News From Around

A mish mash of things today. Summer crept by secretly, while I was firmly embedded in work with a side of Vegas. So without further adieu...

1. Pride Goeth After the Fall: Imagine how delighted I was to go riding with my daughter. There is a horse at the barn where she rides that is quite safe and gentle, whose owner is unable to ride him as often as she would like. The Bean asked her if I could ride him, so we could go on a hack together. The answer was yes.

Can I help you...?

I groomed him lovingly, whispered sweet nothings in his ears, gave him a kiss on the nose when no one was looking. Once my daughter tacked up both our mounts, we walked over to the arena where there was a beautifully tall mounting block designed for folks like me with wonky knees and embarrassing mounting abilities. Up the three steps I climbed, placed my foot in the stirrup, swung my right leg over... and promptly found myself on the ground on the other side of Logan, him looking down at me, me looking up at him. I don't think I will need a bone density test for a few years now. I crawled back to the block, re-hauled myself up and this time landed on his back. I could swear Logan smiled, just a touch.

My Vegas winnings, like the hotel name....

2. Who Needs to Gamble to Lose Money in Vegas: Buffalo wings (best ones outside of Buffalo ever!), $9.99USD; deep fried dill pickles (don't knock them until you try them), $3.99 USD; two bloody Caesars, and two other mixed drinks (now, now, I am no lush, there were two of us) = total bill of $105 USD including tip and aforementioned shared food. Converted to CAD is about $1000 these days. But time spent with a good friend laughing about it, priceless! And they say money can't buy happiness...

"Now I know how humans do it in the bush."

3. How Bears Do It In The Woods: Went for a nice long walk, I did, while working in the Great White North. A gentle coating of snow across the ground, the air crisp and fresh. When suddenly it hit, the need for bladder relief while 3 kilometres from home. My steps became ever more so spritely, the knees appeared a little more knocked, until I professed to myself that I could go on no longer. Ensuring with a glance right and left that no cars were coming, I darted quickly into the bush, looking for that sweet spot where neither man nor beast could witness what was about to happen.  There were tall pines, or maybe they were spruce, short bushes, and all manners of other plant life that had lost their foliage for the winter. Gazing around, ensuring I was out of sight, I peeled down the drawers, and performed my best squat from India, using s short tree stump in front of me to anchor this wobbly body. And then, the mighty stump... pulled out of the ground, sending me backwards arse over tea kettle in the snow, me drawers still hooked around me ankles. In a rather valiant attempt to return to a vertical position, I grabbed what ever was beside me, what a struggle ensued, left my mark in the snow, and a butt print the size of Kansas. Peering around to make sure there was no amused rabbit or a laughing bear eyeing me from behind a tree, I delicately picked my way out of the bush, and returned home. And had to explain to a fellow nurse the next day why he was picking splinters out of my hand. Did not dare let him check me arse.....

4. Hair's the Thing: Amazing how shaving off two weeks' worth of arm pit and leg hair can make you feel 10 pounds lighter. Equally amazing is how the scale does not reflect this...

5. Unleaded, Please: Lead may protect Superman from Kryptonite, but a leaded xray film drawer does not protect my wrist from injury. Can you say "Ouch?' No...? An F-sharp suffices quite nicely.

Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooooo!

News From the East

India. A land beyond description, I think one has to see it to truly understand it. Beautiful, kind and friendly people. Glorious food,  a terrain that you may not have known exists.

And then, there is my story.

Many years ago, I had told the Bean that if she ever graduated university with a piece of paper in her hands, we would go on a Mom/daughter trip somewhere. While she graduated several years ago, life, for both of us, jobs and children seemed to push this away. To the point where she did not recall me having told her about my offer. I thought it was now or never, when I made the offer, finally. With two kids and the prospect of a new house/full time job for her some where in the near future, the time had arrived. And so she picked India out of an eclectic choice of trips. Within a few months, she and her hubby had bought a new house, and she had a full time job. But the trip would go on.

