I often joke that I grew up with about 30 mother figures and one father. The hospital’s of my childhood was the employment domain of the female worker which contributed to so many mother-figures. With the exception of your doctor, who you may have seen an hour or two a week (unless he was hanging over you with his surgical mask on) or a janitor somewhere, everyone in positions of influence were women.
Physio’s, nurse’s, teachers and any other staff that had direct care duty with us would often entertain us with a story like “The Little Engine That Could” while we were undergoing treatment. I was nine years old and my physio had made my mantra “I know I can”. We were surrounded by nurses, saw our physio two or three times a day and teacher four to six hours a day. Even with surgeries you couldn’t escape those teachers.
It was not uncommon to have a nurse on one side of my bed giving me a shot of demerol and my math teacher on the other giving me my home work for the day. We may have laid around but we didn’t just LAY around. We were expected too produce and that was the strategy to build survivors. The numbers were just too high to ignore so there was a lot of effort put into making us adaptable and independent. It might have been a hospital but, in those days, it was also our home. We were expected to be part of the “treatment” team.
Like any home we all had our weekend chores. I spend more weekends, outside of recreation time, scrubbing black wheelchair tire marks off the hallway floors after racing up and down all day. Or you spend a couple of hours sterilizing bedpans and urinals with a nurse and there was always a story. After all a 25 year old nurse couldn’t sit there and discuss their wild weekend (if) with an 11 year old and small talk can be difficult with a questioning 11 year old. Instead they would tell you a story. The stories weren’t just distractions but themes meant to instill confidence and survival. Continue reading “The Lasting Legacy”→
“Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their mind cannot change anything.” – George Bernard Shaw
It’s another grey windy day but at least it’s not raining. Out of boredom and, to maybe kick start an idea into my cranial star chamber, I started searching out YouTube for old TV theme songs. I came across the 1955 version of Davy Crockett. I remember wanting a raccoon cap as a kid but the real Davy Crockett was a “mountain man” turned politician. He became a peoples politician who took a stand along with some other great patriots right up to their deaths at the Alamo. What has happened to that political commitment. Anyway that was a fleeting thought meant to keep myself entertained as I hoped a spark would ignite an idea in my head, so lets go.
I find myself facing a new dilemma’s these days that is all based on that old “if I had of known then what I know now” way of thinking. I had about a dozen surgeries as a kid all with the purpose of walking without braces, new untried procedures at the time, and 4 of the 12 produced the hoped for results. One of the last major surgical procedures I underwent was a hip fusion of my left hip.
A lot of this was “new” ground for the growing speciality of orthopaedics and was a carry on from new techniques used with WW2 vets. Medically there has been a tight tie between the veterans community and the polio generation due to the advancements being made in medicine. My orthopaedic Dr. Vincent Murphy was a retired RCAF pilot and received his medical training courtesy of the military. He was a good man and played a big role in my life from age 8. He enjoyed me because, as he once put it, I had attitude and I was always up for surgery.
Polio kids were surgical try-outs for a lot of new techniques and we auditioned for surgical spots in what was called Grand Rounds. Out-patient Rounds were held every Tuesday at the Children’s Hospital but if your parents got that call for Grand Rounds it was pretty certain you were being admitted. For Rounds you stripped down for the doctor and your parents, for Grand Rounds you stripped down on an examination table in front of half a dozen doctors, another half dozen interns and maybe a dozen student nurses standing in the background taking notes. While they are discussing me like a strip loin, I’m sitting there trying to figure out if I will sign up for Monday night copper tooling or take the leather activity again. Monday nights were Arts and Craft’s night in the hospital. Continue reading “What We Don’t Know We Know…(revised)”→
“The ultimate test of man’s conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard.” – Gaylord Nelson
Not sure what woke me up this morning, the construction, the heavy pounding of the rain (will this winter ever come to an end) or the sharp pulse moving up and down my arms like a 12 string classical guitar with all 12 strings out of tune. Today is definitely a three pill day, narcotics be damned. Growing up in a hospital you adopt the philosophy of better living through chemistry early. On the upside I’m waking up.
