Surgery Looms

As my surgery date rapidly approaches, I feel the weight of everything I have to do ahead of time.  I need to go over work-related stuff with my boss; stuff like how my files are organize on the computer, how to set up a zoom meeting, how to this, how to that, basically how to function without me for a few months.  Then there’s stuff at home like general cleaning, which is just not happening due to a lack of energy and intense pain; and clearing out the basement as our 19-year-old son will be moving down there so he has his own space.  Aside from a sleeping alcove, he’ll have a small living room area where he can have his computer and all his other stuff.  Of course he’ll still hang with us to watch tv and have meals, but it will be good for him to have his own space besides a small bedroom.  Again, though, pain and energy levels have stalled this project as well. 

As far as work goes, who knew there would be so many damn forms to fill out just to have surgery and take short-term disability leave?  And as if there weren’t enough forms for that, there is a 22-page booklet of instructions for preparing for the surgery!  

I’m managing the pain as best as possible with Tylenol and the very rare occasional boost from Advil (which is counter-indicated due to the blood pressure meds).  The pain itself is hard to describe.  Most of the time it’s a constant ache as if someone is pressing on my lower abdomen with the handle end of a knife.  Other times it’s a sudden sharp pain.  Sometimes it gets so intense that it feels like someone took coals from a good fire and just laid them inside me.  And yet other times it radiates right through to my lower back.  These are the times I’m thankful for seat warmers in my car, which I have used even though it’s 28 degrees outside!  Some days I’m able to sit for hours either at work or on the sofa, and some days I can’t get comfortable sitting or laying down, or even standing up.  Overall, it’s bad enough that I truly believe the pain I will experience post-surgery can only be an improvement!  

Initially we had planned for my husband to bring me to the hospital and then leave for home when they take me for surgery.  After thinking about it for a few days, I told my husband I’d prefer to have him there with me for the day until I’m out of surgery and in a room.  Our son is coming too.  This brings me comfort.  I’m scared enough without doing this and them not being there.  Knowing they are will really do a lot for my peace of mind.  The part that does suck though, is having to be awake by 3:00 am or so.  Since we live a handy 3-hour drive from the hospital, we will have to leave home between 4:30 and 5:00 am in order to get there for the 8:00 am check-in.  Surgery is scheduled for 11:00 am and I’m going to be starving by then since I can’t eat after midnight.  Hopefully they’ll have food handy when I wake up.   

 

Where to next?

Well, I guess the next step is the surgery.  Although I had resolved to waiting until mid to late August, a surprise phone call came from the surgeon's office this morning. I'm heading off to surgery on August 2nd.  

That just made it so real.  And scary.  I have so much to do before then.  Unfortunately, plans I kind of had (like going to the Spinrite tent sale) will now have to wait until next year. My husband says I have too much yarn anyway, but what does he know?  

It takes a lot of mental strength to stay focused on positives.  The biggest positive I have is that as of August 2nd the healing will begin.  It's going to be a hell of a ride though.  Be sure and stay tuned and thanks for all your positive thoughts to help me along the way.  

No Dodging the Bullet This Time

Not having a family doctor is really not good.  In January of last year our doctor closed her practice.  She wasn’t retiring or even moving, just not going to do patients any more.  Our local clinic where she had worked, despite having a lot of doctors, did not distribute her patients.  We were medical orphans.  They declined to have a waiting list and indicated they would assign patients to new doctors based on priority need.  So here I sit about 18 months later, having survived cancer once, with thyroid issues, diabetes, and high blood pressure, but apparently I’m not “high need” enough.

Since I don’t have a family doctor, I have to navigate the medical system myself, through the emergency room.  Need prescription refills?  Go to the ER and wait several hours to see a doctor who will write the refill order.  Does the doctor do anything to check my thyroid or diabetes, or even blood pressure to ensure I’m getting the right treatment?  Nope.  Fortunately, I was able to get accepted as a patient by the diabetes nurse practitioner, but her practice is limited to diabetes.  At least I was getting regular blood work done and being monitored for what she could monitor.  For all else…yes, back to the ER. 

