FFT

When I was in my first year of medical school, one of my relatives approached me with a health problem. In this I know I'm not alone; every medical student has been in a similar position, and it continues after graduation. In my case it was my sister who sought my advice, and I learned from the episode to never give casual medical advice, no matter how harmless it seems.
My sister came to me with a concern about her son. She told me that he went to bed with terrible headaches, headaches so severe he couldn't get to sleep unless his mother was nearby. He would also complain of headaches at other times, like when he was being disciplined or during meals. She told me that she had been to her pediatrician several times, but that each time she was just given reassurance, that the pediatrician didn't think tests were necessary. She asked me a simple question: Do you think anything is going on?
I then did what to me now is unthinkable: I urged her to return to her pediatrician and insist on a CT scan. I said I do think something is going on.
What on earth was I thinking of? I had just finished studying anatomy and metabolism, there were five more units that year to go, I had never touched a kid in a professional manner, I had no pediatric training or even inclination. Even so, I felt qualified to interfere. I probably amplified my sister's anxiety by a factor of ten, and I potentionally compromised the future care that my nephew would receive. My sister would always have a voice in her head telling her something was probably the matter with her child, and that voice would be mine.
Looking back, I recognize that my nephew was just acting out. The pediatrician's advice was wise, and mine foolish, perhaps reprehensible. Later I heard from my sister that she pushed the doctor to order a CT scan and the report came back normal. When she gave me the news, she actually thanked me for my advice. I don't think she knew what I had put her and her son through.
I simply don't do it anymore. I don't offer advice to friends or family - for the reason that, based on the evidence, I am spectacularly bad at it. I feel that if I were to say anything that would contradict what they would hear from their treating physician, then that dissonance would taint any future care they might receive. Well, that's not what my nephew/brother/son, a doctor, said, they might think.
Sometimes my gentle refusal becomes a firm refusal. Some people want an explanation for their symptoms, they feel I'm qualified to give it, and they don't understand when I say no. So they ask again, or they rephrase. To them I say no again and in a different way. I am always careful to advise them to speak to their own physician about such matters.
I know that people make their decisions based on a variety of influences and I don't mean to overstate my own importance. I know that a few casual words would, in most cases, not harm anyone. But primum non nocere is our code and without a physical exam, without followup, without the necessary objectivity, a lot of harm could potentially be done. I could inflict a diagnosis or a prognosis on an acquaintance or a loved one at a party or picnic, oblivious of the consequences and context, and setting up their own physician in the process.
I save my doctoring for the office.
-Dr. Ursus

Life is a highway...

I must say, riding round these roads, the dynamism and change that is inherent in a city that is alive, that breathes, is palpable. That being said, the difficulty fraught in a city this large also leads to homogeneity and urban despair.
Cases in point: have recently gone by a childhood church, and saw that it was completely gone. An overgrown plot, surrounded by chain-link fence, awaiting re-development into a townhouse complex. Sad. Stood clinging to the fence for a while, peering into my imagined church, remembering learning how to use the stairs there and awaiting retreat buses...
Another friend actually has bought a place just steps from where I grew up. Haven't walked by there for years, perhaps even well over a decade. Going by and pointing out where we used to play hopscotch and imagined that we were pirates and pioneers was something...
On the other hand, recently drove from Brampton to Markham along Highway 7. Now, -that- is a loooong pit of despair. Mile after mile of Mr. Subs, Mr. Lubes, Esso stations, HBSC banks, McDonalds and Pizza Pizzas over and over and over and over again, without remittance and without pity... This, I thought, is supposed to be the epitome of civilization? This is what we aspire to achieve? This is supposed to be called 'progress'?
Also was trying to kill a couple of hours the other day, so went with some friends to a nearby mall. We nearly died of boredom (to be fair, none of us had gone there specifically to purchase/consume anything, thus completely defeating the purpose of going to the mall in the first place). Ambling up and down the hexagonal/triangular/oblong-shaped units, the sheer homogeneity of the place was staggering. We could've been in any mall in the city, in any mall in the country, in any mall in the Western world, and we would not have known. Aisle after aisle of clothing and shoes... the palpable pressure of looking good/fashionable/sexy and keeping up with what -they- think we should look like... bah.
But on the third hand, I have been caught up in the middle of a miracle. That's always cool. Watching a church grow, develop, bloom... seeing its brickwork and beams come together for something that is far greater than simply a Sunday building... now that is progress...

FFT

I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head, and have been ruminating on it for weeks... and now with everything else that's going on in the world... though I suspect someone's going to read this and call for jihad on this guy's head...

The underlying problem for the West is not Islamic fundamentalism. It is Islam, a different civilization whose people are convinced of the superiority of their culture and are obsessed with the inferiority of their power.
-Samuel Huntington

Not for the faint of heart

Is it possible to be racist against ear wax? I mean, I have to deal with a surpringly large amount of it on a weekly basis, and I must say, I am not particularly fond of dealing with certain ethnicities' ear wax... I don't think this is exactly the place to explain exactly -what- is so distasteful about some people's ear wax compared to others, as I think my reasonings would probably turn some readers' stomachs... But what I am particularly wondering: Is racism fundamentally not wanting to associate, or be affiliated with, certain ethnicities or people groups because of certain unchangeable attributes of that group? If so, am I being racist if I don't particularly relish, and in fact, am quite reluctant to, clean out certain people groups' ears?

Greetings from Satan

Sometimes, I cannot believe the conceit of the West.... actually, likely most of the time I cannot believe our conceit.... for really, why do we count our lives as so terribly valuable? That's the paradox... our lives mean very little to nothing at all at the end of the day, yet we are (why? That is an infinite mystery...) infinitely valuable. However, our lives really do mean little more than our fellow Sudanese, our fellow Lebanese, our fellow Somalians, our fellow Cambodians, our fellow Shiite Muslims from Afghanistan... yet HOW did we become so conceited as to believe we as the West are more important? That we have a greater right to live? How have we been so coddled, so dulled, so indoctrinated in the life of ease and leisure (would someone PLEASE shoot all Christians in the West who talk about how they are being 'persecuted' for their faith, how they are 'suffering'????) that we somehow think that is what we are OWED?
Certainly, I fall faaaarrrrr short of this. I too, at the end of the day, don't want to be gang-raped, have my tongue cut off so I won't scream, hacked to pieces starting with my limbs and then ending with my head, and have my corpse being eaten by dogs (well, actually, that last bit doesn't actually bother me very much). I too, would like to live in a cozy nook, with a cup of tea and a good book, surrounded by adorable grandchildren at my hearth, telling me where I left my glasses. However, the conceit, the conceit, the conceit.... the selfish abandon with which we pursue such things... under the guise that they are 'blessings from God'...

Happy birthday to the Pole

That's all I really had to say...

Working, 9 to 5....

You know, all I really want to do (well, at least just work-wise, and at least just for now) is just go to work, have some fun for the day and not want to pull out my hair or scream (much), and then come home. Is that really too much to ask?
I don't go to work so I can deal with politics and pettiness and money grubbing and power struggles and stuff like that; in fact, I PAY MONEY so I DON'T have to deal with that kind of stuff.... why is it chasing me down and stuffing me into its gullet?
I can't figure it out; is it because I'm fairly low maintenance? Is it because people get greedy? Is it because I'm not paying enough money to get people to please stop complaining? Is it because I'm part of the problem? Part of the 'man', the 'system'?
Bah. I think it is in the nature of man to complain. I think also, different things irk different people at different intensities. I mean, I am all for being treated fairly and being compensated fairly for work one does and all, but I think also that there are some things that are probably not worth getting all riled up about.
Bah.

Patmosian paradise

Do you suppose that this is the beginning of the end? That the cities of Tyre and Sidon are again overtaking the Israelites, that the cows of Bashan are going to try to take back what is theirs? Certainly, if the mutterings of Syria and Iran, let alone the rest of the Arab world is any indication, then perhaps, just perhaps... If so, despite how lukewarm and spittable I might be, maranatha....

Worst-Case Scenario Handbook

So the government's sent me this HUGE package in the mail to my house, containing, gowns, gloves, face masks, antiseptics, and who knows what else, in case of an "outbreak".... now, tell me if I'm wrong, but SARS was about four years ago now.... (now who says government isn't efficient?!? Yippee for civil servants... they obviously know how to respond to the pulse of the population... they are SO SMART! I can't stand it! ) ... also, I am not entirely sure what exactly I'm going to do with them in the house... We could wrap the plants, deck them out in gowns and gloves, or maybe some of the furniture, but heck, this house will be prepared in case an outbreak of disease X should occur.... perhaps I should consider adding it to my everyday wardrobe, to protect against overblown diseases like West Nile... or bubonic plague... or Ebola virus...

Italian Patient

OK, so another two stories to add to the pile... and people wonder why I'm so terribly cynical...

It's all a big conspiracy!!!

Hmm, it's difficult, the choice between acne or suicide... it's not as clear as it looks...

Iron Chef Changimoto

After an eight year hiatus, grand master Chang regaled us with meat! Not burnt! Well made! (Of course, we think of most of it stems from his lovely assistant...)
We now look forward to the innovation involved in pastry within the next decade...

FFT

Western Christianity is no more than the religionization of capitalistic culture.
Emile Durkheim

Another Vietnamese cliche

Where is my Absalom?

E, I, E, I, Oooooo

So finally, FINALLY, made it out to The Farm. Mulched to my heart's content, admired the rare-breed chickens and pure-bred cows freely grazing in the fields, ate beef for the first time in almost two years (knowing who the cow was, who the farmer was and who the butcher was) which completely underwhelmed me, ate from the bounty of the fields, was philosophically challenged in an adobe hut about the nature of faith and belief when worldviews clash; in total, feeling like perhaps I was living a little slice of heaven...

The Madness of Genius

Seriously, if one more person says I'm "brilliant", "insightful", "a genius", "an eloquent speaker", or some other thing like that anymore, I think I'm going to scream...

