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…☯️

Monday, Bloody Monday…

I’ve often written ab out how Type-1 Diabetes affects just about everything in a person’s life. And this is true. But on occasion, it hits a particular level of annoying. This was the case with a particularly troublesome infusion set change that took place a little over a week ago. For those who aren’t familiar with insulin pump therapy, the infusion set and reservoir for an insulin pump needs to be changed out every three days. This is because after three days, insulin will start to crystallize within the tubing walls, causing an inaccurate delivery of insulin.

On this particular Monday, I noted that I only had about two or three units left in the reservoir. Usually, this means that I’ll need to change it up before I reach my next meal, since I won’t have enough to bolus for any carbs I may consume. I was walking towards my home office and had just finished a round of rather hot, sweaty yard work at home. The weather was summery as fuck and I was wearing khaki cargo shorts. I pulled the pump from my waistband and raised my shirt enough to access the infusion set. A quick twist of the infusion set disconnected it from the cannula injected into my abdomen.

Then, came the bloody part. The cannula is injected into the abdomen using an IV-style injection method. This means that the cannula sits over a surgical needle that injects into the abdomen. As I pull the needle out, the cannula stays in. Seems pretty simple, right? It usually is… The infusion set is then held in place by a significantly solid adhesive. This not only prevents the cannula from prematurely coming out of the abdomen but provides some water-proofing as well, for when I shower, swim, etc.

Ever use wax strips? Had a piece of packing tape, a sticker, anything, stuck to your flesh and pulled it off suddenly? It’s uncomfortable and irritates the skin at the best of times. It’s even worse for people with body hair that wasn’t MEANT to be waxed off! As I walked towards my desk, I gripped the cannula cover and pulled hard in order to peel the adhesive from my abdomen and free the cannula.

While it’s normally never comfortable to start with, I felt a searing sting, not unlike walking into an area with a number of wasps buzzing around. I felt skin stretch and hair tear away; once again, hair that wasn’t meant to be removed. I whimpered ever so slightly, aware that being any louder would likely alert my two young sons, who absolutely LOVE any excuse to expose daddy’s weaknesses. I continued to walk towards my desk to get fresh components to refill my pump and thought the worst was over.

Oh, how wrong I was… As I was filling a fresh reservoir with insulin, I felt an odd dampness every time I leaned forward. Not one to usually wet myself, I looked down and saw a grapefruit-sized blood stain across the front of my shorts. I also noticed a trail of quarter-sized droplets of fresh blood on the basement floor, starting roughly where I had pulled the cannula patch out. Looking like something out of a shitty horror “B” movie, there was blood everywhere.

I quickly stemmed the bleeding at its source and proceeded to install a fresh infusion set so that I could restore insulin delivery. I made my way upstairs, only to be greeted by my wife and both my kids in the kitchen. They looked at me with a horrified look. My wife asked what happened. The boys were just fascinated. After quickly explaining what took place, the boys ran downstairs, enthralled by the prospect of spilled blood. Little psychos.

They came back up giggling, with the oldest saying “Wow, dad… It looks like you murdered someone in the basement!” This prompted a tirade of “Daddy murdered someone, Daddy murdered someone” from the youngest. I had to calmly explain how perhaps we didn’t want to be yelling that Daddy murdered someone. But they were having way too much fun. I spent the next thirty minutes cleaning up my floor and spot treating my shorts before the blood could set.

Pulling out any of my pump equipment will rarely cause such a level of bleeding. But once in a while, the stars align JUST right for there to be a gushing comparable to an arterial spray! This was just such an occasion. Just one more aspect of type-1 Diabetes that causes extra work and issues. What is one to do? Luckily, everything my pump does to keep me alive and healthy far outweighs any occasional, negative aspect that rears its ugly head. ☯️

Don’t Stress About It…

Ahh, stress… Like a constant, unwanted passenger on an otherwise uncomfortable ride. Everybody experiences stress in some given way, shape or form over the course of their lives. In many ways, without even realizing it, but there are no exceptions. While not inherently a good thing, most folks don’t realize that stress is a normal function of the body and is usually the response to a significant change or challenge that pops up on you.

According to WebMD, which I love to peruse. “When you feel stressed, your body releases certain hormones. […] The hormones your body releases when you’re stressed get you ready to meet the challenge or demand in your environment. During the stress response, your body gets ready to flee or fight by increasing your heart rate, breathing rate, and blood pressure.” Sounds pretty reasonable, right? Something that preps you for the challenge you’re about to face?

