Spewing Molten Rock

Lava looks so serene when it's in a lamp, but doesn't it look furious when it spews out of a volcano?  I feel like that volcano when I think about the Alberta health care system.  The wait times for publically funded surgeries in Alberta are well above the national average.  Earlier this year Health Minister Gene Zwozdesky and Alberta Health Services president Stephen Duckett made an announcement that they will inject $8 million into health services to increase the number of surgeries by ten percent over the year.

$8 million?  That seems pretty paltry to me.  It's unacceptable when people have to wait 6-9 months for a knee or hip replacement.  At one time it was a 5-year wait for cataract surgery.  What really makes me laugh is Duckett calling this latest effort a "blitz".  Oh come on!  It's a drop in a bucket!

I've been shafted for years in this floundering, inefficient quagmire of a health care system.  I'm all for a 2-tiered medical system.  If it shortens the surgery queue, why not?  If I can pay to not be in pain, why not?   Look at me.  I'm already out thousands of dollars trying to find some relief for my chronic back pain.  I would have gladly paid all that money from the start to someone privately who could help me.  But, here in Alberta, good help is hard to find.  Heck, I can't even find a spinal surgeon.  The average wait time for a general practitioner to find a specialist for a patient is supposedly 10 weeks.  10 weeks?  That's nothing!  I'll be waiting over a year for a referral to a spinal surgeon!  Those were words out of my GP's mouth, over a year!!!

I'm waiting for a nerve ablation procedure for my lower back.  The spinal care centre took years to decide that I should be tested to see if I would be a suitable candidate for the procedure.  When they finally decided, I had to wait 6 months for the testing.  When I got the results they told me I'd have to wait about 9 months for the procedure.  I thought that was lousy, but I accepted that.  And I waited in agony.  I kept it touch by calling and asking about the queue.  Shucks, the wait time grew to 12-15 months!  Incredible.  I was angry.

I finally decided to get to the heart of things.  Through various calls to the hospital I talked to someone who really knew what was going on.  Apparently I had my information all wrong from the start.  Ablation procedures take 18 months from when the hospital receives the patient's paperwork.  Oooh, not good at all.  But the kicker is this:  the radiologists who perform this procedure at the hospital come from the very same spinal care centre that I've been going to for years.  Uh, wait a sec.  The spinal care centre has been stringing me along and deceiving me into thinking that I will get the procedure done much sooner that could ever realistically happen.  Did they think that would pacify me?  No, I'm a volcano -- an angry, erupting volcano with a geyser of hot lava spraying everything in sight.

Most health officials would agree that to wait 6 months in agony is too long.  It's inhumane.  It's a putrefying pile of bullshit.  Well, how about waiting 3 times as long as that in agony.  How about waiting 18 months in horrific pain?  Spend a day in my shoes Ed Stelmach, and then tell me you'd wait 18 fucking months!

I paid $770 out of my own pocket for an MRI.  No doctor wanted to give me a requisition for one, mainly because the wait time for one was too long.  Yes, another one of those unbelievable stories.  What the MRI did tell me was that I have a tear in my L5/S1 disk and it's bulging on my left side.  That was just another tidbit of information that no one seemed to care about.  My physiotherapist, who calls the shots at the spinal care centre, basically told me to take drugs and don't do anything to aggravate it.  Well, every day things aggravate it, and I'm allergic to the two prescribed anti-inflammatories.  Why am I listening to a physiotherapist anyway?  Why don't they have real doctors running this clinic!?

Finally, today I bit the bullet.  I collected all the (incomplete) records I could obtain, and I sent them to a spinal specialist who works in a private clinic in Vancouver, British Columbia.  I'm seeking a consultation, a lovely $750 consultation and I want some answers.  I've stayed at this two-bit operation, they call a clinic, in Alberta for too long.  Why have I been going to a spinal care centre where a physiotherapist makes the decisions, and a part-time general practitioner oversees these decisions?  I'm not even in the care of a specialist to begin with.  I'm an idiot.  I've trusted the medical system for too long.  Now I'm going to pay my way out of this hellhole.  If this Dr. in Vancouver thinks he can help me, I'll be out thousands of dollars.  There is no cure, only temporary relief.  However, at this point I have no choice.  If I don't find help soon I will go mentally insane.

Live Long and Prosper Leonard

I finally got around to watching "Star Trek", the 2009 version with Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto.   Not always logical, but whew, what an action packed movie.  It brought back childhood memories from when I used to watch reruns of the original series on TV.  I still have a fondness for Spock :)

When I was a kid, Spock was, hands down, my favourite character on Star Trek.  He was smart, he was cool, he had that awesome Vulcan salute.  Also fascinating were his abilities to mind meld and render a victim unconscious with his Vulcan nerve pinch.   Most of all, he had those irresistibly shiny black bangs!  Talk about dream boat material for a seven-year old!  One of the most memorable episodes, I thought at the time, was when he fell in love!  I was always intrigued by his half Vulcan/half human persona.

Who better to portray Spock than Leonard Nimoy?  He was perfect for the role -- tall and lean with a deep voice that was calm yet compelling.  And he could sing too!  In the 1970s my brother and I used to watch the TV show "In Search Of...".  That was a show about the paranormal and unexplained and hosted by Leonard Nimoy.  It used to spook me a little, but at least Leonard was a small source of comfort.  It's probably not a coincidence either that as kids we had a pet goldfish named Leonard.

