Category: health

Re: Allergy

People with allergies can be the butt of jokes. When schools had to design policies around the potentially deadly outcome of peanut allergies in children, controversial comedian Louis CK got headlines because he suggested that “If touching a nut kills you, maybe you’re supposed to die.”

Today, I was tempted by a fresh black cherry. When I am exposed to certain foods I can get allergic reactions that could include; a runny nose, sneezing, coughing, shortness of breath, swelling, itchy palate, or red eyes. I can relate to the ads on television during allergy season promoting their product’s efficacy in removing all these sorts of symptoms. I know about the risk of certain foods, but that cherry looked so red, ripe, and delicious. I ate it and felt fine, for ten minutes, then I got all the reactions I just described. I didn’t die, but I was a noisy, mucus-filled mess for half an hour. ’Twas not a pretty sight.

I didn’t always suffer from the A disease. In my twenties, I moved from southern to northern Ontario and that particular summer was apparently the worst pine pollen bloom of-all-time. The yellow powder was smeared on vehicle windshields, it coated clothing hanging outside to dry, and was a sticky icing on the surface of lakes and rivers. I can’t see how anyone could avoid having their lungs clogged by this powdery air. From that bio-hazard summer to this day I can start sneezing over unknown elements in the air, or in the beverages I drink, or on the animals I pet, or in some of the foods I ingest. It’s a crap shoot.

Many medications are available for allergy relief. My doctors have prescribed many remedies (the best being codeine) and I have settled on a formula of antihistamine, decongestant, and anti-inflammatory to reduce most of the symptoms, most of the time. Sometimes I can predict what might bring on an attack and take the necessary pill(s) in advance. I always carry a tissue in my pocket. It’s usually damp.

The first thing I’m asked when going to a hospital is, “Do you have any allergies?” I want to be dismissive but I usually say it’s only seasonal. When I sneeze (loudly) in a grocery store aisle I want to go to customer service to tell them to assure everyone with an announcement, “It’s just allergies folks!” I fell in love with a woman who took out a Kleenex after her first bite of food, from our first restaurant meal, just as I did too! It’s breezy to be sneezy, when you’re in love.

Jeff Bridges was in a film about a plane crash. Surviving this ordeal, he finds that he no longer has a severe strawberry allergy. In joy, he becomes fearless in attitude, thinking he was somehow blessed by the tragic experience, making him immune to normal human frailty. There are many ailments that afflict our species. Within the great spectrum of illness I know that I am lucky to only have a response to a few allergens. It’s not likely to kill me.

Re: Comedy

My mom used to tease. My sister, father and I found her intentionally mean jokes discomforting. Consequently I learned that having a laugh at someone else’s expense was not comedy. John Cleese, of Monty Python fame, posted a message on Substack regarding the difference between affectionate teasing vs nasty teasing. I took exception to his exceptionalism because I’d seen the devastating results of my mom ‘taking the mickey’ out on innocent angels. It’s no surprise that her favourite comedians were Don Rickles, Joan Rivers, and Rodney Dangerfield. Mom was dead before Ricky Gervais made a name for himself through insults, but I’m sure she would have liked his style. Teasing, Insults, Swearing, and Sarcasm can be found in my Book of Humour under the chapter titled: Cheap Shots.

Humour is subjective. Art is required to be judged by the individual. It’s how we figure out that our mouth is not the only place where taste can be discerned. And, of course, it’s impossible for all to agree on what comedy means, anymore than we can be uniform in our response to the flavour of olives. My love of humour tends toward the silly and the slapstick. I don’t understand how my bride absolutely hates silly comedy yet she loves scatological humour. To me, the silliness found in Monty Python sketches is innocent and wise at the same moment. The Three Stooges enthralled me as a child with their antics of mayhem. Later, I laughed at the absurd body language of Jerry Lewis, Dick Van Dyke, Rowan Atkinson, and Jim Carrey.

