Here We Go Again Part 4…

Ah, bureaucracy… Apparently the world is incapable of living without it. One of the big reasons I came home this time around, was to see to certain things. First, I had to ensure that my parents’ funeral and burial arrangements were taken care of. Certainly a morbid reason for coming home, but the funeral home that they engage their prepaid contracts with had apparently closed and I had to ensure that their contracts had been carried over to someone else. Second, I needed to storm the local hospital and get some answers around how/why my father is paralyzed and what caused it. For fuck’s sakes, the man himself doesn’t know what happened! Can you imagine, a prisoner in your own body and no one around you is/can tell you what happened or why??? I called several times while my father was IN the hospital and never got answers or calls back, so I didn’t really anticipate getting any now. Hence, here we are.

My day yesterday started pretty normally, all things considered. Although not a vacation, I was able to sleep in a bit and woke to an alarm that was later than it would be back home. Well, later as seen through the lens of this time zone. 8 am here is actually only 5 am back in Saskatchewan so if we want to get technical, I’ve been waking up earlier while here. But whatevs… After a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and yogurt, I started planning out my day. I started by doing a quick load of laundry at the hotel. I had anticipated doing this only once during the week I was here, so that I wouldn’t be traveling with dirty clothes. Unfortunately, it’s been so damn hot here (it reached 41 degrees yesterday, or 105 for you Fahrenheit folks). Usually, by the time I get back to the room, I’ve sweated and dried off more than once and I’m burning through clean clothes like a teenager trying on outfits. This led me to start my morning by doing a load. That’s when I discovered something interesting. It is nearly impossible to find single-use laundry detergent. I usually see that shit all the time, back home. In convenience stores and such. But not here, Luckily, with the help of a friend, I found a package with three packets for single use. Satisfied, I headed back and planned to start my load. Lo and behold, the packets were for a “sink rinse” and not an actual washing machine. I didn’t know what effect this would have on in the machine but luckily, I was able to buy a small box from the front desk (at a ridiculously inflated price, of course.

Once my laundry was done and I was showered up and ready to go, I hit up the funeral home. So, here’s the scenario… My parents prepaid for all their funeral arrangements about fifteen years ago. Caskets, services and burial, everything was taken care of. Smart, right? More people should be that proactive. It SHOULD be saving me a bunch of problems in the eventuality that one of them departs. The problem? The funeral location in Dalhousie that holds their contracts has closed. This was a problem in May when I came by but I wasn’t able to get any answers or speak with anybody. This time, I found a branch of the funeral home in Campbellton. I spoke to a very nice man who indicated that all contracts were actually housed at his location, and always had been. This was interesting. He also indicated that since Dalhousie’s undertaker/embalmer had retired approximately ten years ago, the Dalhousie location was used only for services. Preparations were all done from the Campbellton location. He indicated my parents’ contracts were filed and in place and would be honored when the time came. Cue one sigh of relief, right about here…

My next stop was the hospital. Just for a bit of context, the Campbellton Regional Hospital is the only hospital within approximately one hour. There are clinics, walk-ins and private doctor’s offices sprinkled around but this is the only hospital. It’s also where, for approximately one month, my father was brought in for pneumonia, suffered lung failure and was intubated, suffered an undiagnosed stomach bleed that they never remedied and had what we thought at the time, may have been a stroke. He went in as a man whose legs didn’t work and returned to the nursing home as a man whose legs didn’t was paralyzed. The salt in the wound? NO one updated me. No one called me. No one explained to me what happened. They should have and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. I called the hospital three times over the course of the following two weeks. Nothing. No answers, no conversation with the doctor. Usually a generic “someone will call you back.” Then no one would. Silence. Wonderful, right? That’s why I decided that my only option was to come out here and deal with it in person. It’s much harder to ignore and dismiss someone standing in front of you than to ignore and email or fail to return a call.

I walked into the hospital yesterday with a grim determination to get answers. Someone had to know something and damn it, I was going to find out who. As I walked into the hospital, I contemplated stopping at the main reception desk and inquiring. Instead, I decided to start at the source; the ICU. I walked into with the confidence of a man who belonged there and had every reason to be there. I heard my wife’s cautious voice in my head, “Don’t do anything to get yourself arrested…” Not for the first time, her sage words helped calm me and I recognized that I would likely catch more flies with honey. I made my inquiries and asked about obtaining the information. I was told I would have to speak to the hospital archives. Okay, great. They had an orderly walk me there, which was nice. So far, so good. I’m being helped and nobody has stone-walled me. Maybe this would go smoother than I thought. I was about to be proven wrong.

