then, it was. So proceeded on a quarter-mile to the Container Store.

Good thing: Lookit this!!! Twenty-five bucks at BB&B for a fine red trash can, a piddling 7 gallons. And no lid!

A regular 15- or 20-gallon plastic trash can — also without a lid, the sort of thing you used to see around an office: not available at BB&B unless you also buy a slide-under-the-counter apparatus, to the tune of  $32 to $68:
They’re kidding, right?

At The Container Store, I found lidded trash cans for around $13, which was inflation-adjusted OK. I guess. They only had one model, cheesily designed. Prices for most ranged from $35 to upwards of $200.

W.
T.
F.
?????

So I got the cheapest lidded thing I could find. It will do the job, but for how long?… Not very, I expect.

What the hell is going on in this country that you can’t even buy an ordinary kitchen waste basket!???

Meanwhile, the car really needed to be washed. Normally I’d park it outside in a rainstorm, let the shower wash it, then pull it back into the garage and dry it off. But we haven’t had a decent rain in many, many months. The car was filthy and the windshield so dirty I couldn’t get it clean enough to see through, even with squirt window cleaner.

There’s a car wash across the street from Town & Country, one of the few remaining car washes that do a halfway decent job. So decided to cruise through there, rather than having to (ugh!) actually work to do the long-overdo job myself.

Not so much.

The car wash is mobbed, as usual, because it’s the only actual full-service operation for miles around. But on approach, I find they’ve revamped their entry lanes, adding a lane labeled “Express Wash.” This takes you straight into the car wash, without making you stop at gas pumps, where they hope to sell you not only gas but windshield repair and tire polish and any number of other fine emoluments. There’s no one in it, so naturally I dart in.

Then I realize there’s a reason no one is in this entry lane: it’s for people who have bought a “membership”!

Heh. Evidently there’s not much demand for car wash memberships. 😀

Luckily. With no one behind me, I back out. And see that all the other lanes are jam-packed. And wonder…why am I doing this? My hose works, no? Do I not have a whole bottle of automotive window wash stuff? Do I not have a sprayer? Do I not have a giant stack of microfiber rags?

So wove around the dozens of waiting patrons and headed on my merry way.

That saved about $15, approximately the cost of the prized plastic waste bin.

Washing the car is really very easy. And it provides some nice exercise. By the time I got home from this a.m.’s crack-of-dawn breakfast, it was still fairly cool outside, and the yellow oleander was casting a large patch of shade across the driveway. I’ve found that those 3-M sponge blocks made for cleaning your walls work handsomely to rub off smashed bugs and road tar — and they do not seem to damage the finish. Soaking a clean microfiber rag with windshield wiper fluid (it comes in 1.5-gallon bottles) and wiping down the windows with that works much better to clean the windows than Windex and paper towels.

Whilst thrashing the bush in search of a waste basket, I happened into a Costco (which would be why I happen to know Costco doesn’t carry them). IMPULSE BUY: grab one of their wonderful roasted chickens for lunch (and future meals).

Ahem.

Make that “formerly wonderful.”

Stash everything away and sit down to what I think will be a great meal of roast chicken, fried potatoes, and salady stuff.

Not so much…

The chicken was SO OVERSALTED it would make your mouth pucker up!

Yech!

Of course, Costco’s chicken has always been salty. It is, after all, a processed food — it comes from the slaughterhouse injected with brine and then has various “flavorings” (mostly salt) added. But it was never intolerable before. This one was, in a word, inedible.

So I peeled all the rest of the meat off the carcass — meat I’d planned to use for at least two or three more meals — bagged it up to use for future dog food, and put the bones in the freezer for a future pot of chicken broth. Which I won’t have to salt…

Is it too salty to give to the dogs? No doubt. However, I’d also bought a giant slab of pork tenderloin there. This morning I cooked up a quarter of it, which I’ll grind up in the food processor with the chicken. and of course, the dogs’ meat is mixed with veggies and oatmeal or rice. “Diluting” it in that way, I hope, will make it more or less edible for canids. Just remember to put out extra water…

So that’s the last time I’ll buy roasted chicken at Costco. Too bad.

Wash your own car. Roast your own chicken. Get better service. Save a lotta money.

Yipes! Allergic to life???

So I’m down at the church putting in a little volunteer time and altogether enjoying my hot little self.

About three hours into this excursion, I realize I’m damn hungry (sorry, God, but You’re responsible for this hunger gig, so kindly hold the lightning bolt), so I raid some leftover cupcakes that have been remaindered to the work table. Pretty tasty: some sort of spice cake nummy commercially processed and processed stuffoid.

An hour or so later — mebbe less — get home and start gathering chow to heat on the Que:

  • 1 small piece beefsteak
  • 1 handful of pre-roasted potatoes, needing a reheat
  • 1 fistful of fresh asparagi [i hate the Mac, which hits, somehow, backspace-skip-back-over-half-a-dozen-words-for-no-rational-reason]

Place these edibles on the grill; pour a glass of wine.

DAYum, but that wine…well…it HURTS. The inside of the lips hurt hurt fuckin’ HURT.

WTF? Cold sore? Reeeellly??? Bottom lip as well as top lip? Seriously?????

Stumble to bathroom while chow is grilling, inspect the maw.

Yeah, lots of redness around the inside of the lips. External part of lips starting to swell. No sign of a localized cold sore. Hm… DIY diagnosis: allergic reaction to some goddamnfool thing.

Like…really, really, REALLLYYYYY i cannot afford another trip to the Emergency Room, dear God and dear Medicare. What to do?

Drop an allergy pill, of course.

What can go wrong, eh?

Not dead by the time the magnificent meal comes off the grill.

Still hurts to eat dinner. But…no sign of anaphylactic shock.

Yet.

Munch a handful of chocolate chips for “dessert.”

Decide I have not yet died. Pour one final glass of wine.

Hurts slightly less to consume this dose of lip-singeing potable.

Ersatz dessert inhaled. Dogs placated. Wine snurfled up. And…the swelling (which was proceeding apace by the time I dropped a Claritin) is much reduced. A sip of wine does not feel like it was preheated in a blast furnace.

Thank you, Your Godship.

But nevertheless (apologies to Your Godship): SOMETHING there is that allergic reaction kicks up!

What?

Only the faintest clues:

  • cinnamon?
  • industrial chemical added to processed bakery goods? fake white frosting??? ersatz vanilla flavoring?
  • whatever else was in the tasty treat, which, being highly processed, was pretty damned anonymized?

Dunno.

Thinking maybe I need to keep a few allergy pills in the car, there to have recourse should this happen again

As I click “Publish” for this idle post, the effect — whatever its cause — is almost gone.

Message? Do not, my loves, DO NOT eat fake food, no matter how hungry you think you are. The starving children in Bangladesh are a lot hungrier.