Smile, cuz I'm the star!

1. When Is a Reservation Not a Reservation?  When you are a) Jerry Seinfeld, or b) Lufthansa. We had paid extra for seat preselection for the two flights down. Via the Lufthansa website. Which were not honoured. The excuse? Apparently, for the first leg, I had not used the airline site, which I had, and there may have been a change of equipment for the second leg. There was not. Would they refund my money? They would not. Well not 100% I got 1 out of four. That's $35 out of $140. Danke shön. Shoen. Whatever.

I could forgive this one anything.

2. Kicked Out Of The Nest. Apparently my daughter is not family, when I asked why she and I were separated for the last flight home. They told me they saved seats together for families travelling together. Spouses aren't family either as evidenced by the little old lady who asked me to switch seats so she could sit with her little old man. So I did. I was happy I did, because there was an obstreperous brat spirited child  back there, the same screaming mimi  exuberant waif who exercised her right to freedom of expression from Delhi to Zurich (and weren't we, or maybe just me, prematurely glad to get off that 7 hour flight to get on the quieter last leg home without HER)  and was allowed decided to yell kick scream command the aisles exercised it yet again for the seven plus hour flight from Zurich to Toronto. My daughter, bless her heart, thinks the unruly effervescent toddler may have had developmental problems. I think it may have been the parents. Of course, MY child was perfect on that flight.

3. How Many Lanes Does a Six Lane Road have? The answer in India is twelve. Three taxis, four tuktuks, three cars of varying sizes, and 2 trucks.  This does not take into account the three scooters, two motorcycles and five bicycles that run between them, nor does it include the six cows standing, lying or stopping wherever they please. Wait, is that a water buffalo loping beside us...?

Moo-ve!

4. Squatters' Rights. There are two types of toilets in India. Squatters and sitters. Most of the locals use the squatters. Us tourists mostly use the sitters, known as "Western Toilets." Our trusty guide Sanjeev made a herculean effort to stop the bus at places that had sitters. But upon occasion, we required a stop beyond his parameters, and so hasty choices had to be made.

No one ever wanted to be the first person to call for the bathroom break. We would be sitting nervously cross legged, until someone, well, me, would finally get up and ask for a stop. I was never the only one to leave the bus. But always the first to ask. If we were lucky, we would be pulling up to the pre-arranged bathroom stop, and so would have the choice of squatters or sitters. Some of the younger folks did not mind the squatters. Some of us older folks did.

One day, there were no squatters or sitters. There were remnants of an abandoned building with walls that were high enough and situated so that you had your own "cubicle".  Now there are two types of squats, assisted and freestyle. Younger folks were adept at the latter. Some folks, like me, were not. The assist consisted of grabbing onto crumbling walls, trees that were sprouting through the gravel, spider webs - anything to support your squat while protecting wonky knees and keeping your clothes dry. Or stripping off and hanging your drawers on your wall.

Where does an elephant go? Anywhere he wants!

Another time took us to a junior school. With proper squatters built into the floor, for little people, angled into the corner. Now here's the thing. It has to do with the aim. Men have no problem, for a quick whiz anyway. They can aim, they can score two points, single or doubled handed. Girls have to squat, preferably with a wide stance. Because our lady bits are protected by other bits, and the stance corrects that, well sort of. In the junior bathroom, to adopt a wide stance meant that you were aiming at the floor, and not at the hole of the squatter. Younger folks could assume pretty much any pretzel like position and hit the target. Some of us older folks, not so much, because the protective bits cause the aim to be way off, and you have braced yourself against anything within reach to keep you from landing flat on your arse, or your face, depending on how you have contorted you body for the squat. Thereby missing the target completely. With any fore thought, you have removed any clothing that may be in the line of fire. And then there is the matter of standing back up again even though your knees are locked, and you are trying to madly avoid the flow back because you are wearing flip flops. While I have proven myself in northern climes in minus 50C weather, India left me befuddled, bare arsed, and ever so thankful that I can "sit" at home.