The point, and the article touches on this, is that stress, in controlled amounts, helps us to get things done and accomplish tasks. Without stress, we’d be left with a “fuck it” mentality where most of us would accomplish very little. The problems arise from being in a stressed state constantly or semi-permanently. The problems arise is that prolonged periods of stress can affect the entire body and mind. It’s taken a lot of decades for people to wake up and realize that emotion and mental health plays a huge part in physical health.

On the emotional side, prolonged periods of stress may cause unusual bouts of emotion, good or bad, sadness, depression, restlessness, short term memory issues and issues focusing long enough to meet your goals or get things done. A lot of this actually sounds like symptoms of poorly controlled Diabetes. Imagine that? And I know for a fact THAT shit is stressful! But an important thing to keep in mind is that every person deals with stress differently. While something may be a big deal to one person, it may come off as nothing at all to another.

On the physical side, there’s a lovely grocery list of potential symptoms that may arise from prolonged stress. These symptoms apply to so many things that one may be experiencing stress while simultaneously thinking they’re just unwell. I’m talking about headaches, inability to sleep or sleeping too much, muscle and joint pain, increased heart rate and blood pressure, fitfully breathing, upset stomach and/or diarrhea and loss of sexual desire. Sounds fun, eh? Pair that with the fact that prolonged stress affects your overall immune system, making it easier to get sick. Also sounds like Type-1 Diabetes.

Ultimately, there a varying forms of stress, not just the emotional or physical, and there can be long-term, permanent effects to prolonged or “chronic” stress. The challenge is in recognizing it and taking steps to address it and manage it in a healthy way. Personally, I’m likely the worst in taking steps to address stress. I’m more of a “jump towards the threat head-on” kind of guy. The result is that I’ll often fight my way through stress instead of recognizing and addressing it. The problem with this is that stress releases a bunch of hormones into the body that can significantly increase blood sugars; cortisol being among them. As I’ve often mentioned before, EVERYTHING affects a Type-1 Diabetic’s blood sugars.

At the end of the day and as I mentioned in the opening paragraph, stress is normal. There’s no getting away from it. But staying healthy depends on how you address it and deal with it. When speaking with others, I’ve often compared getting through a period of increased stress to falling into a river with strong current. If you try to swim against the current or get directly out of the water, you’ll likely exhaust yourself and drown. But if you swim with the flow and slowly make your way to the outer edge, you’ll likely exhaust can manage your way to safety. Stress is very much the same. Food for thought… ☯️

Clothes Can Make The Man…

Before everyone jumps on the bandwagon and fills my comments section with hate, this post is intended for everyone, not just men. The title is just what the saying is. Aw, who am I kidding??? No one comments on my posts! But enough about me. A few years back, I posted a video on my YouTube channel (yes, I have one of those, it’s called “The Blogging Buddhist. Imagine that!) about the difference between executing techniques in the dojo versus on the street. If anyone is curious, you can watch the video here.

The jist of the video demonstrates how we train consistently in the dojo, usually wearing fitness gear or a gi, which allows for free movement, flexibility and proper execution of techniques. So what happens when you’re on the street wearing clothing that may hinder or prevent certain movements? It’s been a few years since the video and I don’t get in front of the camera a great deal these days, so I thought I’d summarize my thoughts here.

First and foremost, I got to experience this firsthand, likely more times than I can count, during my time as a police officer. Karate has saved my life in the field often enough that I became a seasoned user of the lessons I’ve learned. That’s not necessarily a good thing but here we are. And there’s nothing that hinders your free movement quite like 50 pounds of gun belt and body armour. So when I say that doing techniques in the dojo are different than doing techniques in the street, take it as gospel truth.

Let’s look at some examples. Starting from the bottom and working your way up, footwear can be both a benefit or a hindrance, depending on the technique. In the majority of dojos, the practitioner trains barefooted. I say “majority,” because I’ve seen some dojos where the students wear sneakers or Kung fu shoes. But if you’re used to executing your kicks barefooted, suddenly trying to carry out muscle memory when your tender tootsies are wrapped in a sneaker or boot can feel different and cause a difference in how you carry out the kick. This can lead to ineffective delivery or potential injury.

