Distant memories
My mother, who, by her own admission, always joked she had a "mind like a sieve" for most of her life, was eventually diagnosed with Alzheimer's and she died in 2007. I was her caregiver after my father passed away in 2005 and it was so sad to watch her mind disintegrate to the point where she forgot everything. In the early stages of my caring for her I tried a lot of different things to stimulate her memory, one of which was to get her a journal and suggest she write down everything she could remember about her life. The tragedy and confusing part of this horrible disease is that you can't remember what you did two minutes ago, but the longer term memory is incredibly sharp. She could remember her wedding day, but not that she had just eaten. I was frustrated that she wouldn't even try, but one of her caregivers explained to me that she had lost the ability to write. This was confirmed when she could not sign her name to something I asked her to sign. It's not clear if this disease is hereditary, although it does appear to be passed on to female members of the family. Given this history I am going to take my own advice and write about things I hope to always remember, but may forget. Hopefully I remember having this website and I can look back to recall things I may have forgotten by then.
If it was not for a dog, whose name I have long since forgotten, this would have been a very short story. When I was a little over two years old, we lived on what was known at the time as Donalda Farms, which would eventually become Don Mills. My Dad was a caretaker on the property because the Dunlaps, who owned it at the time, never lived there. For some strange reason, although I could not verify it in my internet research today, I remember my Dad referring to him as "Bumpy" Dunlap. No idea why. My Dad recalled that one day they heard the dog barking more than normal. No idea why I was wandering around the property at that tender age, but somehow I had made my way down to the pool. In those days there were no security fences around pools. Of course no one knows, even me, if I was actually heading for the pool, but being naturally curious at that age I can only assume I was and no doubt would have fallen in and drowned, had it not been for that dog. He had positioned himself between me and the pool and there was no way he was going to let me anywhere near the pool, so he saved my life.
The strange part of the story was that, at the time, I was suffering from horrible allergies to pets and I had an extreme case of eczema as well. If I was exposed to any fur-bearing animal my eyes would swell up, almost closed and my sinuses would plug up completely. In subsequent years, until I was cured, I could walk into a home that had not had any animals for ten years and I would still swell up from the dander. I hated the fact that I could never have a pet of any kind. This dog belonged to one of the workers on the farm at the time, so the fact that he protected me is even stranger, but thanks to you, my savior anyway.
Like, I assume, most people, our memories of those early years are very spotty. Although we tend to remember the more traumatic moments forever, an incident like being saved from drowning isn't known to be traumatic at the time, so we forget. No doubt my parents never forgot the time they nearly lost me. During the years following that incident maybe my father wished I had not been saved. My eczema was so bad that they spent hundred or dollars, which they certainly didn't have at the time, trying to cure me. I would scratch the skin right off, it was so bad and they tried everything to stop the itching. The nights were particularly bad because my Mum had to sew little bags to tie over my hands to stop me from scratching. At one point they had to tie my hands down so I could not get to myself. It was the stuff that lifetime trauma comes from.
When I was about eleven my Dad somehow heard about a chiropractor who had cured conditions like mine. Remember that we are going back to a time when chiropractors were considered quacks, so it showed my father's desperation that he would try anything. Also remember that this was long before OHIP so it all came out of his hard-earned money. The chiropractor began by taking x-rays of my neck. He found a tiny bone that was out of place and putting pressure on a nerve, which, he said, was causing the eczema. He began a weekly series of sessions where he would be massaging my neck, then, without warning, crack my neck. It all sounds, even now, like scary stuff and it was. When I look back on it I often wonder if one of those misplaced cracks could have snapped my neck, killing me. Over the course of about a year and a half of traveling down to Oakville from Streetsville every week new x-rays showed the bone was where it should be and not only was my eczema completely gone, but, to everyone's surprise, so was my allergy to pets. I have no clue what the connection was; maybe I just "grew out of it", but who knows?