5. Cringe Worthy: Two Moms who broke out into song at the drop of a hat And the daughters who cringed. Nice to see that us old girls still got it.

Sanjeev and the Fab Four.

6. Cringe Worthy 2: Canada's Got Talent. I am sure I have the winning performance for that show! I have a largely unknown talent. Howie, Howard, Heidi, and Mel B.!!! They would all be so in awe of me! Because I can imitate with deadly accuracy, the call. Of. A . Male.  Drum roll, please....PEACOCK! Which is the national bird of India and was plentiful in all of the parks we visited.  My talent became well known in India. Okay, so only to my little group, as I was repeatedly called upon by none other than Sanjeev, to demonstrate my formidable talent. Peacocks answered me back, and one started to fan his tail, when he saw me. Wait, Howie!! Don't buzz me! I haven't even started the call... Howard, oh c'mon Howard, not you too, oh for shame. I know Heidi...Heidi...HEIDI!!! Mel B., it's just you and me, now, just hear me out while I take a deep breath in...Mel? Please..? TAKE YOUR HAND AWAY FROM THE BUZZER!!!!!..... Have any of you been speaking to my daughter.....?

Flock off!!!

And that was my little world in India. Mom and daughter had the most awesome of times. In spite of a couple of cringes.

North and South

Magical.

Fall is almost over, and as I sit here in the GWN, I have made a few observations:

1. Why the hell did I zip line 18 towers? The first nine would have been plenty. I was honestly going to chicken out on the second set, once I got to the top of the first of the second nine towers. But I didn't. And I was okay, until the 6th or 7th tower, the tallest one. That one, you fling yourself from the edge of the building, no platform, nothing. And as my heart was pounding and my thoughts were racing, I had to tell myself that I had already completed thirteen of these towers, suspended by a harness and a wedgie, and survived. Well, I'm still here.

2. I will say the same about parasailing, but at least I had a couple of margaritas on board once again.

Weeeeeeeee!!!!!

3. Kayaking in an underground cavern complete with stalactites and stalagmites with more than two other kayaks is just not worth your while. They talk about preserving these structures and that it is forbidden to hit them, but really? Most folks down there are neophytes, and what took the earth thousands or millions of years to produce is being destroyed, slowly, but surely.

Maybe he had too much Gallo.

4. The best German food is in Playa del Carmen. Trust me on that one.

5. Someone in Guatemala thought my Spanish had really improved, actually said it was good. Too much Ron Zacapa, methinks.

6. There is a list of the ten worst airports in North America, Bloomberg Businessweek. No small surprise I have been in 7 of them. I must be doing something really wrong.

7. Even less of a surprise is that Miami airport was on that list. And that my luggage decided to overnight there. Again.

8. Disneyworld is for grown ups. Forget the kids. Really

Meanwhile, in the North:

All the monkeys aren't in the zoo. Some are in Disney World.

a) Readying a northern patient for an ECG is like peeling an onion. You roll up the snow pants. Then the stretchy pants. Or the blue jeans if they are male. Next you roll down a pair of wool socks. Another pair of wool socks. Then the long johns go up, followed by the usually too tight leggings. You might see skin now. Never mind the upper body layers. Jacket, vest, sweatshirt, button shirt, t-shirt, thermal shirt, wife beater. Maybe a bra. And here I am, in minus 30C weather, running between buildings in my greens. With a bra. Just thought you would want to know.

b) I was looking for the thermometer tonight. "Why can't you use that one?" asks the Mom as her child puts the probe of the rectal thermometer in his mouth.

And that is my wee world for now.

My perfect man.

A Bit of Everything

1. Who Needs Sleeping Pills? Any grandparent who has ever run after young grandkids certainly do not. I was in bed every night 5 minutes after the two were tucked cosily into their beds. My alarm clock was the goofy goldie breathing heavily in my face at HER breakfast time.