Eulogy for Gabriel

Oh tiny little perfect one, a little nubbin for a nose, fine small eyelashes, hoped for so desperately, loved so deeply, treasured, held, sung to. A million dreams, all in one little soul. Who suffered, was loved, and will be missed, much more than many could dream of in a lifetime.
Oh mommy, who cradled and dreamt of this little one since he was no bigger than a pea. Who hears the echoes of her heart in the caverns of her womb. Who feels the throbbing in her veins rather than the acrobatics of his feet. Who sings for joy, and for grief.
Oh daddy, always, always, so strong and so able (has always been that way). So strong, carrying the family. Grief that is loving and brave. Hope for strength and a sure foundation. Hope for healing, hope for tomorrow.
I love you all very much.

Blue Suede Shoes

OK, saw this brilliant video a week ago, and finally found out where it actually is sourced from:
www.evolutionofdance.com ... I'm sure some of you have already seen it, but check it out! Lemme know what you think!

Query

OK, I must say, most months, I really love reading Dr. Ursus. Sometimes I wish that some of my colleagues would read him more...

Q&A

I was reflecting today, you know, when it kind of strikes you, facts about people, or new insights that you never thought of before... and I thought: brilliant, brilliant blessings... ones who have 'awoken the sleeping giant'... like Gandalf commanding King Theoden to breathe the free air again... like in The Secret Garden when Mary and Dickon bring Colin there and start encouraging him to start to learn to walk again... and, of course, friends... maybe I should tell them...

Sheep or goat? Sheep or goat? Sheep or goat?

Curiously, one person (who shall remain nameless, as per his request) thought that male sheep were called goats. Had thought so his whole life. Was surprised to find out, in fact, male sheep are rams, female sheep are ewes, and baby sheep are lambs. Goats are an entire other species.
This, of course, leads to very interesting (though irreverant) theology: Were sheep female, and goats male, then Jesus' separation of the sheep and goats, with the sheep being welcomed to the Kingdom and the goats being relegated to weeping and gnashing of teeth, would actually be pretty funny....

James' fan club

So, two dear friends surprised me with LOTR tickets, which was all the more surprising considering that they actually humoured me in getting the synopsis of The Hobbit, and all three LOTRs before the show started.
Now, I'm no theatre critic (food critic, perhaps, but no theatre critic), and I know it's gotten some very luke warm reviews, but I liked it pretty OK, notwithstanding my bias. Certainly, there were elements that I think would be inevitably compared to the films, but I think they did quite well considering the limitations of the stage, without the benefits of digital imaging, special effects and casts of thousands. I think I appreciated the way that they did try to make it distinctly different, though still a bit familiar. I also appreciate how they stuck to the real storyline, rather than adding in elements that weren't even in the book. I also appreciate how they mentioned Tom Bombadil!
I must say that their most daunting challenge was that they had to compress several hundreds of pages (or 14 hours of film- which, even then, still couldn't do the book justice) into less than 3 1/2 hours of musical.
Overall, particularly if being a bit of a 'classic fantasy' freak like myself, this would be a nice show to go watch. I think if you have no clue at all what the story's about, I think it would be rather hard to follow, as the story moves at a very fast clip; it becomes even incomprehensible at times - and I actually -know- what the story's about. It doesn't have the time to go into the richness of the history, geography, politics, or legends of Middle Earth. Certainly, that takes away from the appreciation of the story. But, the set design and costumes were very good; I was particularly impressed with how they did the Balrog, Shelob, and the Nazgul. The songs were not terribly memorable, but then I figure I've got to give the singers a bit of a break; they had just done a matinee just prior...

Apocalypse Now

The Nightmares still persist....

Ambidexterity?

So I managed to meet up with a Greenpeace activist, attend a lecture about Millenium Development Goals and the value of our role in Afghanistan, AND get prepped for election to a non-profit organization's Board of Directors, all in one evening... I'm still not totally psyched yet, like I would've been a few years ago (a sarcastic grazie for that...)... I'm actually shocked that I had the energy level to actually do all that without wanting to keel over... I am not sure where this is all going, but I hope it's pointing towards the Kingdom...

60 year plan needs a makeover

So, yet again, I was trying to explain the 60 year plan to some people. Being an audience that was more sympathetic to my views made it much easier than usual to explain my rationale. However, they helped me realize it wasn't particularly vegetarianism, nor even veganism, per se, that I'm trying to accomplish. But I realize that there isn't a term that I'm aware of, to describe my eventual desired modality of diet. Factory Farm Fetishist (FFF)? Meatrixism? Organic Omnivore? Sustainable Snacker? Ecological Eater? Any suggestions?
I suspect at some time I should make some manifesto about how I feel particularly about this issue. I realize of course that I also am not currently in the optimal situation to be properly dealing with it either.

Alice in Wonderland

The big news today is that Qlong is in Canada. I think celebrations of gruel are in order... hee hee hee

Ten Little Indians

So, one of my creatures has already been decapitated, within two days of being brought home. That leaves me with ten now... what kind of steward am I?... we shall see how the war shall be waged... 4 days down, 68 to go.... Perhaps I shall invest in electrical fencing, if only for the shock value har har har...

FFT - literally

The Pleasures of Eating - by Wendell Berry
Many times, after I have finished a lecture on the decline of American farming and rural life, someone in the audience has asked, "What can city people do?"
"Eat responsibly," I have usually answered. Of course, I have tried to explain what I meant by that, but afterwards I have invariably felt that there was more to be said than I had been able to say. Now I would like to attempt a better explanation.
I begin with the proposition that eating is an agricultural act. Eating ends the annual drama of the food economy that begins with planting and birth. Most eaters, however, are no longer aware that this is true. They think of food as an agricultural product, perhaps, but they do not think of themselves as participants in agriculture. They think of themselves as "consumers". If they think beyond that, they recognize that they are passive consumers. They buy what they want - or what they have been persuaded to want - within the limits of what they can get. They pay, mostly without protest, what they are charged. And they mostly ignore certain critical questions about the quality and the cost of what they are sold: How fresh is it? How pure or clean is it, how free of dangerous chemicals? How far was is transported, and what did transportation add to the cost? How much did manufacturing or packaging or advertising add to the cost? When the food product has been manufactured or "processed" or "precooked", how has that affected its quality or price or nutritional value?
Most urban shoppers would tell you that food is produced on farms. But most of them do not know what farms, or what kind of farms, or where the farms are, or what knowledge or skills are involved in farming. They apparently have little doubt that farms will continue to produce, but they do not know how or over what obstacles. For them, then, food is pretty much an abstract idea - something they do not know or imagine - until it appears on the grocery shelf or on the table.
When food, in the minds of eaters, is not longer associated with farming and with the land, then the eaters are suffering a kind of cultural amnesia that is misleading and dangerous. The passive American consumer, sitting down to a meal or pre-prepared or fast food, confronts a platter covered with inert, anonymous substances that have been processed, dyed, breaded, sauced, gravied, ground, pulped, strained, blended, prettified, and sanitized beyond resemblance to any part of any creature that ever lived. The products of nature and agriculture have been made, to all appearances, the products of industry. Both eater and eaten are thus in exile from biological reality. And the result is a kind of solitude, unprecendented in human experience, in which the eater may think of eating as, first, a purely commerical transaction between him and a supplier and then as a purely appetitive transaction between him and his food.
And this peculiar specialization of the act of eating is, again, of obvious benefit to the food industry, which has good reasons to obscure the connection between food and farming. It would not do for the consumer to know that the hamburger she is eating came from a steer who spent much of his life standing deep in his own excrement in a feedlot, helping to pollute the local streams, or that the calf that yielded the veal cutlet on her plate spent its life in a box in which it did not have room to turn around. And, though her sympathy for the slaw might be less tender, she should not be encouraged to meditate on the hygienic and biological implications of mile-square fields of cabbage, for vegetables grown in huge monocultures are dependent on toxic chemicals - just as animals in close confinement are dependent on antibiotics and other drugs.
The consumer, that is to say, must be kept from discovering that, in the food industry - as in any other industry - the overriding concerns are not quality and health, but volume and price. For decades now the entire industrial food economy, from the large farms and feedlots to the chains of supermarkets and fast-food restaurants, has been obsessed with volume. It has relentlessly increased scale in order to increase volume in order (presumably) to reduce costs. But as scale increases, diversity declines; as diversity declines, so does health; as health declines, the dependence on drugs and chemicals necessarily increases. As capital replaces labour, it does so by substituting machines, drugs, and chemicals for human workers and for the natural health and fertility of the soil. The food is produced by any means or any shortcut that will increase profits. And the business of the cosmeticians of advertising is to persuade the consumer that food so produced is good, tasty, healthful, and a guarantee of marital fidelity and long life.
Eaters must understand that eating takes place inescapably in the world, that it is inescapably an agricultural act, and that how we eat determines, to a considerable extent, how the world is used. This is a simple way of describing a relationship that is inexpressibly complex. To eat responsibly is to understand and enact, so far as one can, this complex relationship. What can one do? Here is a list, probably not definitive:
Participate in food production to the extent that you can. If you have a yard or even just a porch box or a pot in a sunny window, grow something to eat in it. Make a little compost of your kitchen scraps and use it for fertilizer. Only by growing some food for yourself can you become acquainted with the beautiful energy cycle that revolves from soil to seed to flower to fruit to food to offal to decay, and around again. You will be fully responsible for any food that you grow yourself, and you will know all about it. You will appreciate it fully, having known it all its life.
Prepare your own food. This means reviving in your own mind and life the arts of kitchen and household. This should enable you to eat more cheaply, and it will give you a measure of "quality control": you will have some reliable knowledge of what has been added to the food you eat.
Learn the origins of the food you buy, and buy the food that is produced closest to your home. The idea that every locality should be, as much as possible, the source of its own food makes several kinds of sense. The locally produced food supply is the most secure, the freshest, and the easiest for local consumers to know about and to influence.
Whenever possible, deal directly with a local farmer, gardener, or orchardist. All the reasons lists for the previous suggestion apply here. In addition, by such dealing you eliminate the whole pack of merchants, transporters, processors, packagers, and advertisers who thrive at the expense of both producers and consumers.
Learn, in self-defence, as much as you can of the economy and technology of industrial food production. What is added to food that is not food, and what do you pay for these additions?
Learn what is involved in the best farming and gardening.
Learn as much as you can, by direct observation and experience if possible, of the life histories of the food species.
The last suggestion seems particularly important to me. Many people are now as much estranged from the lives of domestic plants and animals (except for flowers and dogs and cats) as they are from the lives of the wild ones. This is regrettable, for these domestic creatures are in diverse ways attractive; there is much pleasure in knowing them. And farming, animal husbandry, horticulture, and gardening, at their best, are complex and comely arts; there is much pleasure in knowing them, too.
The pleasure of eating should be an extensive pleasure, not that of the mere gourmet. People who know the garden in which their vegetables have grown and know that the garden is healthy will remember the beauty of the growing plants, perhaps in the dewy first light of morning when gardens are at their best. Such a memory involves itself with the food and is one of the pleasures of eating. The knowledge of the good health of the garden relieves and free and comforts the eater. The same goes for eating meat. The thought of the good pasture and of the calf contentedly grazing flavours the steak. Some, I know, will think it bloodthirsty or worse to eat a fellow creature you have known all its life. On the contrary, I think it means that you eat with understanding and with gratitude. A significant part of the pleasure of eating is in one's accurate consciousness of the lives and the world from which food comes. The pleasure of eating, then, may be the best available standard of our health. And this pleasure, I think, is pretty fully available to the urban consumer who will make the necessary effort.
Eating with the fullest pleasure - pleasure, that is, that does not depend on ignorance - is perhaps the profoundest enactment of our connection with the world. In this pleasure we experience and celebrate our dependence and our gratitude, for we are living from mystery, from creatures we did not make and powers we cannot comprehend.