I walked into the archive department and explained my inquiry. The clerk asked me if I had Power of Attorney for my father. Yes, I do. Provided it and she read it. She argued that my mother was listed as Power of Attorney. I explained that she had dementia and no longer holds decisional capacity, meaning the Power of Attorney reverts to me. She stepped out to the back and came back and asked if I had Power of Attorney for my mother. I said that I did but what did that mean? I was there for my father. She explained that her boss indicated that if I could provide mom’s Power of Attorney as well, it would suit their purposes. I’m usually hesitant with things like this but it’s a fucking hospital! They should actually have a copy of both their Powers of Attorney on file. They’ve both been in the hospital and have had their respective Attorneys acting on their behalf. But whatever got the job done, so I explained I would have to walk back to the car and retrieve it. No problem. Okay, back into the heat, get mom’s Power of Attorney and head back in. The air conditioning in the hospital was splendid.

The clerk’s boss was waiting when I came in and took the additional papers from me. She then argued that my uncle Danny was named as Power of Attorney for my mother, not me. I explained that my uncle Danny would not act in this instance, so the Power of Attorney reverted to me. I’m not sure why this was so complicated for everyone to understand. I’m not a lawyer and I can read that document and understand it clearly. Granted, i run a provincial regulator and read legislation on a daily basis, so there’s that. I then placed both my feet firmly in my mouth. I asked what the difference was for my mother, since the Power of Attorney doesn’t prove she had dementia, so it’s pointless to argue over it. They agreed and requested I get a copy of her physical assessment from the nursing home, showing she was deemed as having dementia. Okay, NOW my blood pressure is starting to rise. Excuse me? I understand filling out forms and doing things properly, but it was starting to border on the ridiculous.

I filled out all the appropriate forms and included my email address so that they could email me the materials I asked for once they were reviewed. New Brunswick’s legislation allows them 30 days to complete their review. I’m nothing if not aware of how legislation works. They indicated they couldn’t promise anything but it would be helpful if I could get my mom’s assessment paper work from the nursing home. Like most family members and speaking strictly in generalities, I’m not a big fan of the nursing home or their staff. I understand that everyone is overworked and understaffed but when it comes to a loved one’s wellbeing, there should be an exception to that rule. My parents don’t get the care and attention that they need or deserve. For this reason, I usually have little use for the staff, which is why I was able to breeze in and out of there to visit my folks without engaging anyone. Now, I would have to intentionally do so. Great. I left the hospital thinking I was at least making headway and would soon have some answers.

Once I got back to the car and allowed the A/C to properly cool my head, a thought occurred. My uncle took care of admitting my mother and having her assessment done in my absence. I asked if he had copies of the paperwork. He indicated he did and would dig it up this evening and I could meet him shortly after supper to retrieve it. Perfect! I wouldn’t have to deal with the nursing home. I took solace in this and went to a local coffee shop and relaxed with a coffee and a piece of sugar pie. Exhaustion from the heat and the emotional ups and downs were starting to take their toll. I relaxed for about an hour before returning to the hotel room and refreshing myself, then hit the road for Dalhousie. I toured the town, visited my old high school, wandered the front street and sat by the water front, watching the waves lap gently against the rocks, with the breeze blowing and seagulls screeching overhead. I was in the midst of a fully stereotyped Maritime scene when I remembered that there was a family member I hadn’t taken the time to visit yet; my brother.

The cemetery where my brother is located is on the top of a quiet, scenic hill. Overlooking the bay, there’s no better place in the area for quiet contemplation and remembering one’s departed family members. I don’t pray, talk to the headstone or any of the usual activities that many engage in when they visit a graveyard. For me, it’s more a sign of respect t for my brother that I attend his burial site and just BE there; a symbol of the place where his physical form was last ON the earth before being placed below it. While I stood there in silent reverence, I took a moment to glance up at the headstones for my grandparents and my parents. It always sends a small chill down my spine, as my name and date of birth are included on my parents’ headstone as well. I apparently have a plot available right next to my brother, placing me between him and my parents. But as I looked up at my grandparents’ headstone, something caught my eye; my grandfather’s brother, whom I had known all my life, apparently passed away last year. WTF??? I would have assumed my uncle Danny would have mentioned it to me, but never did. Another fun little notch on the checklist of bullshit for this trip. But I digress…