2. Don't You Know..... That a) it isn't "my job to eat corn." Said the Humvee when I tried to sneak some corn in the funky mac and cheese I made. The Kumquat didn't think it was her job either, but she unceremoniously picked out each kernel and heaped them at the side of her plate. The Humvee made a trip to the garbage can, with each individual kernel of corn. And you know how many kernels are in a big can of Green Giant Niblets, right...?

3. Grandma Does Not Know How to Dress. Kids, maybe almost four year old little boys, to be exact. The great sock toe box is one example. If the pinkie toe is not included in the coloured toebox, well, "You're just doing it wrong, Grandma!" Apparently my Mom never learned me.

4. I Am Strong, I Am Invincible, I Am Grandma! As I tore through the end of the Reptilia exhibit and the Gift Shop, melting down almost four year old footballed under one arm, while wielding the jogging stroller with the Little One with the the other arm, through the crowds and out the door. It stopped when I couldn't fold the stroller down properly. Curses! Foiled again! But that's what SUVs are for.

And in the GWN (Great White North):

5. Fish hooks and fingers do not mix.

6. Neither do fish hooks and noses.

7. You would think that a nursing station, any nursing station, in the wilds of Northern Canada, would sport decent fish hook cutting implements, like a really decent set of wire cutters, or something like that. Since, you know, they fish up here. All. Year. Around. Ask the guys with the hooks in the finger and the nose. Apparently they don't have them either. Because hooks are meant for fish and not people.

8. DNR does not mean "Do Not Resuscitate" when emblazoned on the roof of an out building. Although some buildings look like they need it. It means "Department of Natural Resources." In case you were wondering.

9. GluStitch. The Krazy Glue of the medical world. Still holding my stethoscope together after 3 years. Imagine what it does for cuts.

10. How long does it take to fix water pipes? Apparently a very long time. And the workers come out at night, kind of like skunks. The water has been off most nights, without warning, and sometimes during the day, with and without warning. I think someone is just messing with our minds and playing with the switch. Would like to rap  some knuckles. Just saying.

11. Today I flew into my next assignment, in a true puddle jumper. A float plane, big enough for four, but carrying the pilot and myself. And as we glided over the Canadian north,  the magic reminded me that I am the most blessed and luckiest girl in the world.

And that is my little world for now. Love to all.

News From the South 2014

Tastes like chicken....

1. Chicken: For breakfast. For lunch. For dinner. Growing feathers out me arse and now have a strange desire to peck at things on the ground.

2. Margaritas: Fix everything, except for number 1 above. I think they doubled my body's chicken capacity and act as the Miracle Grow for the tail feathers.

3. Holy Chauffeur: The song "Nearer My God to Thee" is welded into my brain. I am sure the Reverend must be moonlighting over there. The Holy School of Speeding  Honking  Lead Footing Driving with the Last Rites in Mind  Where's the Fire  Last Confession on Wheels  One Step Closer to Heaven Unless You Are Doomed to Hell  Not Your Ordinary Sunday Drive  Offensive  Defensive Driving. No wonder we like to pray the rosary on the road.

The Horn on The Van

The horn on the van goes honk, honk, honk,

Honk, honk honk,

Honk, honk, honk.

The horn on van goes honk, honk, honk,

in Quintana Roo.

The people in the van go "Please slow down!"

Oh my God!

Hit the brakes!

The people in the van go "Please slow down!,

In Quintana Roo.

The driver in the van goes "No comprendo"

No Comprendo,

No comprendo,

The driver in the van goes "No comprendo"

in Quintana Roo.

The people in the van go "Cerveza please"

Cerveza please,

Cerveza please.

The people in the van go "Cerveza please"

 Though it's 9 AM.

You get the idea.