My favourite actors are also comedians. Sometimes the line between pathos and buffoonery can seem gauze-like. Robin Williams mastered this dichotomy as did Jack Lemmon before him. Humour is perhaps the most provocative art form. The double entendre found in most witticisms sets up a conflict in the mind, making it difficult to decide the truth. Stand-up comedy is challenging in this way as it reminds me of the court jesters of centuries ago trying to please the royal master while playing to the impoverished masses. Editorial cartoonists like Michael deAdder perform a similar function of pillorying political figures to make an inconvenient truth apparent. In these cases we might join in mocking laughter; “The joke’s on you!”

Comedy has to catch you at the right moment. This year is the 50th anniversary of that comedic phenomenon Saturday Night Live. Lorne Michaels deserves credit for creating this iconic television show and nurturing hundreds of comics in the process. Dark, silly, political, sexual, racial, religious and physical humour are blended like a box of specialty chocolates. The spontaneous nature of the sketches, the improvisations, can land with a bang or a plop. Something coming off funny can depend on the mood of the audience as much as the skill of the performer.

What strikes your funny-bone may be arbitrary, yet comedy is necessary to our mental health. It’s no accident that situational comedies on television have been a staple of that medium. We need to laugh most when the situation seems most dire.

Re: Hospital

My dad hated hospitals and I wished I had probed his reasons why. Everyone has a different experience when it comes to seeking or getting medical care. I view hospitals as places to get repairs for the hard knocks of life, however I’ve never needed to go to one in an emergency. Lucky me; I go when I feel it’s time for mending.

My heart needed correcting for atrial fibrillation so I opted for a surgical approach. The wait was longer than a year so that added to my jubilation when I got cleared for the procedure. My bride escorted me to the correct wing of the complex and I was patient Number Five for my turn with the medical team. The plaque above the nurse’s station said CSS; Cardiac Short Stay. This ward had 18 beds with a ratio of three beds per nurse. The place was a constant buzz of activity from my arrival at 7:30 a.m. to my departure at 8 p.m.

I had lots of time to witness what a hospital (at least in this section) was all about. Computer monitors and tech-looking machines were everywhere but it became clear to me that people still drive this institution. I witnessed many types of workers with things to do, surprisingly most had a piece of paper, or a folder of papers, in one hand. Many papers were filed with other papers, which were then located and typed into an available computer to create what I imagined to be a permanent record. As time passed slowly, I pushed boredom aside by creating stories, most of which were true. I was prepped in several ways for my Pulsed Field Ablation (a new computer assisted technique). I was shaved in areas I’m too shy to mention. An IV that meant business was hooked up to my arm. In one instance a four-foot-tall nurse in full PPE hooked me up for an ECG. Meanwhile several nurses clustered nearby laughing hysterically over a gift shop novelty bag filled with stationary items, and labelled “For Those on a Diary Diet.”

I was there long enough to feel part of the gang. And then it was my turn. Anaesthetic is no laughing matter but somehow I managed to spill some unintentional jokes in the operating room. Through the mental fog, I shouted to all who were near that I was a man of words, not of numbers. Once in the doctors’ Total Control, a snake-like device entered my body to find its way to my heart where it corrected my arhythmic heart’s cadence. Seconds later (or so it seemed) I was coming out of that dreamland with difficulty; sore throat, disorientation. I even made manic calls for an imaginary chiropractor when my neck refused to work. Traumatic!

In conclusion, hospitals are institutions that rely on professional integrity. Real people seemed determined to help me feel better and I felt like an adventurer choosing a brand new medical procedure to lengthen the quality of my life. In short, it was a pretty decent way to spend a day.

Re: Worst

I had an incident involving insurance and it made me spiral to thoughts of worst case scenarios. As clouds of worsening doubt gathered about, I found surprising comfort in ranking the worst moments in my life in one paragraph. The effort convinced me that my current situation was not that bad. I just had to get a grip.