A brief visit to Danny’s house revealed that he had none of the paperwork he thought he had and certainly no copies of mom’s assessment. Great. Back to square one, except I lost the day relaxing when I should have just taken the initiative instead. I made my way back to Campbellton where I enjoyed a late dinner alone before returning to my room. So this morning, once I’ve showered and shaved, I’ll be heading back to Dalhousie once again to try and get some answers and paper work. I’ve never seen such a complicated process to simply get answers about a medical condition in my life. Hopefully, I’ll have better luck in getting this done today than I did yesterday. Although it’s been nice to see some people that I know, I miss home and my family. I have another three days here and I’m just hoping that the wildfires down south won’t prevent me from leaving. I’m honestly not sure what I’ll do, if this becomes the case. But for now, time to pull my socks up and get the day going. ☯️

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 2…

Considering this is the beginning of my second full day here in New Brunswick, I figured I should get the next post up before memory starts to fade. My flights on Sunday went just about as well as one could expect. The first leg, from Regina to Toronto, saw me relax with a movie and finish out a book I had been reading. However, once I arrived in Toronto and took my phone off of airplane mode, I was hit with a barrage of text messages and emails, outlining that my flight had been delayed by approximately an hour and a half. Fuck. For everyone’s clarity, I chose the early flight that I did because New Brunswick is actually in a time zone that’s three hours ahead of Saskatchewan. So the later I leave, the later in the day I arrive. Couple that with the fact the airport is about a four-hour drive away from my destination, and landing late into the evening becomes a tiring problem. So that hour and half was going to play on me at the other end. Luckily, whatever issue the airline was having got remedied and it was only a forty minute delay.

This forty minute delay was exacerbated by a missing cabin crew member, which meant they couldn’t board the aircraft until this member arrived. Fucking lovely. I landed in Moncton, New Brunswick at about 6:30 pm, local time. My vehicle booking was scheduled for 5:30 and my big fear was that the rental kiosk would be closed. There are no other means of transportation from Moncton to Campbellton short of paying a cab, which would run me up several hundred dollars. Then, I would still face the issue of being unable to get around for the next week AND returning to Moncton. Apparently, the rental kiosk are advised when there are flight delays and they stay open until all flights with potential vehicle renters have landed. I got the keys to my small-sized SUV and hit the highway. The initial leg of the trip north was pretty uneventful; music, singing, sucking back an energy drink and planning out my week in my head. Then, reality decided to slap me in the face…

I reached Miramichi, a small city that usually considered something of an unofficial halfway point between Moncton and the North Shore, without any issue. Besides some frustrating slow drivers, it was uneventful. I decided to play my cards right and stop at the local Walmart to grab some of the small, travel accessories and I would need for my week. I grabbed a quick snack as well and got back on the road. About four or five kilometers up the highway, I came to a blockade that read “Road Closed.” What in the actual fuck??? For reference, Highway 8 is a North/South highway that cuts through a rather large outcropping of the north-eastern part of the Province. Bypassing it and driving along the coast adds almost two hours to the transit. A police vehicle was parked at the boundary, so I parked on the side of the highway and asked him what’s up. He advised that central New Brunswick was currently dealing with a large wildfire that was burning uncontrolled. By virtue of this, the highway was closed due to the danger.

I started to get the definite impression that fate was trying o prevent me from reaching my destination. If you look at the map above, you can clearly see the area circled in yellow is marked off in red. That’s the portion of highway that was closed off because of the wildfire. The detour? A complicated, involved hodgepodge of secondary routes that included some that brought me back a ways south. If I’d had my GPS on when I left the airport, I might have seen this closed portion and could have planned accordingly. In this instance, since I was traveling the highways I had grown up on, I didn’t bother. I guarantee the damn GPS got activated after that. I drove for almost two hours along this detour before I finally got back on Highway, just outside of a small area named Lavilette. Think that little red dash looks small? Insignificant? Not that very far? Let’s put some of that into perspective for you…

The detour has drivers heading North-East on Highway 11, which during the daytime is actually a beautiful and scenic coastal drive. It also takes significantly longer, since it curves outwards along the coast instead of simply cutting straight through. Once you pass a small village called New Jersey (totally not kidding, we have such a place in New Brunswick), you turn onto a secondary back road at a village called Lagaceville. This brings you to Route 480, which eventually brings you back to Highway 8, where one can continue on their way. All in all it adds roughly an hour onto a four hour drive. To add insult to injury, it was dark, these secondary routes weren’t lit and drivers were going significantly below the speed limit. In the end, I walked into my hotel for check in at approximately 10:30 pm instead of roughly 8:30 pm as I had originally planned. Thank god my flight wasn’t any later in the day.