In April I went to the ER because I’d been having abdominal pain that wasn’t going away.  Because it was persistent, I realized it was more than possibly gas.  Sitting or standing for any length of time became unbearable. 

So off I went, for a 7½ hour wait.  Unfortunately for me, there was a very social woman in the waiting room.  Because the room was packed, I ended up sitting across from her.  I swear I have a sign or a tattoo on my forehead that says, “talk to me and tell me your life story” because in short order she introduced herself and proceeded to tell me everything.  I didn’t even want to know her name, and in fact had my book in my hand and my reading glasses on.  It didn’t matter.  In short order she showed me her wedding photos (from ten years before), and told me all about the wedding and how her two brothers stood up for her.  I learned her husband served in Afghanistan and that very soon they would be adopting an older girl.  The woman had colostomy surgery the previous month and was there to have it checked. At this point she showed me the cover she sewed herself for the baggie she has to wear.  I had to admire the Disney tattoo sleeve on her right arm and hear all about her plans for the other arm AND check out the pictures of what she wants there.  I discovered she lived in northern Quebec as a kid and that she is now 45 to her husband’s 38.  She had been married previously to an abusive asshole.  The story goes on and on.  I was so relieved when they called her name that I almost didn’t mind another few hours waiting for my turn.  I didn’t want to be rude (I’m too polite at times), but I did try several times to put my head down and start reading.  She just wouldn’t be ignored.  I have no idea why me and not someone else in the room. 

Finally, I was called in and I could have cried with frustration.  The doctor basically blew me off.  He asked where the pain was.  I told him I could feel something inside and I put his hand on the lump I felt.  He proceeded to press so hard I was almost off the table in pain.  He felt all around, on both sides, and then told me it was probably gas.  I assured him it wasn’t.  When he asked why I was there, I told him “because this hospital has all the good diagnostic equipment” and asked him to use some of it.  Instead, he told me he was referring me to a gastroenterologist.  (And here I am three months later having not heard anything about a referral appointment yet!) 

A week later I went back.  This time the doctor was a lot more proactive.  She immediately sent me for an ultrasound, and when the results were available, she ordered a CT scan.  The scan was set for a few days later and I would have to go back to the ER two days afterward to get the results.  More waiting, but at least it felt like something was being done.  On my return to the ER a couple of days after the CT scan, I was told something was definitely there, about the size of slightly larger than a golf ball.  This doctor referred me for a biopsy.  And so, a few days later again I had the biopsy.  

This biopsy was easily the most painful thing I’ve ever had done to me.  It laid me flat for a week.  I mean I was up and about within a day of having foot reconstruction, an emergency c-section, and even a hysterectomy.  I was told the results would be available in 5 to 10 business days!  A week later I tried to reach out to patient records to get my results, but their voicemail box was full and I could never reach a live person.  The good news was I had an appointment with my diabetic nurse practitioner and when I brought her up to date on what had been going on, she called the doctor that performed the biopsy and got the results directly from him.  The bottom fell away when she turned around and told me my cancer had returned.  

If there was any good news in this, she also informed me that the biopsy doctor was going to refer me to a specialist in one of the major cities that is 3 hours drive away from us.  This referral happened relatively quickly and about two weeks later I sat in the specialist’s exam room.  A broader CT scan is scheduled to take place in about two weeks from today, but at this point she believes that I will need surgery to remove a section of my abdominal muscle, followed by a radiation series.  The good news, at this point, is they don’t believe it’s in any of my organs.  The CT scan can hopefully confirm this.  

It is appalling that I had to push so hard to obtain vital services.  A family doctor would have been able to get the process going so much faster.  I remember when I broke my foot, my family doctor (who has long since retired) got me CT scanned fast. He got the results within an hour of the scan, and referred me to a specialist ASAP. I had surgery less than three weeks later.  