Sheherazade

What do you suppose a room full of 40 and 50-something year old nurses and doctors look like when they're belly-dancing? Shimmying and shaking, hip thrusting, veil-wearing, tassels jangling, good old belly-dancing. I've always been told that it's much more challenging than it looks. And, if you're trying really hard not to look like a washing machine on overdrive, or like you have a severe movement disorder, it is. I've also been told that it doesn't matter how old you are, or what body shape you have, you can still look damn sexy doing it. Which is also true.

German Patient

Adultery count is at nine... at least this guy had the decency to marry the woman first before taking her beauty and her womanliness from her. On the other hand, he then left her with two kids, when he decided he was no longer 'called' to be with her, and was 'called' to pursue someone else...

Baywatch Beauty

How does one move from being an umpire to becoming a lifeguard? Moving from facemask, cleats and whatever that thing they wear to the freedom of a tank top and some swimming trunks? I think there's quite an allegory in there that I have to work on; blessings to CEMC for that.
Speaking of Beauties, I've had the privilege of meeting an amazing woman in the last few weeks: working on the Big Picture, moving on down the Narrow Road, following the Great Commander into the unreached places. Wow! I think I've been blessed by that too... it's been a bit complicated, as there are some mitigating factors that have been mentioned several times before in this blog in various enigmatic (or maybe not so enigmatic) ways... I think maybe because I see myself, what I would have been, what I -am-, what I have been, what I continue to actually be at the heart of things, what I could have been, what I should have been, had my road been a little bit different than it has been over the past few years... which is bittersweet: I have been humbled and amazed by a passionate Beauty, but in that mirroring, I see my pale reflection from the past that is ?lost ?unrecoverable ?stolen by a thief who has no interest in giving it back?

ATLS need not apply

I watched someone die today. It's been a while since someone has died in front of me for non-traumatic reasons. Usually, I get called in after the fact in order to register their death with the government. However, today, they just happened to die while I was there. And I stood there, and did nothing. Nothing, while her daughter held her hand and said goodbye; nothing, while the nurse stroked her head and told her to stop fighting and let go; nothing at all. Gasping and grasping at her last breaths over the course of about twenty minutes, we all stood there, watching her die. Slowly, inevitably, crawling towards death.
And, I must confess, I felt very little. What is it about the medical machine that removes emotionality? Is it I, or the system, or something other, that has carefully dissected away my heart from my head?

Zap! Bang! Kaboom! Splat!

So, in conclusion to the conversation earlier this week: Lois Lane is the DUMBEST of all the romantic-interests-of-superheroes-who-have-secret-identities.
Cases in point: I don't know if The Hulk has a romantic interest or not, but if he did, she could not be blamed if, seeing him in Hulk form, she couldn't figure out who he was, being all huge and green and and angry and all. Spiderman, of course, is the smartest by completely covering his face in that spandexy material, so Mary Jane can't figure out his other identity. Batman really only has a half mask, thus still exposing jaw, mouth and stubble. You'd think Vicky Vale might be able to figure it out after a while, but, I guess having his entire scalp and his upper face covered, she could be excused... maybe...
However, Lois Lane somehow gets entirely mystified when Clark Kent takes off his glasses and puts a little cowlick in his hair. Now if a girl can't figure -that- one out, then she really is a post... on the other hand, non-fictional men have gone for equally dumb women...

FFT

"Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment, but you humans do not.
You move to an area, and you multiply, and multiply, until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area.
There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet, you are a plague..."

True statement, that. Guess who said it?
Sadly, Agent Smith, The Matrix

FFT

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait on the LORD, be strong and let your heart take courage; wait on the LORD.
Psalm 27:13-14

Mona Lisa

Isn't it funny how there are some faces that you see that will trigger memories? Just people passing you on the subway or on the street, who just cause your heart to lurch right out of your chest, or make you want to weep? Who remind you of children long dead, tragically lost friends, haunted pasts, broken hearts or those you had tried to save? I know that parents in their grief, despair when they believe that they see their little ones in someone else's buggy. Isn't it amazing how a face: a nose, two eyes and ears and a mouth (and, sometimes, not even that), can do that to the human heart? How a few features can bring to the surface guts, knives and tears? That long-lost memory quickly runs through synapses to bring back in full Technicolour things that had been buried and mourned in ages past?
We are fearfully and wonderfully made; and even though memory is an attribute of the Divine, we, in our imperfection, have marred the gift of memory such that, many a time, it is a curse....

Fraternite, egalite, liberte

I'd like to believe that I fundamentally believe in the equality of all under the law. No, not in the Christian sense that we're all sinners yadda yadda, and not in the sense that we completely ignore the individual differences in people, but that, irrespective of gender, race, age, ethnicity, disability/ability etc, being all equally -human-, that there are certain niceties and privileges belonging to all who belong to the human club. That perhaps, though stereotypes or previous experiences may play a role in how I may perceive, or interact, with people, that ultimately, I would proffer respect to all.
But sometimes, I'm not sure if I'm as respectable as that. Sometimes, I'm not sure that we, living in possibly the best democracy in the world (which, I know, is a fairly saaaaad statement to make), are truly as egalitarian as we think we are....
I had some examples as to why I started thinking about this, but I don't think I'll write about them here, today...

Unfinished piece

Faith, fear, grief, obedience, hope, despair... I think perhaps maybe I mull too much on archetypes... Maybe I should concentrate on vacuous things, as other people do...

Ghetto quiz

OK kids, it's time to play: What's more ghetto (you know who you are!)?
Creme brulee or body shampoo?
Napkin rings or tea cozies?
Knitting or croquet?
Pistachios or kite-flying?
Hamsters or mittens?
Campfire singalongs or garden gnomes?
Mashimaro coin purses or gelato?
Daffodils or throw cushions with tassels?
Bundt cakes or bird watching?
Porch swings or cobblestone?
Filet O'Fish or Filet Mignon?
Hee hee hee...

Snowbirds hitting the fan

What is with these people?? Canadians often wonder why our health care appears to be going to hell in a handbasket and/or why family doctors appear to run their clinics late; I am coming to the conclusion that those who ponder such thoughts are usually the ones that cause the problem. Cases in point:
1. I had a patient, who I had never met, repeatedly call the clinic and harass the secretaries to speak to me... from FRANCE. Finally, not being able to take it anymore, they pulled me out of my clinic to speak to this patient. Appears he was on vacation, and had gone to a French emergency room, where they ALREADY had diagnosed and managed a problem that he had. However, he insisted that he needed to talk to his doctor to find out whether he should insist on being medevac'd home to be seen in the family medicine office (?!?!? Yeah, I'm sure his insurance company would be thrilled on sending a paramedic team to France just to get a guy to his doctor's appointment...), as he wasn't sure whether that was good enough care... in FRANCE.
2. I had another guy, who I had also never met before, repeatedly harass my secretaries again... from ENGLAND. Same scenario, but this guy says, "Hey, I'm on vacation in ENGLAND. I'm feeling naseous... do you think I'm having a stroke?" (I nearly had a stroke. Firstly, for calling freaking long distance while on vacation in a country with perfectly excellent health care, secondly, for asking me to falsely reassure him, never having met the man, or knowing anything about his medical history so that he could assuage his own conscience and not bother to interrupt his precious vacation time by going to see a doctor, after which he would then die and then I'd get sued for providing poor medical advice?? Who the heck did he think he was?) After explaining nausea could also be a symptom of pregnancy, I told him if he was concerned, he should go seek medical attention.
3. A telephone message left for me (these cases are all the more perplexing when you consider the fact that talking to patients on the phone, when it is not an emergency takes precious time away from patients who have actually bothered to come in, who DESERVE to have their appointments kept on time): I collapsed a few days ago. Do you think I'm sick? (What? What am I supposed to do with that? Why the heck didn't he go to the emergency department at the time?)
4. Another message left for me: I'm back from vacation, and I was constipated the whole time (and this is my problem, exactly, why???)
5. Another message left for me: I'm in Ottawa for the week, and I think I've got a yeast infection: Could you please phone in a prescription to this pharmacy in Ottawa? (Excuse me? Who do you think you are? Why the hell would I prescribe a medication for someone I have never seen for a disease I haven't even diagnosed? There are things called walk-in clinics that could see you if you really wanted to see a doctor, and, guess what? You can buy that stuff over the counter, idiot who has a drug plan...)
I cannot believe the self-centredness and sense of entitlement that plagues city people...

French Patient

Now the adultery count is at seven and eight, though these were completely unprovoked revelations. It's quite sad, how it rips people's lives apart. Number seven was particularly poignant, as this one involved a child, who no longer knows (well, who never knew) their biological parents, sadly. And who will never know their biological father, as he's the one who fled the situation (unsurprisingly and non-shockingly), leaving the biological mother with very little choice. And whose existence has caused a bittersweet aching on their grandparents' hearts for their lost grandchild. The injustice of all these situations involving these supposedly God-fearing men continues to baffle me. I am convinced that God is a God of justice, and He is One who controls all for good, though it takes faith the size of a mustard seed to believe that He will see His justice done, if not now, amongst current circumstance, then in that hazy future that's called trust.
I really hope I don't have to go through the whole European continent...