On the brighter side, my front desk clerk recognized me from my visit in May. He commented on how late I was checking in. Not in a sarcastic or rude way, mind you; just asking about how my travels had been. When I explained, he upgraded me to a room with a king sized bed. While generous, I didn’t need extra bed space as I’m sleeping alone. It would have been better to simply have one of my nights comped. But in any case, generous is generous and I thanked him for the consideration. The room’s A/C was blasting and the room was like a refrigerator. Perfect. I always run hot, so after a day’s travel, this was a welcome temperature. I unpacked my necessities for the night and I c rushed. Hard. It was a fitful sleep, as I never quite seem to sleep well when away from home. But I got some rest and made it through my first night. I had a pretty full day yesterday, But I’ll include that in a seperate post, since it might get too lengthy to jam into this one. Needless to say, these won’t be the last hiccups I deal with during my week…

☯️

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…☯️

Supplementation, Part Sept…

For those who are new to reading, this is the sixth time I publish this post. And for good reason. In a world where proper nutrition is becoming more and more challenging, understanding how the vitamins and minerals we consume play an integral role in our health is paramount.

I absolutely love this post! I consider it to be one of the best-written and important posts I’ve ever drafted and when I mention this to some of my readers and/or followers, it usually catches them by surprise. Perhaps they believe that my endearment should be reserved for posts about martial arts or even Diabetes. But the truth is, the contents of this post cover a lot of the bases: nutrition, health and requirements of the body, which all play an integral role in maintaining proper health for Diabetes and ensuring one can train and develop their fitness acumen. So read on, if you haven’t. Scroll on by if you read it last year…

I consider the consumption of vitamins and minerals to be an important part of maintaining one’s health. It’s no surprise that modern nutrition is sorely lacking in most people and with every reposting of this material, I’m reminded of the importance of taking a steady multivitamin on a daily basis; a fact my doctors keep reminding me, as well. With the colder weather hitting our area and everyone’s immune system taking a hit, vitamins and supplementation are very important. So, bearing in mind that I’m not a doctor or nutritionist, here’s what I posted all the way back in June of 2019. Enjoy!

One of the key reasons behind the consumption of food is to obtain carbohydrates for energy. The human body requires energy to carry on normal functions and, well… stay alive! But what else do we get from the food we eat? A proper diet will also include a number of vitamins and minerals that we require to maintain proper health, growth and energy levels within the body. We’ve all heard about getting enough vitamins from a young age. I remember getting my Flintstones vitamin everyday as a kid.

But if you’re like most people, you’re likely wondering what these vitamins are for and what they do. My goal is to cover off the main ones here:

Vitamin A: This is an all-around vitamin that provides a number of functions including but not limited to the proper health of various bodily functions, tissues and helps to fight chronic disease and is known to be good for the eyes.

Vitamin B: This one is a bit complicated, as there is a large grouping of enzymes, vitamins and minerals that fall under the “B” category. In general, B-vitamins are used for energy production, immune function and absorbing iron. Some them include B2 (riboflavin), B3 (niacin), B9 (folate) and B12. There are a few more that I can’t recall, but B12 is considered amongst one of the most important of vitamins overall because it helps you turn food into energy.

Vitamin C: At some points, this one has been referred to as the sunshine vitamin. I’m thinking that’s mostly because people’s main source of Vitamin C is from citrus fruits. But this vitamin also helps with iron absorption, immune function and is a natural antioxidant that helps with the elimination of free radicals. Eating citrus fruits are also what sailors used to eat on long voyages to prevent scurvy.

Vitamin D: This vitamin helps with the strengthening of bones and teeth. Our bodies are designed to self-generate this vitamin naturally through exposure to sunlight, but obviously that needs to be done in small doses. Modern life has created an environment where more people spend their time indoors, away from the sun. So supplementation becomes important.

Vitamin E: A pretty straight forward vitamin, this one helps with proper blood circulation and clear skin.

Vitamin K: This vitamin is essential for blood-clotting. In order words, if you’re deficient in this vitamin, small cuts or injuries can cause excessive bleeding that can become dangerous.

