Diabetes - PLEASE heed this warning
Nine million Canadians are living with some form of diabetes. An estimated two million Canadians are undiagnosed. The number of people diagnosed with diabetes is projected to increase 56% over the next ten years. Juvenile diabetes has increased forty percent over the last ten years, mostly because of poor diet, physical inactivity and obesity.
Back in 2004, after I had crashed my dirt bike, tore up my ankle and couldn't do any physical activity for a year, I gained fifty pounds and I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. When I was able to return to my many activities I lost the weight quickly and my diabetes was managed with only Metformin.
In late 2007 circumstances led to a high level of stress and my sugars were literally "off the charts". My doctor put me on high doses of insulin and my sugars moderated. He told me I was a poster boy for a heart attack and I needed to get out from under the stress or it would kill me. I moved to Panama and my diabetes was managed with Metformin and daily insulin in relatively small doses.
Circumstances led to my return to Canada and, at one point, I found myself living on the streets, unable to afford my medications for six weeks. I did not know at the time that I was doing irreparable damage to the nerves in my feet. I developed severe diabetic neuropathy, a burning, excruciating pain for which there is no cure. A host of medications, plus huge increases in my daily insulin, do little to mitigate the pain. The only "relief" is when I sleep, but obviously I can't enjoy it because I am asleep. I wake to the vicious cycle of every step being painful.
I have gone from a healthy, ridiculously active person who hiked, biked, danced, roller-bladed, skied (cross-country, downhill and water skied), played racquetball and tennis, and even para-glided, to someone who can barely walk with the aid of a cane. All this in only a couple of short years. My doctors offer little hope and just tell me to learn to live with the pain.
I cannot urge you enough to get tested, regardless of your age. People often think that diabetes is an old person's disease, but this is not true. Diabetes can reduce your life expectancy by more than ten years. It can result in amputations. It is a leading risk factor for heart attacks. If diagnosed early enough diabetes can be managed, not cured, but the risks of amputations and early death can be greatly reduced. Don't ignore the warning and be part of that two million people undiagnosed. It is much better to know and be able to manage it.
So Much for the "Power" of Social Media
There was a job back in Kelowna with a company owned by the son of a colleague I had done business with many years ago. I thought it might be interesting and maybe help me get the job if I asked all my friends and colleagues to send a simple email to him with the subject line "Hire Gary Jones".
At the very least I thought getting maybe thirty or forty emails would help to get me noticed. Okay, so some of my 136 friends on Facebook don't know me well enough to send what looks like a recommendation, but a lot of them do. Not only that but a lot of them are friends I have helped out when they needed it; everything from help with moving to renovating to taking them out on my boat. A simple one-line email wasn't too much to ask, I thought.
No such luck. It backfired on me big time when all he got was TWO emails. That's right - TWO! If he read into it that I had asked all my many friends and colleagues in the Okanagan to send him a simple email, and the response was a big fat TWO, then it's not surprising that I never heard from him again.
Given my current desperation to get the hell out of London and back to my beloved Okanagan, this experience sure brought me down, which is the last thing I needed right now.
The Story of the Ring
Many years ago, when things were going a lot better for me, I bought a diamond ring which was from an estate sale. I paid $400 and had an independent appraisal of $1,200. I treasured that ring and only took it off when I was working doing messy renovations. After I had virtually everything stolen from me in Panama I was glad I was wearing my ring and it didn't get stolen.
Are we heading for an economic collapse?
Back when my in-laws were looking to buy their first home, first they saved for a couple of years to come up with a down payment of a couple thousand dollars. They then qualified for a mortgage with a twenty-five year term and an interest rate of around 5% for the entire term. New homes at the time were about double the average annual family income, based on the wife staying at home to raise the kids and Dad working. Dad was an electrician making about $6,000 a year and their three bedroom new home in Brampton was $12,900. Affordable.
Moving on to my first home. My first family home, a fixer upper, was $42,500 and our family income was just over $20,000. Throughout our more than twenty years of marriage and eight homes, the price we paid was always right around double our annual family income. Even our last matrimonial home was sold for $189,000; my ex was not working, but I was making about $90,000 as a computer consultant.