Pants! Gi pants are usually loose-fitting and have some give them, allowing for flexibility and fluidity of movement. Ever try to do a solid front kick wearing a pair of skinny jeans? Granted, if you’re wearing skinny jeans, you have a whole other problem. But I digress… My point is, your pants can hinder your movement and limit the height and effectiveness of your kick. This is why it may be ideal to consider either a difference in clothing or allow yourself to train with your street clothes so that you can adapt and adjust to the potential hindrance they may cause.

Tops, shirts and jackets will cause the same issue. A regular, run of the mill shirt isn’t a big deal and should cause much issue but a snug-fitting top or a thick jacket can inhibit your movements and prevent you from effectively carrying out some techniques. In our style, we have a circular middle block that is most difficult to execute while wearing a coat, since the sleeve tends to twist and hold back the arm. If your life depends on blocking an incoming attack, the last thing you want is for your movement to be hindered and potentially cause injury.

There are plenty of little details to consider, as well. Things like whether you’re carrying a purse or a backpack. Most people’s instinct is to hold on to their possessions but this can limit your free movement. Whether you’re wearing a hat or ball cap that can potentially limit your peripherals or get pulled down over your eyes, etc. While one can’t possibly think of every scenario and prepare for every contingency, these are all just things to bear in mind and that, in a self-defense scenario, you may need to decide and adjust on pretty damn quick. It’s just one way to remember that the romanticized version of karate portrayed in shows and movies are very rarely accurate and fighting in the street in the exact same way as you train in the dojo is unlikely. Food for thought…☯️

The Uncertainties of Life, The F$%kin’ Aftermath…

I wasn’t certain that I would bother posting this, but given that there is a quasi-happy outcome to it, I figured, why not? Plus, it’s my fuckin’ blog so if you don’t want to read, just scroll right on by. Okay, rant over. So, as some of you who have read my posts in the past week are aware, I found myself caught in an unfortunate emergency trip back to New Brunswick to see to my father, who was admitted to the ICU with pneumonia and a fungal infection in his lungs, rendering him incapable of breathing on his own.

The first thing that came as a surprise to me is that he allowed himself to be intubated. My father has been waiting to die for well over a decade now, living his life in chronic pain and relegated to a wheelchair. He hasn’t had any measurable quality of life for years and as a result, every time he gets sick, he usually gets angry when he recovers. He’s also in his mid-70’s, which adds a layer of ornery to the mix. I get all my anger instincts from him. The second surprise was that the hospital had no knowledge of my existence and without proof of my identity, would tell me nothing over the phone. Apparently, living on the other side of the country didn’t sway them at all.

Hence, my impromptu trip back to the Maritimes. I’ve already walked you through what went down through the days that I was home, so I won’t rehash all of that. The morning of my departure, I visited my father one last time before starting the 3-hour trip down to Moncton to catch my flight. Still sedated and intubated, I consulted the doctor who updated me on his condition and that he would likely be that way for days to come. By virtue of this, I made the decision to carry out my travel plans and return home. There was nothing else for me to do there and I was of no help. So, I travelled home.

Setting aside flight delays, fighting through crowds in Toronto Pearson Airport and exhaustion. I got home in the early hours of last Thursday morning. On Friday morning, I received a phone call from the hospital advising that my father was taken off sedation and they removed the intubation. He was now breathing on his own and was now starting the rehab necessary to allow him to swallow on his own and complete his antibiotic regimen to fight off the infection. I missed him by just shy over twenty four hours.

I asked the staff if he knew I had been there. They offered to let him know so I passed on that he should be told I was with him for three days, had checked in on mom repeatedly and that all he needed to worry about was recovering. If anything changed or help was needed, I was to be called immediately. They agreed they’d pass on the message and let him know. It’s a difficult thing, recognizing when one has reached the point in life where one must care for one’s parents in much the same manner as they care for you. But we all get there.

I’m not surprised that my father recovered. He’s the only man I know who’s even more stubborn than I am. I’m also not surprised when he advised medical staff that regardless of his condition, he would not be consenting to intubation ever again, come what may. True to form, he was pissed to wake up and find himself well and alive, which is consistent with how he’s been for the past few years. I would have liked to have been there when he woke. Maybe if I still lived in New Brunswick, that might have happened. But you know what they say, we most often find our destiny on the road we least thought to travel.