Short stuff idol

Thanks to Anni, we have now found a suitable karaoke partner for some people... I think I ended up watching this a dozen times in a row... I know, this is totally NOT the forum just to put various clips that I find amusing here, so I apologize... it very likely won't happen again...
http://youtube.com/watch?v=kCvImnD32os&search=cute%20lil%20girl
What I totally don't understand is: How on earth did the person videotaping this not die laughing while recording?

FFT

The Christian is the one whose imagination should fly beyond the stars.
- Francis Schaeffer

FFT

Our greatest blessings come to us by way of madness.
-Socrates

Escaping Empire

Brian, look! I think I've escaped empire! It would have to be empire with a little 'e', as I don't think it is possible to escape the shadow of the Empire. But I think that I've unharnessed myself. For definition, empire metaphorically refers to any oppressive regime, whether institution or individual. The proof will be in the pudding, however. We shall see how the slave shall deal with new-found freedom...

American-style

This week, I received my (I think) first direct-mail advertising from a private clinic in the USA. I'm not sure if I should be puzzled, grateful, or deeply insulted. A nice, slick brochure, explaining the services offered there, that might meet the needs of my Canadian patients, who may not be able to access such care in a timely manner here. It looks like a nice place. Certainly, people who can afford care do already indeed head south for quicker service. However, I wonder at the ethics about directly sending me information to share with my patients. Doesn't this start undermining my belief in the Canadian system (well, such as my belief is)? Is that my job, to push people south when they can't access care in a timely manner here? Certainly, I've had (obviously) rich people, who, for relatively minor complaints, weren't happy with the suggestion that they may have to wait several months to see someone; instead, they inform me that they will hop a plane the next day and go down to the States to get the care that they want, not the care that they may need, or is warranted under the circumstances. However, that becomes their perogative, not my suggestion.
Strange thoughts that come in the mail...

FFT

"Jesus promised His disciples three things - that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble."
-G.K. Chesterton
Well, at least I've got 1.5 of them...

Maybe I've got osteoporosis

Is it possible to injure someone pretty bad after giving them a bear hug? In one of those hugs that half lift you off the ground? I don't understand how it happened, but my shoulder's been half-dislocated, and my ribs are killing me ever since; I can't breathe deeply, I can't push myself off the floor without collapsing again... very strange... I can't even really stand up straight... it's almost contrary to what I'd expect to see in my patients... and, thinking about what I'd advise them in the same situation, I haven't even bothered doing any of it... O Physician, heal thyself...
Interesting thoughts from the other day re: missions, role of nationals, generosity and control of funds. Too numerous to count, though I think, folks, maybe it is an issue of control or lack of trust. Or maybe it's wisdom gleaned from years of experience. I'd like to imagine it's the latter.... though I will rethink it some more...

FFT

I think this has been, for a long while, one of my.... "favorite" songs would be a wrong word. Certainly one that holds much truth and reinforces truth for me. Generally also a song that makes me weep, though for different reasons than the previous one. Sang this one this morning at church; made me think about truth again....

Blessed be your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where the streams of abundance flow
Blessed be your name

Blessed be your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name

Every blessing you pour out,
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name

Blessed be your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be your name

Blessed be your name
On the road marked with suffering
When there's pain in the offering
Blessed be your name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, Blessed be your name

FFT

This song makes me physicially weep every single time I hear it. I had forgotten it was on my iPod.... How desperately humanity needs hope... How desperately I need hope....

Dear God,
Hope you got the letter,
I pray you can make it better down here.
I don’t mean a big reduction in the price of beer,
But all the people that you made in your image,
See them starving on their feet,
’cause they don’t get enough to eat
From God,
I can’t believe in you.

Dear God,
Sorry to disturb you,
But I feel that I should be heard loud and clear.
We all need a big reduction in amount of tears,
And all the people that you made in your image,
See them fighting in the street,
’cause they can’t make opinions meet,
About God,
I can’t believe in you.

Did you make disease, and the diamond blue?
Did you make mankind after we made you?
And the devil too!

Dear God,
Don’t know if you noticed,
But your name is on a lot of quotes in this book.
Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look,
And all the people that you made in your image,
Still believing that junk is true.
Well I know it ain’t and so do you,
Dear God,
I can’t believe in,
I don’t believe in,

I won’t believe in heaven and hell.
No saints, no sinners,
No devil as well.
No pearly gates, no thorny crown.
You’re always letting us humans down.
The wars you bring, the babes you drown.
Those lost at sea and never found,
And it’s the same the whole world ’round.
The hurt I see helps to compound,
That the father, son and holy ghost,
Is just somebody’s unholy hoax,
And if you’re up there you’ll perceive,
That my heart’s here upon my sleeve.
If there’s one thing I don’t believe in...

It’s you,
Dear God.

The English Patient

I realize I have been very erratic and jumping all over the place in terms of communicating lately, more so than I usually do. On the other hand, I suppose I usually communicate in an erratic fashion, at best, anyways (which, of course, was a huge critique that I heard many, many, many, many times from the same individual over and over and over again). Certainly, it's unfortunate if it's been hard to keep up with me and my babbling.
The adultery count is now at six. I suppose misery loves company. It is foolishness and unrighteousness all over the place.

Forget choosing yellow vs green

Dead babies never get any easier. There's something inherently awful in the knowing that the baby you're carrying inside is dead; this little one only had three weeks to go, and now he is dead. There is tragedy in helping a woman bring forth something dead and rotting from her womb. Somehow, I am not surprised that this is happening on my shift at this juncture. They never get any easier to do. Death instead of life; grief instead of joy; ironic juxtapositions of a shell-game-like switcheroo...

Random babbling

I've been thinking about the inherent issue of death and decay; I suppose since I see it enough. The futility of healing, the elusiveness of cure. You know, one thinks about making this world a better place, but it sometimes becomes difficult to see that happening. The difference between sympathy and empathy has always lain a little too closely, and I am not sure if I have run dry of both, leaving little left for anything else. Maybe I'm not meant for medicine....

Profuse apologies

I am considering the fact that this blog's raison d'etre is perhaps starting to get a bit murky... I'm considering starting another one... for those of you interested in the new address, please let me know... I haven't fully decided yet...

Temporary alternative track

What I find heartening is that there are 44,000 national Indian missionaries, all trying to reach their own people. That's more than Canada sends out altogether. That is encouraging news. It is encouraging that, despite our own bloated, self-centred, and little lives in the West, God still works. And that He, in fact, can reach more people, more effectively and with more fruit, than we think we can. For I still contend that God has forsaken us in the West, that the glory of the LORD has departed our lands, that our civilization and culture are on the decline, and that, like all Empires, we are in the twilight of its age. (Wars for water aside....)... OK, maybe I'm trying too hard to write on an alternative track... obviously, I'm not right in the head...

Porphyria

Some have expressed concern that I am going mad; perhaps I am. They say I make little sense, that I'm incoherent at best, pedantic at worst. I suppose blogging in the middle of the night stuff that doesn't make sense to most is a sign.
What I find curious are decision making trees. How do they happen? Are they rabbits in hats, or do they actually make sense? It is also funny what kinds of decisions people make, despite the cautions and the prohibitions others older and wiser warn of. I certainly know of decisions that I have made that were wrong, even though 'older and wisers' told to me to choose otherwise.
And what about people that make you feel icky? People that just make you want to crawl out of your skin and scream? I haven't felt that way in a long while, but it just happened a few days ago; I think my fuse is shorter now than it used to be; I see aspects of myself that have been lost over these past few years that others have warned of and saw happening in real time. It's like I emulated questionable characteristics of the other that changed me (I see them), and I don't know where mine have gone (where are they?). I've been told that people want me back, that they haven't seen me for a long time as I seem to have disappeared under expectations, fear, demands and judgement. Is it possible to find yourself in madness? After years of being buried and suffocated? Does joy in the morning return as brightly as it once did, or does it remain a sickly hue after years of smog? Perhaps I am going mad....

Aphorisms

There are many cliche truisms, several of which I have heard repeated over the last little while. One is, when it rains, it pours. In this week alone, I have encountered five people struggling with (previous and present) adulterous partners, two very ill little children, a miscarriage, and someone who needs neurosurgery (and this doesn't include patients, cause that's not fair; including patients would staggeringly increase the number of sorrowing people all the time). I suppose it's to give me a bit of perspective on myself, to tell me that other people have experiences similar to mine, though for me, it simply increases the grandeur of sorrow and pain.
The second is, life is not fair. I don't know how many millions of billions of times I've heard that said. Though it may be a truism, that is no reason that we should resign ourselves to such things, for He has overcome the world.
For though there is much I do not know about God, one thing I know for certain: that He is indeed a God of justice. That though things may not appear fair, for now, they will be retributed and redistributed in due time. There is great comfort in that; that the oppressor will be brought low, that the weak and the sorrowing will overcome the mighty and the powerful- those with 'hand'. That ultimately, those that hurt, maim, wreak havoc on others, destroy, will indeed be brought to justice.
I try not to be overly joyful in that; facing the wrath of God cannot be a picnic. And certainly, I recognize all of us, in some measure, will indeed face the wrath of God; I think just being a wealthy Westerner alone will cause God to come down hard on me, let alone my other myriads of faults and shortcomings. Yes, I have been trying not to rejoice too heartily in that vengeance belongs to the LORD, and that He shall repay in His own time, for I know I myself shall repay. However, missing part of my very flesh will eventually demand a pound of its own, despite Shylock's protestations. It's not meant in anger; simply a statement of fact. Certainly, some had suggested various legal and medical methods of exacting my own vengeance, though thoughts that are entertaining to consider, and, perhaps in due time, may be pursued in their own way, are probably wrong.