Fast forward to today. I am working at a call centre, making just over eleven dollars an hour, not an uncommon wage in London for people who work at the few jobs available here - The Tim Hortons, the Home Depots, Wal-Marts and so on. If you are lucky enough to work full-time that adds up to a whopping $23,400. Assume that two people in the same family are working, which is a stretch considering that 54% of people are now divorced. Let's round that off to $50k for the household anyway, so, if the same relationship is true we should be able to buy a home for $100k, right? Not a chance! The average new home price in most urban areas is at least $400k, four times what we earn!
The housing market has always functioned on the concept that young people buy their first home and throughout their lives they move up to bigger and better homes, gaining equity for that day when they retire and sell their last home. If no one is entering the bottom of the market the whole thing grinds to a halt. Prices will fall dramatically when there are no buyers entering the market for the first time.
The same thing is going to happen with cars. Car payments through a bank or lease payments were always affordable, even for those who wanted a new car every three years. Car prices today often require payments that look more like a mortgage payment on a small house. These car payments together with astronomical mortgage payments are what is pushing the average amount of debt through the roof. Older Canadians usually have no mortgage and no car payments, so that leaves all the rest of the younger population shouldering more and more of the debt load. A minor hiccup in interest rates is going to result in the kind of foreclosures we saw in the US and prices will crash the same.
Add to all this the costs of operating a vehicle. Interest rates on car leases are absurd. Buyouts are insane. Insurance costs are over the top. Repairs, particularly on parts for foreign cars are out of site. Now add five buck a gallon fuel and people are no doubt going to question the value of owning a car. Trips of any kind, whether to the local store or a Sunday drive in the country, must be rethought when the price of gas is factored in. When my kids were young we traveled all over Ontario and the north-eastern states for their hockey and soccer, all year round. Today I could never afford that and my kids would suffer if they wanted to play organized sports.
It's what's behind things like the Occupy Movement. More and more people are feeling disenfranchised because they see the rich getting richer and richer, yet the majority are falling further and further behind. It could all serve to bring on an economic collapse. Thoughts?
My Life - Inspiration
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?)
If I had a million dollars
Those of us who play the lottery often muse on what we would do with all that money. It depends on how much we are talking about, of course. If it's only a couple mil then that is barely enough to live out your life on, let alone afford any real luxuries like cars, yachts, or homes we wouldn't be able to afford. If it's an insane amount like the recent fifty million, well then the imagination runs wild. We could change the world, right?
I am one of those unfortunate people who got hooked by the commercials one of the lotteries ran featuring a guy reading the paper, and seeing his number had won but he didn't have a ticket. My numbers, 4 11 19 27 36 and 39, were based on my age and family ages at the time, so, now that I am 62, you can figure out how long I've played the same damn number. I've won a couple of $10 payouts, which is frustrating because then I think the chances of those numbers coming up again is remote. I never know whether to keep buying tickets or not.
Just to dream for a while, if I did win big, these are some of the things I would do -
Numero Uno would be to pay back the people who have helped me in my life, some more than others. Top of my list is two people who believed in me and through circumstances beyond my control, I could not pay back as planned. I lost everything and was forced to leave the country just to stay alive and I hurt them very badly when I left. I have felt terrible every single day since and I hope to be able to pay them back as soon as I can. Living on assistance obviously is not the way to ever get ahead with anything, but I hope to change that. They get a hundred grand. Next would come my true friend, Bianca, who believed in me when I was in Panama and invested in my business, which died when I was forced to return to Canada. She lent me two thousand dollars on blind faith, so she gets fifty grand. Next comes my best bud, Wade, who stepped in to help me with the disaster of a house that cost me everything. He said he got his money back, but he never told me the whole truth. He also gets a hundred grand, hopefully to help with his hunting lodge dream. I would also invest in anything he wants to do because I trust him with my life.
Next comes family, and that's a tough one. My son and daughter both abandoned me after I moved west, so, on the one hand, I feel they don't deserve anything. I wouldn't want them to get back in touch with me just because I now had money. On the other hand, they are still my flesh and blood, so I would want to help them however I could. I don't think I would outright gift them, but I would help them if they asked. My ex got ninety-five percent of everything we owned when we split, so she's off the list. My brother and sister have done enough to me for a lifetime, so they don't get a dime. My Mum and Dad are gone, so it's too late to help them. I've lost touch with whatever other family I have anywhere, but I'll bet they would find me if they thought there was something in it for them. I would help my cousin, Joan, in any way she needed for letting me stay with her when I came back to Canada.