I can take comfort in the fact that at least for the moment, my father is alive and recovering and should soon be making his way back to the care home to be with my mother. Despite how much of her mind is gone, she definitely hasn’t forgotten him and is looking forward to seeing him back home. ☯️

From Form To Fighting…

Over the decades, I’ve come to discover that many people, especially those who don’t study martial arts, lack appreciation for the importance of katas, or forms (whatever they may be named in one’s respective style). The problem is that to the naked eye, it will often seem as though there is no way that certain techniques learned through form would be applicable in an actual fight. As someone with almost four decades in a traditional art, I can tell you that nothing can be further from the truth.

One good example of this is Tai Chi. Most of us are familiar with Tai Chi; the Chinese martial art where you normally see the practitioner moving in slow, concentric movements that almost appear like more of a slow dance than a martial art. However, Tai Chi is a form of Kung Fu and was originally developed use as a combat style and self-defense. Over time, some styles of Tai Chi have evolved into more of a means of increasing circulation and flexibility, often focusing on more aged practitioners. But traditional Tai Chi techniques learned in this manner can be extremely effective and devastating when used in a combat scenario.

In Okinawan karate, kata is considered one’s foundation. And the entire structure of one’s ability to properly practice karate stems from that foundation. Kata focuses not only on stance and balance, but helps to develop muscle memory and techniques. Without kata, one would be essentially be flying blind and the learning process to effectively execute one’s techniques would take a significant amount of time more than simply working through form.

My experience has shown that most students aren’t fans of form. Mostly because it’s slow, formal, and doesn’t involve much of anything dynamic. Especially inn younger students who would prefer sparring or bag work, the value and concept of kata or forms can be lost on them. At least until such a time when the light clicks on and they finally get their “aha” moment. For some students, this moment never comes and what a terrible loss it is for a student ton never understand the value that form brings to their skills.

Recently, I did my first punching bag workout of the season. Since my punching bag is housed in my garage, getting out to use it depends on the weather. But I was recently able to get out there and clean out the garage and get the bag ready. It felt good to strike something with some impact. As big a fan of kata as I am, eventually, you need to develop your strength and knuckles by making an impact on an actual surface. My workout usually involves a thirty-minute timer with 1-minute intervals of striking paired with a thirty-second interval of rest in between.

As I was halfway through my circuit, I started toying with the concept of performing certain techniques on the bag in the same fashion as I would execute them in kata. This truly opened my eyes to the concept that form is not enough. As important as the foundation may be, eventually you need to build up your walls and put on a roof. Maybe it’s becoming a weak analogy but the true point here is that form is important to show you the way. Practice is what’s needed to show its effectiveness.

For the newer and younger practitioners who may be reading this, don’t sell kata short. The hour you spend doing kata may help your progress in ways you may never realize. But in the traditional martial arts, every form, every technique and every step is for a reason and serves an overall purpose in filling your self-defense toolbox. So be sure to pay attention, train hard and don’t ignore any aspect of what your style has to teach. Food for thought… ☯️

The Uncertainties of Life, Day F$%kin’ Four…

Well, here we are. Zero hour. This morning, I start packing up my rucksack and starting the arduous journey south to Moncton where I will catch the two consecutive flights to get me back to Saskatchewan. It’s been a rough few days, with life delivering a significant one, two punch to my soul. Only just a few short years ago, I used to relish these trips back to the place I was born. I’d get to laugh with my father, connect with my mother and enjoy many of the connections that have been in place since I was a young child. Bit-by-bit and one-by-one, those connections have disappeared. Granted, I got to see Sensei and Guillaume, my friend Ricky and enjoy the beautiful splendor of the sea and mountains that nowhere else could provide. But most of my family have passed away or are gone in some fashion. Did raises the question; when everything and everyone you know and love have gone and only you remain, is it really still home?

I stopped in to see my father yesterday just prior to lunch. Obviously and necessarily, he was still unconscious. They identified a fungal infection in his lungs that will likely see him sedated for days to come. I leave the area without ever having spoken to him (at least while he’s awake). I updated the care home and sat with my mother for a time. I found her sitting in the dining area alone. When asked why she wasn’t sitting on comfier chairs in the living room area, she responded that she could see the open sea here and preferred it. We had some light conversation about everything but each other, mixed with some mild moments of lucidity where I saw hints of the woman she used to be. Mostly berating me for spending money to travel out and asking me if I needed any. Motherhood is a powerful thing, I guess.

