So, this easter thing? It didn't make much of a dent in our house. For me, it was a day off, albeit one of forced quiet.
I'm an Atheist, but relax, I'm the 'Do no harm, you have your bit, and I have mine, it's all good" kind. It goes without saying that I don't have much reason to believe a man executed more than 2000 years ago came back from the dead and floated skyward. As for Etienne, I don't probe what he believes when it comes to Jesus and easter--but he's content to overlook easter as well, so I'll take it. We're a young, childless couple, so there's no need to hide eggs or chocolates, or share them for that matter (Ain't no one getting their hands on my Cadbury Creme Eggs!). I love my easter ham (one tradition left over from my youth), but it's a solo event, as Etienne's a vegetarian. Without religion, childish myths, and mutual love of pork, easter's just not going to take hold here.
But that leaves a vacuum. On a normal Sunday, we'd be able to get up and go, even if all we do it wander to the mall or through the Market. Easter Sunday is the one Sunday a year when it's guaranteed that almost everything will be totally shuttered. Movie theatres are pretty much the only places open, and that's not even a sure thing.
Detroit had a game today, but damn if they didn't just positively die out there, and there were no signs of resurrection as the day wore on.
My boredom today is the result of just not believing in a story the same way that the overwhelming majority of North American society does.
Sometimes, it ain't easy walking your own path...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
March 30/13
I made two observations today, and one truly bothers me:
1) If you take away peoples' ability to shop away, just for a day (almost everything was closed on Friday), they respond with an almost furious push to shop the next day. The crowds today were large, the line-ups were long, and the carrier bags were limitless.
2) Those twits at Urban Outfitters and their ilk are trying to bring back scrunchies.
If you guessed that the first observation was the one that bothered me, you don't know me well. If you guessed the second observation bothered me, you're right. I physically recoiled.
The thing is, as I wandered around Urban Outfitters today, almost everything I saw was something I could have worn on an average day 20 years ago...when I was 14. And didn't know better. I look at much of it now, and I think "Oh gawd, so we all looked that goofy?" Need a point of reference? If you went to junior high or high school in the late 1980s and early 1990s, go get your yearbook. Yeah, those pictures you cringe about now? Today's young generation are also doing it. On purpose. I can't wait for them to be where I am now in 20 years.
What goes around, comes around? Some things (like scrunchies) shouldn't come around. Ever again.
A cure for scrunchies...
...Wish you were here.
1) If you take away peoples' ability to shop away, just for a day (almost everything was closed on Friday), they respond with an almost furious push to shop the next day. The crowds today were large, the line-ups were long, and the carrier bags were limitless.
2) Those twits at Urban Outfitters and their ilk are trying to bring back scrunchies.
If you guessed that the first observation was the one that bothered me, you don't know me well. If you guessed the second observation bothered me, you're right. I physically recoiled.
The thing is, as I wandered around Urban Outfitters today, almost everything I saw was something I could have worn on an average day 20 years ago...when I was 14. And didn't know better. I look at much of it now, and I think "Oh gawd, so we all looked that goofy?" Need a point of reference? If you went to junior high or high school in the late 1980s and early 1990s, go get your yearbook. Yeah, those pictures you cringe about now? Today's young generation are also doing it. On purpose. I can't wait for them to be where I am now in 20 years.
What goes around, comes around? Some things (like scrunchies) shouldn't come around. Ever again.
A cure for scrunchies...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, March 29, 2013
March 29/13
If you ever want to remind yourself of how small humans are and how odd it is that evolution should select such a small species to be at the top of the food chain, head to your nearest Museum of nature or natural history.
Since Ottawa practically shuts down on Good Friday (I'd have though Easter would be more appropriate), we faced a challenge of figuring out how to fill our day. As it happened, I consulted a couple of media sources, and lo! All of the major museums in town (minus the National Gallery of Art) were open! Now, if you're not familiar with the National Capital Region, the Big 6 museums are:
-The Museum of Civilization
-The Canadian War Museum
-The Canada Aviation and Space Museum
-The Canadian Agriculture Museum
-The Canada Science and Technology Museum
-The Canadian Museum of Nature
Of course there are something like 20 museums in Ottawa and Gatineau, dedicated to various subjects, but these are the biggest, the most hyped, and the ones open.
Well, it's fairly simple to figure out what our choice would be. We've been the Civ on several occasions, so that was out. Etienne abhors all things war, so pass. We're planning a trip to the Aviation and Space museum soon, so let's skip that to avoid some redundancy. Agriculture, while imminently respectable, is not a subject matter we're in a hurry to learn more about (sorry, Ags!). If the choice comes down to Science and Tech vs. Nature, Nature wins because it's cool, and it's a very short walk from our place, whereas the Science museum would require automotive transport of some kind.
The Museum of Nature is housed in what's commonly called "the castle" around these parts. A historical landmark, it's been renovated in recent years, so that it's a blend of very modern and early 1900s design, and yet it blends fairly well. Most recently, they've added a large glass tower where the original stone tower stood, and it affords space for an enormous Blue Whale replica, and damn if that thing doesn't make you feel tiny.
But the moment that reminds you that humans are not only small, but are also fortunate happened when we entered the first exhibit: the Dinosaurs. The museum's collection is unique in that about 85% of its fossils are actual fossils (not replicas), and while it's not filled with the biggest specimens, the sight of the enormous ancient sea turtle sure reminds you of how cool it is to see this stuff. At one point, Etienne had gotten farther in than I, and I had to dodge all manner of annoying families with their strollers and unwieldy children to find him.
When I did find him, he was standing in an area set up with cast dinosaurs in a forest, large beasts, with quite a look on his face--as I approached, he expressed that he was okay with the creationists being totally wrong in trying to argue that humans and dinosaurs shared the earth. The sight of these statues, easily dwarfing him, put things into perspective: there's no way we could have shared the Earth with these things. They'd eat us out of existence. Their time came and went, and now, I guess, it's our turn. Mammals rule! Museums are so much fun!
More awesome museums...
...Wish you were here.
Since Ottawa practically shuts down on Good Friday (I'd have though Easter would be more appropriate), we faced a challenge of figuring out how to fill our day. As it happened, I consulted a couple of media sources, and lo! All of the major museums in town (minus the National Gallery of Art) were open! Now, if you're not familiar with the National Capital Region, the Big 6 museums are:
-The Museum of Civilization
-The Canadian War Museum
-The Canada Aviation and Space Museum
-The Canadian Agriculture Museum
-The Canada Science and Technology Museum
-The Canadian Museum of Nature
Of course there are something like 20 museums in Ottawa and Gatineau, dedicated to various subjects, but these are the biggest, the most hyped, and the ones open.
Well, it's fairly simple to figure out what our choice would be. We've been the Civ on several occasions, so that was out. Etienne abhors all things war, so pass. We're planning a trip to the Aviation and Space museum soon, so let's skip that to avoid some redundancy. Agriculture, while imminently respectable, is not a subject matter we're in a hurry to learn more about (sorry, Ags!). If the choice comes down to Science and Tech vs. Nature, Nature wins because it's cool, and it's a very short walk from our place, whereas the Science museum would require automotive transport of some kind.
The Museum of Nature is housed in what's commonly called "the castle" around these parts. A historical landmark, it's been renovated in recent years, so that it's a blend of very modern and early 1900s design, and yet it blends fairly well. Most recently, they've added a large glass tower where the original stone tower stood, and it affords space for an enormous Blue Whale replica, and damn if that thing doesn't make you feel tiny.
But the moment that reminds you that humans are not only small, but are also fortunate happened when we entered the first exhibit: the Dinosaurs. The museum's collection is unique in that about 85% of its fossils are actual fossils (not replicas), and while it's not filled with the biggest specimens, the sight of the enormous ancient sea turtle sure reminds you of how cool it is to see this stuff. At one point, Etienne had gotten farther in than I, and I had to dodge all manner of annoying families with their strollers and unwieldy children to find him.
When I did find him, he was standing in an area set up with cast dinosaurs in a forest, large beasts, with quite a look on his face--as I approached, he expressed that he was okay with the creationists being totally wrong in trying to argue that humans and dinosaurs shared the earth. The sight of these statues, easily dwarfing him, put things into perspective: there's no way we could have shared the Earth with these things. They'd eat us out of existence. Their time came and went, and now, I guess, it's our turn. Mammals rule! Museums are so much fun!
More awesome museums...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
March 28/13
This evening, Etienne and I took part in what's become an annual tradition: the Cannes International Advertising Festival. The 2012 edition was a bit of a mixed bag, but there were, in my opinion four really standout winners, and I've rounded them up for you here.
