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Logistics by <a href="http://www.nyphotographic.com/">Nick Youngson</a> <a rel="license" href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC BY-SA 3.0</a> <a href="http://pix4free.org/">Pix4free</a>In my last missive I told the sorry tale of the Mobiliser that has ceased to mobilize!

The Girl ain’t happy – and when The Girl ain’t happy… well – you can join the dots for yourself.

So – what is to be done?

Naturally, I contacted the small English firm who make and sell the device. I sent them a recording of the machine’s death rattle and explained the symptoms. They were most helpful and – sight unseen – hazarded a cautious guess at what the problem might be (servo motor gearbox). They even gave me a ball park (and somewhat heart-stopping) figure for fixing the beast…

…if we could get the Mobiliser back to the UK.

Now – this thing folds in half and we sensibly kept the big cardboard box in which it came, but when packaged up the thing has dimensions of:

length: 46″ – breadth: 27″ – depth: 9″

…so – it isn’t small – and it weighs 40lb!

Canada Post were helpful – but quoted us a figure of around $800 dollars for the one-way trip. I swallowed hard, but that was as nothing compared to Fedex who quoted me double that amount (and are probably amongst the cheaper carriers). Canada Post man also suggested that I try Air Canada Cargo – which I thought was a good idea. They would have been happy to help, but pointed out that getting the box back to Heathrow is only half of the battle. Once there one has to hire a broker to get the thing through customs.

The cheapest option” – opined Canada Post man – “would be to take it there yourself“.

Now – as it happens The Girl and I are heading to the UK in about two and a half weeks time. The trouble is, we are not going to the south east – where the company is based – but to Scotland. If all goes to plan we should be at Heathrow for about six hours as we transit from west to north. Perhaps there is a way of arranging a hookup with some helpful person who could relieve us of this weighty package and see that it gets to the manufacturer… then, three weeks later, could get it back to us on the return journey!

This is the sort of plan that works fine in practice but contains all sort of traps and gotchas that can throw the whole thing into chaos and confusion. “But surely” – I sense you thinking – “air travel these days has become so routine and prosaic that all such things must be feasible“. All we need to do, you might think, is to cast our minds back to our recently travel experiences to set our minds at rest… Oh!!…

Contemplation and negotiations continue. We are determined  that we must come up with some solution, because The Girl is sorely (see what I did there?) missing her regular treatments.

Look out for further installments….

 

 

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“Every time I go to the dentist they say, ‘You really need to fix that gap of yours’. I’m like, ‘My gap is paying your dentist bills.'”

Lara Stone

I grew up in the UK during the late 50s and the 60s – at a point at which British dentistry was busy earning itself a seriously poor reputation. Fluoridation was still a matter for argument – our parents’ generation were busily making up for the difficulty of obtaining sugar during the post-war years of austerity and – in the case of dental health for children – the public policy was one of “drill and fill”.

A generation of kids – self included – grew up seriously traumatised by such dental experiences.

Now – I had at the time what I took to be a charming gap between my two front teeth. My dentist – immune to that charm – decreed (and in those days one just went along with such ‘expert’ opinion) that the gap should be closed and he duly ordered for me an implement of torture designed to slowly force my two front teeth together by the slow turning of a screw. The device was hideously uncomfortable and cumbersome and I naturally did what (mildly) rebellious youths were expected to do.

Yet another visit to the dentist left the man in charge puzzled as to why his hideous apparatus was not having the desired effect and he was clearly keen to come up with some even more fiendish device for my next visit.

Before this could happen my brother obligingly resolved the issue. We were both keen cricketers (he considerably more talented than I) and we were regularly involved in scratch games on our local cricket green. My brother was possessed of a decent arm and could generate a fair bit of pace. On this occasion a short delivery leapt from the pitch and caught me square in the mouth. One of my front teeth was broken in half and – as it later transpired – the one next to it left in a permanently discoloured state. I had to have a crown fitted to the broken tooth, which at least finally dealt with the gap.

And thus things remained throughout the decades. We Brits are nowhere near as keen on cosmetic dentistry as are our North American cousins and I had finally reached an age at which I could tell my dentist to get lost, so my oddly coloured teeth became a fixture. As a result my smile has always been somewhat guarded and this has contributed in no small measure to my distaste for having my photograph taken.

Until recently…!