Making a list of tragedies and traumas sounds depressing but it did offer me a sense of control. Control can sometimes bring a certain calmness. If you like order in your life then putting things down on paper offers perspective. The list I made that day was revised several times. That’s a cool thing about judgement; our sense of a moment’s impact more or less changes as we gain the wisdom of hindsight. I call it My Best Worst List. This summary list became a therapeutic accounting of the crappy moments that I wish hadn’t happened, but did.

My first wife died of cancer when we were both only 50 years old. That was entered as the worst on my self-therapy list. I suffered clinical depression 7 years before that, making it second on my collection of lifetime worst events. A simple surgery went wrong so I had a hellish night in an emergency room. A family trip was once aborted due to a flat tire that nearly killed us all (I was driving and I still have chest pains from the memory of that experience). My sister ending her life prematurely is on my list. I had a best friend who bailed on a European hitchhiking trip AND being my best man at my wedding, which was a total bummer. In grade nine I got the one/two punch of my parents separating then we moved to a city AND I had to go to a new high school. Too cruel!

Bad things don’t have to happen before we know what the good times feel like. Pain is pain in the moment. Time heals if we don’t focus on our suffering. Feeling low is normal and it doesn’t have to be linked to one happening. Identifying something on a scale of bad to worse is the first step to understanding the bigger picture of your life. For me, sometimes it was a matter of encouraging myself to hang on for-one-more-day. On the worst days I felt lucky to have someone provide the guidance to see the way ahead, out of the gloom. Humour helps at the right time, delivered in a positive way. Silliness tends to lift me up before things get worser.

A ruined birthday party can be the worst thing in the whole world for a four year old. You grow older. Tragedies mount. You learn from the school of hard knocks. It helps to share your story, comparing war wounds over a beer and liverwurst lunch. You can laugh with a soul mate while discussing the value of worsted wool over synthetic fibre. Always remember; things could be worse! I’m resolved to leave the past where it belongs.

Re: Pill

The pills in my medicine cabinet give me a sense of control even when I don’t use them. Everybody has pain in their lives and sometimes a pill makes it better. Like it or not I belong to a culture that finds it acceptable for people to modify their brains. You can choose tobacco, coffee, alcohol prescription or illicit drugs depending on your situation. Whatever method you choose, the common goal is the same: To feel better.

My mom would often have mood swings. When she was exasperated with me or my sister she would snarl, “You’re such a pill!” When we got older she would lose patience with us if we were doing typical adolescent things causing her to say, “Take a pill, why don’t you!” Such was the nature of her language use that the word Pill could be so haphazardly used to show feelings or give abstract advice. In truth she had a substance abuse problem herself, that varied according to economics and availability.

News headlines often refer to a ‘war on drugs’ as overdose deaths rise or police report drug den discoveries. Law abiding folks wring their hands saying they fear to walk on downtown streets. Statistics regarding substance abuse should make us scared. Any population must raise an alarm when death by overdose/poisoning becomes the main cause of death. In Victoria, BC a university student died in Jan.2024 of fentanyl poisoning. She was one of 200 in the province who died that month! For six years BC has been in a state of declared emergency over this dilemma.

I don’t take street drugs, but I have been prescribed medication that has helped me through tough times, both physical and mental. I try not to judge others; looking down my nose at other people’s choices is not helpful especially when it comes to the topic of addiction, which should be a health concern, not a criminal offence. I am a car driver. I expect my government to help me if I get into an accident. I expect there to be government regulations that will keep the car and the roads I drive on as safe as possible. I will continue to drive my car even though I’m aware that my car can be an instrument of death; accidental or intentional. Drugs and cars are a fact of life in my culture. The risks and rewards are great when using either. Maybe someday I will see the wisdom of not owning/operating a car but in the meantime I want systems in place that will mitigate any harm I may cause to myself or others. The same goes for drugs.