My reward for no longer being allergic was to get my very first pet. Maybe it was a sign that my Dad wasn't sure it would be okay to have a fur-bearing animal in the house, so he didn't let me get a dog, which, naturally I would have become attached to, so he got me a cat. Bootsy, so named because she had little white paws that looked like she was wearing boots, soon became a member of the family, but everyone agreed she was mostly mine. Having never been able to have any kind of pet, there is no way to describe how much I became attached to that cat. To go from puffy eyes and blocked sinuses to having her sleep in my bed was amazing. I couldn't wait to get home from school on the bus to see her. Like most cats, she probably couldn't have cared less if I came home or not.
We lived in the country, on the fifth line, north of what was called Streetsville at the time, so I took the bus to school. One fateful day as the bus approached our lane-way and I moved to the front of the bus anxious to get home to see my Bootsy, The driver slowed, not just to let me off, but because there was a dead animal in the middle of the road. My heart sank and I could feel the tears well up because I knew in an instant that it was her. It was the first time in my life that I had experienced great loss and I fell apart, shaking and sobbing. The compassionate driver knew what I was going through and he helped me to pick her up and cradle her in my arms. My mother has often said that the sight of me walking up the driveway, carrying Bootsy, balling my eyes out, was one of her worst moments. When my Dad came home from work he dug a hole and we buried her, with some kind words of remembrance. I was too upset to speak but I had made a little cross and I sat by her grave until dark. I vowed then and there to never get attached to any animal ever again.
Like all kids I eventually got over it, although I never again cared as much for any of the many cats we had over the years. Even today I don't care much for cats. That might also be because my wife eventually had three of the worst cats God ever put breath into and I loathed them. Not too long after losing my beloved Bootsy, my uncle, who owned a dog, Hobie, had moved into an apartment and they couldn't keep him, so he asked my Dad to take him because we lived on the farm and he would have lots of room to roam. He was a cross between a hound and a boxer, so he had the muscular physic of a boxer, but the longer nose and ears of a hound. He was an amazing dog and he became an instant member of the family. We took him everywhere with us, including an ill-fated trip up to Thunder Bay to see relatives, a thousand mile trip in the car in the summer heat. First he was huge, so fitting him and three kids in the back seat was no mean feat. Hobie also suffered from the worst gas ever by any dog. His farts could clear a room, let alone when he let one go in the cramped confines of a hot car. I still remember the car overheating north of Sudbury and we were parked to let it cool down and he let one of the worst ever go. Made your skin peel.
Eventually he got old and he got cancer. Although my Dad took him to the vet, it was going to cost eight hundred dollars to treat him, which, back then might as well have been a million. There was no way we could afford that, but I know my Dad would have somehow found a way it it had made sense. The vet said even if he operated Hobie would not survive more than a few months and he would be in pain as well, so my Dad made the gut-wrenching decision to put him down. We dug yet another hole in what was quickly becoming our pet cemetery and buried our most beloved family member, Hobie. I have never forgotten him or the good times we had. One of his unique traits was that you could always tell when a thunder storm was coming, because Hobie would be under a bed somewhere, shaking and wining. Sure enough, within a few hours there would be a storm. The funniest part was that, although he was so scared that he could get under the bed, once the storm passed, he couldn't get back out from under the bed. We had to lift the bed to let him out. He would go crazy, wagging his tail and slobbering all over us in thanks, so relieved that he had survived the peril.
Somehow I have got on a pet theme here, so I may as well continue with that. After Hobie I truly felt that I would never again feel that much loss again, so I was in no hurry to get another dog. Actually a couple of years after we had lost Hobie my Dad got a dog, Champ, from another relative. He turned out to a holly terror, biting everyone and jumping up on people. He was untrainable, so we gave up and gave him back. We never again had another dog, nor did my parents after moving out west. They did have a couple of cats in the early years, but then they started traveling to Yuma for the winters so they gave up their cat to a neighbor and never had pets after that. Part of the tragedy of Alzheimer's is that I found my mother wandering looking for something. When I asked her what she was looking for, she said the cat that they had not had for years.