Now that I live in Canada things have taken a turn for the better, without my really having had to do anything about it. Whilst having some routine work done last year my new dentist decided that I must really want my discoloured tooth upgraded and – by means of some modern magic potion – rendered it into an almost acceptable tone without a word being spoken. Then – this year – a small piece of my by now venerable crown broke off and I had to have a new one made. After some helpful consultation – and by means of yet more magic – I now have a set of front teeth that actually look as though they are meant to be together. I guess I now look the way my UK dentist envisioned that I should more than fifty years ago. Wonders will never cease!

There – that didn’t hurt a bit…

 

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Last Friday The Girl and I had a telephone consultation with the Travel Medicine and Vaccination Centre here in Victoria. Our purpose was to establish that which would be required for our forthcoming trip to Africa.

Now, The Girl has a rather splendid written record of her previous vaccinations and it was a breeze to determine what (if anything) is in need of updating and what additional precautions should be taken to keep her safe on the basis of our detailed itinerary.

I – naturally – presented a rather different challenge. I feel sure that all in the UK must now be effected in a considerably more rigorous manner than ‘when I were a nipper’; clearly I must have had the usual round of immunisations for a child growing up in the UK in the 60s – but I as far as I can recall I have never possessed a written record thereof. With the memory of a man heading rapidly towards his eighth decade there was no chance that I could categorically state that which I had had and when I had had it.

The lady from the TMVC cut through all the cr*p. I mattered not a hoot what jabs I had had back in the day; with the exception of HEPs A & B (which I had somehow contrived not to have thus far) everything would need to be updated anyway.

We thus presented ourselves the following day at the TMVC to be stuck like pin cushions. Tetanus, Typhoid, Polio, Diphtheria, HEP A & B… It is a good thing that we each have two arms !

Anyway – ’tis done and all we need to do now is to pick up our Malaria medication. Things have apparently moved on since my last experience of these vile tinctures – the which saw me through a visit to India back in the 80s. Then – having failed to read the instructions for the tablets with adequate care – we experienced several distressing nights of psychotic reactions – waking at 4:00am, sweating profusely with pounding hearts and the conviction that we were about to die in our beds. Not nice!

Preparations for the Africa trip are proceeding apace. Travel in Botswana on small planes necessitates the toting of only very limited luggage. We not only had to purchase soft bags small enough to fit into the cargo hold of a Cessna, but also to equip ourselves with a new safari wardrobe. The limitations are not solely to do with weight. The wildlife in Africa doesn’t like whites or other bright colours. The mosquitos – on the other hand – do like blues, blacks and other dark colours.

As we are travelling in the African winter we must be prepared for cold 5:00am starts, but also for 30C days. Layers it is then – and of suitably lightweight clothing. It is a good thing that Canada – being a nation in love with the great outdoors – has plentiful supplies of high-tech gear that is just the job (though at a price, of course).

Well, I think that is about enough of an update for now. More – of course – to come!

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“If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed”

William H. McRaven

When The Girl and I started living together – many moons ago now (and long before this online journal was even a glint in the eye) – one of the first things that she suggested as a means of improving our life together was that we should purchase a new bed. Her reasoning was that – since sleep is such an important restorative for both the body and the mind and given that we spend a considerable percentage of our lives between the sheets (perchance in the land of slumber!) – we should ensure that we had nothing but the finest of tools with which to work. This – naturally – appealed to me as being an admirable ethic, so out we set to purchase a bed.

We were fortunate enough to find a really good deal (end of line for this particular model!) on a splendid hand-made Vispring bed, the which we have enjoyed over the years since – dragging said item halfway around the world with us to our new Canadian home.

Now, the bed has a thirty year warranty and would doubtless go on serving us well for some time to come – were it not for a couple of factors that we had not previously foreseen.

The first is that even really good mattresses do decline over the decades. Our mattress was split between a firm side (mine) and a soft side (The Girl’s). Her side had become less supportive over the years and was eventually not doing enough to keep her comfortable and ache-free throughout the night.

I made reference to the other matter in a couple of posts earlier this year. It involved something of a sleep issue that I was experiencing and – if you really must know the details – I recommend those musings to you in preference to re-hashing things here now. Anyway – one of the outcomes of that episode was that The Girl and I decided that it would be a good idea to purchase a bigger bed.