Mirroring

I realize, of course, that the entries that I put in over this next little while will definitely be seen as histrionic by those who won't particularly give a flying shit, and that really, I should just shut up and put up - and, of course, will get very angry that I would dare say so. That's fine, as I suppose people can have their own opinions, as misguided or incorrect that they might be. As I suppose I may be deluded/misguided into assuming that my opinions are histrionic. (Boy, I can really feel the anger now... if there is at least one positive thing I must say in all this, I can say that I am glad that I am free from living in oppression and fear of rage and violence...)
However (despite their distaste for such), I think there is some value in living 'in' the moment. I suppose I am a typical Romantic that way, as opposed to Enlightened. Perhaps it would have been best to be some mad genius (not that I'm not in some senses already - perhaps therein lay the fatal flaw - some people just cannot handle wit, and would rather have dullness and insipidity), locked in some garrett, producing my oeuvres by candlelight and weeping over the dramatic losses and perils of the world, while planning my ultimate demise by drowning in absinthe.
But I still contend there are those who do not give a flying shit. On the other hand, I've been told, neither should I... that's a bit harder as that's not in my nature....

The Stick-'Em-Up

I just had someone I deeply respect make me question my veracity, my trustworthiness. It gets to be a bit much when those you have confidence in undermine your own. I think I feel even more stripped of my defence, like kneeling at the feet of Jesus, trembling, while being thrown there by the Pharisees, ready with the stones. Except for Jesus isn't there, and no one is around to question or defend, and so the pelting begins...

A sea of granite and marble

What is a curious phenomenon is how people define sorrow, or, at least, perceive how they emphathize with others' pain. I think it is honestly difficult to understand where another is coming from, particularly when they are lost and swirling in the depths of despair, but I also note that, for some, it becomes an opportunity for counter-transference, to bring to mind issues that plague their own minds as well. Isn't that curious? It turns the table on those who are dying; they, instead of receiving life sustenance and nourishment, must bring succour to the medic. It is selfish in nature. Certainly, it demonstrates to me that when I do the same, that I must bring healing to the hurt, and not bring my own wounds into the picture. It's strange how certainly I would never dare do this in my clinical work, but, thinking back, perhaps I have been guilty of this phenomenon myself. Particularly where I am both the healer and the one who caused the wound.
If I am the one to cause injury, who am I to dwell on my own wounds? If I struck a blow at my loved one, who am I to then talk of all the thrashing that I've received from other sources? Do I weep for myself, or for my beloved (beloved being either gender)? I think if I do that, then I steal from my beloved, I demonstrate my lack of compassion and mercy, I kill their dignity and their soul, and live the lie that they are cared for. It is not a life-affirming manner of dealing with loved ones, but I suppose if I am demonstrating the lie that they are cared for, then I suppose affirming life isn't exactly one of my priorities for them... I'll have to ponder about this some more...

and flits with its wings

I know it's the middle of the night, but the Seas of Sadness are, I think, lapping at the shoreline.
Death of hope is a terrible thing. Loss of 'family' is too. I'm not sure which is worse. 'Family' being not just blood, but people who are so near and dear, that even if the biologicals are far away, you still feel like you belong, that they are a part of your home and hearth, that you have significance, that you might actually mean something.
Loss of 'family', using that definition, feels like losing a limb. You still 'feel' the limb for the rest of your life, but it is no longer there. A part of you, completely gone, but its part in the whole very poignantly missed, irreplaceable, in fact. I think that's the kicker; family cannot be replaced. Hope can rise again like the phoenix, but family members can't.
It really is a tragic thing. I can't even write properly, really, being overwhelmed with that...

OK Computer

I've also been thinking more about the inherent alienation that occurs in our place and time. I realized, thinking back with some other people, that it's hard for us to remember how we 'functioned' without email, without instant messaging, without cell phones. Which, to be honest, wasn't that long ago; basically high school for most of us. And I must confess, I don't remember how my friends and I found each other, or planned to do things. But I do remember that it worked, somehow.
I somehow get the suspicion that as our 'connectivity' has increased, our 'connections' have decreased. A few friends that I have not seen for long while and I realized that we could've easily maintained our 'relationship' at the 'occasional email' level, and been able to go the rest of our lives without laying eyes on one another, and yet, still kind of called each other 'friends'. I think also the lack of responsibility or accountability by simply sending a few sentences by email demonstrates our lack of committment. Um, that doesn't quite make sense: I think I was mulling and expounding on this a bit further a few days ago, but I think to write it here would turn it into a mini-essay....
I think I am starting to rebel against the 'email conversation' (unless, by virtue of vast distances - more than just Mississauga to Scarborough- or business, makes that necessary). I think it is possible to start a new revolution of people actually speaking to one another. Perhaps even revolutionary hand-written letters (and postcards!). I am tired of group semi-spam with 'conversations' that only a few respond to that no one listens to. I am tired of not listening enough, and of not being heard. I think in the cacophony of the city, one's own small voice disappears amongst ring tones and beeps and firewalls.
Of course, I recognize the inherent irony of making that kind of announcement in a semi-anonymous medium as a blog...

Chang geum, or, my parents have lost it...

OK, so I know it's kind of past the 'trendy' mark for Chinese people, but my parents have finally discovered the joys of Korean chapter movies... though, at least, they're watching it in the original Korean. It's really nice, and kind of funny, to see them just plain old liking these movies as least as much as Chinese people that I know. However, my parents have this idea that if I sit and watch with them, I'll somehow learn more Korean by osmosis. Firstly, there's no subtitles on the discs we have. Secondly, they're obsessed; they're watching 5-7 episodes a DAY.
This is the usual attempt that occurs when they ask me to watch with them:
I oblige and sit down, and begin to watch a movie that I understand very little to nothing about what is going on.
Me: "Hey, what just happened there? I just heard something about the king..."
Them: "Shush! You're interrupting the movie! Just listen to the movie!"
Me: "But I don't understand what they're talking about! I'm listening, but no comprehension is occurring...."
Them: "Shhhhh!"
Me: "This is ridiculous. I don't understand what's going on. I'm going upstairs...."
Them: "Hey! Where are you going? How are you going to learn Korean if you don't watch the movie? This is part of your culture! Hey! Hey..... oh, wait, something's happening"... and then their attention rivets back to the screen. It really is quite funny. This has occurred on several attempts since I've been back, so now they're way too engrossed to barely even acknowledge when I return home :) . I've been relegated to asking Chinese people what happens in these movies so I know what the plot line basically is... :)
Next time, we've got to get something with English subtitles.

Blinded, you lost your way...

I had the opportunity to meet with a very dear old friend, and, in finding him, also found that he has lost faith. Though, I must admit, I am not entirely sure in what. It's a curious thing, the gift of faith. Faith moves mountains and shakes the heart of man, but yet, begins as a tiny seed, almost invisible and intangible, a small miracle.
And yet, in what should be a time of despair and grief (which, indeed, it is - that drew a stake through the heart of me), I also see hope. Despite everything that's occurred, there are a few things that I know to be true, and one is that God does not abandon His children, no matter if they can no longer accept their kinship nor no longer want to be a part of His family.
I think I see a small reflection of my own heart, as well as many of our hearts, in this as well... more on this thought later...

FFT

This made me laugh very hard, b/c it's true... must've been written by a resident who was overworked and bitter that day... I can only hope that no resident thinks the same of me...

Any Resident's Story

11:14 I can’t wait until I’m on staff. I’m gonna leave my watch at home every day. Maybe I’ll just forget how to tell time altogether.

11:20 Okay, he should be here any minute now. No apology, of course. Not even an explanation. Is there an explanation? Stuck in traffic? Attacked by badgers? Trapped under something heavy, like his ego? Maybe he’s looking after some really sick patient somewhere. Really sick, unlike his patients here, who are apparently only sorta sick and not really worth his time. Maybe someone’s dying somewhere.

11:27 There’d better be somebody dying. Only excuse I can think of for being 27 minutes late.

11:31 There’s nobody dying anywhere. Well, dying of iatrogenic boredom, maybe. I wonder who the victim is. Some poor patient? Another resident? Maybe it’s some other staff jerk, who’s seriously reconsidering ever asking for a curbside consult again.

11:36 I’d leave and try to get something useful done, but the second I do he’ll turn up and blow a gasket because I’m not here waiting for him with his slippers in my mouth. Should I page him? No, he hates being paged. Whenever I page him he’s in the middle of something important, like curing cancer or inventing oxygen or defibrillating the Pope.

11:41 Why am I even here? I’ve forgotten everything I was going to talk to him about. Dammit! Aww, it doesn’t matter, anyway. He never wants to hear anything I have to say. Vitals? Bah! Meds? Phooey! Has the patient recently eaten nectarines? That’s what he’ll want to know. Has the patient ever been in a marching band? Has the patient now, or has the patient ever been, in possession of a humidor?

11:43 Oh, here he comes now. You’d think he was on vacation, the way he’s meandering down the hall. Hey, wait a second… he’s got a coffee! He’s been at Tim’s for God’s sake! That’s it. He’s really gonna get it now. I’m gonna take a piece outta him. Here I am waiting to talk to him about his patients, and he’s getting a double-double and a muffin! I’m gonna…

11:46 I really shoulda let him have it.

12:02 Well, I guess I won’t be getting to that lunchtime teaching session. This is plenty educational, though. Listening to him go on about how residents today don’t know how to do a physical exam is certainly going to make me a better doctor. I bet he knows of a study that says so.

12:08 Shut up. Please shut up. I’ll pay you one hundred dollars to shut up. Seriously. Stop talking now.

12:14 Randomize this, you $%&@!
-Paul Moorehead

Skills, or lack thereof

One of the curious skills that I've never learned to acquire is how to enter a car without getting either myself, or my car interior, wet when it is raining outside. Certainly, I can open the back door and drop my stuff inside without getting it wet, but for me to get into the car without either my umbrella getting my car interior all wet, or me getting into the car wet... I think it's a skill beyond my means. If anyone has any suggestions or lesson plans, I'd greatly appreciate it.

India IV

Besides the filth and the poverty and the utter contrast between rich and poor in this country, I saw something else that was really sad by the side of the road.... out by Mathurpa lay three black bears and several monkeys chained up. The bears had nose rings and metal muzzles, which probably were burning their little noses in the heat... they all lay there completely lethargic and sad... apparently in India (as in many other countries), they kidnap these animals and beat them into submission so they can perform for money... apparently, they take these poor Himalayan bears and forest monkeys and force them to 'dance' in the dense Indian summer heat for tourists (Shame on us!!) and locals. I unfortunately didn't get an opportunity to take a picture of these poor animals.