It’s currently 5:30 am here and I can no longer sleep. Having woken up pretty much every hour over the past few hours hinted that I would get no further sleep. That puts me at 2:30 am Saskatchewan time, which is pretty much in keeping with how I departed a few short days ago. Since my flight is scheduled to land in Saskatchewan around 10:30 pm tonight, it promises to be a long fuckin’ day. I’ll start by grabbing a hot shower and tracking down a reasonable breakfast before potentially stopping in at the hospital one last time before getting on the highway. I anticipate I may have to come back in the weeks that follow, depending on my father’s outcome. But for now, I need to trust the hospital and the care home to do the best they can for him. For a man who has spent his career solving problems, the most helpless feeling is seeing a loved one in a situation you can’t prevent.

As with all things in life, there will always be some light to meet the darkness. Given the negative connotation of this trip, there has been some positive. I’ve had an awakening of sorts. Some of the specifics, I won’t get into with this post, but I have some changes within my own life that I need to make. Things that I would like to start working towards getting back and improving within my own life. It’s a hard thing when you see two once hard-working and capable people reduced to the mercy of everyone else with nothing left to show for it. Some would argue that they raised a child who’s gone out into the world and done well for himself. And to those people, I would say they are right. Within reason. There should still be some driving element to bring one’s own life to a conclusion that shows some element of accomplishment. I need to make sure I’m happy with myself BEFORE I reach the stage that my parents are in. I have some work to do.

This post will be significantly shorter than the previous ones because the story’s been told. There have been no miracle recoveries, no laughs and hugs with my mother, no smart-ass comments from my father (although my mother did flip me the bird on Monday) and no night out with the friends to have drinks and shoot pool. This was a trip home unlike any other I’ve ever had. If was a trip home to essentially take away the mantle of home. The next time I come here, instead of saying “I need to go home,” I’ll be telling my wife “I need to go to New Brunswick.” Sensei asked an open question that didn’t require an answer but that got my mind thinking. He stared off at one point and asked, “When your parents go, you won’t be coming back, will you?” I

t was obvious he didn’t expect an answer but rather was making a statement. And it got me to honestly ask myself the question. WILL I ever come back once my parents are gone? Since I’ll always be close to Sensei, I would like to think that I will. But I think we’ve reached the point of no return where I can be certain that he’ll never test me for my next dan grading. SO it would only ever be for a social visit. And with my parents gone and no tourist draw to the area besides camping, would there ever really be a reason to come back? I commented a day or two ago about how strange it felt as this was the first visit to New Brunswick I’ve ever had where I don’t have a “mon and dad’s” house to go to. My home is no longer here. A chapter in the story of my life has concluded. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. I may need to meditate on it. ☯️

The Certainties of Life, Day F$%kin’ Three…

My morning is starting with the fact that my chirps motel mini fridge appeared to freeze my two energy drinks last night and the cans burst inside the fridge, leaving me with a mess AND no caffeine to start my day. By virtue of this catastrophe, I’m going to try and keep this brief. Yesterday was the diffuser day, the one where I had to attend the hospital and see to my father.I hadn’t been back to that hospital since my grandfather was living in the veterans’ ward within it. Referred to as a “regional” hospital, it’s quite large for the town that it sits in a town of approximately on 7,000 people. As a comparison, Regina has two hospital of equal size and boasts a population of approximately 250,000 people. Kind makes you wonder what they were thinking. But I digress…

Never one to go any way but his own, I walked into the hospital and looked at the directory board and located the intensive care unit. First floor. Fuckin’ marvelous. I walked down the hall and followed the sign until I encountered two ominous doors with signs to report to the nurse’s station. You know, the kind of doors where they wheel someone in while holding back a family member saying “Sorry, sir. You can’t go in there?” Yeah. Those. I looked around absently but saw no nurses station anywhere. Therefore, I pushed my way through and found the doors opened quite easily. That’s because it turns out the nurses station is JUST inside the doors. Go figure. They pointed out my father’s room and told me they would have the doctor join me.

I walked in and saw a tableau that no child should ever have to see of their parent. Unconscious, hooked to tubes and tied to the bed, my father seemed smaller somehow. He was breathing slowly, with a machine beating in time with the breath ring. A strange, beige slurry was dripping from a bag into the tube running into his nose, feeding him artificially. His vitals and numbers were brightly displayed on multiple screens and low volume blips and beeps went off, every few seconds. It’s hard to picture the once strong, powerful man who raised me in such a state. Even more disturbing is finding someone who appeared to be sleeping that couldn’t be roused.

I spoke briefly with his doctor about his condition. In the interest of my father’s privacy and because it doesn’t matter, I’ll leave the details of that conversation out of the post but suffice it to say we discussed next steps, which unfortunately included the end of life-sustaining treatment if it became indefinite. I spent a few moments speaking to my father because I’m one of those people who can never be certain if an unconscious person can actually hear you or not and I wanted him to hear my voice. I left the hospital pretty despondent and wondering how I had gotten to this point in my life so quickly. Now I would get to go visit my mother and see what the state of union is there.

A positive spin on the day is the fact that I was now driving through the area in the daylight for the first time since landing. I got to see the spectacular open bay and the Appalachian mountains that are a signature of the North shore of New Brunswick. Growing up, I never appreciated this view the way it deserved. And that the way of life, isn’t it? We never quite appreciated the beauty around us while we’re in it. One needs to go without and come back to it to realize what they had. And that a little sad in and of itself. To know that I would be able to walk up to the salty water and dip my toes in whenever I wanted to seems like a pretty sweet deal. But I got to enjoy the view on the transit between Campbellton and Dalhousie.

My visit to the nursing home was almost worse than seeing my father on a ventilator. I scoped out the dining room and living room in anticipation of seeing my mother somewhere. No dice. I walked down the hall to her room and discovered she was nowhere to be found. I started walking back towards the nurse’s station when I met with an employee I had passed in the hallway. When asked who I was looking for, I named my mother and was told she had just been sat in the dining room. Let that sink in for a moment. I looked at every face in the dining room and didn’t recognize my mother in any of them. We found her sitting at a table with some other residents.

When the staff did the whole “Look who’s here?” thing, my mother had no idea who I was. When told I was her son, she stated she had no son. Despite this oversight, they convinced her to come sit in the living room with me. We sat on comfortable chairs and I asked how she was. She mentioned that she didn’t know where her husband was, so I explained that he was in the hospital getting his lungs checked. She asked why. I explained. Wash, rinse and repeat over the next hour. The nurse came over to try and have her take some meds. She fought her off and refused. It took a few minutes of back and forth before I switched to French and intervened, explaining to my mother that she spent all those years ensuring I took insulin so that I could stay healthy. So now, it was her turn to take these pills so that SHE could stay healthy.

Something in the change of language reached her and something in her eyes changed. She asked me how I had gotten there and I told her I took a plane. She asked why I would take a plane to watch her take pills. I then asked her where her glasses were. She claimed she’s never worn glasses. I explain that indeed she had. When she argued further, I held up three fingers and asked her how many she saw. She responded by flipping me the bird and asking ME how many I say. Now I know where I get my attitude. But there were some laughs. The fact she doesn’t remember me or even know my name is hurtful but it really isn’t the worst part. The worst part for me is knowing that losing her mind was the ONLY way she didn’t want to go out. For years, while watching my mother deteriorate, she always said she’d rather get hit by a bus than lose her mind. And now here she is. The woman I knew is no longer there.

Although the day was filled with emotion and difficulty, I found some comfort in seeing them both. And that’s what it comes down to, in the end. The only real emotional value is for the child, who still sees their mother and father instead of a man in a coma and a woman whose mind makes you a stranger. It’s not a way to remember them, nor should I, considering they’re not gone yet. But they both deserve better. They both deserved a better life. Even now, they teach the valuable life lesson that you don’t always get what you want. Food for thought… And now, before I accidentally commit a homicide, I need to go find some caffeine. ☯️

The Certainties of Life, Day F$%kin’ Two…

Well, here we are… Back in Northern New Brunswick and I made it in one piece, albeit not without the fates throwing a few monkey wrenches into the mix. My first flight left Regina without incident and saw me experience a mix of difficulty staying awake (I usually can’t fall asleep on planes) and watching some downloaded movies on my iPad. While the flight itself was uneventful and I even lucked out and had the seat between myself and the other passenger vacant, it was what came next that chose to challenge the very limits of my ability to maintain my calm.

Walking through the Toronto Pearson International Airport is a bit of a surreal experience. A major travel hub for people from across the world into Canada, it’s ALWAYS packed, ALWAYS busy and people seem to lose the very little semblance of common sense they may have had. It blows my mind how people can be in such a rush but have no concept of situational awareness or what’s in front of them. I literally had a lady walking next to me, who… you know when you have someone who’s going JUST slow enough that you can’t overtake them but they’re still going to slow to be behind? Yeah. That. I was right next to her, keeping pace and I was very obviously in plain view but yet she suddenly darted in front of me to cut across. I wasn’t able to stop my next step in time and my foot essentially swept both her legs and very nearly sent her hurdling to the floor. She was pretty indignant until I told her to either watch where she was going or to step BEHIND the person she would bypass.

I had a 3-hour layover in Toronto that saw me enjoy an overpriced meal before finding someplace to hunker down to wait for my next flight. Considering good ol’ PSTD and my general propensity to dislike large crowds, I was NOT in my element. I got an email while I was waiting that said that there were expected high winds at my landing point in New Brunswick and that it may affect the availability of a landing site. IN a bit of a panic, I started brainstorming the possibilities. If I rented a car right then and there, it would take 12 hours to drive to New Brunswick from Toronto. Not very feasible, considering how exhausted I already was. But luckily, my flight boarded without incident. The fight itself was uneventful and I even found myself falling asleep for a bout half an hour, a testament to just bow very tired I in fact was.

When we were on final approach for Moncton, New Brunswick, the winds started to rock the plane to a concern degree. I swear, it was something that I had only seen in the movies. The wings kept flopping back and forth, to the point where a couple of times we almost touch the tree line. When we finally touched down, we did so at an angle that saw the plane buck and right itself in a violent jerking motion that had everyone in the cabin scream and question whether they would be walking off or being carted off. All’s well that ended well, I guess. But it was an experience I could have done without. I made my way down the airport corridor to the car rental kiosk and began the annoying process of checking out the rental IO would be using for the days that followed. While there, I noted a lady speaking with the other rep. She was obviously a bit panicked and was in a situation.

Turns out she had landed about 45 minutes before I had and had missed the passenger bus that would carry her north, She had to make her way home to her elderly parents because she would be placing her father into a care home tomorrow. Sound familiar? If my heart hadn’t already been going out to her, it beat extra strong when she mentioned she needed to get to the North shore; the very area that I was traveling to. When asked, she mentioned she needed to get to Charlo, which is literally along the way to Dalhousie/Campbellton. I offered to give her a ride, which she gratefully accepted. We piled into my rented Nissan Sentra and took to the open road.

Typically, I prefer to travel alone than with people, with the exception of my wife, of course, And traveling with strangers is almost a definite no-no. It’s awkward, people have different taste in music, difference in climate needs, etc. But this lady was a class act and became quite welcome in the vehicle. We had good conversation and discussed a variety of topics, including but not limited to education, child care, the state of the country and our preferred scenic spots along the North shore. After being awake since 2 am, it was a welcomed distraction that helped keep me awake and steady on the road, given my level of fatigue. I got her to her parents’ home in Charlottesville just shortly after 8 pm. She was grateful, especially after I refused to any offer of compensation and I drove away feeling good that I had helped someone from back home. A positive spin on an otherwise negative trip.

I got to my hotel shortly after 9 pm. Now folks, the internet being what it is, I never quite know how far reaching my posts can get, although I am aware there are folks in India and Orient who have read my posts but my main concern is naming a business where there’s the potential they may get pissed and sue me for my comments. So forgive me for keeping the name of the hotel to myself but it feels like something out of a B-horror film. I did try to book the most inexpensive room I could find in the interest of saving as much money as I could, but this is ridiculous. The last time I saw a sleeping space this sparse and without amenities was when I lived in the dormitories at Depot! But at least the floors and the bed are clean and the shower was hot with decent pressure. Although the skinny sliver of soap they provided wouldn’t wash an infant, much less a 200-pound man.

If I sound a little bit negative and on the cranky side, it’s likely because this morning I get to storm the local hospital and try to access my father. Considering the health region in this area is a little weird with accessing people, I don’t know what challenge I’m in for or even what I’ll find once I access him. I suppose I should look on the bright side. I made it here safely, I have a warm place to sleep and I’ll also get to see my mother this morning, which will be nice. I haven’t seen her since I brought her to the care home to be placed as a resident. I’ll also have the opportunity to see Sensei this afternoon. So while it may have been a rushed trip for a generally negative reason, at least there will some positive aspects. And isn’t that the important thing to life in order to eliminate one’s personal suffering? Finding the positive? ☯️