Got a lucky break late morning with a few hours of sunshine so used the time wisely and hit the Save-On. So I am well stocked in anticipation of the next four days of rain. I have started paying more attention to the weather reports and less attention to the news (with the exception of the BC election) these days. I know during the rainy time my body behaves like a badly tuned and out of sync garage band. But again at least I woke up which is more than two good friends did in the last week. Rest in peace Liz and Lance, your time is done and your suffering has past. My condolences to their loved ones.
I have been putting a lot of thought into the CBC story I had shared recently. I put so much thought into it I contacted the author, CBC’s Donna Carreiro. More on that contact to come…meanwhile her article actually woke me up. I started thinking of my own situation and did a bit of my own research. My descent into wheelchair dependence was gradual with the biggest part happening after moving to BC. A whole new set of medical professionals to get to know and me working from the assumption that the fallout of polio was understood. For the record, I do not have polio. Polio is a virus that runs its course, does its damage and then it’s gone. The damage done is the outcome of polio, the residual is not polio.
No medical professional ever mentioned post-polio to me. I was aware of it but with limited knowledge. The closes medical rational I ever received for increasing wheelchair dependence plus symptoms like quicker to fatigue was the “strains of a life time of walking on crutches”.
The idea that my medical team (I call it a team but it’s really a pathway of referrals so that health “administration” can call itself a system) wouldn’t understand polio never entered my mind. When you’ve lived your entire life with polio you think everyone knows, you know the saying “can’t see the forest for the trees”. This is the problem with assumption rather than critical thinking.
When I think about it I knew few people of my generation in 1967 who were aware of the devastation caused by Spanish Flu. Fifty years later why should I expect those generations behind me be anymore aware of a disease we basically eradicated in Canada fifty years ago. Some realizations can be painful but needed to avoid future pain. I have now come to grips with the idea that post-polio has played a role in my advancing decrepitude. After over forty years of fighting for inclusion and acceptance the posts have been moved and I have to adjust. Welcome to the my world of accommodation…unfortunately I have watched while the BC Liberals have slowly eroded a good chunk of the advances made. Continue reading “My New Reality…”→
“If you don’t know history, then you don’t know anything. You are a leaf that doesn’t know it is part of a tree.” – Michael Crichton
Happy Easter or whatever celebration you celebrate at this time of the year. My Easter morning experience involved extricating myself from between the wall and the toilet in my bathroom. Using the potty can be a delicate discussion and usually involves just as delicate an action but I’m going to throw this out there.
Made a poor judgement on momentum this morning so between the landing and a very lose screw (one of two that hold the seat steady) I overshot the landing zone taking time for a face to face with my toilet plunger.
It seemed like a good time for a mental distraction as I wiggled physically to regain a vertical rather than horizontal perspective of the room. That distraction turned into an epiphany involving physics.
I’ve broken my fair share of toilets in my life but baste on what I hear (or don’t hear) I don’t think it is an occurrence for most people. Getting myself dislodged gave me some time to reflect on it.
This is the bathroom in my “wheelchair” apartment. There is no way a wheelchair is getting in beside that but whatever code interpreter was issuing the permit seemed to think this would work. What the hell, I’ve been here almost three years and made it work. So please don’t start on me about accommodation. I’ve done my fair share.
I’ll bet you have never thought of this but the next time you go to sit on the toilet pay attention to how important knee motion is to lightly sit on the commode. That knee movement allows for a much more controlled PSI landing. It’s nice equal weight distribution which is what a good toilet is designed for. Continue reading “Crappy Way to End the Week”→
“Dreams are today’s answers to tomorrows questions” – Edgar Cayce
I spend a good part of the past week data mining the information sources for my last article, time to kick back…put the feet up by the fireplace…oh damn the cable fireplace is down for the season…oh well.
On a dark, rainy and windy evening in Nanaimo I was suppose to be at Maude Barlow‘s water crisis presentation. As I said on a DARK, RAINY and WINDY night looks like it’s the Page 1,2 of the World’s Mens Curling Championship.