My next experience with a pet was when I met Tracy and the kids in 1999. After I moved in somehow we connected with a family who had a dog to give away. It was a sad story and one I identified with right away, because they had got the dog shortly after the birth of their daughter, but then she had developed severe allergies to the dog, so they had to give him up. We assured her that she could come and see him anytime she wanted to, and she did visit some time later. Spade, or as we offered called him, Spader, was yet another amazing dog. He was mostly Lab with a small bit of pit-bull, which never showed, ever. He was so patient with the kids, who were young at the time. They would literally maul him and lie on him and he wouldn't move. If they got really annoying he would give a little yelp that told them they had crossed the line and he had enough. He was as lovable as Hobie had been. His trick was to place food on his nose and he would not eat it until you told him to. We did everything with him and he was like another kid in the family.
I eventually moved out (another story). Tracy let me take Spade once in a while and sometimes, even though we had split up, we did things together with the kids, like boating, and Spade would always come along. My parents loved Spade to death, more than me, I think. We would show up with all the kids in tow and the first thing she would say was hello to Spade and not to us. Somehow, even though we split up, having Spade around made it feel like we were still together. Desperation maybe.
One day I got a call from Tracy telling me that something was very wrong with Spade. She told me he was having trouble walking and there was something wrong with his rear end. She asked if I could take him in to the vet to see what was wrong. After I had moved out, whenever I knocked at the door and Spade heard my voice, he would go completely nuts at seeing me. I often said I wished I could get a girl to be as happy to see me. This day was no different. I knocked and spoke his name and I could hear him barking like crazy. As I opened the door though and he was at the top of the stairs, he came bounding down the stairs as always, except that he was just bumping his rear down the stairs. He could not stand or walk. It broke my heart to see that. I took him to the vet and it was heartbreak all over again. He had lumps and the vet said it would cost thousands to treat him, but, again, his life would be short. I went back to tell Tracy the bad news. She said that there was no way she could handle it and asked me to and I agreed.
When I came back later, dreading every minute of this, they had Spade wrapped up in a blanket. He struggled to look happy when he saw me, but somehow he knew this was not going to be the same. My darling little Madison was bawling her eyes out and asked if she could come with me. I had not thought I could possibly dread this moment worse, but now I had to be strong in front of Mads. When we went into the vets she asked me if I wanted to stay with him until he had passed, but I just couldn't do it. I was on the edge of totally losing it anyway and I knew I could never keep it together in front of Mads, so we left. Losing a trusted friend is hard no matter what the circumstances. For me the end of the relationship was tragic enough and I saw putting Spade down as the final nail in what had been the best relationship of my entire like. I had now not only lost my friend and lover, and her wonderful three kids, but we had also lost the "family" pet. Tearful memories, even now as I write this.
Even after these tough times with dogs I have often regretted not having a dog. They are such a wonderful and loyal companion. You are never truly alone when you have a dog who loves you unconditionally. Truly man's best friend. Maybe someday I will live somewhere that I can again have a dog. Who knows?
The Social "Safety Net"?
I have worked all my life in various pursuits, some admittedly more successful than others. Today I find myself facing physical limitations and medical issues for the first time in my life. My weight gain from not smoking, lack of exercise, my "frozen shoulder", elevated sugar levels, foot swelling and pain, all contribute to limiting the type of work I can do. Throughout all of this, though, my singular goal has been to find work. I have never been one to put my feet up and live off the public purse. It's just not my nature.
Thankfully, Ontario Works, the welfare system here in Ontario, within very restrictive guidelines, has still managed to show compassion and understanding for my situation and I am alive today because of it. Also, having been through the horrible experience of staying at the shelters in town, I am most thankful that London Housing finally came through with accommodation. It is a far cry from living in the hellish conditions of places like the Men's Mission, which no one should ever have to suffer.
Obviously this is the first time I have been subjected to the system of support in Ontario, so everything has been new to me. With the exception of the front counter staff at OW, who treat people like pond scum before even giving them a chance, I take no issue with how I have been dealt with, in fact, I have been pleasantly surprised at the genuine concern for my predicament. What I do take exception to, and I think needs to be rethought, is the systems and programs outside of the control of OW.