First, we have one of the ads from a campaign for BGH air conditioners from Argentina. Revel in the glory of Dads in Briefs:
Next up, we have the best advertisement for New Zealand ever. Celebrate them as the most creative people on earth:
Third, we have the best advertisement I've ever seen for the Hockey Hall of Fame. Learn more about Bobby Bishop:
The final standout ad isn't like the others though. While the festival certainly pulls together some of the greatest laughs of the year, it also picks up some of the most devastating ads, typically aimed at social themes and causes. This one is strange, because it's framed as a socially-themed piece, but it's really an ad for a business. None the less, I was literally sobbing (as quietly as I could) at this one (if you don't see the English subtitles, click on the little cc at the bottom of the frame):
Fairly early into the screening, the New Zealand ad played, and I was laughing with such delight, my hands accidentally clapped once. I caught myself before it happened again, but it apparently opened the floodgates, and a couple of others in the crowd picked it up; before I knew it, the crowd erupted into applause and whistling, and for the rest of the screening, the crowd felt absolutely free to clap, holler, and whistle in approval for those ads that tickled our funny bones. It was kind of a liberating moment for me.
Less commercials, more creative ads...
...Wish you were here.
First, we have one of the ads from a campaign for BGH air conditioners from Argentina. Revel in the glory of Dads in Briefs:
Next up, we have the best advertisement for New Zealand ever. Celebrate them as the most creative people on earth:
Third, we have the best advertisement I've ever seen for the Hockey Hall of Fame. Learn more about Bobby Bishop:
The final standout ad isn't like the others though. While the festival certainly pulls together some of the greatest laughs of the year, it also picks up some of the most devastating ads, typically aimed at social themes and causes. This one is strange, because it's framed as a socially-themed piece, but it's really an ad for a business. None the less, I was literally sobbing (as quietly as I could) at this one (if you don't see the English subtitles, click on the little cc at the bottom of the frame):
Fairly early into the screening, the New Zealand ad played, and I was laughing with such delight, my hands accidentally clapped once. I caught myself before it happened again, but it apparently opened the floodgates, and a couple of others in the crowd picked it up; before I knew it, the crowd erupted into applause and whistling, and for the rest of the screening, the crowd felt absolutely free to clap, holler, and whistle in approval for those ads that tickled our funny bones. It was kind of a liberating moment for me.
Less commercials, more creative ads...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
March 27/13
Today's moment is actually one that might require some background information and a little digression.
If you're familiar with the NPR program 'Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me' then skip this part; Wait is a quiz show with a few twists. The contestants are comedians, writers, social commentators, etc (e.g. Paula Poundstone), but the show also includes callers who compete to win...get this...an outgoing voicemail message from the Show's MC/co-host, Carl Kasell, a rather comfortingly-voiced older gentleman. Furthermore, the show hosts a call with a celebrity of some kind who has to play a game to win...yes, the outgoing voicemail message for a show fan. The show is quite entertaining, and Carl Kasell is a great sport, handling all of the antics of presenter Peter Sagal and the regular panelists.
If you're familiar with Bill Kurtis, then skip this part; Bill Kurtis is a venerated American TV journalist, producer, narrator and news anchor, though you may know him better as the older gentleman host from A&E channel's crime and investigative shows such as American Justice, Cold Case Files, and Investigative Reports. All awesome shows that seem to be replaced as of late by the likes of staged-"reality shows" such as Dog: The Bounty Hunter and Storage Wars.
Etienne subscribes to the podcast of this show on iTunes, and though I haven't gotten around to subscribing to it myself, I enjoy the show whenever he plays it for us. Late this morning, he put on the last show from March 23rd; Carl Kasell was absent, but his fill-in playfully introduced himself as the "legendary anchorman Bill Kurtis" which was a reference to his role in the Will Ferrill movie Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. It was funny to here him joke like that because normally, his work is so straight-arrow and professional. I've heard him narrate some of the most disturbing and chilling details of gruesome, brutal crimes with such seriousness and professionalism, it makes one wonder if he's capable of laughter.
He had a great time on the show, you can tell, but today's moment, the one I think is worth sharing, is this:
I can't believe I heard Bill Kurtis say the phrases "Horny Bunches of Oats" "Count Crotchula, now with crotch berries" and "Grope Nuts." Bravo, Mr. Kurtis...I tip my hat to you delivering those lines with incredible humour, timing, and panache!
It wasn't a great morning for me, with a headache and some uncool belly issues, but that made things better.
Bill Kurtis, professional...
...Wish you were here.
If you're familiar with the NPR program 'Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me' then skip this part; Wait is a quiz show with a few twists. The contestants are comedians, writers, social commentators, etc (e.g. Paula Poundstone), but the show also includes callers who compete to win...get this...an outgoing voicemail message from the Show's MC/co-host, Carl Kasell, a rather comfortingly-voiced older gentleman. Furthermore, the show hosts a call with a celebrity of some kind who has to play a game to win...yes, the outgoing voicemail message for a show fan. The show is quite entertaining, and Carl Kasell is a great sport, handling all of the antics of presenter Peter Sagal and the regular panelists.
If you're familiar with Bill Kurtis, then skip this part; Bill Kurtis is a venerated American TV journalist, producer, narrator and news anchor, though you may know him better as the older gentleman host from A&E channel's crime and investigative shows such as American Justice, Cold Case Files, and Investigative Reports. All awesome shows that seem to be replaced as of late by the likes of staged-"reality shows" such as Dog: The Bounty Hunter and Storage Wars.
Etienne subscribes to the podcast of this show on iTunes, and though I haven't gotten around to subscribing to it myself, I enjoy the show whenever he plays it for us. Late this morning, he put on the last show from March 23rd; Carl Kasell was absent, but his fill-in playfully introduced himself as the "legendary anchorman Bill Kurtis" which was a reference to his role in the Will Ferrill movie Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. It was funny to here him joke like that because normally, his work is so straight-arrow and professional. I've heard him narrate some of the most disturbing and chilling details of gruesome, brutal crimes with such seriousness and professionalism, it makes one wonder if he's capable of laughter.
He had a great time on the show, you can tell, but today's moment, the one I think is worth sharing, is this:
I can't believe I heard Bill Kurtis say the phrases "Horny Bunches of Oats" "Count Crotchula, now with crotch berries" and "Grope Nuts." Bravo, Mr. Kurtis...I tip my hat to you delivering those lines with incredible humour, timing, and panache!
It wasn't a great morning for me, with a headache and some uncool belly issues, but that made things better.
Bill Kurtis, professional...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
March 26/13
Yes, it was incredibly heartbreaking.
When we picked up Max's ashes, I was presented with a box about 9 inches long, bright blue. Inside, was a certificate, and a smaller box, cedar, about 6 inches long, and 4 inches tall. My baby boy.
It will be two week tomorrow since we put him to sleep, and there's just this aching hole in my life. In our lives.
Max and I had almost 16 year together. He's been with me through 3 boyfriends, a husband, 3 moves across the country, and countless smiles, laughs, tears and fights. That cat was literally my longest lasting relationship. As Etienne pointed out this evening, Max knew more secrets about me than any human, because I would talk to my cat.
Etienne and Max only knew each other for the last two and a half years, but they were so bonded, it made me a little jealous. Max was such a Man's cat, always wanting to be where the Man of the house was, but there was almost a biological need to be with Etienne as much as possible.
We have Purrball, which helps to deal with the grief, but I'm afraid she too is trying to adjust to life without Max. They didn't get along, but I know she still looks for his food dish occasionally, and she's taken to forcing her way into the hallway closet and sleeping there while we are at work.
Max, we miss you terribly...
...Wish you were here.
When we picked up Max's ashes, I was presented with a box about 9 inches long, bright blue. Inside, was a certificate, and a smaller box, cedar, about 6 inches long, and 4 inches tall. My baby boy.
It will be two week tomorrow since we put him to sleep, and there's just this aching hole in my life. In our lives.
Max and I had almost 16 year together. He's been with me through 3 boyfriends, a husband, 3 moves across the country, and countless smiles, laughs, tears and fights. That cat was literally my longest lasting relationship. As Etienne pointed out this evening, Max knew more secrets about me than any human, because I would talk to my cat.
Etienne and Max only knew each other for the last two and a half years, but they were so bonded, it made me a little jealous. Max was such a Man's cat, always wanting to be where the Man of the house was, but there was almost a biological need to be with Etienne as much as possible.
We have Purrball, which helps to deal with the grief, but I'm afraid she too is trying to adjust to life without Max. They didn't get along, but I know she still looks for his food dish occasionally, and she's taken to forcing her way into the hallway closet and sleeping there while we are at work.