Listen to your body.  You know it best.  When someone in the medical field blows you off, but you know something is wrong, keep at it until you find someone to listen and take you seriously. 

You've been numbered

A couple of months ago I was in another city meeting a friend for lunch.  As I waited for her, I took this picture of some graffiti that says, “No Digital ID”.  

I started wondering exactly what kind of digital ID the individual was protesting.  I mean, we have all had digital IDs pretty much since the day our birth was registered.  Don’t believe me?  Check your birth certificate…it has a number.  Check your school records…there’s a student number.  Check your driver’s license…yet another number.  Credit card or Debit card?  Yep, more numbers.  Health card, Social Insurance Number, CAA…all numbers.  Have you got a mortgage or loan?  Have you ever called the mortgage or loan company with a question?  What’s the first thing they ask you?  You bet…”What’s your client (or loan) number?” 

To extend this thinking a little further, the cell phone we all love and carry everywhere…it’s got a number.  Somebody wants to be able to reach you, what do they ask?  They ask, “What’s your number?”  Do you use a computer or laptop?  You may not know this, but your IP address is a number.  Our lives have been so digitalized over the past decades that it’s impossible to function without a so-called “digital ID”. 

Then I started wondering if the protest was more over the government’s insistence on making vaccination status, especially with respect to covid vaccinations, available both on our health cards, but also as a separate downloadable certificate that we were all encouraged to carry on our phones to prove we have been vaccinated.  Nothing has been so polarizing as the whole vaccination issue of the last few years.  While I don’t want to insult a big chunk of the population, I find a close correlation between those decrying the vaccine and their level of – Education? Intelligence? I’m not really sure which is appropriate.  For decades the government has insisted that children be vaccinated for chicken pox, measles, rubella, pertussis, and a bunch of other things in order to attend school.  Nobody ever blinked over this.  However, tell them they should all be vaccinated against covid and they lose their shit. 

For those people, I have this to say:  This is a standard vaccine composition.  Which of these chemicals do you object to having in your body?

        ·         Ethanol
        ·         Propyl acetate
        ·         2-methylpropyl acetate
        ·         Propanol
        ·         n-Butyl acetate
        ·         2-Methylpropanol
        ·         2-Methylbutyl acetate
        ·         n-Butyl propanoate
        ·         n-Butanol
        ·         n-Pentyl acetate
        ·         2-Methylbut-3-enyl acetate
        ·         2-Methylbutanol
        ·         3-Methylbut-3-enyl acetate
        ·         3-Methylbut-3-enol
        ·         3-Methylbut-2enyl acetate
        ·         n-Pentanol
        ·         n-Hexyl acetate
        ·         E-Hex-3-enyl acetate
        ·         Z-Hex-3-enyl acetate
        ·         Hex-4-enyl acetate
        ·         E-Hex-2-enyl acetate
        ·         n-Hexanol
        ·         Z-Hex-3-enol
        ·         E-Hex-2enol
        ·         n-Hextyl-2-methylbutanoate
        ·         n-Heptanol
        ·         Camphor
        ·         n-Octanol
        ·         n-Oct-2-enol
        ·         1-Methoxy-4-(2-propenyl)-benzene

So many of the great unwashed will immediately say, “Nope.  None of that shit for me.”  What they don’t realize is that this is actually the chemical composition of an apple.  It’s living testimony that most people (anti-vaxxers) aren’t qualified to even know what they’re scared of. 

 

OMFG, It Is Way Past Time!

Women everywhere watched in horror last week as the United States Supreme Court ruled to reverse the Roe v Wade decision made in the early 70s.  That decision gave women in the US the right to access abortions without persecution.  

Read that again – the RIGHT to access abortions because prior to that they needed permission to do so and in order to have a medically safe abortion you had to go through hoops such as proving the mother's life was in imminent danger.  When the Orange Idiot sat on the throne from 2016 to 2020, he had the opportunity to load the Supreme Court with right wing republican judges.  Despite the fact that they are supposed to be impartial (justice being blind after all), they have allowed religion to become the law of the land and have now, in a single moment, taken away the right of women in the US to have autonomy over their own bodies.  

Yes, you read that one correctly too.  A country that prides itself as being the land of the free has shackled its women once again.  What next?  Will women and minorities lose their rights to vote?  Will women no longer be able to have bank accounts or credit cards in their own name?  No more being allowed to drive or own a vehicle?  For that matter will they even be allowed to work outside the home once they get married?  That’s what this could devolve to.  Let’s not even talk about same-sex marriages, gay rights, transgender, etc.  The implications of what could happen to them are just as horrifying.  

Several states have already declared it illegal to perform abortions and I’ve read that some are even taking steps to criminalize the act of leaving the state to have an abortion in another state or country.  I can’t see how that would be logistically possible unless they plan to put up border patrols at all roads that leave the state.  

I can see it now:

Border Patrol:  Papers please.

Person:           *passes over passport of other travel documentation

BP:                  Your destination?

Person:           Other state

BP:                  Purpose of travel to “other state”?

Person:           Abortion

BP:                  You’re under arrest.

 

OR

Person:           Visit friend/relative

BP:                  Phone number please, we need to verify your story

The absolute lunacy of these scenarios means they are possibly quite likely to take place.  Remember, truth is much stranger than fiction. 

In light of what’s happening south of our border, it is high time that Canada put body autonomy into our Charter of Rights and Freedoms.  Why, in this day and age, should a bunch of men be allowed to decide what rights a woman has, especially when it comes to her own body?  If the government forces women to have babies they don’t want or can’t have for a variety of reasons, will the government be there to ensure the babies don’t grow up in poverty or worse?  In the US, apparently a 12-year-old who has been molested by a male family member is too young to consent to sex, but not too young to have a baby.  That child is neither mature enough in mind nor body to have a baby, but the US government would make her do it anyway.  

Since we’re looking to change the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, let’s also change the Canadian Human Rights Act because banning a woman from seeking an abortion should be against her rights.  It’s time for Canada to stand up and support its women and it’s time for the Canadian government to recognize, officially, women as persons with all the rights that male persons currently enjoy without question and without having to fight for them.  I’m not a man-hater or women’s libber, but I am absolutely disgusted that in the year 2022 women are still oppressed in our supposedly civilized western society.   It's time to #makechangehappen.

To our female friends south of the border, my heart is crying for you right now.  Instead of safe, responsible care for women who have made what is likely a very difficult decision, there will be the return of the coat hangar for those without the means or resources to seek help in another state or country.  Try and be safe, my sisters. 

  

Did Groucho have it right?

There’s a quote from Groucho Marx that goes something like this, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member".  The exact wording is lost to time and there are different versions quoted, even from his own family.  I have thought about this quote regularly over the past couple of years.  Here is why.  

Way back when I started riding a motorcycle there was a local chapter of ABATE in our area.  I spoke to my husband about them and even reached out to speak with one of their members about it.  The club raised funds through rides and other events and then donated those funds to local charities.  They were not one of what is called a 1% club (like any of the notorious or infamous heavy-duty biker clubs you can name).  We went to a meeting and decided to join.  

Years passed and the club went through lots of changes, but we stuck with it.  Eventually my husband decided to stop renewing his membership and just went to events with me.  I served in various capacities of the executive of the club, from secretary, to treasurer, to sergeant at arms, to vice-president, and finally president of my local chapter.  Also through the years the participants changed as well.  

Then the pandemic struck.  

This happened during my term as president.  People were leery of gathering and then our treasurer died of a heart attack.  He was such a vibrant, in-your-face kind of guy that it hit us all pretty hard.  Once we were able to gather in limited numbers again, we met and our small chapter pretty much fell apart.  Three members asked if they could join another chapter; one moved to another country; one left the club entirely; and then our founding father of the whole thing here in Ontario passed away.  He had been a member of our chapter as well.  

These events of themselves shouldn’t have been what caused the closure of our chapter.  Back in the day the other founding father’s chapter suffered serious loss of members and other chapters essentially donated members to them until they were able to fill out in numbers again.  I thought something similar would have happened to my chapter, but no, unfortunately, I was wrong.  

What had happened was that there had been a member a several years back who became president of the provincial body, with his wife as treasurer.  You guessed it.  They stole thousands (likely tens of thousands) from the provincial club (of which each chapter was a member).  Those two had been in my chapter years ago and when we figured out what was happening, we tried to get them ousted from the club without success.  What we did do was to oust them from our chapter.  Somehow this didn’t get them kicked out either.  In fact, both retained their positions on the provincial council.  This started their whole…vendetta – for lack of a better word – against us.  Suddenly my chapter became pariahs.  

In an attempt to get them off the provincial council, some of us ran against them in provincial elections.  No luck.  Not only that, but the wife started rumours about those of us (like me) who were running for provincial seats.  As I was running for treasurer, the rumour she started about me was that I was a thief, stealing money from the club.  Eventually, as you’d expect, the truth about them came out in an unexpected way and when confronted over it, they got belligerent and basically ran from the meeting, shouting and denying all the way.  Unfortunately for them there was proof. 

Unfortunately for me they had friends who they owed money to.  Yes, aside from stealing from the club, they had also heavily borrowed from friends and acquaintances as much as possible.  The husband had been in a car accident and unable to work for a while.  They went to court but it took a couple of years.  I hated how the treated me because I’d been one of the people helping them.  I didn’t have any money, but I did assist with writing their victim impact statements – and I write a darn good letter, if I do say so myself.  They borrowed thousands from anyone who had money to lend them with the promise that they would pay it back when their case was settled.  

Once this shit hit the fan, I wasn’t surprised to learn they had not repaid anyone.  In fact, they were still telling people they would pay when they got a settlement.   Now, after having worked for lawyers for many years, I knew that a settlement follows soon after the victim impact statements are presented.  I also knew from when I helped them with their victim impact statements in November that they were going to be in court in late January.  So almost two years after my helping them with their impact statements, they were finally ousted after being caught in their lies.  Oddly enough, people were still believing their lies about a settlement, even after they were proven as liars with the club’s money.  Because of my work on their statements, I also knew who the plaintiff was in the case.  Armed with their names and approximate court date, I called the local courts for each of the two counties where it might have been heard and I tracked down the court where the case was registered.  It just so happened that the clerk I spoke to had the file handy for some reason and told me that the case was settled out of court on something like January 21^st of the year I had figured.  I’m not sure what you know about courts, but when something is settled out of court, the exact details of such a settlement remain private and not part of the public record.  

Now I was able to tell people the exact date that their settlement had been reached.  It was about 18 or 19 months before we finally ousted them from the club.  They had received settlement, but had not paid anyone back.  Not even close friends.  No one.  Stupidly, their so-called close friends somehow decided I was to blame.  The husband friend had become the provincial club’s president and his wife was membership clerk.  So after I had to disband my now non-existent chapter, I approached another club to be a member with them and they were happy to have a 19-year life member join them.  At the next provincial meeting their chapter president announced that I would be joining them and this membership clerk told them I could not join any chapter.  She basically blackballed me and nobody said a word.  It was completely against club rules.  She was making it up.  I had done nothing to harm the club.  She had (has) a personal problem with me.  

So in the year and a half since that happened I have pondered why I still want to be a member of a club where apparently I’m not wanted.  And that is why I’m often thinking about that fantastic quote from good ol’ Groucho. 

What happens next?