Firstly, my experience with a local "counseling" company. Having just gone through the trauma of coming far too close to buying the farm because I had no meds, coupled with the loss of my job and my threat of eviction, I was quite obviously in a poor mental state. It didn't help that I was also all alone in a strange town, with no support network of friends.I had never been to any type of counseling or therapy in my life, so I had no idea what to expect. I did think that they would offer me some effective help by referring me to various agencies or suggesting courses of action to get me back on track. OW approved me for ten sessions and I can only assume they are expensive. They were; however, a total waste of time and I only went to two sessions before quitting. They do nothing more than sit and listen to your list of troubles, but offer nothing in return. I asked a number of questions about things like financial assistance, lodging, work related programs, exercise options and on and on, yet my counselor said that was "not their purpose" and she had no information what-so-ever on anything to help me. What good is that? It was pointless.
Frankly I am not sure how I came into contact with Goodwill, who I know no doubt do good work. Maybe it was a referral from OW, but they did offer some very helpful courses to assist me in my job search. What I found incredibly lacking though was their counseling. My first counselor referred me to a program, part of the Ontario Government's Second Career program, and offered online through Conestoga College. Only after several emails back and forth did I learn that this is a post-grad course and I did not qualify, which my counselor should have known. Subsequent to this total waste of time I requested a change of counselor because I felt she was doing nothing for me. Although, after some prodding, they agreed to assign a new counselor to me, the first available appointment with him was over a month away! My job search is urgent and I need all the help I can get. There is obviously a shortage of qualified counselors or funding issues or something that would delay assistance this long. This is of little help to someone struggling every single day to find work.
The merry-go-round with Leads, a local agency designed to help the disabled, was ridiculous. After my referral from OW in January I received a letter setting an appointment for March 31st, almost three months from the date of the referral! Then I got a call cancelling my appointment with no real explanation. Then after a follow-up on the second referral, they had no record of it and told me to go back, yet again, to OW for another referral. After all this I then got a letter telling me I have an appointment for August 1st! This is six months after the initial referral. Watching all their commercials and looking at their website I did feel that they could be very effective in overcoming my physical challenges and finding me some kind of meaningful work, so I pressed to get an earlier appointment, and was successful.
Last week I met with a counselor and had a very in-depth two hour interview. I left feeling that there was a very good chance that they would find me work. I was to attend again yesterday for a follow-up. Full of anticipation, when I got there, first, they had misplaced my file, but we were to go ahead anyway. That struck me as odd because I assumed there might have been some contacts made with employers or that they had done something. I was wrong. I was ushered into the office, whereupon the counselor looked up job postings with people like the city and a call centre. I had explained that, since the day my contract ended with Home Depot I had spent every day, all day, searching every possible job posting anywhere. There was no job publicly posted anywhere that I did not know about. I assumed that the whole purpose of Leads was to tap into the hidden job market for people with disabilities. I also assumed that they acted as advocates for people like me. The results of the meeting were that I was to apply online, myself, something I could and did do every day, to these jobs. I asked somewhat incredulously, if it wasn't better to go through Leads so that they might advocate on my behalf with the employer to consider hiring someone with challenges. The answer was that it didn't matter, so what is the purpose of Leads?
My point here is that it, in my humble opinion, it is time for reform. I question why there are so many publicly funded outside agencies involved in the process of getting people back to work. Ontario Works mandate should be, simply, to get people back to work. The programs should start with providing people funding for their basic needs, but then it should ran the gambit, from work, home and life counseling, to retraining, to academic funding to housing to employment counseling with resume building and interview counseling to job placement and follow-up, all coordinated under one roof and by a team who are fully aware of the client's needs. There should also be volunteering opportunities to gain work experience and temporary job placement. When I worked setting up the call centre we needed four call reps immediately. I called OW to advise of the job, which paid $11.00 an hour to start. How many of the eight thousand people on assistance applied? Not one. The system is obviously broken.
I don't pretend to understand the internal workings of OW, but I do hope that maybe someone will have the courage to submit some ideas up the ladder. With a provincial election looming and the Premier with the lowest ever popularity ratings, maybe a really effective "works" program would be an effective election campaign strategy. It could start with putting able-bodied people on assistance to work, but letting them keep the money earned. There are thousands of projects in a place like London that could be done with public/private partnerships, like cleaning up all the graffiti or picking up the thousands of cigarette butts lying all over the city.