Max, we miss you terribly...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, March 25, 2013
March 25/13
Today, there was so much big news in Canada, but it was the little phone call early in the afternoon that hung over me; the vet hospital called. Max's ashes from ready for pick up.
I've been dreading this call because I know it will be a very sad moment.
I need courage for tomorrow...
...Wish you were here.
I've been dreading this call because I know it will be a very sad moment.
I need courage for tomorrow...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
March 24/13
It's Palm Sunday. If you're a christian, you know what this is about; Jesus hitched a ride into Jerusalem on an ass, determined to pull of his final act, and was greeted by followers joyously brandishing palm fronds.
I grew up with this story, as my dad's parents were Catholic and insisted that I be as well (I went the first 7 years of my life without any religious affiliation), and I attended Catholic schools, but it still surprised me anyway when I was driving home from running errands this morning and passed a bevy of parishioners brandishing stalks of palms as they left the large Catholic church on the corner of my block. Dude...wasn't that supposed to be before Lent? No, as it turns out, it's the Sunday before Easter, which leads to Ash Wednesday, and so on.
It's a good thing I finally made my piece with being an atheist (hey, I tried!) and left the church, because as it turns out, I would have made a really sucky Catholic. I even forgot the name of Palm Sunday as I told Etienne about it. I guess the teachings of my youth didn't stick very well.
Anyway, if it's your thing, I hope you had a good Palm Sunday. If it's not, I hope you had a good Sunday.
It's all good...
...Wish you were here.
I grew up with this story, as my dad's parents were Catholic and insisted that I be as well (I went the first 7 years of my life without any religious affiliation), and I attended Catholic schools, but it still surprised me anyway when I was driving home from running errands this morning and passed a bevy of parishioners brandishing stalks of palms as they left the large Catholic church on the corner of my block. Dude...wasn't that supposed to be before Lent? No, as it turns out, it's the Sunday before Easter, which leads to Ash Wednesday, and so on.
It's a good thing I finally made my piece with being an atheist (hey, I tried!) and left the church, because as it turns out, I would have made a really sucky Catholic. I even forgot the name of Palm Sunday as I told Etienne about it. I guess the teachings of my youth didn't stick very well.
Anyway, if it's your thing, I hope you had a good Palm Sunday. If it's not, I hope you had a good Sunday.
It's all good...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
March 23/13
Earth hour has come to mean "Games Night" in our house, and tonight, it was a bit of a one-sided grudge match (on my part).
Last year, we drank wine and played Trivial Pursuit by candlelight while music on a portable, battery-operated ipod dock played, and the cats pestered us, wanting to get at the candles.
This year, things were different; this year, it was still candlelight, but the music was replaced with the Habs-Sabres game on my laptop top (battery-run), the wine wasn't flowing, and the game? Scrabble.
Back when we were just starting out in our new apartment, Etienne was a little reluctant to start playing Scrabble with me, due largely to the language issue. He's fully bilingual, but some words (and their spelling) aren't a part of his regular English vocabulary, so it limited what he could play. But over time, his vocabulary grew, and he learned to play defensively, thus cutting off my options for points.
As of late, he's been winning more games than I have (I blame the letters I'm pulling...what high-scoring word can I make with E-E-E-I-I-U-O??), and tonight, I was determined to win--oh, it was ON!
Earth Hour starts at 8:30 pm, and lasts (as the name implies) an hour. At 10:30, exhausted, with two tiles left to play, in need of 16 points just to tie, and very few options to catch up to his monster 20 point pick-up from his last play, I found it. Playing on spots where I could pick up 14 points from multiple words, I picked up two points from his last two unplayed tiles, thus wrestling victory out of his grasp, by two points.
Better luck with pulling tiles...
...Wish you were here.
Last year, we drank wine and played Trivial Pursuit by candlelight while music on a portable, battery-operated ipod dock played, and the cats pestered us, wanting to get at the candles.
This year, things were different; this year, it was still candlelight, but the music was replaced with the Habs-Sabres game on my laptop top (battery-run), the wine wasn't flowing, and the game? Scrabble.
Back when we were just starting out in our new apartment, Etienne was a little reluctant to start playing Scrabble with me, due largely to the language issue. He's fully bilingual, but some words (and their spelling) aren't a part of his regular English vocabulary, so it limited what he could play. But over time, his vocabulary grew, and he learned to play defensively, thus cutting off my options for points.
As of late, he's been winning more games than I have (I blame the letters I'm pulling...what high-scoring word can I make with E-E-E-I-I-U-O??), and tonight, I was determined to win--oh, it was ON!
Earth Hour starts at 8:30 pm, and lasts (as the name implies) an hour. At 10:30, exhausted, with two tiles left to play, in need of 16 points just to tie, and very few options to catch up to his monster 20 point pick-up from his last play, I found it. Playing on spots where I could pick up 14 points from multiple words, I picked up two points from his last two unplayed tiles, thus wrestling victory out of his grasp, by two points.
Better luck with pulling tiles...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, March 22, 2013
March 22/13
I'm genuinely annoyed about my job.
Who doesn't love staying late on a Friday doing a task that really shouldn't be delegated down, but instead handled by the person whose job it is? This girl. Right here. In fact, I hate it.
I was stuck. I thought I had the big piece under control, and I was just waiting another half hour before I could get out. Then the phone rang. A fuck-up further up the line meant that a major piece of this garbage was due, and it wasn't done. My colleague and I sat down and talked our way through it, but the damage was done...I left work at 6 pm.
I would actually be totally okay with it if the task was something important, that is a task my group and level is scheduled to do. I've stayed late before, working in earnest on stuff that matters in the larger picture, and I've done it with minimal issue because it was my job to do it. This stuff? Not my job.
A cure for bullshit work...
...Wish you were here.
Who doesn't love staying late on a Friday doing a task that really shouldn't be delegated down, but instead handled by the person whose job it is? This girl. Right here. In fact, I hate it.
I was stuck. I thought I had the big piece under control, and I was just waiting another half hour before I could get out. Then the phone rang. A fuck-up further up the line meant that a major piece of this garbage was due, and it wasn't done. My colleague and I sat down and talked our way through it, but the damage was done...I left work at 6 pm.
I would actually be totally okay with it if the task was something important, that is a task my group and level is scheduled to do. I've stayed late before, working in earnest on stuff that matters in the larger picture, and I've done it with minimal issue because it was my job to do it. This stuff? Not my job.
A cure for bullshit work...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
March 21/13
This is a big week for what has come to be known by its shorthand as the Carter case in BC.
What is the Carter case? It's the case that was brought in the BC courts against the federal government by a group of individuals (supported by advocacy groups) over the right to die with dignity. The current case is actually the appeal by the federal government, as those suing for this right won their case, with the judge ordering that the government start crafting legislation within a year.
This is a right that I am passionately in favour of, and it irks me to no end that the federal government is not only fighting the appeal, but is doing so with just about the most asinine argument I've heard to date: one of the Crown lawyers apparently has balls made of solid brass, deciding to argue that sick individuals or people who have faced a traumatic injury who are considering "assisted suicide" are just scared of suffering, even though it's possible for them to cope. And I quote, "They are acting out of fear of the future." That right there is the perfect example of a paternalistic government interfering in the lives of individuals. "Aww kitten, you have a fatal boo-boo? Don't be scared, just suck it up!"
It drives me up the wall that self-determination is only a right so long as you are doing things only in the manner prescribed by a bunch of strangers who have no connection to the dying person, and whose "prescription" is based on manipulation of emotions, misleading on facts and data, or imposing their personal beliefs on society as a whole.
The Carter case is a sign of hope; another sign is that the Quebec government is moving forward to decriminalize medical hastening of death. Since Sue Rodriguez brought her own case to the Supreme Court of Canada, raising the issue in the public mind, there has been steady and overwhelming support for the right to die. This isn't rocket science...there are several jurisdictions around the world already doing there, and there is clear data, as well as several different policies to study in order to find the right fit for Canada.
Self-determination...
...Wish you were here.
What is the Carter case? It's the case that was brought in the BC courts against the federal government by a group of individuals (supported by advocacy groups) over the right to die with dignity. The current case is actually the appeal by the federal government, as those suing for this right won their case, with the judge ordering that the government start crafting legislation within a year.
This is a right that I am passionately in favour of, and it irks me to no end that the federal government is not only fighting the appeal, but is doing so with just about the most asinine argument I've heard to date: one of the Crown lawyers apparently has balls made of solid brass, deciding to argue that sick individuals or people who have faced a traumatic injury who are considering "assisted suicide" are just scared of suffering, even though it's possible for them to cope. And I quote, "They are acting out of fear of the future." That right there is the perfect example of a paternalistic government interfering in the lives of individuals. "Aww kitten, you have a fatal boo-boo? Don't be scared, just suck it up!"