Next would come friends and that's also a tough one. How do you give something to one without offending another? You can't place a monetary value on friendship, so I wouldn't try. I think I would throw a big bash and invite them all and maybe give them something like ten grand each to blow on something they don't need. If it was something like the fifty million I won, then the bash would be on a tropical paradise somewhere.
Silly things? My one compelling wish if I won the lottery is to go to the Corral and tell the manager that I'm paying for drinks for the women for the next hour. I wouldn't want them announcing anything; just tell them as they order that it's free. At the end of the hour they would just announce a thank you to me for buying the drinks in my favorite bar. If you wonder why only the women, well, I don't dance with guys and they get drunk and stupid enough on their own without my help.
I would also invite Teri Hatcher and her daughter to visit the Okanagan, just so I get to meet my fantasy girl. Maybe I could swing a fantasy sleepover with Teri, Marcia MacMillan, Diane Ladd, Sally Fields, Cheryl Hickey, Sara Richardson, Sandi Rinaldo and Hayley Bennett? Now, that would be an interesting group.
I would want a decent house on the beach in West Kelowna, preferably be able to design and build my own as I've always loved architecture. It would not be any elaborate palace, but would have some nice touches. My only luxury would be an indoor/outdoor pool for parties, a game room and home theater. I can't imagine any fancy expensive cars in the driveway; probably just a Honda Civic, which I've always wanted. I might want some kind of off-road wheels, plus, of course, a dirt-bike, a couple of sea-dos, a ski boat and a snowmobile - my "toys".
Business wise I would invest and work on many of the concepts I have had most of my life. My dream project was to develop a manufactured home park like no other and this would be a priority for sure. I would love to win enough to be able to help people start small businesses. Investments, not gifts.
Charity wise I would want to develop the assisted living facilities that I designed, to provide people in need with decent housing and help to get their lives back on track. It would be s step up from the shelters and give people back their dignity. I've been there and it's not pretty. The government wastes so much money on funding substandard living and I want to help to change that.
There would be some pet projects, like one life to save, a website where people can tell me their stories and we would help them to get back on track with whatever they need. It would operate similar to Extreme Makeover, with companies donating goods and services to people to help to change their lives for the better. Hopefully I could convince Ellen DeGeneres to work with me. It would be my make a difference while I'm here project.
As we learned with Steve Jobs, money can't buy health, but I would hope that I could get maybe a personal trainer and a decent doctor to help with my diabetes and all the challenges I've had over the past few months. I want to lose the weight I've gained and get back to being active like I used to be before all this.
And, finally, I hope to convince Cheryl to have dinner with me. It would be a very private affair, maybe on a rooftop somewhere, with lots of candles, flowers, wine and music to warm her heart and convince her that I now have enough money to make her happy and she will get over our age difference. lol
Thoughts on my 62nd birthday
People often say "I'm not in a good place right now", usually meaning that something has brought them down temporarily. Seldom is it a reflection of their entire life status; however, in my case, it is, sadly. I'm writing this on my 62 birthday, documenting where my life is today, in the hopes that this time next year things will be a whole lot better. Either that or I'll be dead, which is a good possibility as well.
I find myself alone, living in a place I loathe, as a result of yet another mistake with a woman. When I moved from Toronto I was full of such hope for the future. I was in love and believed that I would again be part of a family, which I missed so much. Things took a tragic turn and I found myself alone in a strange city, trapped by circumstances. I longed to be anywhere else but London and obviously regretted leaving Toronto and, even more, missed being out West where I was truly happy.