Folic Acid: We hear people speak about this one as being necessary during pregnancy. And they would be correct! Folic Acid helps to prevent certain complications during childbirth but is important to everyone for proper cell renewal. This one is also known as Folate, or Vitamin B9 (as listed above).

Calcium: Most people should be familiar with this one. Teeth and bones, people! Teeth and bones! Good calcium levels are required to keep those body parts healthy.

Iron: This helps to build muscle tissue naturally and helps with proper health of the blood. As an interesting sidebar, it’s also what makes your blood red through the reflection of light!

Zinc: Immunity and Fertility. I’m a little unfamiliar with this one and haven’t had the opportunity to research it a great deal.

Chromium: This one is near and dear to my heart. Because it helps to control blood sugar levels. Chromium is what helps all the systems of your body to get the energy they need when they need it. Some traditional medicine practitioners will suggest Chromium supplements for Type 1 Diabetics who may have difficulty in maintaining proper levels.

Magnesium: This one helps your body to absorb all the other vitamins and minerals. It also acts as something of a relaxant to muscle tissue and play a role in proper muscle contraction.

Potassium: This mineral helps with the proper hydration of your body and helps to control blood pressure.

There are many others of course, but I’ve tried to cover off the main vitamins and minerals required for a proper diet. We get most of what we need by eating regularly and including a variety of healthy foods. A lot of people take a daily multi-vitamin, which is fine. But unless you are experiencing symptoms or unexplained illnesses, there shouldn’t be a need to actively try and take added amounts of anything. Your medical practitioner should be able to advise you if further supplementation is required. For example, patients who are recommended to take Folic Acid and Iron during pregnancy.

Obviously, all of this is extremely important; not only for proper health and fitness, which is important to me, but to help with Type 1 Diabetes as well. Taking a daily multivitamin can help to ensure that your body gets everything it needs, in combination with carbohydrates, lean proteins and fibre. My wife Laura originally gave me the idea for the post I wrote in 2019 when she asked about B-vitamins. Every time I re-post this material, I think of her. The credit for this post is all her! ☯️

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. ☯️

It’s All A Battle…

Look, I’m a kata guy. I love doing a karate workout where I focus primarily on form. I can still work up a sweat, work on my foundations and manage to sharpen my skills and strength. People tend to frown on kata, claiming it holds little to no value in actual combat. Fair enough, but is it an integral part of getting there. And this’ll make more sense shortly. Most people, in general, enjoy kumite a lot more. No, I don’t mean the fake tournament that was depicted in the movie Bloodsport. I mean actual kumite, which is done in karate. Perhaps as a safe starting point, I should explain the two.

Kata, or form, is a pre-arranged pattern of movements, techniques and stances that are repeated in sequence. The idea behind kata is that it is the foundation, focusing mainly on stance, precision and the delivery of strikes and blocks. The movements will sometimes be exaggerated or done beyond what one might do in practice. This is based on the “give ‘em an inch” concept, where doing it to a certain extent in form will guarantee one’s ability to perform it to the required level in actual combat. Kata are often viewed as something ceremonial and often used for demonstration purposes.

Kumite, or sparring, is usually where one brings the techniques and methods developed through kata into practice. The combat here is normally simulated, although some styles do engage in full contact sparring. In my style, we often did both, with focus on the control of techniques and the depth and power in which we used them. One can practice kumite with one or more opponents and it can be used to sharpen one’s skills in ways that can’t be achieved in kata. An easy comparison would be a boxer who only does shadow boxing and never strikes a bag. The form may be good but without the development of striking an actual target, proper skill will never be achieved.

No matter one’s preference, both are needed to train and develop properly. many see kata as useless. This stems from the belief that the choreographed and pre-arranged movements of kata do nothing to prepare a practitioner for actual combat. But if one tries to do kumite without first learning kata, the foundation won’t be there and the techniques will be sloppy, incorrect and many cases, dangerous. If one only does kata and never engages in kumite, proper strength, control and development will never occur and one may be ineffective if one ever needs to defend oneself.

All aspects of karate involve a balance of moving parts and different aspects. You can’t do only one and ignore the rest and still believe you are doing true karate. It’s hard to compete a puzzle if you do so with missing pieces. Of course, that’s the beautiful part of the puzzle that is karate; if done properly, you’ll never be quite done. And as Sensei always used to tell me, karate is a puzzle with a million pieces. The goal isn’t to finish but to go home with one more piece, every day. ☯️

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. ☯️