It drives me up the wall that self-determination is only a right so long as you are doing things only in the manner prescribed by a bunch of strangers who have no connection to the dying person, and whose "prescription" is based on manipulation of emotions, misleading on facts and data, or imposing their personal beliefs on society as a whole.
The Carter case is a sign of hope; another sign is that the Quebec government is moving forward to decriminalize medical hastening of death. Since Sue Rodriguez brought her own case to the Supreme Court of Canada, raising the issue in the public mind, there has been steady and overwhelming support for the right to die. This isn't rocket science...there are several jurisdictions around the world already doing there, and there is clear data, as well as several different policies to study in order to find the right fit for Canada.
Self-determination...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
March 20/13
I'm about to lose my shit on a bunch of stupid kids.
Every day now, we learn more about the bullying and threats aimed at the 16 year old victim in the Steubenville rape case. Today, there was news of a 13 year old girl being attacked by 18 year old football players in Connecticut. A couple of years ago, it was a 15 year old victims drugged and gang raped at a rave in Maple Ridge. In all of these cases (and many more, I'm sure), the victims have been subject to abuse from their peers who choose to blame the victim instead of put the blame on the attackers and their accomplices.
This issue has a particularly harsh spotlight shining on it currently, thanks to the utterly disgusting audacity of CNN presenterS (yes, multiple) who invoked feelings of pity for the two teenaged attackers in Steubenville.
And it's making me apoplectic.
Why the fuck would these bullies, and let's face it, criminals, not understand they are blaming the wrong person? Is it a lack of empathy? An abundance of stupidity? Poor understanding? Rebellion? Can someone please fucking explain it to me?
Because the best I can do in explaining it to myself is that communities and peers would rather pin the blame on the victim, a single, solitary individual who has been wronged, than accept that they have raised and nurtured boys and men who have committed these heinous criminal acts of violence.
It doesn't matter how much you like your friend...if your friend rapes, assaults, abuses or attacks a vulnerable person, then your friend has done something horribly wrong and criminal, and it is not your friend who deserves your sympathy and empathy, it is his victim(s). Plain and fucking simple.
You have no idea how much antipathy I have for victim-blamers.
A societal fucking re-think...
...Wish you were here.
Every day now, we learn more about the bullying and threats aimed at the 16 year old victim in the Steubenville rape case. Today, there was news of a 13 year old girl being attacked by 18 year old football players in Connecticut. A couple of years ago, it was a 15 year old victims drugged and gang raped at a rave in Maple Ridge. In all of these cases (and many more, I'm sure), the victims have been subject to abuse from their peers who choose to blame the victim instead of put the blame on the attackers and their accomplices.
This issue has a particularly harsh spotlight shining on it currently, thanks to the utterly disgusting audacity of CNN presenterS (yes, multiple) who invoked feelings of pity for the two teenaged attackers in Steubenville.
And it's making me apoplectic.
Why the fuck would these bullies, and let's face it, criminals, not understand they are blaming the wrong person? Is it a lack of empathy? An abundance of stupidity? Poor understanding? Rebellion? Can someone please fucking explain it to me?
Because the best I can do in explaining it to myself is that communities and peers would rather pin the blame on the victim, a single, solitary individual who has been wronged, than accept that they have raised and nurtured boys and men who have committed these heinous criminal acts of violence.
It doesn't matter how much you like your friend...if your friend rapes, assaults, abuses or attacks a vulnerable person, then your friend has done something horribly wrong and criminal, and it is not your friend who deserves your sympathy and empathy, it is his victim(s). Plain and fucking simple.
You have no idea how much antipathy I have for victim-blamers.
A societal fucking re-think...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
March 18/13
There were actually a lot of things to talk about today, including being right about a soccer ball and the Mayan calendar, the fucking nanny state, incredible anger about the bullying of the Steubenville rape victim, the cancellation of a small debt, and the start of the appeal in the Medically-Assisted Death case in BC--so much that could count as today's moment, but none of that wins the post.
No, today, it's the Birfday of my Mr. B.T.
My oldest baby boy was born under duress. His mother was grieving the loss of her beloved grandfather, and there was a complication when B.T. decided to make his debut--his mother was sick. An emergency c-section later, this tiny little baby boy was out and about, with his absolute shock of black hair and sweet little face. He spent his first days in an incubator, being monitored for signs of infection, but he was soon cleared.
That seems like a lifetime ago, as today he's on the verge of adulthood.
Happy Birfday Baby Boy!
...Wish you were here.
No, today, it's the Birfday of my Mr. B.T.
My oldest baby boy was born under duress. His mother was grieving the loss of her beloved grandfather, and there was a complication when B.T. decided to make his debut--his mother was sick. An emergency c-section later, this tiny little baby boy was out and about, with his absolute shock of black hair and sweet little face. He spent his first days in an incubator, being monitored for signs of infection, but he was soon cleared.
That seems like a lifetime ago, as today he's on the verge of adulthood.
Happy Birfday Baby Boy!
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
March 17/13
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Between Etienne and I, we can muster enough of a possible Irish ancestor that we were justified in heading out to a pub for some drinks. There's an old adage in Quebec, "a quarter of a quarter" which means that likely a quarter of the population of the province is one-quarter Irish; as for me, I have both First Nations and Metis heritage, and there's no way an Irish ancestor didn't sneak in there at one point...after all, the Irish were particularly adventurous when it comes to Canadian history and exploration.
So bring on the green beverages!
Things that happened as the green beverages came and went from our table:
-A temporary tattoo "sleeve"
-#FreeKeegan
-The legend of St. Patrick leading the rats off the cliff with his pipe
-A crude leprechaun flipping the bird
-"Purrval Catsyuk"
More fun with green...
...Wish you were here.
Between Etienne and I, we can muster enough of a possible Irish ancestor that we were justified in heading out to a pub for some drinks. There's an old adage in Quebec, "a quarter of a quarter" which means that likely a quarter of the population of the province is one-quarter Irish; as for me, I have both First Nations and Metis heritage, and there's no way an Irish ancestor didn't sneak in there at one point...after all, the Irish were particularly adventurous when it comes to Canadian history and exploration.
So bring on the green beverages!
Things that happened as the green beverages came and went from our table:
-A temporary tattoo "sleeve"
-#FreeKeegan
-The legend of St. Patrick leading the rats off the cliff with his pipe
-A crude leprechaun flipping the bird
-"Purrval Catsyuk"
More fun with green...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
March 16/13
Under normal circumstances, I hate cleaning, but I know that at the end of so much labour, there are benefits worth the inconvenience: a clean house, a sense of accomplishment, etc. This morning, I was so loath to clean because it felt like I was removing all traces of Max; all I could feel was a sense of betrayal.
We stored his cat carrier, food and water dishes, and most of the toys downstairs in the storage locker. But not all the toys went into storage. I left his favourite toy to be cremated with him. Purrball never bothered with those honeysuckle toys, so that little socky was the one thing that was wholly and truly his. The other thing I couldn't bring myself to store was my old cabbage patch doll. Years ago, he took a peculiar shine to it; he would lick it's face and snuggle up to it. I was going to get rid of it several years back, until I realized how strong his attachment was. Over the years, I've made sure he had a quiet place to spend time with his dolly.
Today, I picked it up to vacuum the bedroom, with the intention of putting the doll downstairs, but instead I broke down into tears, not ready yet. As irrational as it sounds, this is the one thing left of him, as all other physical traces of Max get vacuumed up, washed out, or stored.
Hanging on to a doll for dear life...
...Wish you were here.
We stored his cat carrier, food and water dishes, and most of the toys downstairs in the storage locker. But not all the toys went into storage. I left his favourite toy to be cremated with him. Purrball never bothered with those honeysuckle toys, so that little socky was the one thing that was wholly and truly his. The other thing I couldn't bring myself to store was my old cabbage patch doll. Years ago, he took a peculiar shine to it; he would lick it's face and snuggle up to it. I was going to get rid of it several years back, until I realized how strong his attachment was. Over the years, I've made sure he had a quiet place to spend time with his dolly.
Today, I picked it up to vacuum the bedroom, with the intention of putting the doll downstairs, but instead I broke down into tears, not ready yet. As irrational as it sounds, this is the one thing left of him, as all other physical traces of Max get vacuumed up, washed out, or stored.