It’s a given that people may choose to take a pill, or any substance that helps to relieve the pain of life. The student I mentioned was given pills laced with fentanyl by a ‘trusted source’. Her mother is grieving. Harm reduction is advocated by groups like Mothers Stop The Harm.  Our drug supplies must be regulated. No one deserves to suffer. No one needs to die.

Re: Relax

I once took a course in anger management. When I indicated this fact on a resume, at a subsequent job interview for a high school teaching position, the boss asked if I had anger issues. I said, “No but a lot of people seem to.” The tension dispersed and he laughed. I explained to the Principal that in teaching I found it helpful to have a variety of skills for defusing the anger I had found in my classrooms. He was listening. I told him that some strategies also benefitted me when it came time to talk through issues with adults during parent/teacher reporting sessions. I said it was an aspect of teacher education that I thought was missing from my original training. He seemed impressed, but I didn’t get the guidance counsellor position that I was applying for that day. I was disappointed. I don’t think it’s sour grapes to say that I suspected he was looking for an administrative policeman in his school, not the conciliator model I was presenting. His loss.

Anybody who has been in a tense situation will tell you the aggressive moment can escalate quickly if someone says the equivalent of, “Just Relax.” As I get older I find it easier to find a calm place to reside in most situations. Tension usually comes looking for me when I have to wait for something, so being retired from the strains of working life sure does help the blood pressure. I’ve also learned that considering priorities before making a decision helps me to wind down enough so that I can make a better decision. ‘It can wait’ are three helpful de-stressing words and not a bad philosophy: ‘acuna matata’, ‘don’t worry be happy’ ‘manyana’. All cultures have suggestions for taking it easy before blowing a gasket.

I think another secret is to build comfort into your day. I could make a list of suggestions but everyone knows their own keys to going with the flow. Some are wise enough not to seek stress to begin with, however, an uneventful life is not very fulfilling. That’s why they call it Stress Management; too much relaxation and we become slugs needing to be fed, too little down time and we can become a bomb ready to explode. I’m getting better at delegating the things I know will create anxiety. I’ll let a trusted friend drive me places because I tense-up in traffic. I am learning to step aside while another friend or colleague solves a problem. I trust my life partner to work by my side. I don’t need to take on every responsibility that’s on my menu of life.

Being high strung maybe okay for high pitched orchestral instruments but not for people. For those who tend to be edgy there are plenty of relaxation techniques to practise. When all else fails I’ll take a glass of spirits, a chill pill or THC brownie without any accompanying guilt. There is a lot to be said for recognizing when our anxiety is getting in the way of our better selves. Life is way too short to let urgency set your agenda, even if that sounds contradictory.

Re: Elder

My wife and I are in the midst of eldercare. Her mother is nearing 95 and needs attention. She is partially blind (can’t read print or signs, sees shadows and outlines). We are working with community services to build her a life worth preserving while sheltering her in our own home. We are not noble, just practical. We want what we think is best for her. We feel she has deserved a respectful conclusion after a life of care to others.

I placed my own elderly mother in a nursing care facility almost a decade ago. My sister and I concluded that we couldn’t meet her special needs. She was an elder who was difficult to serve. Of the three locations where she received government old age long term care, the last publicly funded centre was up to the task. She had five good years in a former hospital in British Columbia before she died of natural causes. After her death I was shocked to discover that a Nursing Home in Pickering, where she had previously been in residence, was discovered to have the most Covid deaths within Ontario.

Many cultures honour their seniors. The culture of caring for elders seems like a distant tradition for white folk. We tend to stick them somewhere and invite them over for holidays; but only if they promise to behave. Wealthy elders can afford nursing care in higher end Retirement Homes. Many may be supported, like my mother was, within a patchy arrangement of government funding. Often these old folks homes are dependent on staffing. The inequities between standards of eldercare surfaced with the recent pandemic. In Canada we have a federal Minister of State for Seniors but the office appears to have minimal influence.