Just food for thought, I hope.
Coffee and Cigarettes. Blood Sugar Control?
After coming this close to slipping into a diabetic coma and losing the better part of five days before being rescued by my doctor, I had little choice but to quit smoking. I had no money for food, let alone very expensive smokes. This lasted for six months, until last weekend when circumstances, like having no food in the house and getting little from the food bank, I discovered my desperately needed cheque had gone in early on Saturday morning.
I could sense my stress level was off the charts, so I decided to celebrate with a pack of smokes. Although overwhelmed with the guilt of it all I figured after six months that I would cough my guts out and hate the taste. No such luck! It was nirvana! I could feel a sense of calm come over me immediately. Oh well, I figured, one pack and I'd quit again. No money for smokes, that was for sure.
Some background on my sugar levels - when I nearly bought the farm my sugars were in the upper thirties. Anyone who knows anything about diabetes knows this is well above the danger levels. Thanks to my doctor and the pharmacist who went together on getting me my insulin, my sugar levels started coming down, but they still weren't good. After very thorough tests at the diabetic specialist they upped my insulin and kept me on my meds as well. Still my sugars never got much better than mid teens, sometimes as high as lower twenties. Everyone, including me, was frustrated that nothing seemed to work to get me under ten, which was the goal.
Here's the interesting and crazy part. The day after buying smokes I made a morning pot of coffee, something I hadn't had since quitting back in December, because of the instant lifetime association of starting every day with coffee and a smoke. I sat out on my balcony, coffee in one hand and a smoke in the other, as God intended (that's why he gave us two hands), happy as a pig in you know what. Life was as it should be.
As I do every morning now I tested my sugars. To my considerable surprise it was 8.8, the best reading I had ever had. I figured there was something wrong with my meter, but a couple of hours later, after eating breakfast, when levels are usually elevated, my next reading was 8.9! Curious, I tested more frequently than normal the rest of the day, all with readings in the eights. After a rare treat of a fudgsicle, which should have put me in the twenties, I was again shocked to see a 9.2, not much higher than before. Over the last few days the readings have not changed. They've been the lowest since those thirties back in December.
So, what's the only change in my life? Diet? Nope, in fact I've had some rare sugar laden treats. Exercise? Nope, other than my normal walking with the bus routes. I was planning to bike, but the weather has not been great until recently. The only change is drinking my coffee again and smoking. I've actually written to Benson and Hedges to suggest a clinical study, of course with them providing me cigarettes. lol
Even more telling might be that I just enjoyed my last smoke and I have no money for any more. Dumb as it may sound, I wish I could keep smoking so I could get rid of the twenty-five pounds I gained not smoking. This has been more harmful to my health than anything. I've lost my energy. I can't bend down to tie up my shoes. I'm sleeping more. I feel like crap. So much for feeling better not smoking.
In fairness I'll report on my sugar levels over the next few days, but if they now go back up not smoking, well, it's going to get interesting at least.
Yes, and I know that at least one person who might read this is going to give me proper hell for smoking again. She's a cancer survivor so I don't blame her for her scorn. I thought of her when I took my first puff, but it didn't stop me. lol
The State of TV
Having lost my cable because Rogers wanted my first born child to continue (he's an adult now and objected) offering what they call "service", and being blackmailed by Rogers who are preventing Bell from providing me service (shouldn't that be illegal?), I am left with only my one local over-the-air channel, which, thanks to the government, apparently, I am also going to lose come August.
This got me thinking to the "good ole days" when all we had was over-the-air channels, not many if I remember my childhood, but they were all "broadcast" channels, including the three US networks at the time, NBC, ABC and CBS and two Canadian networks, CBC and CTV. The way it worked was we received the channels for FREE, but we had to sit through what they called "commercials" from advertisers who sponsored programs, paying for the actors and production costs. Everybody made money and we all went out and bought the products that were advertised on TV and we didn't have to pay a gazillion dollars a month for the privilege.
Today we have our TV delivered by cable or satellite. We still have to sit through all those same commercials, even more of them now, especially during programs like Hockey Night in Canada, which didn't use to have commercial "breaks" because that would mean losing the momentum of the game (oh, right) but for some unknown reason we now have to pay a bazillion dollars a month for the privilege. Now there's this thing called the internet, which we also pay a gazillion dollars for every month. So tell me why we can't get all our programs from this internet for FREE because the advertisers pay for the actors and to produce the programs and we go out and buy the products and then we wouldn't need to pay a cent for the privilege. What a concept!
No worries..
I no longer need to wonder what it will be like to get old......I am old and have all the aches and pains to prove it.
I no longer need to wonder what it would be like to be fat.......I've put on twenty-five pounds since quitting smoking and I am fat.
I no longer feel the warmth and security of being surrounded by family......My dear parents have both died and my kids abandoned me years ago. I have no family.
I no longer wonder what my friends think of me........I have no friends.
I no longer worry about what to do with all my money................I have none.
I no longer spend hours renovating my house..............I have no house.
I no longer worry about repairs, insurance or gas for my car.............my beater car has been parked for months.
I no longer worry about fashion in clothes...................I have not had money for clothes in years.
I no longer wonder what it's like to be loved by someone special............I have not been in love for a year.
I no longer wonder how it feels to have someone special in your life..............I have been alone for a year.
I no longer marvel at the joys of where I live..............I am stuck here, it seems, forever.
I no longer wake every day, impatient to get to work.............I haven't worked since last year.
I know longer know why I am here.
THERE WILL NEVER EVER BE ANOTHER YOU
THERE WILL NEVER EVER BE ANOTHER YOU
The world has never seen anyone quite like you before, and it will never see another YOU again. And there is something you have to contribute to the world that the world needs from YOU, no matter how small or unimportant you may think you are, in the great scheme of things. You were born, you are breathing, you are here, because there is something you have to contribute to the world that the world really, really needs. At least in that place, at least at this time, at least with your style, at least with your character and stamp upon it. Someone needs you. Someone’s life has been, or will be, better because of you. Be you a health care professional, a scientist, an engineer, or techie, or digger of ditches, it doesn’t matter. The world needs all these things, but animated specifically by your spirit, your brains, your personality, beneath and in it all.
Your purpose in life isn’t just a matter of what kind of work you do. It’s a matter of who you are, what kind of person you are, and whether you choose to be the best YOU that you can possibly be.
- Richard N. Bolles (What Color Is Your Parachute?)
My Christmas Wish List
Many people wish for traditional "gifts" under their tree. After a lifetime of those typical Christmas mornings, this year my list is a little more basic. It has been a difficult couple of years and I realize what are the important things in life. Here's my list, in no particular order:
Desperation starts to set in
Not much left to say. I am on hold on the phone right now to Welfare, to beg them to give me some meds before I collapse. It's been six weeks now and that is taking its toll on me. Add this deplorable heat to being without meds and the days and nights are not pleasant. My landlady, although surprisingly understanding about not paying the rent last week, refuses to leave the air on to cool down my sweltering loft, so I just sit and sweat and can't sleep. I have no money for food, so my diet has tanked. I am so dehydrated all I do is drink water and pee, and it keeps me up all night. I have filled out an unbelievable number of job applications, at least a hundred over the last few days, with not one response. It's so discouraging! I would kill to be back out West. I have so many wonderful memories of great friends there. I have no one to care here. I wish I could close my eyes, click my heels and wake up in the Okanagan.
My First Trip to a Soup Kitchen
Other than it’s obviously a church, there were no signs to let anyone know there’s a lunch program, nor is there any way to know where to enter the church. Luckily I found an open door and a kindly gentleman who directed me downstairs. The only sign I saw was “Men's Room Closed”.
Diary of a Diabetic
Somewhat fatalistic, I know, but I thought I had best know the warning signs before I slip off into the diabetic coma. It's been four weeks now without my meds, for the first time since being diagnosed way back in 2004. I was better off not knowing. With the sole exception of cognitive problems, which, as far as I know, I don't have, I have every other symptom. Yikes!