Hanging on to a doll for dear life...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, March 15, 2013
March 15/13
My missing brother has contacted my mother. After probably 8 years of not knowing how to get a hold of him, and asking people if they've seen or spoken to him, he called my mother. After a round of phone tag, she spoke with him, and found out that he's doing okay. He's on his way to getting certified as a boilermaker, he's still working, and he's got a roof over his head, which is a relief. One time, after a much shorter disappearance years ago, he contacted me and told me about how he had a rough period, so I was worried that he would have had another bad period.
I've thought about this brother many times over the years, particularly at birthdays, holidays, and significant events. When I got married, I couldn't invite him because we didn't know where he was. When I was applying for my security clearance, I provided the best information I could about his whereabouts, but it was very little, and I had to provide a note about the situation. So many times I wondered if he cared what happened to us.
About a year ago, my ex-sister-in-law ran into the errant brother, and gave him my mother's cellphone number. He found the piece of paper recently, and called.
Welcome back, big brother...
...Wish you were here.
I've thought about this brother many times over the years, particularly at birthdays, holidays, and significant events. When I got married, I couldn't invite him because we didn't know where he was. When I was applying for my security clearance, I provided the best information I could about his whereabouts, but it was very little, and I had to provide a note about the situation. So many times I wondered if he cared what happened to us.
About a year ago, my ex-sister-in-law ran into the errant brother, and gave him my mother's cellphone number. He found the piece of paper recently, and called.
Welcome back, big brother...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
March 14/13
I couldn't say much yesterday, because the grief was too raw.
We knew we were doing the right thing for Max...he was clearly dying, and we couldn't let him suffer slowly. But knowing this doesn't make it any easier to do. The vet was very, very kind and gentle, both with Max and with us. She explained every step of the process and encouraged us to just love him and be with him.
When it was over, and little Max's heart had gently stopped, she left us to be with him and grieve. And I broke down, overwhelmed with loss and guilt. I could only think, 'What have I done?' and 'If I had only gotten him checked out sooner, we could have started treatment sooner.' and worst of all, 'Why couldn't I save him?'
There's a huge hole in my life now. That little baby boy has been in my life for 16 years. I remember when we first saw him. Us kids decided to get mum a cat for Mother's Day. Karyne and I went to the SPCA in Yellowknife. The first pass through the kennels, we had missed him. There were several older cats, but we decided we needed a younger cat. One of the shelter cats had just had a litter a couple of weeks before, and we went to see them...they were just opening their eyes for the first time. But they were far too young, and we wouldn't be able to get one until several weeks after Mother's Day. We went back to the kennels, and suddenly, there he was.
A 10 week old tiny, sleek, little white baby boy called "Kurt."
He was napping in the back when we first came through, but as we came back, he was awake, and furiously rubbing himself against the wire cage door, almost beckoning us to take him home on the spot. Unfortunately, there was a note on his door indicating he was spoken for. The shelter staff indicated that he might be picked up the next day, but that they weren't certain. Karyne and I took a risk: we said that if the other person didn't take him, we would.
Two days later, Karyne got the call: "Kurt" was ours if we wanted him. We put down the money right away. The little white kitten was ours. A few days later, we surprised Mum with him. That little baby boy, named Max within a couple of days, stole all of our hearts, even Dad's.
When Max was sent to live with me four years later, I was done in. My baby boy, through and through. I'll always love him. But I wonder if I will always feel the guilt of not being able to save him.
Alleviation...
...Wish you were here.
We knew we were doing the right thing for Max...he was clearly dying, and we couldn't let him suffer slowly. But knowing this doesn't make it any easier to do. The vet was very, very kind and gentle, both with Max and with us. She explained every step of the process and encouraged us to just love him and be with him.
When it was over, and little Max's heart had gently stopped, she left us to be with him and grieve. And I broke down, overwhelmed with loss and guilt. I could only think, 'What have I done?' and 'If I had only gotten him checked out sooner, we could have started treatment sooner.' and worst of all, 'Why couldn't I save him?'
There's a huge hole in my life now. That little baby boy has been in my life for 16 years. I remember when we first saw him. Us kids decided to get mum a cat for Mother's Day. Karyne and I went to the SPCA in Yellowknife. The first pass through the kennels, we had missed him. There were several older cats, but we decided we needed a younger cat. One of the shelter cats had just had a litter a couple of weeks before, and we went to see them...they were just opening their eyes for the first time. But they were far too young, and we wouldn't be able to get one until several weeks after Mother's Day. We went back to the kennels, and suddenly, there he was.
A 10 week old tiny, sleek, little white baby boy called "Kurt."
He was napping in the back when we first came through, but as we came back, he was awake, and furiously rubbing himself against the wire cage door, almost beckoning us to take him home on the spot. Unfortunately, there was a note on his door indicating he was spoken for. The shelter staff indicated that he might be picked up the next day, but that they weren't certain. Karyne and I took a risk: we said that if the other person didn't take him, we would.
Two days later, Karyne got the call: "Kurt" was ours if we wanted him. We put down the money right away. The little white kitten was ours. A few days later, we surprised Mum with him. That little baby boy, named Max within a couple of days, stole all of our hearts, even Dad's.
When Max was sent to live with me four years later, I was done in. My baby boy, through and through. I'll always love him. But I wonder if I will always feel the guilt of not being able to save him.
Alleviation...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
March 13/13 - Max Poitras
Max Poitras
March 1997 to March 2013
My sweet baby boy is gone.
Max...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
March 12/13
I'm worried that Max's condition isn't improving. He's more alert, but he's still not eating anything really significant (a few nibbles every few hours), he's barely grooming, he's sleeping and hiding in the bathroom in the corner. He uses the litter box to pee, but I haven't seen a bowel movement in a couple of days. He put up a ferocious fight this morning to taking his pills and his liquid potassium, but tonight, he didn't fight as much; indeed, he barely fought, and instead he started drooling up the potassium, and his breathing seemed laboured.
A better day tomorrow...
...Wish you were here.
A better day tomorrow...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, March 11, 2013
March 11/13
Shit, going back to work really hurts. It hurts to walk around, which is unfortunate because I have to walk to the bus stop. The cold, forced-circulated air in the building made my mouth so insanely sensitive, I wanted to cry and slam my head on the best to knock myself unconscious. I finally had time to run down to the pharmacy to pick up some extra-strength Anbesol because it was driving me to distraction, and I couldn't get any work done.
As if that wasn't enough, I was worried about Max. He put up a big fight to taking all of his medications this morning, and even though Etienne was home with the cats today, I was worried about Max not eating. The vet did call and let me know that all of his tests have now come back, and everything they tested for is fine...but that doesn't rule out what we haven't yet looked for, like cancer of the intestines, or something that only radiological diagnostics could find. In the meantime, we can only keep trying to medicate and treat at home for now.
Oh, and the combination of snow melt and rain has caused our old nemesis, the bathroom door leak, to return with a vengeance. So annoying, and so not what I need right now.
Eric Draven says it, but I have trouble believing it at the moment:
It can't rain all the time...
...Wish you were here.
As if that wasn't enough, I was worried about Max. He put up a big fight to taking all of his medications this morning, and even though Etienne was home with the cats today, I was worried about Max not eating. The vet did call and let me know that all of his tests have now come back, and everything they tested for is fine...but that doesn't rule out what we haven't yet looked for, like cancer of the intestines, or something that only radiological diagnostics could find. In the meantime, we can only keep trying to medicate and treat at home for now.
Oh, and the combination of snow melt and rain has caused our old nemesis, the bathroom door leak, to return with a vengeance. So annoying, and so not what I need right now.
Eric Draven says it, but I have trouble believing it at the moment:
It can't rain all the time...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
March 10/13
I'm in a foul mood today, and I feel sorry for Etienne, who has to live with it, though I'm doing my best not to take it out on him. Max is far less than keen to take his medications, and he's hiding now. We have to bring food to him because he won't eat, and that draws Purrball's attention. She's being quite badly-behaved today, and it's wearing on my nerves.
My mouth hurts like a bitch still...I seriously don't know what to do about it anymore. I've got to go back to work tomorrow, and I'm afraid of what will happen. Will I be in pain all day? Will I be able to sleep all night tonight? I'm just so tired of being in pain.
And I've now gotten into exchanges on facebook that have upset people--in one case, my sister; in the other case, I was upset by someone else. The second exchange really upset me because I was responding to some post about surrendering pets to shelters, and how painful and difficult it can be if a person can't keep their beloved pet. Some friend of a friend replied in a brutally judgmental way that we wouldn't give up our kids if we couldn't make ends meet, which set me off at him. It's an incredible callous thing to say, and demonstrates a real lack of empathy for people who have had to put their child(ren) up for adoption for very heartbreaking, personal reasons. It really set me off, and I've been stewing ever since.
Seriously, what a crappy day.
A do-over...
...Wish you were here.
My mouth hurts like a bitch still...I seriously don't know what to do about it anymore. I've got to go back to work tomorrow, and I'm afraid of what will happen. Will I be in pain all day? Will I be able to sleep all night tonight? I'm just so tired of being in pain.
And I've now gotten into exchanges on facebook that have upset people--in one case, my sister; in the other case, I was upset by someone else. The second exchange really upset me because I was responding to some post about surrendering pets to shelters, and how painful and difficult it can be if a person can't keep their beloved pet. Some friend of a friend replied in a brutally judgmental way that we wouldn't give up our kids if we couldn't make ends meet, which set me off at him. It's an incredible callous thing to say, and demonstrates a real lack of empathy for people who have had to put their child(ren) up for adoption for very heartbreaking, personal reasons. It really set me off, and I've been stewing ever since.
Seriously, what a crappy day.
A do-over...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
March 9/13
I was up and out fairly early this morning to pick up Max's medications. I was pretty apprehensive about it--he's taken pills before, and it can go one of two ways: either he can be suckered by wrapping them in small pieces of ham, or he gets them force-fed and fights with everything in him. The good news is he's taken his first doses with the ham.
And I've given him liquid meds before, but it came with a syringe and was over quickly...this is gooey, viscous stuff that has to be pipetted in, and the pipette is too small to give him the full dose at once, so we have to suffer through it even longer. I predict this will be a messy process.
I've also having misgivings. I know the vet said we can treat his illnesses, but I wonder if it's too late, or if we even should, given how upset he gets and how fragile he is. We'll see if he responds to the treatment, and for now, I'll remain hopeful.
A speedy recovery for Max...
...Wish you were here.
And I've given him liquid meds before, but it came with a syringe and was over quickly...this is gooey, viscous stuff that has to be pipetted in, and the pipette is too small to give him the full dose at once, so we have to suffer through it even longer. I predict this will be a messy process.
I've also having misgivings. I know the vet said we can treat his illnesses, but I wonder if it's too late, or if we even should, given how upset he gets and how fragile he is. We'll see if he responds to the treatment, and for now, I'll remain hopeful.
A speedy recovery for Max...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, March 8, 2013
March 8/13
I needed a break after my dental woes and Max's illness, so Sammy's visit was perfectly timed. She was in town on business, but because it was sort of short notice, we didn't have time to plan the usual drinks that happen with a lot of MPPers when she comes to town. Instead, she and I went for dinner in the market, and just chatted (mostly about my mouth and her life in Calgary), and then we met Jeff and Alexis for coffee.
It was a lovely visit, and we spent a lot of time discussing weddings and preparations. Sam's getting married in May (yay Sam and Mark!); Jeff and Alexis just married last summer; I married several years ago...there was plenty of advice, questions, and plenty of laughs about two surprise life-sized cardboard cutouts. We called it pretty early for a Friday night, but we all had reasons--sadly, mine was because my mouth was in a lot of pain because of the laughing and talking, but it was well worth it!
More visits from Sam...
...Wish you were here.
It was a lovely visit, and we spent a lot of time discussing weddings and preparations. Sam's getting married in May (yay Sam and Mark!); Jeff and Alexis just married last summer; I married several years ago...there was plenty of advice, questions, and plenty of laughs about two surprise life-sized cardboard cutouts. We called it pretty early for a Friday night, but we all had reasons--sadly, mine was because my mouth was in a lot of pain because of the laughing and talking, but it was well worth it!
More visits from Sam...
...Wish you were here.
March 7/13
Poor little Max.
He's been sick with something for a couple of weeks now, but today was the first day I felt up to driving him to the vet clinic. He's been behaving very uncharacteristically, and he's been losing weight. The final straw today was when he wouldn't eat a thing, even when I put him in front of the food dish (he's not walking around much on his own). He used the litter box, and so little came out.
The only funny part about this was when I got to the clinic, and we had to wait, one of the clinic cats walked by me, and Max, scared, mute and fragile before, absolutely sprang to life, hissing and snarling, letting that cat know I was his people, and that the cat was in his space. Unfortunately, it riled him up so much that when we got in with the vet, he was in a right piss-foul mood, and he was going to let the vet techs know it too. He vet injected fluid to re-hydrate him, and gave me a few pills to take home to stimulate his appetite while we waited for the results. For a short time, he started to look more like the old Max.
Shortly after we got home, the vet called with bad news. Max is severely anemic, and he's infected with a blood parasite. And his immune system was failing. And his white blood cells were lower than they should be. And his potassium levels were below normal (though all his kidney levels were fine--this stumped her). She was concerned that he might have Feline Leukemia, or worse, Feline Immunovirus, so I okayed further testing on what was left of the blood sample. If it was positive for either...
It was upsetting for me to hear of course, but he's 16 years old, and he's had a good life filled with love and care. While I waited, I called Mum and Dad; after all, Max was her cat to begin with. We were all sad at the prospect of losing our Max.
When the vet called back again, this time she had far better news: no Feline Leukemia or FIV! The blood parasite could be treated with antibiotics and steriods. But he will need the steroids and potassium supplementation for the rest of his life. We discussed a lot of options, and we developed a care plan: start him on the three treatments, and then next week, we add iron injection to help stimulate his red blood cell count.
The whole time this was happening, I was a wreck. Max has been a part of my life for 16 years. I was torn between putting him down or aggressive treatment. I don't want to prolong his life only to see him suffer. But the vet assured me that he wasn't in pain, and all her talk was about treatment, treatment, treatment. Not once did she discuss him dying. Later, as I spoke to Gail (who is sadly familiar with sick and dying cats), she informed me that there are serious liability issues for vets if they don't let people know if a pet is dying. Well, she's quite confident, so I okayed the treatments. The good news for Max is that for now, while we try to increase his weight, all restrictions are off...anything the little monster wants, he can have.
I gave him a small portion of shaved ham to celebrate. He gobbled it all up without hesitating.
A sign...
...Wish you were here.
He's been sick with something for a couple of weeks now, but today was the first day I felt up to driving him to the vet clinic. He's been behaving very uncharacteristically, and he's been losing weight. The final straw today was when he wouldn't eat a thing, even when I put him in front of the food dish (he's not walking around much on his own). He used the litter box, and so little came out.
The only funny part about this was when I got to the clinic, and we had to wait, one of the clinic cats walked by me, and Max, scared, mute and fragile before, absolutely sprang to life, hissing and snarling, letting that cat know I was his people, and that the cat was in his space. Unfortunately, it riled him up so much that when we got in with the vet, he was in a right piss-foul mood, and he was going to let the vet techs know it too. He vet injected fluid to re-hydrate him, and gave me a few pills to take home to stimulate his appetite while we waited for the results. For a short time, he started to look more like the old Max.
Shortly after we got home, the vet called with bad news. Max is severely anemic, and he's infected with a blood parasite. And his immune system was failing. And his white blood cells were lower than they should be. And his potassium levels were below normal (though all his kidney levels were fine--this stumped her). She was concerned that he might have Feline Leukemia, or worse, Feline Immunovirus, so I okayed further testing on what was left of the blood sample. If it was positive for either...
It was upsetting for me to hear of course, but he's 16 years old, and he's had a good life filled with love and care. While I waited, I called Mum and Dad; after all, Max was her cat to begin with. We were all sad at the prospect of losing our Max.
When the vet called back again, this time she had far better news: no Feline Leukemia or FIV! The blood parasite could be treated with antibiotics and steriods. But he will need the steroids and potassium supplementation for the rest of his life. We discussed a lot of options, and we developed a care plan: start him on the three treatments, and then next week, we add iron injection to help stimulate his red blood cell count.
The whole time this was happening, I was a wreck. Max has been a part of my life for 16 years. I was torn between putting him down or aggressive treatment. I don't want to prolong his life only to see him suffer. But the vet assured me that he wasn't in pain, and all her talk was about treatment, treatment, treatment. Not once did she discuss him dying. Later, as I spoke to Gail (who is sadly familiar with sick and dying cats), she informed me that there are serious liability issues for vets if they don't let people know if a pet is dying. Well, she's quite confident, so I okayed the treatments. The good news for Max is that for now, while we try to increase his weight, all restrictions are off...anything the little monster wants, he can have.
I gave him a small portion of shaved ham to celebrate. He gobbled it all up without hesitating.
A sign...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
March 6/13
Oh there was a small breakthrough very early this morning, but there's a downside.
First, the downside: the combination of medications in my system are causing pressure and occasional pain in my diaphragm. It was this that woke me up at 2:30 am. I couldn't get back to sleep because Max had positioned himself right in the middle of my side of the bed, so I had to maneuver my legs around him. He's in a downturn these days. He'll be 16 next week...if this is getting to be time, I want to make sure he's as content as he can be. We'll take him to the vet to get it checked out once I can manage a car trip. So, all that to say, I couldn't get back to sleep.
I knew I couldn't take another dose of Toradol until about 4:30 am, and that the pain would come back very soon, so I moved to the living room to wait it out. And that's when the breakthrough happened. The breakthrough pain certainly did return, but instead of being a sharp, piercing, constant cycle of pain, it was more of a slow, dull, achy feeling. It stung a bit, but it wasn't terrible. On the pain scale, it was maybe a four. I was amazed. I took my dose, and went back to bed to struggle for a comfortable sleep with a little cat in my space.
When I woke up again as the alarm went off at 7 am, I knew the breakthrough pain would start soon, and this time, I wasn't as worried. As the day progressed, I've been able to deal with it, and even now, as it's nearly 4:30 pm, and I should be reaching for my next dose, I'm okay. I did take a Tylenol a couple of hours ago, so that's why I'm okay, but that will soon wear off. And I've decided I'm not going to bother with the Toradol unless I absolutely need it. If the pain really is subsiding, I'd like to try to manage it with Tylenol, and if need be, Advil, instead. Why? Well, it's okay to take Toradol and Tylenol in combination (just not at the same time) for a day or two, but doing so increases the risk of ulcers and bleeding and such. If my diaphragm is any indication, it may be time to knock off the Toradol, which shouldn't be taken for more than 5 days anyway without the supervision of a doctor.
So there it is.
Wish me luck...
...Wish you were here.
First, the downside: the combination of medications in my system are causing pressure and occasional pain in my diaphragm. It was this that woke me up at 2:30 am. I couldn't get back to sleep because Max had positioned himself right in the middle of my side of the bed, so I had to maneuver my legs around him. He's in a downturn these days. He'll be 16 next week...if this is getting to be time, I want to make sure he's as content as he can be. We'll take him to the vet to get it checked out once I can manage a car trip. So, all that to say, I couldn't get back to sleep.
I knew I couldn't take another dose of Toradol until about 4:30 am, and that the pain would come back very soon, so I moved to the living room to wait it out. And that's when the breakthrough happened. The breakthrough pain certainly did return, but instead of being a sharp, piercing, constant cycle of pain, it was more of a slow, dull, achy feeling. It stung a bit, but it wasn't terrible. On the pain scale, it was maybe a four. I was amazed. I took my dose, and went back to bed to struggle for a comfortable sleep with a little cat in my space.
When I woke up again as the alarm went off at 7 am, I knew the breakthrough pain would start soon, and this time, I wasn't as worried. As the day progressed, I've been able to deal with it, and even now, as it's nearly 4:30 pm, and I should be reaching for my next dose, I'm okay. I did take a Tylenol a couple of hours ago, so that's why I'm okay, but that will soon wear off. And I've decided I'm not going to bother with the Toradol unless I absolutely need it. If the pain really is subsiding, I'd like to try to manage it with Tylenol, and if need be, Advil, instead. Why? Well, it's okay to take Toradol and Tylenol in combination (just not at the same time) for a day or two, but doing so increases the risk of ulcers and bleeding and such. If my diaphragm is any indication, it may be time to knock off the Toradol, which shouldn't be taken for more than 5 days anyway without the supervision of a doctor.
So there it is.
Wish me luck...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
March 5/13
I'd like to think it was just the combination of medications in my system right now (Toradol, Tylenol, Biaxin, Reactine, et al), but I had a dream that literally ended with me waking up saying "Ass Queen." And I have no idea what that was about.
I'm not able to sleep through the nights yet, still waking up for about 2 or 3 hours while I do the sick dance of pain and pain medicating, but I'm not really good at napping during the day, so I haven't compensated for the loss of sleep over the last several days. Well, today, I made an effort. Partly out of boredom, partly because I was really tired. And I think I managed a good 1.5-2 hour nap on the couch, but whatever was going on in my head as I slept, it was obviously strange enough to somehow put the words "Ass" and "Queen" together in a way that would make sense only to my psyche.
Seriously, this recovery gig...totally stupid.
A med-free body...
...Wish you were here.
I'm not able to sleep through the nights yet, still waking up for about 2 or 3 hours while I do the sick dance of pain and pain medicating, but I'm not really good at napping during the day, so I haven't compensated for the loss of sleep over the last several days. Well, today, I made an effort. Partly out of boredom, partly because I was really tired. And I think I managed a good 1.5-2 hour nap on the couch, but whatever was going on in my head as I slept, it was obviously strange enough to somehow put the words "Ass" and "Queen" together in a way that would make sense only to my psyche.
Seriously, this recovery gig...totally stupid.
A med-free body...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, March 4, 2013
March 4/13
Progress update: I ate a cadbury creme egg :)
I had a doctor's appointment this morning, mainly to pursue further testing for asthma, which I began before moving to Ottawa, but couldn't complete due to scheduling. While there, I spoke with my doctor about the pain and medication situation, and he assured me that I could continue to take the Tylenol with the prescribed medication.
In related news, the swelling has subsided substantially, to the point where I now have cheekbone definition again, and I only appear moderately swollen. I may even attempt to go to work tomorrow, if I can get through the night, but there's the rub of it...I haven't yet been able to sleep through the night. Generally, I've woken up any time between 3:30 am and 4:45 am, in pain and needing my next dose. Then it takes some time to work, so I end up only getting back to sleep sometime around 5 am. I'm generally okay while the medication is working, but then when it wears off, I'm not able to concentrate on much besides working out how much longer until the time comes when I can take the next dose. Lather, rinse, repeat. It's not very conducive to working. Maybe another day to recover enough that the pain is manageable enough for me to navigate public transit and a day at the office.
In the meantime, I'm working on making myself more useful again. Today, I did a load of dishes, and replaced the cat litter. Tomorrow I may work myself up to a couple of loads of laundry.
Such is the life of a recovering patient. But I'm so eager to see the end of this ordeal.
An end to this tired old story...
...Wish you were here.
I had a doctor's appointment this morning, mainly to pursue further testing for asthma, which I began before moving to Ottawa, but couldn't complete due to scheduling. While there, I spoke with my doctor about the pain and medication situation, and he assured me that I could continue to take the Tylenol with the prescribed medication.
In related news, the swelling has subsided substantially, to the point where I now have cheekbone definition again, and I only appear moderately swollen. I may even attempt to go to work tomorrow, if I can get through the night, but there's the rub of it...I haven't yet been able to sleep through the night. Generally, I've woken up any time between 3:30 am and 4:45 am, in pain and needing my next dose. Then it takes some time to work, so I end up only getting back to sleep sometime around 5 am. I'm generally okay while the medication is working, but then when it wears off, I'm not able to concentrate on much besides working out how much longer until the time comes when I can take the next dose. Lather, rinse, repeat. It's not very conducive to working. Maybe another day to recover enough that the pain is manageable enough for me to navigate public transit and a day at the office.
In the meantime, I'm working on making myself more useful again. Today, I did a load of dishes, and replaced the cat litter. Tomorrow I may work myself up to a couple of loads of laundry.
Such is the life of a recovering patient. But I'm so eager to see the end of this ordeal.
An end to this tired old story...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
March 3/13
Unfortunately, today I had another setback with my wisdom tooth recovery. Only a couple of hours after taking my morning dose of painkiller, I was overcome with pain of such intensity, I was desperate. I got on the internet right away and started reading up on what pain relievers are contraindicated for the painkiller I've been prescribed. Luckily for me, for at least a couple of days, it's reasonably safe for me to take Tylenol. Unluckily for me, we didn't have any in the house. I had to go into the office and wake a napping Etienne and ask him, tears rolling out of my eyes, to please go get some. Why the hell did this guy, after inflicting such pain on me, decide that he would prescribe me a weak NSAID?
This pain was different. It was sharp and searing, like the usual pain, but this time it was spread all throughout my lower right jaw, and up into my face and head. The culprit? That damn nerve. It was firing like a firework cannon on the 4th of July. For the ten or so minutes while Etienne was gone, I could only pace the floor, crying, and flailing my arms about...anything, any sensation to think about besides that horrific pain.