Elders are people first so they can be cranky or angelic in spurts. I’ve known many people older than me, whom I have loved to think of as my friends. I’m growing old now too and can better appreciate the toll longevity can take on a person’s physical and emotional well being. I don’t like to feel pushed into believing that 70 is the new 50. That puts pressure on me to live up to a standard. Like most spirited elders I feel 17 and always will enjoy sensing that I am young at heart. I’m not turning into a fossil or becoming an old fogey in attitude. On my best days, I’d like to believe that I am eldering: growing old with grace.

My wife’s mother appears happy to be in our company. She jokes how it is better than being turned out to pasture or left to float away on an ice floe. Our village on Vancouver Island has a community centre for the elderly called ‘New Horizons’. I like the encouraging sound of that, since I rebel at the thought I might be at the end of things. We old folk continue to need opportunities for stimulation, restoration, even growth. I’ve a lot to learn & my special mom has a lot of wisdom still to give.

Re: Cookie

I can totally relate to the Muppet named Cookie Monster because I love cookies. My day begins with cookies (two) and a mug of coffee. I’ve had this morning habit for years now and it hasn’t affected my blood sugar. Anyway in my way of thinking porridge is just an oatmeal cookie without the crunch. I once had the pleasure of being wooed by a lady who knew of my kooky breakfast desires. She often left a bag of fresh from the oven oatmeal & raisin delights on my doorstep, ringing my bell, then stealing away down the street. I was grateful for the effort, the cookies were delicious but that relationship never got past the baking sheet.

My favourite cookie flavour is probably oatmeal but the delight of this baked good is more about the texture, not that I’m particular. The shape of a cookie is round, a beautiful shape for eating. Sometimes I’ll load a whole one in my mouth like a CD slipped into a player and I’ll listen to the unique music of the chew. I’m not wild about Oreos but I get the sensually artistic pleasure of twisting the black circles, unscrewing slowly, to reveal the white cream. A lick and a crunch puts a smile on anyone’s lips. I like a slow coconut style chew, rather than a ginger snappy snip between the teeth. Stale cookies can still be dunked (even a fresh from the wrapper Dad’s cookie holds my hot coffee moisture well). Really crumbly, over cooked cookies deserve to be enjoyed on ice cream or combined with muesli for a breakfast in a bowl. Of course not all cookies need to be round to be loved; my runner-up in my private cookie contest is a thick shortbread. The Scottish recipe is delicious for sure but I love when bakers go untraditional and add a bit of baking soda to the shortbread formula to give the taste some tang. When I go mass produced it’s a Peek Freans I choose. Coincidentally, they are my mother-in-law’s favourite so that makes her my cookie buddy.

As a kid I was an after-school milk & cookies sort of student. Both my parents worked outside the home so I ate by myself most of the time. I’m not sad. That was really all right because I didn’t have to answer cookie cutter clichés about how my day had gone. That milk/cookie combo was such a comfort after a hard day in the classroom. One year when my dad had strange work shifts he would sometimes surprise me with a tray of fresh peanut butter cookies ready when I got home. We sat beside each other on the couch while watching television.

These days children might know that there are cookies on their computer. I hope they have time to learn how to make cookies or at least share some precious moments with a parent and a biscuit tin. I’m no foodie but a warm sweet morsel of cookie is darn close to what might be called perfection.

Re: Doctor

“Is there a doctor in the house!” Now that’s a phrase I’ve heard might be called out in a medical emergency by someone in a theatre. I’ve never witnessed that happening in the many plays I’ve attended. I’ve never been involved in a doctor intervention while being a passenger of an airplane either. This is another high drama location, that probably requires a mid-flight turn to get a patient to a hospital. Doctors to the rescue!