India III

I think I haven't really been that much more specific about stuff that I've experienced here in this country yet, b/c I haven't really had enough time to process it and distill it down into a nice sound bite, or a silly story. I've travelling from the southern tip of India, up the eastern coast, and up to the north-eastern most part of the country. We are heading over to the western side this afternoon (which is why I'm trying to catch up on this blog; I'm in the Kolkata airport, waiting for a plane) and up to the Taj Mahal (because what trip to India would be complete without a trip there??), the first completely touristy thing that we've done since we've gotten here.
I have been to Mother Teresa's place here, and have visited her tomb. Also, the Sisters there gave me some amulet or something blessed by Mother which is supposed to heal stuff, or something... helpful when members of the group fall ill, I suppose... I could just wave the amulet over them until they get better... :P

Top ten sayings -revised

The Top Ten Things We've Been Saying on this Trip:
1. Daniel Wang: Boooooooo!!!!!!
2. D.W.T.... Holy cow, that was so D.W.T.... and other variations...
3. There were two Xs.... Hey! A Talking X!
4. I HATE the Ladies' line!!!!
5. Poe-tay-toe....
6. Whoa! That's a cutie-patootie!
7. Is it a squatty-potty, or a normal one? A bi-toilet??? Don't forget to roll up your pants...
8. Um... her bum's wet... Ummmm... her bum's naked... I don't think that's right...
9. We have to wait -how long- before our flight? Again? Is there cake? Wanna play hangman? Let's make monkeys!
10. Hack hack cough cough.... ewwwww... my nose is blowing black....

I've heard the angels sing...

... and I've been to a small piece of heaven on earth. I've just left the state of Mizoram, wayyyy in the north east corner of India, separated from the bulk of the country by Bangladesh, in fact. A country that can pinpoint exactly when God came to them: January 11th, 1894, by way of two Welsh missionaries that landed on one of their riverbanks that day. The 'tribal peoples' of Mizoram (which is how the Indians see them; they spent many years fighting the Indians for independence, and finally conceded to being one of their states, which has not been to their favour - being so geographically isolated, as well as previously having been a rebel state, as well as being adamantly Christian amidst a government that is technically secular, but is trying very hard to become hard-line Hindu, has led to them being somewhat neglected and oppressed in this country) were previously head-hunters and fierce warriors, and are now the most Christianized state in the world. They send the most missionaries out per capita in the world. In stark contrast to the rest of India, their streets are clean, there are no beggars, no homeless, no orphans or widows left alone. The community ensures that all are fed and cared for.
And they sing like angels. Actually, one curious fact about the Mizos is that their culture is drenched in music. There is actually a recording studio every block or so in the capital, and lots of people record their own CDs and even their own videos! They have a whole channel on TV which just plays Mizo music videos 24 hours a day which is really cool! Most of the music is written for, and about, God, and it's gorgeous.
This morning, we visted an orphanage where many Burmese babies are brought across the mountains and left at their doorstep. These 386 children sang for us. Please note: "Above all... like a rose" is not my most favorite song, but it was the first time in a long while that singing has brought me to tears. It was indeed like listening to angels. I know people have got it on videotape, and I'm sure I will end up with a DVD version, but I don't think it will end up being able to transmit it in quite the same manner...

India II

So now we've been here for a good week or so....
About Delirious?... they were apparently in Hyderabad doing a free concert, so we grabbed a tuk-tuk and rode over to the park where they were supposed to be playing. There was a very cool Hindi Christian band, and the worship team of the speaker (apparently some tour of Joyce Meyer - who I'd never heard of before- and Delirious?), but no Delirous?.... oh well, it was still a really cool time...

Daniel Wang

One of the most common sayings we've been using since we've gotten here is: "Daniel Wang: Boooooo" :) .... whenever flights get delayed, or we get all sweaty and gross, or when we think we got ripped off in the market, or just whenever we feel like it. I suppose he'd would have been one of the last people we'd talk about most while over here, but there you go.... legend in his own mind.... :)

FFT

The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page....
-- St. Augustine

India

I think I will have much to say on this later. We have been here three days already, and I have many thoughts jumbled in my head.
However, briefly (this will be re-edited later): We went to a Delirious? concert here...

Sri Lanka

Again, another country that we spent a scant 24 hours-ish in. We actually spent our day driving along the southern coastline to go visit Operation Mobilization's ship that was docked at the southern end of the country. We spent several hours driving by kilometre after kilometre of tsunami devastation. It's hard to describe the sight. Certainly, knocked down buildings and such are fairly commonplace, but to watch for miles of buildings that are (still) gone, and, in their place, a few houses here, many make-shift tents and wooden shacks there, is another thing entirely. To see forests of palm trees with their branches flailing backwards, away from the shoreline, single flip-flops lying in the sand, boats in broken pieces several metres from the beach.... What I found most striking though, was the overgrowth. Morning glories have taken over much of the ground cover since then, as many people have not been able to afford to rebuild again....
Shamefully, we did make a "tour stop" to take pictures of the destruction, and I spent a whole roll on it. I don't think words or pictures are adequate though, to communicate it all....

Thailand

Well, we only spent about 24 hours in the country, and none of it in Bangkok, except to transfer flights. I don't think my posts are going to be very articulate today; I may re-edit them later when I'm a little less sleepy... However, we did go to this elephant farm in northern Thailand... it's not so much a farm as it is a bit of a circus. It's where the 'world-famous' elephant paintings come from. And, admittedly, Asian elephants are very cute. Basically, a whole freaking herd of elephants live here, entertaining tourists with their antics and their paintings, and you can ride them and admire the babies, etc. VERY CUTE. But also, very sad. Some of the younger elephants (presumably still under training) were chained around the neck and foot, I suppose, to keep them from stamping on people. It is very strange and humiliating, being entertained by slaves, and yet enjoying it... I wonder if this is how other cultures allowed themselves to enslave others... I also wonder at how much these beasts had to be subjugated when they were younger to forget that they have incredible power and beautiful potential for wildness....
PS. Didn't eat pad thai here. Will have to return.

Mr. Fruit

This may sound really strange to folks, and some of you may think I'm on drugs or something, but we've been smuggling fruit across country borders and through airports. We've successfully gotten Mr. Orange through HK, Thailand and Sri Lanka, but in a fit of hunger desperation, ate him. We've also gone through Mr. Banana, but he didn't last very long. Currently, we've got Son of Orange with us. I think we've deluded ourselves to think we're doing something vaguely illegal by smuggling produce across borders... :P

Hong Kong

I know many of you have been here before, and lots of people were even raised here, so I'm not sure what the point of my impressions would be, as I'm sure there are many who can give much more insight to the city than I. (Besides the fact that I have barely been here 24 hours, and I'm already on my way again).
But a few observations: Work starts late, and ends late. Like some nation-wide Chinese time, or something. Oddly, coming into the city at 9am, I was struck by the entire lack of pedestrian or vehicular traffic. Apparently, things don't really start getting busy around here till at least 11am, and then keep going till the wee hours of the morning....
Also, despite all the glitz and glamour here (of which there is much: how many Burberrys does a city need, anyways? Though I have been equally as guilty, dragging everyone to Shanghai Tang to shop :P ), I sense a world-weariness here. Certainly, there have been political and economic issues surrounding this area for a while, perhaps not on a 'human devastation' scale, but ??perhaps because of all the consumerism, or relative wealth??, I do sense a fatigue from that.... ??perhaps it is a vague realization of the lack of satisfaction from speed and haste, or from things?? I can't quite grasp that... I just sense that the whole city almost sighs from its weariness... or maybe I'm just blowing out of my ear, but at least, that's what I sense when I am here...
Onto Thailand, and, if I'm lucky, the best pad thai ever...

FFT II

Vampire

CBC, lytes, glucose, BUN, creatinine
INR/PTT, liver function tests,
cultures X 2,
toxicology screen,
calcium, magnesium, TSH,
cardiac enzymes,
blood gases.
Stat please on Mr. Whatsisname in stretcher 5.

After all the blood I've sucked from him
you'd think I'd have a better grip on his soul.

--Gwynedd Pickett

Redemption? Recovery? Recividism?

I've been thinking about why there is such a taboo around the notion of suicide, that it is the only act beyond all sense of redemption. A patient recently came to me, telling me he had tried several times this week to die unsuccessfully, and if I would not help him, no one could. Grabbing me by the shoulders and looking me in the eye, he stated that if he could not get help, he would walk out and jump off a building. And I believed him.
But I wonder why such things are looked upon as mental instability. People point out that Judas the traitor hung himself after he had performed the 'sin of sins' by betraying the Son of God, and that is why (simplistically, I think) suicide is wrong. However, Aristotle poisoned himself surrounded by his followers at the end of his life, and no one rejects his writings out of hand because of it.
I am not so sure why we single out Judas as the ultimate of traitors. It's written that "all of [the disciples] will betray [Jesus]", and all of them, indeed, did flee and betray Him. However, I also note that Judas was the only one noted to have tried to make things right without being asked. He was the one, trying to beg for His life, returning the money, proclaiming that he was wrong. Peter, on the other hand, just stands around and cries when he realizes that he's in the wrong, and doesn't actually ever apologize for his betrayal. (Yes, yes, I heard the interjectors saying, "But he was too ashamed to actually apologize; he needed Jesus to bring him back into fellowship with Him, just as we need Him to initiate fellowship with us") However, I also note that Judas was the only one to feel enough anguish at his betrayal to -believe- that he was beyond redemption, and so ended his life. I know it is possible to feel enough sorrow, enough pain, to want to bring it to an end, and I wonder if Judas, of all the disciples, was the only one to understand the depth of their betrayal.
I think there is still room for redemption for Judas, -despite- his suicide, as there is for all of us, traitors and betrayors all. It -is- only through death that we can walk into life again, so I can only look to Judas and wonder....

Merry Christmas!