In between ends I keep flipping over to my PVR to catch up on The Originals with Sleepy Hollow in the queue. It’s raining with trees rattling (I check for that because my car is parked uncovered except by this heavy tree) from the wind but I can still hear the sound of the curling rocks on the ice well enough to turn and look.
Meanwhile in the rumblings of my numbed mind I started to percolate one of those things like an epiphany moments but haven’t quite got there. Wow Brad Gushue just throw a beautiful shot and now they are heading for the 5th end break. The demographics of my entertainment viewing is really diverse but so is the community. I just see it in different ways. Continue reading “Word Whispering”→
I am not going to talk about access, disability or seniors today. I am going to take a few minutes to clarify my anger. I am beyond angry and that bothers me since it is exactly what Trump and his ilk want. Keep us angry and it’s easier to divide us. The shooting at the Quebec mosque shouldn’t surprise anybody but should sadden all of us. We have allowed our political masters to use a nationality to divide us by creating islamophobia. Check the history of Germany in the 30’s and you will see a lot of comparisons.
I’m angry that the likes of Rona Ambrose can stand up in the House of Commons and make a plea for tolerance with such a straight face. This is the same women who has been actively involved with a Canadian political party who built their base by spouting hate and demonizing certain philosophies for the past ten years.
I am angry that a major Canadian political party is even considering a leader like Kellie Leitch. Here’s an educated women who hides her racist comments behind “Canadian values“. I am 4th or 5th generation Canadian whose ancestors arrived in Canada to escape religious persecution in Europe.
I grew up being taught that Canadian values were tolerance, acceptance, compassion, diversity and above all caring. How do you define, let alone test for, Canadian values? In my mind this is nothing more than spreading the seeds of discontent and mistrust towards particular segments of our society.
I am angry over the term “terrorism” when describing a “hate crime”. The deaths of 14 female victims of the Polytechnic massacre was classified as hate not terrorism although it did terrorize women. Words are powerful and now is not the time to start playing semantics. Words create imagery and imagery can create false understanding of words so let’s not let “hate” become “terrorism”. That’s the nature of “fake news“. Continue reading “I’m Angry”→
It has been such a crazy week I am more inclined to withdraw than report on it. However one does not generate much awareness by sitting in a corner mumbling. In this new time of “post truth” and “alternative facts” (I can’t believe I can even say that) people have to be aware how insidious social media can be and check their facts. People need to exercise their mind just as much as their biceps and fact checking is a good way to do that.
Much of my desire to withdraw is due to the level of fake news and the toxicity it’s having on the people around me. This is why people need to be more responsible and part of being responsible is to verify your knowledge level. A bit of common sense is needed…
Look at it this way, if I were to lend you my car so you could get to Campbell River and back but half way there you ran out of gas because I said I thought it was full when you asked, is it my fault I was wrong. Hopefully one would verify how much gas by maybe topping it up before you took off. Social media is kind of like that. Just because someone says something or posts some “really cool” picture on Facebook does not mean it’s true.
That doesn’t mean anyone with a personal agenda or questionable ideology (that’s what Facebook is for) can’t use social media but social media, like any form of communication, has certain rules. One of the basics I grew up with was an individuals responsibility to verify information. In the days of talking that might have meant something as simple as “what did you mean by that” or “where did you hear that from”. Get into the habit of not just accepting. The second lesson I learned really early was to raise awareness with references and substantive sources. So it is best I write rather than binge on Taboo…so for today I will be somebodies media and to be clear I am NOT a journalist although I have had my own column in the Alderlea Magazine now defunct. So I repeat right now I am playing media…
For those of you that have been following my adventures to access an assisted living apartment well caller 3, and 4 made their presence known. Caller 3 was an in-home assessment done by a nice fellow, an Occupational Therapist who was close to my age. I introduce him to more adaptive aids and techniques I have developed over a life time of trial and error to the point where his visit was more of an in-service than a client assessment. He recognized the foolishness of using criteria to assess an “able-bodied” senior experiencing age related decompensation with someone whose life was build around developing adaptive techniques. How many stairs I can do before I become short of breath or has the weight load of your grocery shopping changed in the last six months? Those are not exactly the criteria someone in a wheelchair worries about. Continue reading “Being Your Own Media”→