Canada is thought by many to be the home of ‘free’ health care. It is comforting to know that in a crisis situation citizens have access to hospital care without the added stress on their personal bank account. However for those of us without a Family Doctor our view of the tax funded, government sponsored/administered health system is not as seamless as it would appear to outsiders. Doctors retire. They move. Medical Centres close. Patients who have seen their doctor as just a phone call away may suddenly find themselves building confidence with a new physician at best, or stuck playing musical chairs in a clinic at worst.

Recently all these things have happened to me. To complicate things I had to spend an extended period of time away from my home province. To complicate things even further I had a heart incident that required intervention and follow-up treatment. Since health care is a provincial responsibility my health card was questioned. I had prescription drug needs that kept everything ticking (literally). Without my records I had to relate familiar stories about my medical history way too many times. When I returned home I joined thousands of others without a GP or Primary Care Physician and therefore have had slower than normal access to the specialists I need for my condition.

“What’s up Doc?” is a question that comes to mind in my lighter moments of feeling. I don’t want to skip the line for appropriate care. Sometimes I just want to know where I am in the line. I’ve questioned the notion of the word Care. I don’t like to point fingers in blame. Every doctor who has ever looked after me has done just that. In an emergency and over time, when I’ve come in need the questions have been answered in full. I would wish the same for everyone. Trouble is, there aren’t enough doctors for everyone in Canada right now.

I counted eight professionals around my bed when I was admitted to the emergency ward for my rapid heart arrhythmia. That’s a healthy amount of care for sure. Doctors are all about saving a life. It’s in their Hippocratic Oath. I count doctors, nurses and teachers as being the most important professionals in an advanced society. I fully recognize as an educated adult that I am primarily responsible for my health. I’m also smart enough to know that I can’t meet all of my own health needs. A solid health care system must make ease of access a key component for all in Canada and around the world.

Re: Uncle

I make a point of talking to my uncle every month. I use my computer so I can see him and because it is a free way to connect since he lives way across the Atlantic Ocean. He’s the only uncle I have left, so I feel a certain responsibility. He is my auntie’s husband after all. But that doesn’t really explain things.

As kids we sometimes cry out “Uncle” when we are in a wrestling hold. It might be a universal safe word that tells our playmate/opponent that we’ve had enough and we give in before further damage is done. Once during an overnight adventure with my scout pack I got into a bear cub like scuffle with another boy. Saying Uncle to his aggression made me feel ashamed. I remember leaving the scene shouting that he would be sorry, “Just you wait! I’ll be famous one day!” I screamed.

I showed him.

Parents who had children in the fifties would advise their kids to call family friends Uncle or Aunt to somehow distinguish them from untrustworthy strangers. Even as a kid this creeped me out that I had an Uncle Frank even though he wasn’t a REAL uncle. From my parent’s point of view I suppose this might be an innocent bit of labelling in the name of ranking a friendship. Such confusion of terms and association has led to child abuse all in the effort to show familiarity. Sticks and stones eh.

My authentic uncle in England has been an important addition to my life even though we have only been together about a half dozen times. He was a buddy to me when I had a brief solo adventure in Europe that went bust in my late teens. I learned how to sail under his tutelage. Once he travelled to Canada while I was raising a young family of my own. I took him on his first fishing trip, we travelled together with my dad and eldest son on a northern train trip. During this time, I hosted a backyard salmon bake with gallons and gallons of wine and we talked about Shakespeare’s impact on the world until the stars above our heads astounded us with their brilliance.

And now I watch him getting old on Skype. I want him to remain as he was but he gets forgetful even amidst a short conversation. I’m not getting any younger either and my uncle is a reminder that life is finite. Covid has shown us that no one lasts forever. As long as we have a present we don’t have to rely on memories to buoy us up. So I call him to remind him of the fun we had together and to thank him for being the elder in my life. I wonder to myself how the past can invade the present, grasping us, like in a wrestling match.

I’ll say Uncle to death’s embrace at some point. For now, I’ll surrender to the joy that is mine, today. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaCDXcXnpVI