Category: Health & Well Being

Here We Go Again, Part 3…

Thomas Wolfe once wrote “You Can’t Go Home Again.” A title that seems pretty apt to my situation. In November of 2023, I faced the inevitability that most children face, where my mother lost decisional capacity for herself and had to be placed in a care home. It was a pinnacle turning point in my life as it meant that I would have to pack up her apartment and do away with the majority of the belongings that she had accumulated in the course of her life. While most children would simply bring most heirlooms and belonging to their own home, living clear across the country made this a bit of a difficult prospect for me. While I did pack and ship some choice items, the majority of things had to be sold, donated or given away. It felt like the surrendering of one’s life, and caused me to take pause and reflect on how the later years of my own life would come to pass. I chronicled this trip in a short series of posts titled “Becoming the Patriarch.” If you scroll through my posts, you find them. The point is, when I came home last May to tend to my father, who was intubated and comatose with no expectation of coming out of the hospital, it was my first time coming home without, well… a home! It was a the first time in my life that I didn’t have a “mom and dad’s” to stay at. No pillow to lay my head where I knew my mother was in the next room. The change in my reality that this caused weighed heavily on my soul during that trip. That reality is all the more palpable this time around.

Yesterday, my day started simply, with a visit to the continental breakfast nook of the hotel. Swallowing my pride and ignoring my usual desire for meat, I enjoyed a small bowl of cereal and a yogurt, which provided what I needed for the morning. I grabbed a shower and slipped on some fresh, untraveled clothing and I was off to the races. A couple of errands later, I had stocked my room fridge with energy drinks and some meal replacement shakes that would make for my lunches throughout the week. For a simple 4-pack of shakes that would make four lunches, I paid as much as I would for one full meal. While meal replacement shakes can’t replace your food indefinitely, it’ll certainly save me some money for the week. My morning went by in a flash and I made my way down the coast to Dalhousie, my childhood home. I’ve traveled to many places in the world but they all pale in comparison to the pristine beauty of the Restigouche Bay set against the backdrop of the Appalachian mountains. The view and the scenery are exquisite; a fact I never recognized or appreciated during my childhood. It’s unfortunate that children always only see what’s immediate and can’t draw their focus outward. Perhaps if I had recognized the beauty in front of me, I would have never left. But I wistfully digress…

My father is a tired man. At the end of his rope, I feel that he has very little fight left in him. Essentially paralyzed from the neck down, he’s incapable of moving, save for his neck and head, and some mild movement of his fingers, mercifully allowing him to switch the channels on his television. Otherwise, he lays at the mercy of the nursing home staff. Nursing homes get a bad rap in general, and for good reason. Overworked and understaffed, they rarely have the ability to care for their residents to the level of quality that one truly deserves at the end of their lives. I walked into my father’s room with the thought that I would be facing an angry, redheaded juggernaut who was pissed off at being alive. Instead, I saw a frail, aging man with no strength left in him. He was sleeping soundly and snoring noisily. I sat with him for a few moments, but for once in my life, the words not said and the silence were too much for me. I stepped out. When I walked into to see my mother, she was awake and sitting in her chair with her arms crossed. She had a look on her face that didn’t express serenity but appeared to hold no immediate concern. As I reached her filed of vision, she frowned at me slightly. As I said “Hi, mom,” she responded in kind but didn’t acknowledge the “mom” part. When I indicated that I was her son, her only response was “Oh, okay.” No recognition or familiarity lit up her eyes. I commented that it had been a while and reached in for a hug. Then, I experienced another first that no child should ever have to; she flinched and recoiled from my reach.

She didn’t yell out, object or indicate any issue but the mild action was enough to send ripples of grief through me that echoed down to my very soul. My mother had no recognition of me. The shouldn’t have surprised me, since her siblings had all visited last week and she knew none of them. But it cemented the fact that in a way, my parents were very much gone. When one loses a parent, there’s a grieving process in place. The loved one is no longer with them. They’re just gone forever and one realized they’ll never see them again in this life. There’s a finality. A sense of closure amongst the grief, if you will. But for my parents, there is no such closure. Instead, they linger. Living fleetingly on the border between life and death. My father, trapped in a prison of his own flesh without any finality, despite apparently being lucid and of full mind (I can’t confirm because I haven’t spoken to him yet), and my mother, who’s there but not “there,” know what I mean? There is no finality or sense of grief0stricken closure. They aren’t;t gone; they simply aren’t fully there, either. The reality was more than my solitary soul could handle. I made my way back out to the car and wept silently by myself, recognizing that the chance of having any meaningful conversations with my parents was gone. There would be no making them proud for my accomplishments, no bragging about their grandchildren with them, no sharing of my life with theirs. Because they had reached the end. It was now just a matter of time.

Once my eyes cleared, I made my way out to my Uncle Danny, who has been helping with the overall care of my parents in my absence. On his last day of vacation, he was enjoying his backyard pool. Considering it was 35 degrees yesterday afternoon, I could hardly blame him. We had some good conversation and I discussed my plans for the week until another guest of his showed up; a colleague from his work who had come to enjoy the pool as well. I thanked him for all his help and excused myself. I made my way back to Dalhousie where I did some light banking and sat at the top of the hill, overlooking the bay. Enjoying some afternoon caffeine, I watched blissfully as the waters of the open bay ebb and flowed. Several boats, both sail and motorized, coast through its waters, enjoying the hot air and beautiful scenery. I must ave spent nearly an hour just sitting there. My hometown always brings wistful memories. Some good, some bad, but all imprinted in my mind as clear as if they happened yesterday. All imprinted as an integral part of my DNA and who I am. In seeing my mother and recognizing that my grandmother had faced the same difficulty, I asked myself if I was fated to eventually forget all these memories as well. That perhaps someday, the imprinted memories that made me who I am disappeared, much as they had for my mother. Once this happened, would I still be the same person? Who would I become? I’ve often asked myself who I am throughout my life. Never quite to this degree.‘

My evening capped off with a visit to Sensei’s home. Always a pleasure to speak with, we enjoyed some good conversation, that included some questions and corrections on my karate forms. It was good to see him. He asked about my family, both here and in Saskatchewan, and lended some sage advice on many aspects of life; something I’ve come to expect and admire about him. It gave the day a positive spin in an otherwise tumultuous cyclone of bullshit I faced while visiting my parents. Life is balance, right? For any negativity, there must be some positive. I made my way back to the hotel and ended my evening by seeing my wife and children over video chat. Short of being home with them, I couldn’t have ended the evening off on a better note. I drifted off to a dreamless sleep. My time here will see me accomplish a great deal, even if I don’t get the answers I came looking for. As with any other great book, eventually you need to finish out the chapter in order to turn the page and keep going. This may be the situation I find myself in now. While I was born and raised here, the chapter of my life that involves Northern New Brunswick may be coming to an end. While my thoughts will always return here, my purpose for being here may soon no longer be. That’s a chapter I”ll need to close in order for me to move on to the next. Such is life. ☯️

Here We Go Again, Part 1…

Yup, buckle up, folks… It’s going to be one of THOSE posts! For those of you who read my posts regularly, you may recall that a few months ago, I had to take an unplanned trip back to New Brunswick in order to see to my father who, without any clear explanation of what happened, had to be intubated and was in a coma. The only real explanation I got at the time was that he had gone into the hospital with pneumonia and his lung function tanked, leading to the intubation and transfer to the ICU. Even once I reached the hospital, there were no real answers and I didn’t get to speak with my father as he was unconscious the entire time. Visiting my mother was painful as she’s currently in the full throws of dementia (we think) and didn’t recognize me as her son. All in all, it was a painful trip, and the very first trip where I went home without a home to go to, It was an odd sensation, being back in my home town without a residence owned by my parents to go stay in.

Over the past couple of months, things have not improved. My father faced a number of issues with his ongoing health declination and eventually, he made his way back to the nursing home. I only became aware of this by virtue of my uncle, who was visiting my mother and noted that he was there. Otherwise, neither the hospitals nor the nursing home contacted me to update me that he had been returned. However, despite his return to the nursing home, he is now paralyzed from the neck down and has no mobility in his body at all. This has provided further barriers as I can longer contact him or vice versa. Not that he made much use of the phone prior to that, mind you. So, like the committed son that I am, I’m currently sitting in the airport, patiently waiting for my flight to board. On my way back to my childhood home, I intend to get some answers to how my father has ended up in his current state. And whose ass I need to fuckin’ kick in order to get them…

Obviously, I’m pretty cranky right now. I don’t enjoy traveling at the best of times. But waking up before the roosters do, in order to catch a flight pisses me off even further. Although my plan was to wake up at 4 am, I was awake and tossing at about 2:30, unable to rest knowing how my day would go. Some dishes and final packing details later, my wife and kids valiantly pulled themselves out of bed to drive me to the airport. Some hesitant goodbyes later, and I was printing off my boarding passes and making my way to the security gate. Interestingly, I was selected for random screening and had my bag searched. It was comical but good, as I was able to bypass the waiting line and jump straight to the head of the line. I requested my usual pat down as opposed to going through the gates, to ensure my pump and insulin wouldn’t be put through scanning equipment that could potentially damage the pump or render my insulin inert.

I’ve always admired the screening officers at the Regina Airport. Having travelled all over the world and dealt with various screening agencies, I’ve always been appreciative of how professional and thorough they are. Always apologetic during their search, I’ve grown used to the routine and am completely okay and in agreement with its necessity. But it’s nice nonetheless. Although a hot cup of Tim Horton’s coffee would be nice while I wait, the line of 20+ people discouraged me pretty quickly; especially since everyone and their fuckin’ dog seem to believe they need to have breakfast AT the airport instead of eating at home before getting here. The line would move so quickly if everyone simply ordered their coffee and moved on. reminds me of the good old days when a drive-thru lane was used for single, quick items for faster service, as opposed to the trend that seems to track these days where people will order for a family of five in the drive-thru. Idiots. But again, it’s early, I’m cranky and I definitely digress…

My uncle recently updated me that my mother’s entire family was in Dalhousie visiting, and they all went to see my mother. She recognized no one. I anticipate I’ll have no better luck in having her recognize me either, My father, who is an angry man at the best of times (and I wonder where I get it) will no doubt not be in the “visiting mood,” and I don’t know how productive a visits this will be. I’m just hoping I can at least get some information on what may have caused his paralysis and why he’s now relegated to his bed, probably for whatever years he has left. My hope will be to at least connect with him. It won’t be all bad. I have some visits planned with some old friends and my uncle while I’m down. While not a social trip, it will at least bring a silver lining to the stage of life I’m in. As is my habit, I’ll be posting about my trip throughout; and hopefully include some photos of my beautiful home Province in the process. Stay tuned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to stop being so fuckin’ stubborn and go get a coffee. ☯️

“Whatevs, I Barely Broke A Sweat…”

Ahh, the mantra of someone who is in for a very nasty surprise… It kills me how often I’ve walked into a dojo and stood next to someone who gave off an odor that’s usually a mix of wet clothes mixed with sweaty dog. This is usually because some students are under a false impression that if they didn’t sweat, they don’t need to launder their gi, or even take a shower. I’ll confess to having gone an afternoon without hitting the showers after working out. But this is usually while wearing normal workout clothes and they always hit the laundry right after, before I lather up.

What people don’t realize, is that even if you aren’t drenched in absolute sweat after a workout (which you should be), whatever garments you wear will still be infused with your lovely skin oils and your scent. Even worse is if you’re one of those shameful people who break just a mild sweat and go without a shower and don the same gi again the next day. That just makes it worse. One of the more challenging times I’ve had to deal with this was in 2001 when I trained in Okinawa. Considering temperatures were in the high 40’s (Celsius). We would train for several hours in the morning, lose the gi, have lunch and sightsee/hit the beach, have a light dinner, then train again for several hours that evening. Given that we were staying in a hotel, laundering the gi after every session became problematic.

Generally speaking, and much the same as with wiping down equipment at the gym, there are all sorts of risks associated with repeating sweaty clothing or using unwashed gear. The problem comes by virtue of the fact that your sweat will create a damp environment that certain bacteria’s and fungi can thrive in, leading to a number of skin-related issues that, while I can’t speak for everyone, I certainly don’t want to deal with. And neither should you. realistically, re-using dirty workout clothes can lead to unwanted acne, in areas it certainly isn’t wanted. Especially since karate gis aren’t exactly breathable, rubbing the sweaty gi against your skin can irritate it, and potentially clog your pores, which will cause an added host of issues.

While we’re on the subject of pores, sweat and bacteria can clog your pores, leading to painful, ingrown hairs, rashes and inflammation. Not so great if you’re getting that somewhere sensitive like your ballsack, guys. Further, that bacteria and fungus can make its way into your pores, leading to a fun little condition called “folliculitis,” which will inflame hair follicles and cause irritation or discomfort. And worst yet, you can get yeast infections. That’s right, gentlemen! We’re as prone to yeast infections as our female counterparts are. Your groin, armpits, or anywhere else where your sweat can collect in a warm, contained environment, can lead to yeast infractions. Fun, right? Still think you should skip laundering on that given night so you can chillax with a post-workout beer? Think again.

Last, but certainly not least, is that you’ll smell like crap. For the most part, people don’t really stink horribly at the time of sweating. It’s once that sweat has dried on your flesh that it becomes most noticeable. That being said, if you or your gi were unclean to begin with, once you add dampness back into the mix, it can exacerbate the unpleasant odors and you may notice that no one if keen to get paired up with you. While one may not recognize one’s own funk, I promisse that every one else around you can smell it. And most people will be too polite to bring it to your attention.

The solution to this is quite simple. Recognize how sweaty you’re getting during your workouts and launder your workout attire after each and every workout. If you aren’t going straight home to do laundry, you may want to consider spreading your garments to air out as opposed to jamming them into a gym bag where that lovely bacteria will propagate and thrive. Last but not least, consider the garments you’re wearing and think about using breathable fabrics, like moisture-wicking or dri-fit garments. Not such a possibility in karate but a good standard overall.

Keeping your skin healthy is an easy and straightforward steps for proper health and personal hygiene. And not least of which, will ensure your smell doesn’t offend everyone in the dojo. Malodorous auras are NOT a self-defence weapon, no matter how bad it may make everyone run in the opposite direction. Food for thought…☯️

A Prison Of My Own Body…

That title is likely a bit dramatic when compared to my poor father, who’s currently paralyzed from the neck down, or people with debilitating conditions that eventually make them lose control of their own body. Even when compared to my Diabetic peers, I’m pretty much the top tier of how one should control their condition. If that sounds like I’m bragging, it’s because I am. I’ve worked extremely hard over the decades to maintain proper blood sugar control, stay healthy and in reasonably good shape and show Diabetes that I’ll fight back and won’t go down easy.

All of that being said and as noble as it sounds, it doesn’t change the fact that Type-1 Diabetes is a condition that essentially makes one a prisoner to their therapies. Without it, and as I’ve often written before, the average Type-1 Diabetic will only survive roughly ten days before slipping into a comatose state and dying. It’s a harsh reality that I am reminded of on a weekly basis when my blood sugars drop or spike, or I fall ill and have my whole bodily system go haywire. But on the whole, and for the past ten years or so, I’ve become a model citizen of a shitty place I like to call Diabetesburg.

Once in a while, my condition will do something that shakes the dust off and scares the ever-loving fuck out me, and reminds me that I always have to be vigilant and prepared. It’s a shitty way to live but a necessary one. It simply means I lack some of the day-to-day freedoms that most people get to enjoy. This brings us to an unfortunate incident that took place last Wednesday when my family and I decided to go out to dinner after I got off of work. It reminded me of just how prepared I had to be.

It started late afternoon, when my wife and I were discussing supper options for when I got home. We had previously agreed on a taco salad and were discussing who would stop and gather ingredients to prepare it. My wife suddenly remembered she had a free desert at one of our favourite sit-down restaurants in the city. This was a perk she had received for her birthday last month, but it would expiring at the end of the week. The unfortunate part is she couldn’t simply order it and pick it up; it had to be consumed on site in conjunction with a meal.

We decided to treat ourselves to dinner so that the complimentary desert wouldn’t be lost. This involves convincing our two sons, who are extremely picky eaters, to leave the house so that we could indulge. My wife was successful in this endeavour and we all piled into the family vehicle and headed over to the restaurant. An important detail to note is that when I left work, my blood sugar was sitting at a very comfortable, very normal, 5.5 mmol/L. My CGM showed no indication that I would headed on a downward trend or any issues. Considering we were going to eat, I thought I was good to go.

Good to go, for me, means that I don’t have to drag my “man purse” with me. This usually contains a glucometre, fast-acting carbs, as well as a small first aid kit and an assortment of small self-defense implements that I almost always keep on my person. Again, since we were going to eat, I felt I could drive from my home to the restaurant, which was only about five minutes away, without much cause for concern. I would realize very quickly just how very wrong I was…

We started by placing our drink orders. Waters for my wife and I, and chocolate milk for our two ankle-biters. We placed some simple meal orders, including a cheese pizza for my oldest and chicken fingers for the youngest. My wife and I decided to split an order of boneless wings with some fries. The reasons for listing all of our food choices becomes important shortly. Besides a trip to the “potty” with my youngest and downing my water within two minutes, which is pretty common for me, we received our food without incident. Them my pump buzzed against my hip and all hell broke loose.

I felt it was strange that my pump would be asking for a calibration around 5pm, which is not when I usually do my testing. But lo and behold, it was a low blood sugar alert. I had dropped to about 3.2 mmol/L. Okay, deep breath… Not a big deal, food is going in, right? Wrong. Within a few short minutes, my pump alerted me to “Below 2.8 mmol/L,” which is its polite way of telling me that it could no longer gauge what my blood sugar was actually sitting at. This is problematic for two reasons. The first, is that my breaded chicken wings would provide some carbohydrate but likely not enough to reverse this extreme low. The second is that on average, most people will lose consciousness right around the 2.0 mmol/L mark, and I was sitting in a fucking restaurant.

I’ve gone almost twenty years without having to call an ambulance for something Diabetes-related, and that night was not the night I intended to break that streak. One big issue is that over the decades, I’ve worked towards keeping myself reasonably high-functioning when hit with low levels. This is safety measure I trained myself for as a result of my law enforcement career, where I may not always have the ability to stop and eat whenever I choose. By virtue of this, I often won’t feel the symptoms of low blood sugar for typical lows. But this was far from a typical low.

I began to sweat, my hands were shaking and my vision blurred. My fine motor skill began to fail and I was wolfing down wings like my life depended on it… because it did! Usually, and to be clear, this is no fault of the restaurant staff, but usually we barely take two bites and someone’s at our table asking how things are tasting. On this occasion, and because life hates me, our waitress was nowhere to be found. The couple of times I saw her, she was rushing off with food or taking payment from someone. All I needed was to put in an order for a Coke or Pepsi so I could get something fast-acting into my system,

Time was draining away and I didn’t have a great window of opportunity before I would need medical intervention. I started contemplating alternatives. Gulping down my children’s chocolate milk? Stagger across the parking lot to the gas station and grab a pack of Skittles? Go figure, the one time I leave the house without my pack and this happens… And where the fuck was our waitress??? She finally comes by and I mumble out that I would like a Coke or a Pepsi. She carries on asking about anything else and my wife, to her credit, piped up and said, “He needs that soda right away.” The waitress quickly scurried away and got it.

I gulped that fizzy fucker down like it was liquid ambrosia and 600 mL was gone in seconds. I sat, woozy and disoriented, for almost ten minutes before my vision slowly started to clear and my wife indicated my eyes were no longer bloodshot. I ate sparingly for the reminder of the meal, trying to allow my system to focus on the syrupy sugar I had just introduced. By the time we were ready to leave the restaurant, I had increased to 4.4 mmol/L. By the time we got home, I had blown my opportunity to work out or do anything productive with my night. My body was blasted, I was exhausted, and I hadn’t come that close to an actual Diabetes-related emergency in quite a number of years.

As with all things, I try my best to look at the positive side of things. This incident taught me that as I get older, things will get worse, not better, and it’s on me to always ensure I’m prepared and equipped to deal with my condition, no matter where I am or how close to home it may be. While my blood sugars showed absolutely no sign of dropping when I left home, Diabetes is a fickle mistress that will stab you in your sleep without notice. I should point out that until I decided to go to bed, my blood never got above 5.0 mmol/L. Nothing a few jellybeans couldn’t fix but I have no idea what happened. Next time, I’ll be better prepared to ensure this never gets this bad. ☯️

A Little Sunshine To Your Day…

I notice that I often tend to post about some of the darker, more negative aspects of things, especially when it comes to Diabetes. Sometimes, it’s important to take a moment to reflect on some of the good, which plays a huge role in eliminating the suffering in one’s life. For myself, that the creation of life from nothing, specifically in the form of flowers. I love flowers. Live flowers, that is. Not the purchased ones. In fact, if memory serves me, my very post on this blog a number of years ago was a post about some of the floral life back in New Brunswick.

My flower bed

The irony is that I have very little in terms of a green thumb and in the past several years, I’ve made efforts to try and grow flowers in my backyard. I have small brick circle that used to house a tree. The tree had already been cut and removed when we bought the house but the circle remained. In years past, I’ve thrown some seed in there with very little success. In fact, I’ve usually had more weeds than flowers growing.

Bright colours…

But this year, I took a nuclear (not literally) approach. I started by thoroughly tilling the soil then sifting out weeds, root systems and debris from the dead tree from the ground. I probably worked my way down about three or four inches. Then, I added in some nutrient rich potting soil, mixed with some fertilizers. I sprinkled a variety of flower seed all around the circle and worked it into the soil. Added a bit more potting soil on top, watered consistently and waited.

It’s been well over a month and a half and while patience is a virtue, some greenery started to pop up without any indication of flowers. I began to wonder if I was perhaps stuck with another year of weeds and no flowers. But lo and behold, about a week ago, some flowers finally started to bloom. I think I may have overcrowded the circle a bit; an important lesson to bear in mind for next year. But the flowers are starting to bloom and provide a sanctuary for some of the pollinators in the area.

Some people see growing flowers as a wasted activity. After all, they all die come the end of the season, then you find yourself working just as hard to foster them up the following spring. While some of this is true, it’s not just about the bloom but the journey. There’s a bit of a meditative aspect to planting and growing. And there’s little more that’s quite as satisfying as growing beautiful flowers in your own backyard. We also included some light vegetables this year. It’s a wholesome and pleasant at-home activity for my whole family. ☯️

The Mind Cannot Exist Without The Body…

Alright folks, time for some real talk here… Anyone who has walked in martial arts circles for any period of time has likely heard terms like “mind and body connection,” or “ mind, body and spirit.” But what exactly does that mean from a practical standpoint? Believe it or not, it doesn’t actually mean anything spiritual or mystical. At its core, it simply means that one needs to pay attention to both body AND mind. because no matter which way you spin it, one cannot exist without the other. And it doesn’t actually mean, in fact, go both ways.

Exercise is an important part of maintaining good health and living a good life. Besides reading this here on more occasions than I can count, even couch potatoes would acknowledge that things would be better if they could just get their lazy asses off the couch and do something physical. And no, before you all fill up my comments section, I’m not referring to people who have emotional or physical conditions that make it difficult to get up from their sedentary lifestyles. Although even in those situations, a good part of getting started is popping your clutch and taking a step.

In general, I’ve always said that life can be viewed through the lens of a “holy trinity” of health. Everything alive moves. Everything. Even plants and trees will grow, move and adjust to their environments. Movement, in its increased state, creates energy. This is easily demonstrated by using a bicycle where the more movement is made, the more speed you garner, or hydroelectric dams that creates electricity through water turbines, etc. That energy sustains one’s life. So the formula is simple: Energy creates life. Life creates movement. Movement creates energy. Wash, rinse and repeat. Still with me? Good.

This formula is an important one, because each phase depends on the other two. Eliminating or reducing the one will bring direct conflict and harm to the other two. No energy? You gonna die! No movement? Your energy will falter and same result. Guess what happens if you die? YOU DON’T MOVE! It’s all relative and depends on the individual making an effort to make it happen and maintain it. This is why if you ARE a couch potato and just sitting on the couch, you’re not doing yourself any favours. And as your body fails, your mind won’t be far behind.

An unfortunate example that’s quite close to home is my mother. All her life, she took care of others. Ran errands, cared for family, cooked and cleaned. However, she never exercised, never did anything physical and when she wasn’t running errands or out and about, would sit on the couch and binge-watch game shows. Bear in mind that this started well before the age I’m at now. Today, not only has my mother’s body weakened and is frail, her mind has failed her as well. It’s a stark and sobering reminder of why it’s important to maintain one’s physical AND mental health.

The other side of that coin is Sensei. He’s the same age as my mother. The difference? He committed himself to training and physical maintenance of his body for decades. Now, in his 70’s, he cycles more kilometres than I do. trains in karate five days a week and has more energy than people half his age. Sharp as a samurai sword and twice as deadly. Coincidence? Maybe. I’m not a doctor, so I can’t make a blanket assumption that my mother’s mind is a direct result of her inactivity over the years but the comparison is reasonably telling.

That’s why it’s important to remember that there’s a fine line to walk between resting because you’re tired and allowing yourself to fall into a slump that will be twice as hard ton work your way out of. Your body is essentially an engine. And like any engine, it won’t run properly if you let it sit idle without ever revving enough. Give it the appropriate fuel and run it regularly, mixed with a healthy dose of proper maintenance and you can keep your engine running smooth and easy for years to come. Don’t, and the result will unfortunately show themselves. Or you may not realize, as your mind begins to fail you. In either scenario, get out there and do something. Your body, mind and spirit will thank you. ☯️

In The Most Unlikely Places…

I had an interesting encounter last week with an individual at a local coffee shop. Usually, and like most people, I walk with a certain level of indifference to the world around me and simply get to where I’m going. That being said, what differentiates me from most members of the general public, is an increased state of situational awareness. This is born out of decades of martial arts training mixed with law enforcement experience, which has cursed me with an unshakeable case of hyper-vigilance.

On this particular day, I was running a couple of errands and asked my wife if she’d like a coffee. As I walked into this particular location, I saw a guy waiting for his coffee that, at first glance, appeared to have a CGM on his tricep. This, in and of itself is not unusual. After all, I’ve used devices such as the Freestyle Libre, which is essentially best used on one’s tricep. However, as I got closer I realized this was an actual Medtronic Guardian sensor, which pairs with a Medtronic insulin pump.

When I started with my second insulin pump, I was introduced to the wonder that is CGM, which ultimately changed my life and the way I control my blood sugars. However, during the training sessions for CGM, I was warned that the Guardian sensor was to be placed on the abdomen or lower back around the love handles. I was trained that the Guardian sensor would not function properly on the back of the upper arm by virtue of the reduced amount of interstitial tissue at these sites. I’ve never tried it and always took it as a given, since the people who made the damn thing said so.

This is why seeing the sensor on a tricep caught my attention. Never one to be shy, I had to ask. I approached the individual and asked how the sensor had been functioning for him at this sight. And to be clear, for my Diabetic brethren who may inquire, this individual appeared to be slim and muscular, made references to farming and did not appear to have an abundance of, shall we call them, “bingo wings.” This made it all the more fascinating that he was using the sensor at this site.

The individual explained that he couldn’t use the sensor on his abdomen as he tended to sweat excessively during his farming duties, which would result in the adhesives giving out and the sensors to fall out. While experimentation and sensor failures are a part of pump training, it becomes an issue where you have to pay for these bad boys out of pocket. At best, you’re looking at $250 to $400 per month, if your sensors all function properly. So, if you have failures, the financial cost can start to build up. This was one of the issues this individual was dealing with.

It took him a bit of experimentation on the placement and calibration, but he was successful in getting it to work and had been doing so for some time. The only issue he faced now was the occasional ripping off of the sensor if he hooked his arm on something wile working. We had a good conversational exchange on sensors, where I also passed on my use of Patchabetes adhesives, which would likely provide him with better protection for his sensors. He was grateful for the conversation and said it was nice to have a conversation with another Type-1 Diabetic who could relate.

The interaction, although unintentional, was refreshing and acted as a stark reminder that Diabetes treatment is never a black-or-white thing. Rather, it’s subjective to the one receiving the treatment and what works for them. While the standard in this case is to use a CGM on the abdomen and never on the tricep, this individual tried it and made it work; something that would have otherwise meant that he wouldn’t have been able to indulge in pump therapy otherwise. Speaking from experience, that would have been a huge loss for him.

But it was interesting and gave me hope, considering that eventually, I’ll likely develop enough scar tissue on my abdomen that I’ll have to move on to different areas of the body. It also reminded me how important it is to keep your eyes up and observe the world around you. After all, I would have totally missed this if I had been a phone zombie walking with his head down. That’s why it’s so important to pay attention. You never know what you might miss. Food for thought… ☯️

No Water Or Food In The Dojo… Important Lesson Or Unnecessarily Harsh?

When I used to train in my home dojo, there was a hard and fast rule that carried all the way until the day Sensei closed the doors; no food or drink in the dojo. For the most part, this seems pretty reasonable. His rationale was that those two hours were his to teach, and taking the time to eat or drink detracted from that time. Further, the eating of food during a karate lesson shows disrespect for those who were sweating and putting in the effort while you sat at the back, wolfing down whatever you may have brought.

There were some exceptions to this rule, of course. My black belt test was an all-day affair, lasting nearly eight hours. It would be categorically inhumane to expect a person, especially someone with Type-1 Diabetes, to go an entire day without food. But for the majority and all regular classes, Sensei would limit the allowance of food or drink past the boundary of the dojo door. This included parents or spectators, who would often bring their coffees in. It wouldn’t be unusual for him to go ask parents to step out and finish their coffee elsewhere or get rid of it.

I never questioned the reasoning behind this rule until I got older and started teaching myself. After all, I had a bit of a carte blanche to step out and treat lows, if I had to. So I had more leeway than some of the other students. I never saw it as a benefit or an advantage; just another part of my condition that needed to be addressed. But in essence, Sensei held the belief that one needed to be able to control their needs for the short, two-hour period that we were in class. One could have a sip of water in anticipation of the class, even consume as much as they wanted after. But the discipline required for those two hours included abstaining from food or drink. It would be loosely comparable to being in the middle of a real fight, where you ask your opponent to pause for a moment so you can grab some water. Wouldn’t make much sense.

The other aspect is the sheer distraction it can cause students. And for this, I have a perfect example. Just a few short years ago, I was training in a dojo as a guest. I won’t disrespect this dojo by naming it; suffice it to say I haven’t trained there in a few years. We were having a weekend class with plenty of students present. We were in the second half of class when my nose detected something familiar. Off to the side, not ten feet from me, one of the students was standing there eating a fast-food burger from a paper bag. Having arrived late for class, he opted to finish up his meal in the dojo instead of skipping class. While I can admire the dedication, one does not gain much by standing there eating instead of training.

But the more important detail is the overall effect it had on the class. Within minutes, most students could smell the tempting aroma of fried meat and condiments. Almost as soon as I detected the smell, my stomach responded with a series of audible grumbles, indicating that if I valued my life, I would get us some of that! The effect was distracting and made it challenging to focus on the lesson while most of us now had to contend with an unexpected hunger pang. In my old dojo, Sensei would have definitely told this student to leave the dojo until he had finished his meal. Of course, Sensei also didn’t allow for late arrivals. If you couldn’t be on time, better not to show up. Come to the next class instead.

This raises the question that is the whole point I do this post: Should food or drink be permitted in the dojo? Certainly, and strictly from a discipline and traditional standpoint, the answer would be no. But in all reality, we live in a world of Starbucks soccer moms and people addicted to their coffees and snacks. The thought that a parent will sit for a couple of hours on a Saturday morning watching their child practice without their hot cup of java is practically ludicrous. But then, it also raises the question about the parent showing the same level of discipline and restraint as they hope to instil in their child through this training.

So what do you think? As personal health and wellbeing is pretty important these days, staying hydrated is quite important. This raises the same question about food or drink, once again. I would still be inclined to believe that one should be able to go a couple of hours without a sip. Plus, having water or food during a karate lesson can have detrimental effects. Burping, indigestion, water and/or food sloshing around your gut while you’re trying to train… It can cause quite a bit of discomfort and nausea, leading to inherent distractions all their own. My personal take would be to leave the food and drink for after the class. Especially since most classes these days only seem to be for an hour or so. Some traditions are best kept. Food, but not in the dojo, for thought… ☯️

Slow And Steady Wins My Race…

I may have written about this before. Who knows? At this point in my life, I can’t keep half my fuckin’ shit straight with planners and calendars, so I can’t say much. But I wanted to touch on a significant change in lifestyle that I’ve had over recent years that has played a pretty major role in my overall health and wellbeing. It’s something most people don’t recognize or acknowledge within themselves but I’ve been fortunate enough to grab onto it. I’m talking about slowing down…

To be clear, I don’t mean slow down while driving. I still exist in a perpetual state of heavy-footed goodness and I don’t envision that changing anytime soon. And light help you if you slow down in front of me WHILE I’m driving behind you. But I digress… No, I mean slowing down in the sense of approaching the daily grind on a much slower scale. For decades, I spent every morning where I would it the ground running and keep up the pressure and speed until my head hit the pillow at the end of the day.

Certainly as one begins to get older, one recognizes that there’s an inherent value in seeing the importance of slowing down. As a child, I used to become incensed whenever I would walk with my mother, because she would shuffle along at a slow gait that took twice and often three times the amount of time that normal walking should. She had no health issues or problems that caused this, she simply chose to go that slow. I would often try to coax her along, to which she would usually reply, “There’s no hurry and this is a fast as I’m going. So you can deal with or you can slow down with me.”

For decades, it drove me nuts because I always felt like I had to get the task done so I could move on to the next one as quickly as possible. I often lacked the vision that my mother had, where there was nowhere we NEEDED to be and we could take our time; something people very rarely see. By virtue of this, she would often be of the opinion that there was nowhere need to hurry, since the task would get done regardless. I never recognized the importance of this until the past few years.

As a law enforcement officer, I always had somewhere to be and someone’s wellbeing often depended on how quickly I would respond. Stands to reason. Even in the more administrative side of things, I was always rushing, in a harassed state, and striking the panic button when my tasks became many. No matter what job I held or what position it entailed, I would often be at work nearly an hour before my scheduled time, putting in extra work, rushing to get things done early and stressing myself beyond reason.

In recent years, I’ve changed gears. Now, when I wake up in the morning, I spend the first ten minutes sitting at my desk instead of rushing to shower, shave and dress. I start the morning with those first few sips of caffeine, take my meds (Diabetic bullshit) and check my news feeds. I usually touch on a few daily tasks in some of the games I play on my devices, since I can’t do this at work. Then, in the comfort of my jammies, I prepare my work bag and my lunch and start to move towards a hot shower and slowly get dressed, often while sharing “good mornings” with one and/or both of my sons, who usually don’t sleep in even if they’re perfectly positioned to do so.

Once ready, I make my way to my vehicle where I casually make my way towards the office. Music playing and sun shining, I focus on the songs and not on what work tasks may be waiting for me once I arrive. I think and look forward to the more pleasant aspects that I’ll experience towards the end of my day, including having dinner with my wife, playing with my children or just flat out relaxing at home. The difference is I walk into work with a sense of purpose but without being pent up with stress that hasn’t yet been justified or needed.

The results I’ve seen include less tress, more calm, less irritability towards my colleagues and staff and it contributes to lower overall blood pressure. Too many people spend their lives dealing with a state of hypertension due to job-related stress. While it’s important to have coping mechanism outside the job to deal with that stress, and I’m not talking drinking or smoking but things like meditation, relaxation exercises or even things like gardening or sitting out on a deck and watching nature, how you approach you day and address it go was a long way, as well. One should never have to “get through” or “face” their day. It’s far more important to experience the day, or live it. This will contribute to better overall health and much better outlook on life. Food for thought… ☯️

Unintended Dependences…

I remember my childhood with bittersweet fondness. The reason I say bittersweet certainly includes the Type-1 Diabetes diagnosis I got at the tender age of 4. I lived a simple life, even before that. Unlike many people who are diagnosed, I had no “bad habits” to speak of, no addictions to sugary products and no horrible diet. This, in part, was due to my older brother and his own ailments, which kept anything artificial, sugared or high in sodium out of the house. By virtue of this, the biggest pain in my ass (literally) were the insulin injections. Otherwise, I was an overall pretty content child.

One of the best aspects that I can remember from my childhood is a lack of dependence on technology. The concept of “binge-watching” television wouldn’t become a prominent aspect of home life for another thirty years. Computers in the home weren’t common. Cell phones weren’t a domesticated thing. When I woke up in the morning, I had breakfast, at. A dining table and conversed with family. this was followed by either school or playing with toys and/or going outside. My entertainment came from my own imagination as opposed to streaming clips of random people doing weird bullshit out in society for my enjoyment. It was simpler time.

As I got older, friendships developed and my time was spent playing away from the home. Once I learned to tell time., I had a simple wristwatch and was given a curfew. As long as I was back by that time, my parents rarely knew where I was, what I was doing or who I was with. There was a simple freedom to it all; knowing that if one needed a touch of peace, one could escape to the cliff-side ledge I used to sit on, that looked out over our open bay, or sit on the stone outcrop atop Dalhousie Mountain and stare out at kilometres of lush boreal forests spreading south of me. If someone wanted to get a hold of me, they’d call my home, where a message would be taken and not delivered until I decided to return.

While the respective peace of my childhood is greatly missed, this isn’t to mean that I don’t have a fond appreciation for the advancements in technology that we’ve made over the past several decades. After all, those advancements have brought me from manual insulin injections and poorly controlled blood sugars to a world of insulin pumps, constantly monitored and adjusted blood sugars and better health. I predict that in the next couple of decades, I may find my way into something akin to never having to address my Diabetes again, even if it means it’s controlled and monitored by technology instead of me.

The negative side to all of these advancements comes from how society uses the technology. Privacy, while deeply coveted by most, has become a thing of the past. People can reach you anywhere, anytime, at any hour via cell phones. Apps, devices and even our televisions listen to us and make “recommendations” or “suggestions” based on our habits, preferences and even what we say in a room. It’s no coincidence that if I mention to my wife that I’m craving pizza, an ad for a pizza chain will “coincidentally” pop up on my social media feed. Big brother is always watching.

But we’ve become inadvertently tethered to our technology. I’ll be the first to admit that I’d be in horrific health, if not for my continuous glucose monitoring system. But we all have our devices, our smart phones, our streaming services… And they effectively govern our lives, now. No one ever needs to try and find directions somewhere or ask for them; just look it up on your phone. No one ever needs to research a particular topic. Why would you, when you can just Google it? Ever sit in public transit or in a food court? No one is usually speaking; everyone has their eyes down at their phones. A major pain in my ass when I’m trying to walk from point A to point B and some wretched son of a bitch is walking into me because his eyes are on his fuckin’ phone… But I digress…

Technology is fast becoming a commonality in daily life, with many aspects of it considered more of a necessity than a luxury. In many ways, this is reminiscent of when cars were invented and became common. While only the wealthy may have initially taken advantage, eventually it became a necessity for most family households to have at least one vehicle. The same can be said now, with the internet. In the 1990’s, the internet was that annoying thing that took almost ten minutes to get connected, where a full page would take minutes t boot up and would usually have that shitty 8-bit feel to it, with no picture resolution and everything seemed to be written in Times New Roman.

These days, the internet, and more specifically wifi, controls almost everything. Our phones, tablets, computers and televisions are primarily wifi-driven. And even some smart homes are designed with their critical functions tethered to the home’s wifi. So this begs a very important question; what happens when your wifi fails? My family and I discovered this the hard way this past weekend. After a brief power outage, we realized our wifi connection was no longer maintaining itself. After attempting resets and reboots on my own, a short call to our service provider confirmed it; our modem was outdated and would no longer function. A situation brought only to light by the brief outage of power.

It was Friday night, a night famous in my household for gaming and movies with my oldest, who has never known a world without internet and devices. I made my peace a long time ago with the fact that my children would never have the childhood I did. But I never realized just dependent they were on internet until this weekend happened. The earliest we could attempt a fix would be Saturday afternoon. This was made possible only if I brought the old modem into my local provider’s store and got an upgraded replacement and installed it myself. Waiting for. A technician would require a further number of days.

Anxious to restore the status quo, I got up first thing on Saturday morning (my usual morning to try and sleep in) and made my way into the downtown area to hit up the shopping mall that held my nearest supply store. I hate crowds of people at the best of times. Hobnobbing with shoppers on their weekend excursions did NOT appeal to me. But i got the replacement modem and installed it on my own. Using the instructions the tech on the phone provided the previous evening, I was able to get it up and running and connect wifi to our television and devices around the house. A collective sigh of relief ensued.

It was barely twenty four hours but it was a significant wake up call for me to realize that my family was utterly dependent on the internet. Despite books, toys, puzzles and games, the outdoors, the almighty Skynet still reigns. Ultimately, there’s no putting pandora back in the box. Technology, barring some major global catastrophe, will continue to evolve and improve our lives in some ways. But it will also strengthen our dependence on it in other ways. is it a bad thing? Time will tell. But it’s important to remember that we’re still human. And as humans, we should occasionally take the time to sit on a stone outcrop and stare at the sea. Food for thought…☯️