I got the Tylenol, and an hour later, I felt better than I had since this whole debacle began on Friday. Later, in casual facebook conversation with my sister, I learned that the dose I've been given is ridiculously low. She takes this drug (one a several) as part of a regime to reduce and control her chronic, lifelong, and very painful migraines, and the dose she takes is three times what I was given. The whole point to painkillers is that there shouldn't be pain. It's not a narcotic, there's no risk of addiction...why should I need to take another pain reliever to cope with the pain that this low dose can't seem to handle?
This whole mess would likely have been avoided if he had done like my other dentists when they've extracted wisdom teeth, Tylenol-3's or Percocet.
Anyway, as chance would have it, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning, and I will raise the issue of increasing the dosage with my doctor.
Thank you, Tylenol...
...Wish you were here.
This pain was different. It was sharp and searing, like the usual pain, but this time it was spread all throughout my lower right jaw, and up into my face and head. The culprit? That damn nerve. It was firing like a firework cannon on the 4th of July. For the ten or so minutes while Etienne was gone, I could only pace the floor, crying, and flailing my arms about...anything, any sensation to think about besides that horrific pain.
I got the Tylenol, and an hour later, I felt better than I had since this whole debacle began on Friday. Later, in casual facebook conversation with my sister, I learned that the dose I've been given is ridiculously low. She takes this drug (one a several) as part of a regime to reduce and control her chronic, lifelong, and very painful migraines, and the dose she takes is three times what I was given. The whole point to painkillers is that there shouldn't be pain. It's not a narcotic, there's no risk of addiction...why should I need to take another pain reliever to cope with the pain that this low dose can't seem to handle?
This whole mess would likely have been avoided if he had done like my other dentists when they've extracted wisdom teeth, Tylenol-3's or Percocet.
Anyway, as chance would have it, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning, and I will raise the issue of increasing the dosage with my doctor.
Thank you, Tylenol...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
March 2/13
The pain and swelling just don't seem to go down at all. I was prescribed some painkillers, but I can only take one every six hours, and the damn things seem to wear off after about four hours. So I am stuck in a cycle where the pain comes back for about an hour and a half before I can take the next dose, and then I have to wait about 30 minutes for the new dose to take effect. It's fucking brutal.
Better pain management...
...Wish you were here.
Better pain management...
...Wish you were here.
March 1/13
Oh fuck my life.
I woke up with the familiar swelling at the back of my mouth...feels like I'm chewing on flaps of my gums and cheek. My last remaining wisdom tooth trying to erupt. Fuck. I hoped it was just a gun infection, but as soon as I got to work in Gatineau, I called and got an emergency appointment with my dentist (conveniently located down the road), having a sneaking suspicion that today would be the day it had to come out.
Sure enough, it was no infection. The tooth was trying to move. My fourth time in the chair, and I knew this would be the worst.
You see, folks, I haven't always had the luxury of good dental advice, and that's how I got to where I am now. In Yellowknife, as a pre-teen, I had one dentist tell me I would need braces, but then another dentist (at the same clinic), said no. Result: I have horrendously buck teeth up top.
After I left Yellowknife and moved to Edmonton, several years passed before I had enough coverage to go to the dentist. My dentist there was awesome! He fixed the large chip in my front tooth, he smoothly and deftly extracted my upper right wisdom tooth when it erupted and became infected, and then he very quickly and easily removed the upper left tooth after my mouth had time to heal. But as I was already in my mid-20s, he considered that my lower wisdom teeth remain, as they were already anchored by my jaw and were unlikely to move. Result: I continued to have my lower wisdom teeth into my 30s.
When I moved to Burnaby, it took a year or two before I found a dentist, and he was quite good, but he saw that my bottom wisdom teeth were on the verge of impacting. After looking at my x-rays, he determined that the teeth were in delicate positions and may be problematic, so he arranged for an oral surgeon to extract them. It was horrendous. Further x-rays determined that I had multiple roots, twisted around each other, and that my right tooth was sitting on a facial nerve that would cause paralysis if improperly disturbed. The surgeon decided to start with the left side, since it looked to be easier. An hour and a half and a re-freezing later, he had literally wrestled the tooth and all roots out, but both he and I were severely exhausted, and I was in a great deal of pain. We mutually agreed that we would not continue on with the right tooth. And I went home to a painful recovery. They couldn't book an appointment for the right tooth before I was scheduled to move to Ottawa. Result: I still had a wisdom tooth.
Until today. I warned my dentist here that he was in for a challenge. In fact, I warned him at my first appointment with him. But every time the issue was raised, he brushed me off. Even today, he breezily predicted that the whole thing would be out in 10 minutes. He was wrong.
After nearly two hours, he was still struggling to remove the last piece of a root that was fused to my jaw. There was blood everywhere, and multiple tooth/root chips littered the floor. He had ripped open the side of my mouth with his tools, leaving me with a large cold-sore-looking gash. And the nerve was dangerously close to what was left. He admitted defeat. The small portion of root will stay were it is, likely forever fused to my jaw.
I'm in enough pain to think it was all four teeth out at once. My cheek and jaw are badly swollen, the pain is intense (let's call it a 9 on the pain scale), and damn if my dentist didn't prescribe both a painkiller and an antibiotic that must both be taken with food. Food, that I can't eat because I can barely open my mouth.
As I lay in the chair, being mangled, I tried to comfort myself with the thought that this was the last time, that finally I had exhausted my supply of wisdom teeth. It didn't work, I wasn't comforted, and nothing could stop me crying in agony.
I want my Mummy...
...Wish you were here.
I woke up with the familiar swelling at the back of my mouth...feels like I'm chewing on flaps of my gums and cheek. My last remaining wisdom tooth trying to erupt. Fuck. I hoped it was just a gun infection, but as soon as I got to work in Gatineau, I called and got an emergency appointment with my dentist (conveniently located down the road), having a sneaking suspicion that today would be the day it had to come out.
Sure enough, it was no infection. The tooth was trying to move. My fourth time in the chair, and I knew this would be the worst.
You see, folks, I haven't always had the luxury of good dental advice, and that's how I got to where I am now. In Yellowknife, as a pre-teen, I had one dentist tell me I would need braces, but then another dentist (at the same clinic), said no. Result: I have horrendously buck teeth up top.
After I left Yellowknife and moved to Edmonton, several years passed before I had enough coverage to go to the dentist. My dentist there was awesome! He fixed the large chip in my front tooth, he smoothly and deftly extracted my upper right wisdom tooth when it erupted and became infected, and then he very quickly and easily removed the upper left tooth after my mouth had time to heal. But as I was already in my mid-20s, he considered that my lower wisdom teeth remain, as they were already anchored by my jaw and were unlikely to move. Result: I continued to have my lower wisdom teeth into my 30s.
When I moved to Burnaby, it took a year or two before I found a dentist, and he was quite good, but he saw that my bottom wisdom teeth were on the verge of impacting. After looking at my x-rays, he determined that the teeth were in delicate positions and may be problematic, so he arranged for an oral surgeon to extract them. It was horrendous. Further x-rays determined that I had multiple roots, twisted around each other, and that my right tooth was sitting on a facial nerve that would cause paralysis if improperly disturbed. The surgeon decided to start with the left side, since it looked to be easier. An hour and a half and a re-freezing later, he had literally wrestled the tooth and all roots out, but both he and I were severely exhausted, and I was in a great deal of pain. We mutually agreed that we would not continue on with the right tooth. And I went home to a painful recovery. They couldn't book an appointment for the right tooth before I was scheduled to move to Ottawa. Result: I still had a wisdom tooth.
Until today. I warned my dentist here that he was in for a challenge. In fact, I warned him at my first appointment with him. But every time the issue was raised, he brushed me off. Even today, he breezily predicted that the whole thing would be out in 10 minutes. He was wrong.
After nearly two hours, he was still struggling to remove the last piece of a root that was fused to my jaw. There was blood everywhere, and multiple tooth/root chips littered the floor. He had ripped open the side of my mouth with his tools, leaving me with a large cold-sore-looking gash. And the nerve was dangerously close to what was left. He admitted defeat. The small portion of root will stay were it is, likely forever fused to my jaw.
I'm in enough pain to think it was all four teeth out at once. My cheek and jaw are badly swollen, the pain is intense (let's call it a 9 on the pain scale), and damn if my dentist didn't prescribe both a painkiller and an antibiotic that must both be taken with food. Food, that I can't eat because I can barely open my mouth.
As I lay in the chair, being mangled, I tried to comfort myself with the thought that this was the last time, that finally I had exhausted my supply of wisdom teeth. It didn't work, I wasn't comforted, and nothing could stop me crying in agony.
I want my Mummy...
...Wish you were here.
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