Back when the pandemic started in March of 2020, I had just found myself out of a job.  The reasons don’t matter for this tale, but rest assured I was surprised and needed a new job – the sooner, the better.  Fairly quickly I had an interview lined up but didn’t get that job.  By that time jobs had started to dry up because companies were either closing due to the pandemic or were setting staff on furlough until they ramped back up.  What was supposed to be a two-week shutdown to flatten the curve, turned into months.  Still, though, I persisted. 

A friend pointed me at a certain job search website and at a particular job.  It looked interesting and I decided to apply.  I was contacted about the job and provided a copy of the job description.  They had some concerns because the title under which they listed the posting was not actually the work that the person would be doing. 

The “company” is actually an Indian reservation and their jobs and job titles don’t necessarily align with the pre-existing selections available on job search websites.  I read the job description with interest.  Most of my experience up to this point had been in the field of executive assistant, but these folks wanted more of a project manager/coordinator.  My friend convinced me to toss my hat into the ring and so I did.  Due to Covid-19 lockdowns, it was a couple of months before I could actually have an interview.  What a unique experience that was.  I’d had plenty of interviews in my career, with some being solitary, and some with small panels.  This interview was with a panel of six people, easily the largest one I’d ever faced. 

Aside from the size of the panel, only one person was going to be asking the questions, which was fine with me.  But what questions!  This interview was like nothing I’d ever experienced in the past.  I was prepared to answer the usual stuff like “why did you leave your last job”, “tell me about yourself”, or “how did you prepare for this interview”, but nope.  Not one of the ‘usual’ questions was asked.  Instead, they wanted to know how I would structure meeting minutes so that they would be approved by council.  They asked a few situational questions and some that were designed to see where I fell ethically and with respect to confidentiality.  Of course, they also wanted to know what my view were around natives, whereby I told them I was part native.  That sparked a conversation about which group I was with.  I explained my family history as far as the native side of my family.  I was thrilled when a few days later I was offered the job.  I went in, signed the paperwork, and started my crash course in learning all about the legalities of how matrimonial real property is managed on reserves when a spouse dies or a relationship breaks down.  

The project I was hired to take on was to help this particular community create their own law governing matrimonial real property (think “family home”).  There were challenges – some from individuals, some from the virus causing shutdowns or severely limiting how many people I could have at a meeting, and even my own health with needing cancer surgery.  As the end of my 51-week contracted neared, a special exemption was made to hire me as a term employee for one year.  Without this exemption I would have needed to leave the job at whatever stage it was at, take at least one week off, and then reapply to be hired again into the same job for another 51-week contract.  Weird rules, but I can roll with it.  Now the end of my one-year term is looming.  My supervisor and HR both want to ensure I stay on.  I’m pretty sure that chief and council want me to keep on as well since we have a meeting scheduled for a week after my contract is scheduled to end.  Still, though, unforeseen and tragic events have caused delays in a decision being made or a contract or permanent position being offered as yet.  

The good news is my project is moving along nicely, despite the challenges over the past almost two years.  I believe we can see the successful conclusion ahead of us within the next several months.  

The question I have now is “What happens next?”  I really like the people here.  The drive, while long at just over an hour, is full of fantastic scenery and so isn’t really a hardship.  I think I’ve come to fit in really well – so much so that sometimes people forget I have only been here two short years and expect me to remember events that predate my employment.  It’s kind of cute.  But still…this week I will make sure all my files are in order.  I will have everything as ready as can be.  I won’t take my personal stuff from my desk or off the walls of the office yet.  I have applied to another position available within the same office, so I’m hopeful for that.  The problem is that things move slower than anticipated at times.  I’ve heard my husband talk about “island time” and how things in Jamaica (for example) always move much slower – on island time.  I’m convinced this is slower than that.  Even so, I want to stay.  I’m not sure I can go back to the frantic grind I used to function in.  I know I don’t want to. 

A beautiful sunrise picture I took
on my way to work one day.