In April 2010, Leonard Nimoy actually came to visit the small town of Vulcan, Alberta, which is only about a two-hour drive away from where I live.  He was there to help the town celebrate its new status as "The Official Star Trek Capital of Canada".  Spock was also immortalized with a bronze bust and plaque of the Vulcan hand salute.  I kinda wish I had been there to see it.  Live long and prosper Leonard.

This is the Life

Butterflies and daffodils
Fresh baked pies on window sills
I watched a sparrow build a nest
Observed an ant fulfill its quest


I waded through a sparkling creek
Marvelled at a chipmunk’s squeak
I gazed at cloud shapes in the sky
Laughed at fledglings trying to fly


I sauntered through a valley pass
Swam in waves of meadow grass
I came upon the bluff’s sharp ledge
Then tripped and fell right off the edge

Scrooge Rap

You have that white trash smile
You have that white trash smell
Got your bulging velcro wallet
Gonna pay in hell


Your existence is real
But your soul is fake
Shove your way through doors
Drown the people in your wake


Go buy your dancing Santa
Fight for your singing fish
Two wrongs don’t make a right
There’s your coal, I’ll make a wish

The Disenchanted Forest

Dejectedly down-trodden? Dysfunctionally depressed? Don't deceive the devil or dupe the dragons. Just dodge the daggers and demons and dream of the Disenchanted Forest. Dare to discover:


          disILLusioNmenT


                    dECEit


                         dePRAVity

                                   dISEAse

                                             Delve down deeper to dislodge:

                                   dESperATion

                         DrEAD
                   dEFeaT
               DecaY

Decidedly drained and disturbed? Death is divine at the Disenchanted Forest.

Cinnamon Toasted Apple Jacks

A is for acrylamide found in your fries

B is for benzene from exhaust in the skies

C is for cadmium from a hazardous waste spill

D is for dioxin released from paper mills

E is for Endosulfan, a toxic pesticide

F is for formaldehyde, a carcinogenic fungicide

G is for gasoline, a polluting morass

H is for hydrogen sulfide, a poisonous gas

I is for the itch that just seems to stay

J is for jaundice, how'd I get this anyway?

K is for kerosene, do not use it on ticks

L is for lead used in cheap candle wicks

M is for mercaptans, that stinky skunk smell

N is for naphthalene, against moths it repels

O is for oxalic acid precipitating as your kidney stone

P is for "PCBs that have polluted me," the earth bemoans

Q is for Q Fever, a disease spread by ticks

R is for radiation, too much makes you sick

S is for Sarin, a deadly nerve gas

T is for the tapeworm your pet might pass

U is for ultraviolet rays, pray that sunblock will prevail

V is for Vancomycin, a drug when all others fail

W is for Warfarin, both rodenticide and anticoagulant?

X is for xylene, a sickeningly sweet solvent

Y is for yersina pestis, used in biological warfare

Z is for Zinfandel -- sigh, anyone want to share?

I Still Wish I Could Meet Him

I was reminiscing today about a childhood memory of mine. But, I wonder if this memory has warped over time without me knowing it? Or, are childhood perceptions skewed and remain skewed until you conjure them up again? Are my memories really what happened or just some version of what really happened? I don't know, but I like to think that this memory has remained intact -- innocently, through the eyes of a child.

 

At the time I was living in England, and for a summer vacation my family and I took a driving holiday through parts of Europe. There were no car seats or seat belt laws and my brother and I were free to romp around in what little room there was in the back seat of our Fiat. It was a metallic, baby-blue Fiat that my brother had named Snooky. My parents challenged themselves by driving on the left-hand side of the road with a left-handed-steering car. Maybe that is why my dad had trouble manoeuvring through all those roundabouts...

My fondest memory of Paris should have been viewing the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. Sadly, I fell asleep on the tour bus and missed those attractions. I do remember buying paintings of ballerinas, getting my portrait sketched by a street artist, and the billboards of girls in pasties. However, what brings a smile to my face is the memory I have of my brother and I in the back seat of the Fiat, while my dad drove through the streets of Paris. I was six years old, and my brother was four. We were turned around and looking out the rear window. Behind us was a young fellow on a motorcycle. He had a scruffy beard and wavy brown hair that stuck out of his helmet in a few tufts. We made up a story about him, and decided to call him Harry. We giggled and laughed and waved maniacally at the man on the motorcycle. He smiled back and waved at us. We kept on laughing and waving. He humoured us, and kept waving right on back at us. Perhaps he was cursing in French behind gritted teeth, but to us he was our new Parisian friend. He had such a warm smile. I wish we had actually met him. My brother and I talked about him for days.

What would that be like to go back to Paris and meet the man on the motorcycle? He probably wouldn't remember the two foreign faces plastered against the rear window that day so long ago. Heck, he must be close to sixty years old now. Well, at least the memory lives on. Hello Harry, if you are still out there.

Test

I will transfer information from my old, soon to be obliterated, blog into this one. I hope to have this updated by 18 June 2010.