So I was thinking about some of the reasons why I appreciate my parents, and a few of them revolve around Christmas. Some of these things, I think, have been quite formative in how and why I think about certain things. I was chatting with a friend of mine, and he reminded me of this while we were talking about when/where we were having Christmas dinner this year. Most years for almost as long as I can remember, my folks have always invited people who were not family to eat with us and our family. Certainly, we don't eat all Norman Rockwell style; most of the time, we eat standing around the kitchen island, but that's besides the point. We've had foreign students, recent immigrants and single parents, both Christian and not, sit at various times around our 'table' for Christmas (admittedly also, most of the time, they're exclusively Korean people, but that's also besides the point). I think that is something that I profoundly respect about my folks. Their table has always remained open to people who had nowhere else to go for Christmas. We didn't have a turkey, nor any cranberry sauce this year (sadly), but I think this was the first time that I really saw the diversity around our table. And I think that makes up for any lack of cranberry sauce and turkey... Merry Christmas to you all... I hope you had a lovely one....

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag...

I am usually struck with the prevalence and profundity of depression, in all its forms. Sometimes I feel like these walking wounded are abnormally attracted to me, sensing in me some kinship or ability to walk alongside them on their descent to hell. I know that this was long-debated many moons ago about 'how tied up' in patients we get, but still... One of my preceptors once said that you end up with the practice you deserve. Some, I suppose, end up with the personalities, the anxious, the entitled, the various psychosomatisms, which would certainly not be my desire. I am not sure if the profoundly depressed are my particular little birds that I am to protect... Perhaps the ensuing folie a deux produces a vortex that helps shoot them out of the tornado, while I'm left spinning around in the dregs that are left...

Food for Thought (FFT) I

"I don't think you can live with the flat, metallic lakes, the brooding firs and pines, and the great expanses of grey rock that stretch all the way from Yellowknife to Labrador, with the naked birches and the rattling aspens, with the ghostly call of the loon and the haunting cry of the wolf, without being a very special kind of person." -- Pierre Berton

About snow tires

So I've successfully driven back out to the countryside last night, despite bad snow squalls and white-out conditions on several of the roads along the way; it took me an extra hour to get up there than it usually would b/c of this, with several rumblings of the roadsides when I swerved over the sides....
Which brings me to the snow tire issue; I know a few people have suggested that I get some for safety's sake. However, I did manage to get by 2.5 winters in Ottawa without them. Also, I'm looking at it from the perspective of probability; I get the feeling that my car, in general, being forced into going head-to-head with a truck/side rail/SUV/compact sedan/mini van, will likely lose. I thus suspect that if I was in a serious enough accident, I would probably die. Which, honestly, I think is better than being left quadriplegic. Which, after having seen many patients (today included) who have been left in various severe levels of disability d/t motor vehicle crashes, is not really my inclination. I figure, if I get snow tires, it just increases the chances that I would survive a crash. Not my inclination. "It's better to burn out than to fade away" states Tom Petty. I'd be inclined to agree; I think I'd rather smash up spectacularly than be partially crumpled.
On another note: I'm staying at this lovely little farm house B&B, so I just thought I would put a little advertising plug in for them: http://www.cedarbraeinn.ca/ . The hosts are lovely people, and it's a beautiful piece of property (though, admittedly, it's under a heck of a lot of snow right now, so I dunno what it looks like when it's all not snowy). It's nice to look out the window and just see trees and snow-covered fields out to the horizon....

Starting a landslide in my ego... A Day without me

I'm not entirely even sure how to start writing this one... I think I've been thinking a bit on archetypes: Love, death, self, sacrifice, etc. I don't have anything cohesive to say yet, but I think with the soul shrinking and other effects over the past couple of weeks may yet dredge up something potentially useful. Or it may bring up something more dark, terrifying and mystifying yet...

With literary and imagination regards to Brian...

So there was this contest in Ottawa to win tickets to the U2 concert, which, despite my many entries, I didn't win. So I'm going to post some of the better ones for ppl to peruse and see if maybe they would've picked mine... basically, you were supposed to write a very short answer to the question (very paraphrased) of how faith mingles with art and politics in U2's music.
Thanks of course to Brian who has helped my lack of arts-brain to think theologically about culture over the years too....

“Grace, she takes the blame, she covers the shame, removes the stain… a thought that changed the world… [and] makes beauty out of ugly things.”. “Touch me, take me to that other place, teach me, I know I’m not a hopeless case.”. A life touched by grace cannot help but offer hope and redemption to a hurting world. This is where Bono’s art and politics reach out to offer beauty and healing. He writes to “open up to the Lamb of God, to the love of He who made the blind to see… He’s coming back, oh believe Him.” (Very incomplete, but that was the word limit)

Hope amidst despair, resurrection amidst death: the dominant themes used in Bono's lyrics for decades now. Whether "claiming the victory Jesus won" on "Sunday Bloody Sunday", to declaring that "You broke the bonds, loosed the chains, carried the cross of my shame", Bono has consistently written about the only One who is able to offer hope. He realizes this when he declares that he "was born, a child of grace... all because of You, 'I AM' [YHWH]". The natural outflow of receiving of grace is helping heal Earth's wounds; for Bono, this is by his arts and his politics.

Anyways, the other ones kind of followed along those lines. Obviously not enough to score tickets though; apparently the winner talked about how Bono and Ali have been married for 25+ years now, though how that answers the original question, I'm not really sure... I'm suspecting a conspiracy about homogenized Christian radio that values 'family values' more than actual Christian thought...

Mr. Puffy

This morning, the weather forecaster says it feels like -15 with the windchill right now. Also, snow's supposed to be coming tonight, and I'm on call at the hospital overnight... all this leads to: It is time. Time for Mr. Puffy to come on out! Yeah!

Death and it's trappings

While I've been up here in Chesley, I've had to go to various nursing homes to declare some deaths. This isn't a particularly new experience for me. However, I've always felt a little bit silly when I've gotten the call. What on earth do you say, as a complete stranger, to a family who has just lost a loved one, especially as a stranger who's there to "make sure" their loved one is really dead? How silly do I look when I call their name, expecting them not to answer? Or when I shine a light into their eyes, not expecting a squint or a response? Or when I listen to their chests, not expecting to hear a heartbeat?

That, I think, is the one thing that always still profoundly affects me every single time. When you listen to a living, breathing chest, you can hear the air circulating amongst the millions of alveoli, can hear the litres of blood pumping through the heart, every murmur, every bruit, every crackle, every wheeze. It sounds -alive- and vibrantly so.....

But the deadness of the silence of a heart that is stilled.... it's an echo that reverberates through your stethoscope that just goes on and on in the deepness of silence.... I think I get a small chill every time I hear that... I think it's the finality of that silence that always jars me for a bit.... For a small moment, it reminds me again of how small and narrow the line between life and death truly is...

The moment passes... I put back on my professional veneer and express my condolences to the family, and leave them to grieve and mourn their loved one's mortality, while I go to ponder my own...

Postcards from the Edge Episode XI Part XV

You know what's really scary about driving down country roads? Last night was really really rainy, and tonight was really really snowy. Not so bad if you're just staying in, but I've been driving around the area having dinner with various friends who live in other towns around here.... SCARY driving in my little car.... No lights, unless you're driving through a town, or you pass a farmhouse, or another car comes at you.... no street signs, so you pretty much have to know where you're going, or if you don't, at least know several different routes to your destination in case you miss Sideroad 10 or something (which is what I did last night)... but at least the ditches on the sides of the road are small, so you can't do toooo much damage... Tonight was pretty scary, as winds were gusting up to about 60-70 km/hr, and I couldn't see anything except the three or four feet in front of me and most of it was blowing snow; nothing out the back windows, nothing out the sides... One of the main things I was thinking about was: "If I get blown over into a ditch, and I break my arms or lose consciousness so I can't get to my phone, I certainly hope the OPP can call most ppl on my cell phone list to tell them that I'm dead or something".... However, I made it back from both destinations just fine (though driving much less quickly than I usually do).... aaahhh! The snow's sticking to the ground!
On the other hand, I really really like the way ladies in small towns call you "Hon" all the time, like "Oh, hon, that's just 'round the corner and down the street. You think you'll be OK getting there, hon?" or "That'll be $7.62, hon". I like it, it's sweet. At least I'm not being called "ma'am"... :)

Motivations and caveats

So, I'm back in the little town of Chesley, and, being given the grace of having leisure time again, I've decided to try to consolidate all the still-in-existence PFTEs (which, unfortunately, the first few Episodes are missing, and, I realize, many of the older ones are in storage somewhere, so it may take a while to transcribe them online)... someone had suggested to start a blog, as that might make my life a bit easier....
So here I am, running a blog, possibly one of the bigger neo-Luddites that there are around... I do, however, see the increased flexibility (hmmm, seems to be one of the running themes this year) of having the blog... at least now when I go off on some rampage (like the previous post), it can be from the perspective of the blog, rather than, strictly speaking, a 'postcard'....
I think it may also be useful in that I can finally get a real sense as to who is actually reading these things, and who just junks them when they land in the mailbox too...
At any rate, hopefully, you guys might get a bit more of a kick out of this, hopefully, I'll be a little bit broader in what I write about (ie PFTEs will still clearly be from abroad and away, and other extraneous stuff can end up here too), and hopefully, I'll write a little more frequently as well... (maybe)...