4. I Can See Clearly Now: After a beer in the park. My second day as Director of Logistics saw a rather huge turnout. And things not set up as I would have wanted, so I had to make do. Made a few small changes throughout the day. We saw (drum roll, please) over 800 patients officially, a squidge over 900 unofficially with those that slipped by our triage. Somewhere during the day, when I realized the multitude that was there, I slipped over to the convenience store and bought a cerveza, to be enjoyed by me, all by myself, in the park across from where the clinic was being held. When I returned, I and the Fastest and Best Translator (Margarita, the translator, not the drink!!!!!!) cleared out 135 or so of those patients in a couple of hours. We all worked hard. And the Logistics Director/Bartender said "Let there be cervezas for all!" Because some days, teetotaling just doesn't cut it. And God saw that it was muy bien. Dos Equis, in fact.

A fraction of what we saw......

So many people.....

5. Unloveable: Imagine as a Mom with a brand new baby being told to leave your baby in a corner. That she will never be anything. That she will never learn. To not even bother to breast feed your own baby, in a culture where it is practiced very openly. Imagine being told for the first time since your baby's birth four months ago, that our baby has Down's syndrome, by a bunch of foreigners. And that your baby at this moment is so ill that she may die. Imagine a priest praying over your baby, hoping she will make it to the hospital while she is struggling for breath. Imagine being told that your baby is someone, is a soul, that with hard work and perseverance can learn. If only she survives this crisis.

Before she took a turn...

Just no words....

Imagine the 34 year old young man who slipped in the shower 8 years ago, who became partially paralyzed. Imagine his Mom, still so young herself, trying to hold down a job, and trying to take care of his every need. Imagine feet so twisted, limbs so deformed, that it brought tears to the eyes of the foreign medical personnel elected to visit him in home. Imagine the hopelessness, the anger, the resentment he feels, the pain he has endured so much that he has likely refused activities that would have kept him mobile, his limbs straight.

These are the realities we as medical missionaries face. And it is why I, and many others like me, do what we do.

Look closely....

With thanks to Medical Mission Network for the pictures from Jose Maria Morelos.

Merry Christmas

I had everything all planned out, how I was going to help Karma along the way. I was involved, actually had a boyfriend, for the first time in five years this year, only to find out that he was a liar and a cheater, among other things. Those closest to me know about that.

To say I was devastated is putting it mildly. It took five years to open my soul to someone, to lay it on the line. And what happened is how I was rewarded for trusting again. Trusting the wrong person.

I know that Karma is a bitch, and I know his day and that of the Skanky female will come. I came across info that would ease Karma along, even delighted in the wickedness of planning, nothing huge or major, but enough to cause a little bit of grief, small potatoes compared to what I have endured. Let them squirm and hurt, thought I.

And so we have Christmas, a time of joy, happiness and peace. Quite a while ago, I had sent a note to him saying I had forgiven him. But was I truly living the forgiveness in my heart? I think by now, you know the answer.

Now, today, I make the final peace in my heart, the peace that God and Jesus have gifted to me. I have no doubt that someday they will get theirs, because as ye sow, so shall ye reap. And I want to reap kindness, love and joy. I want peace, harmony and tranquility. By wishing ill upon others, no matter how much they deserve it, I will only keep the thorns in my side and in my soul.

And so my challenge to you on this glorious Christmas Day, the day when hope was born, is to forgive someone who has hurt you. If even from afar, love that soul, and wish that soul peace. No one says you have to be with them, talk to them or even think much about them. But embrace the peace and joy of the season by letting forgiveness fill your heart. It is the best Christmas present you could ever give yourself.

A truly blessed and peaceful Christmas to all.

News From the South: Good Deeds: Where's Karma When You Need Her?