Through living in a rooming house, to sleeping on the floor of a colleague's office, to ending up in shelters, to an apartment I could not possibly afford, to finally getting into public housing, it has been a long and stressful road. Laying on my filthy bed in the shelter in oppressive heat, afraid for my very life, surrounded by the lowest of society, I knew I had hit rock bottom. Those were very dark days. Although I appreciate my little apartment I face the daily struggle of trying to get enough food to survive on the measly amount I get from assistance. The little things that I have always enjoyed in my life, like having a beer, playing pool, even a meal out at McDonald's are out of the question when there is no money. I have probably applied for at least five hundred jobs over the last few months, with no luck. I have done research on many companies and sent proposals out, again, with no response. I firmly believe that my age is against me and there is nothing I can do to change that. The economy is in the dumps and finding any kind of job, especially in a depressed area like London, is virtually impossible.
I long to return to the Okanagam and I apply for every conceivable job I see in the area. I have limited funding to help me to relocate if I can find a job, but this has not proved successful either. I came close with a perfect job, covering Kelowna north and the island, but was not selected for a final interview, despite being perfectly qualified for the position. I let myself get excited and put everything in place to be able to leave immediately, which only served to bring me down when I didn't get the job.
My family situation is unchanged and still a mess. A tiny glimmer of hope is that my son has reconnected through Facebook; however, his life is as much a mess as mine and he doesn't want to let me back into his life beyond these messages. My daughter has completely shut me out of her life, ever since I drove across the country to see her and she was hidden away from me. So cruel! I have never understood why she shut me out of her life and it's a knife in my heart every single day. Having lost my mother and father I am left with no immediate family, something I have always cherished.
My health is a disaster. I was always so happy that I was physically active and healthy. Whether I was busy renovating or climbing a mountain, I had tons of stamina and could do almost anything. Today my heath is in ruins, mostly because of my diabetes. I have put on thirty pounds, which has resulted in acid reflux and many other problems. I have no energy and sleep more than I ever have in my life. My feet are painful and swollen and I can barely walk. My shoulder, which has yet to be diagnosed properly, is painful and I have very limited mobility. My toes are so painful that I can't sleep. I tire easily and can't exert the smallest physical energy without resting. I feel so very old, for the first time in my life.
There is no one special in my life in the romance department. I have lost touch with all of my friends from out west and I don't know anyone in London. After forty-five years I have reconnected with the mother of my other son and she has been a great help. She has come to London and got me out of my apartment and done things with me that I haven't done in a very long time. She has most graciously paid for everything, something that makes me feel very guilty. I have always been the one to pay and it just reminds me how pathetic my life has become that I am a pauper. I have always been a hopeless romantic and I miss being in love. I think to find someone you need to first feel good about yourself and I certainly don't.
Regardless of what a mess I'm in right now, I hope that some luck comes my way and I can get back to the person I used to be. I think that this will only happen if I find a way to get back out west, but this may only be a dream. They say you can't go back and maybe that's true. I am hopeful I can reconnect with some of my good friends, but it may have already been too long being apart. It also takes money to live in Kelowna and it will very much depend on my financial circumstances. Living on assistance in Kelowna, even if that were possible, would be just as bad as here. I will not give up on my dream to get back there before I die, but short of winning a lottery, it will be an uphill battle. No matter what, my life will be much different if I get back. There won't be any boats or dirt bikes or snowmobiles and my life will be much different. One of my passions for years was to dance at the Corral, but my feet would make that impossible right now. Hopefully if I can lose the weight and get my diabetes under better control I may dance again.
I pray that I can write a much better story on my next birthday. If nothing has changed by then I will simply not survive.
A really cheap meal
One box of Loblaws' Butcher's Choice burgers (very tasty) on sale for $4.99 for box of eight. D'Italiano Crustini buns, on sale for $2.77 for pack of eight. Cheese slice, Kraft singles on sale for $2.00, bit of mustard and mayo. Splurge on dill pickles, $2.97 for a small bottle of sliced. Dinner for eight nights, although not a lot of variety. less than $1.50 a meal! If you can do without bread or milk for a couple of days, you can mix it up with bacon, No Name on sale for $2.99, or exotic things like mushrooms. What you can't afford is fresh vegetables like lettuce, tomatoes or onions because these have gone up 18% in the last year, with no increase in the food allowance from welfare.
* all prices quoted are from Adrian's No Frills in the Argyle Mall.
If you live in the London area Doris Family Produce at the Covent Garden Market sells a nifty little bag of prepared carrots and cele
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.