Postcards from the Edge Episode XI Part XIV

I know it's rather unusual that I would write a PFTE from the confines of Toronto or Ottawa, but I think I've been struck enough by being in Toronto that perhaps I should write. Certainly the culture-shock of being back here has been more striking this time around than even when going overseas to Africa. I can't quite put my finger on -why- that is, per se, as I've lived in this city for most of my lifetime. I've been working on this PFTE for a few weeks now (which is also not typical; usually I just type 'em up and send 'em off), as I'm not sure how this will come across since this is an observation 'from home', and not 'away'.... it's not meant as an indictment of anyone particularly in Toronto... it's just what I've observed/felt, like I do anywhere that I go....
The hustle-bustle, hurdy-gurdy, rush rush rush cacaphony that is the reality of a city this size is starting to grate on my very soul. In other parts of the country, I've heard repeatedly about the dislike that most of the rest of Canada harbours towards Toronto, but, now that I am here, I can -feel- why this is so. It is not all terribly bad; certainly, walking through Kensington regularly heartens me, and I am currently on the hunt for the perfect pad thai. Most of my patients are quite nice, and most of the people that I work with are as well. However, I have always contended that work is not, and should not, be the all-encompassing part of life, engulfing most of the precious hours that we live (this is not to say that I'm completely hating my job; to the contrary, I think my job is one of the more interesting ones going, but that doesn't mean it should gobble up my time like a big piece of tiramisu...)... I am not sure if it is the contrast between the isolation of the north, where, geographically speaking, you are alone (which is not bad at all) to the isolation of the city, where, emotionally speaking, you are alone (which, when living shoulder-to-shoulder with millions of others, strikes you as bad). The wide open spaces, the trees, the stars and the skies speak to something (well, really, Someone) much larger than yourself, whereas the hurriedness and busy-ness of people in the city speak more to the small-mindedness that we develop when we are so minutely engaged in the details of our own little lives..... I am not so sure if it is the small-ness of the soul in the big city that I feel weighing down or if it is something other....
Some ponderings...
julia

Postcards from the Edge Episode XI Part XIII

So a few interesting notes since I've been up here: I finally went fishing for the first time in North America last week. After all that delicious fish in NWT, I felt maybe it was time to try to get some of my own (once I got over the hypocritical guilt pangs of deliberately trying to hunt something down to eat it). So I got myself a fishing licence and went out on the water (appropriately wearing my Tilley - that really made me look like I was supposed to go fish). Of course, I was the total city-slicker girl; someone else had to bait my hook with live minnows. But surprisingly, I was the only one in a boat to actually get a bite. Managed to land a 10 inch walleye without a net (though, of course, I screamed so loud when the fish landed, flopping around in the boat, they didn't really have a chance to grab a net, and then with my attempts to jump out of the boat to avoid getting slimy fish flesh all over myself... it was a pretty feeble, stereotypically city-girl response to catching a fish, I must embarassingly say). Bleah. Of course, then one of the men had to unhook my fish, hold it and measure it for me before it was determined to be too small to take home for dinner, so they threw it back in. -That- was rather anticlimactic. I didn't even get to eat my prey after all of that.... though I then returned home and had some previously caught pickerel, so I guess over all, I did get some fish for dinner, so that was good... :)
Yet another thing in the roster of "domestic skills learned abroad": I've learned how to can and preserve things; isn't that bizarre? I haven't yet made jam (on the other hand, blueberry season is wayyyy over here, so likely won't), but I did learn how to actually make things that can go in jars so they won't go bad.... that's small potatoes for some of the people on this list, but it's a big deal for me, so that goes right up there with scrapbooking... :)
Apparently, there have been many more bears wandering around town the last little while. Ever since the politically-motivated-by-people-in-the-south-elimination-of-the-spring-bear-hunt-because-bears-are-so-cute-we-shouldn't-kill-them three years ago, there have been many more bears wandering around where people actually live up in the North. I haven't seen any personally (yet), though there is basically just bush behind my house, and most of the bear sightings have been up in my area of town (in fact, the week before I arrived, a bear was wandering around in front of the emergency dept of the hospital). I really really really really want to see one, but I hope I don't, if that makes sense. The other night I was walking home from someone's house who lives up in the north end of town about a half hour from my house, walking by the (unlit) ball park and the (unlit) curling club and the (unlit) bush, kind of far-ish from any other houses, and thought nothing of it, until a couple of nurses told me the next day that that was not a terribly intelligent thing to do. Not that any people would harm me necessarily, but that the bears could... yikes...
Love you all!
julia

Postcards from the Edge Episode XI Part XII

Welcome back! I know I've been "off the air" for a few weeks, but as some of you know, I've been spending the past few weeks in Ottawa preparing for a friend's wedding (for those of you who have been breathlessly anticipating seeing some photos from said wedding, I'll send you links as soon as I get some...), and spending some time with my man Bono at the ACC :P (Thx to D & O !!) To those of you new to the series: Welcome!
I have now been back up in Sioux Lookout for the past few days. As you may recall, this is where I spent a good chunk of my springtime this year. It's nice to be back, as now there is no snow nor ice on the ground ( ! like there was in April ! ), and they're enjoying a bit of Indian summer (with no mosquitoes!! Whoopee!! ) before the winter comes.... at least I don't have to worry about tripping over ice on the way to the one and only supermarket in town :) (If you recall, back when I was here in March, I arrived the same w/e as the grand opening of said supermarket, which was the biggest thing to have happened in town for a while.... it -is- a very lovely and wonderful supermarket, so I can understand the fuss... It's like visiting a Great Canadian Superstore, or one of those massive Loblaws, so it's pretty impressive in a town this size... )
It's been a bit lovely-embarassing to be back in town, as many people have been so happy to see me come back, and remembering my name, and wondering how the weddings have gone, etc etc... whereas, dementia-afflicted that I am, I'm having a hard time keeping up with names and such. On the other hand, I jumped right back into the Bible study group that I had been with in the spring, and noticed how much their kids have all grown!!
Since for some reason, a good chunk of you believed that I spent my summer in the Yukon (is this b/c Canadians are geographically disabled, cause I know I am? Is it b/c most Canadians don't remember that Whitehorse is the capital of the Yukon, but Yellowknife is the capital of the NWT? Is it b/c only Gr. 9 geography is compulsory?), I am enclosing a map showing exactly where I am this time around, so there's no confusion.
For those of you who are interested, my home number up here is (807) 737-7252. There is an answering machine in the house, but I am not entirely sure how it works. Also, please keep in mind that I'm on Central Time. Also, I think it may be time to clean up my address list, so if you no longer wish to be part of this list, please let me know! Also, if there's anybody who should be on this list, but I keep forgetting to put them on, please also let me know!
Thinking of you all fondly,
Julia

Postcards from the Edge Episode XI Part XI

I didn’t really expect to write another one of these before I left the territory, but a few more interesting notes, and another corny joke:
What do you call a half order of bison? Unison! Har har har… groan…

At any rate, I’ve had the privilege of taking care of the Anglican bishop of the Arctic in the hospital last week. This is important as he was, and still is, very respected by the Inuit people, as he was sent here from England over fifty years ago, where he has spent his entire adult life, working in the North. Indeed, he’s written his memoirs in a rather well-known book (well, well-known for modern Inuit culture etc at any rate) published several years ago called “Igloo Dwellers Were My Church”, which he and his family gifted to me for taking care of him in hospital. I’m now busily reading it, as it also records how life has changed in the North since the 1950s… at any rate, I’ve just been struck with this gentleman and his legendary exploits in the North when he was younger, including dogsledding (!) over 4500km (!) every year (!) through the Arctic to visit his parishioners and translating the Bible into Inuinaktun single-handedly…
Furthermore, the last few days have been windy and very very rainy up here, flooding the gutters and sidewalks… it just kind of reminded me of Katrina, bearing down on the southern US, though not nearly similar in its ferocity or damage…
Now that’s really it… heading home in five days now…
julia

Postcards from the Edge Episode XI Part X

I’m heading home really soon, so there’s not that much to report: I’m working loads, trying to eat as much fish as I can before I go back and trying to visit people on their houseboats or in their homes before I skedaddle out of town. BUT, I wanted to share my new favorite joke: Did you hear about the Inuk who was told to move to Toronto? He would have Nunavut… har har har! OK, even people up here groaned when they heard the joke….
So one of the more curious things I’ve noted since I’ve been up here is my exposure to skills that have little to nothing to do with my work. I’ve learned how to scrapbook, make jewellery, run a day-care and home-school my children while I’ve been up here. Strange set of skills, but perhaps handy in a pinch. I think. Maybe. Not particularly useful if my car runs down, or my pants need hemming, but skills nonetheless…
One thing that struck me walking on the way to work this morning, and, I know I’ve written about this before when I was in Iqaluit, but ravens are very huge birds… they are the size of car tires! And they ‘caw caw’, like our blackbirds do, but it’s an ominous sounding cry… It’s almost kind of scary walking by them on the sidewalks, cause they really do look like they could fly up and gobble up your eyeballs… Actually, I think they would, given the opportunity… I understand the darkness in the choice of Poe’s The Raven…
I’ve encountered another “questionable intelligence patient” story, but it’s not really a story that I can write about in a family column like this… but certainly, new heights in ‘rolling my eyes’ have been achieved… If you’re interested in being grossed out or sickened, you can write, but otherwise, I guess you can just leave it to the imagination…
I’m heading home in the next two weeks, so I suspect I shall see a few of you in the next little while. Love you all!
julia

Postcards from the Edge Episode XI Part IX

So, it’s starting to get noticeably darker up here. The sun actually does go down, and the sky actually gets ‘dark’ now for a few hours every night. I don’t have to cover up my windows anymore at night in order to sleep (or maybe I’m used to sleeping with the lights on now?). I suppose being almost two months from the Summer Solstice (and, conversely, four months from the dead of winter), it’s not surprising that the sun changes so quickly up here. Incidentally, it’s also starting to get a bit chilly up here. Admittedly, being the cold wimp that I am, I haven’t exactly been ‘hot’ this whole summer. I brought up some shorts to YK for the summer heat…. Well, suffice it to say that I never actually got them out of the suitcase… ☺ People note up here at least I come home where there will still be summer-like weather, when they’ll certainly be entrenched in autumn.
Despite the non-hotness, I’ve still managed to get out on the rocks, lakes and trees of this landscape. I’ve eaten more roasted marshmallows and s’mores over the past few weeks than I think I ever have my entire life! And, the coolness causing me to cover up certainly protects from the insane mosquitos and black flies that are up here! (Really insane! They don’t even buzz, so you can’t hear them coming, and then you blow up like a balloon when they bite you, so it looks like you got beaten up by a baseball bat!)
The teens at my church up here are awesome (well, OK, so are the kids! ☺ ), and I’m totally loving them. It’s good to see such potential and childish hope and the NON-know-it-all-seen-it-all attitude that distinguishes them from many teens that I’ve met. I think in contrast with a lot of the messed up kids and equally messed up teenage moms that I have to work with up here, it gives me great hope to get through my workdays. I first met them back in June at a dinner the grown-ups had prepared for them. They had assumed I was one of them, and started chatting with me, until their parents pointed out that I was one of the doctors at the hospital… hee hee hee… they had me pegged at about 17 or 18 years old…. At any rate, it’s funny where the flowers are found when you go walking along the fields of life…

Love you all!
julia