Shopper's Drug Mart, Mexico

1. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. Part A: While trying to heal my broken heart after breaking off with a lying, cheating SOB, I went on my usual fall missions. Nothing like good friends, good deeds and good margaritas to balm the wounds. On the way to Guatemala through Miami, I discovered via the wonderful xray at security, that I had left my treasured Leatherman in metallic purple in the bottom of my backpack. Apparently, security in Mexico didn't think anything of it. But American security thought I could down a plane. I had to either lose the $75 + tax tool, or check in my back pack. Being penny wise and pound foolish, and in a hurry as usual through that stupid airport, I checked my backpack with the snarky American Airlines guy who said to me " I can't believe that you thought you would get away with that!" What, do you think I'm stupid? That I fell off the turnip truck yesterday? My turnips have been rotting in the ditch for weeks, thank you very much, I explained how I always have it in my checked belongings, but I had totally forgotten that I had put it in my backpack for the mission for the purpose of pulling things out of people's ears, screwing things in or out, and even filing my nails. Snarko rolled his eyes.

Family vehicle.

And when I went for my camera a day later, well, the case was there, zipped up and intact, but the camera and the charger were gone. So, a net loss of about $700. I totally forgot to pull it out of the back back. American does not cover the loss, because they clearly state that they are not responsible for electronics left in checked baggage. Which means there is a giant, invisible sign that says, "Take Me." The fact that the case was left in the backpack, zipped tells me it is an inside job. Thanks again Miami frickin' airport and American Airlines. You've done yourself proud.

The only good thing about MIA: key lime pie by Icebox.

2. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. Part B: While in Mexico,  my right second upper molar decided to sing a tune, and that tune became louder and louder until I was eating 600 mg of Advil avery2-3 hours along with some Tramadol, and rum chasers. Eventually I was never able to relieve the pain much, but I didn't care. That part lasted  until Guatemala. I had to approach our dentist, I was in such agony. He wanted to save my tooth, but face it, in a dark room lit up by LED headlamps, you can imagine there wasn't anything there for something like a root canal. He froze me two or three times one day, and it was the only time I had no pain. The unfortunate reality is that freezing wears out, especially since he was using Lidocaine, hence the multiple freezing.

The last morning of the mission, I could take it no more, and I eagerly climbed into the chair as the first patient of the day, with many sets of Mayan eyes on me as they were going to be next. I needed to be brave and show them it was okay. When the tooth proved difficult to freeze, I had an iron grip on the Translators hand, I bet to this day it is weak and withered, such is the life I squished out of it. Once the dentist thought I was frozen enough, a healthy "Ow!!" followed by chicken sh*t tears sent the message loud and clear to the next patients. That either I was a complete Wuss (guilty) or that this was not going to be a very good day for them. Out came the tooth with a piece of my jaw bone. After 45 minutes of letting the freezing wear off, I was in less pain than before the extraction. And of course, the cerveza/rum combo at the closing fiesta was pain killer enough.

Opening soon...

3. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. Part C: I had to have a stitch in my gums, a figure of eight, he said. So I went to my dentist once home to have it removed. A couple of snips, and it was gone, so I thought. Until I explored the area with my tongue, and found the damned stitch sticking out like chicken wire. What the heck to do? More rum. Maybe go to the walk in clinic the following day - I was flying out to work in the evening. Nah. Because like a dog with a bone, once you know that thing is there, you constantly play with it over and over until your tongue starts feeling raw. So toughen up, says I to my lily-livered alter ego. Grabbed my wonderful Tweezerman tweezers, the same kind the Mexicans had confiscated two years ago because they thought I might bring down another plane. Poked around until I had the end of the stitch. Gentle tug. Nothing. A little harder. Ow, still nothing. Finally with the will of someone performing her own bikini wax, I pulled hard, screamed, had tears in my eyes, and now a hole in my gums. The thing came out, with a non flexible kink where the eight crossed over. It's a good thing my dentist didn't charge me for the visit. I'd be looking for a refund.

Where toilet seats go to die...

4. In Other News: We now know where all the toilet seats have gone. And we're not telling.

I bought a new camera. For next time.

Love to all.