Something I did not know before moving to the land of ‘Big‘ (but which in retrospect should have been obvious) is that bed sizes here are very different here to those back in the Old Country. Our Vispring bed was a UK King size. Here the same sized bed is but a Queen! Standard King-sized beds here are a whole ten inches wider than was ours!

Long story short… we are now the proud owners of a rather lovely wooden Canadian King-sized bed, complete with a splendid multi-layer latex mattress (the which is a first for us both).

The down-side of up-sizing one’s bed is – of course – that one’s duvets and bedding no longer fit and must at some point be replaced. In the short term we are managing with a couple of UK King-sized duvets, but the question is – how to deploy them. Does one go for the (apparently) European approach of having an overlap in the middle of the bed (which looks rather odd and tends to leave far too much duvet hanging over the sides of the bed)? We may well adopt this approach when we get around to purchasing new duvets, but utilizing a couple of twin-sized duvets rather than the UK Kings.

In the meantime we have opted temporarily to sleep Burrito-style – the which is somewhat restricting when it comes to contact but is oddly effective in all other ways.

Oh well! First-world problems, of course!

 

 

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…no – not actually!

So – a couple (or more) of posts back I mentioned that we had finally plucked up the courage to return to the theatre here in Victoria for the first time since the start of the pandemic. On the very day of The Girl’s birthday we had tickets booked once again for a matinee at The Belfry.

I further mentioned in that post that we had had a phone call from the theatre – on the morning of the performance – informing us regretfully that as a result of an unspecified illness (not Covid – or so they said) that day’s performance would be cancelled.

After a little too-ing and fro-ing we managed to get our tickets rebooked for the following weekend and on the anointed day duly trundled our way into town to see the show.

We eschewed the refreshments in the foyer cafe – eager to keep our masks firmly on – and took our seats for the performance. A short while after the stated start time the Front of House manager appeared to make an announcement. There would be a short delay – she declared – because of a technical issue. We were welcome to retreat back to the foyer for ten to fifteen minutes whilst things were sorted out.

Ten to fifteen minutes later we were back in our seats and hoping to see the house lights go down.

Instead we were again treated to the presence of the Front of House manager. This time she admitted that there was yet again an unspecified illness (again – not Covid related, supposedly) and the show would not be able to go ahead. Ticket refunds through the box office etc, etc…

Well! This was – frankly – bizarre. I have never before – in all my years of theatre-going – been bumped out of a theatre after the advertised curtain-up time. It would have been nice to have received a proper explanation.

Sadly, we really wanted to see that show but were unable to get tickets for any of the subsequent performances since they were all already sold out.

Hmmm!

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‘Nuff said…!

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“Pain: An uninvited guest that comes into our lives that demands our fullest attention before it can even think about leaving us.”

Unknown

Bah!!!

Well – I guess it was inevitable…

When The Girl and I returned the other day from our travels abroad we brought with us an uninvited guest.

That’s right – we got COVID!… and that after all the worrying earlier in the year as to whether or not we should be traveling at all.

To be fair – the world is a very different place to that which it was a year ago. Back then we went to great lengths to keep ourselves healthy. Now, in many countries, the assumption is that – vaccinated or not – one will eventually succumb to the virus. Here in Canada we may still be wearing masks to go grocery shopping – and certainly if we go to the theatre or to a concert. For goodness sake – even our national carrier still insists on masks being worn at all times – which is certainly not the case with all airlines.

In the UK and in France the great majority of folk do not wear masks at all and many other precautions seem to be exercised in a desultory fashion if at all. I read a piece the other day by a Brit who had recently been infected, the which meant that he was no longer one of the 15% of the population that had not had the virus – and thus joining the 85% that have! The gist of his piece was that the majority of those recently infected belong to the group that had never had COVID, rather than being re-infections of those that have.

Now, The Girl and I are both inoculated to the eyeballs – four shots apiece (the which clearly did not stop us catching the wretched thing!) – and we are now isolating and relying on dearest friends to do our shopping for us. My symptoms are mercifully mild – little more than a scratchy throat and a predilection for sneezing. The Girl – as is sadly the way with such things – is having a tougher time, as a sinus infection seems to have taken advantage of her weakened state to set up shop alongside the spiky thing. Not fair! Not fair at all!!

The only bright side (and certainly not one that I will bring to The Girl’s attention just yet awhile) is that our four shots will shortly be joined by the additional immunity that comes with a having a dose of the blasted thing…

Hey ho!

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As reported in my last post – back in the early part of winter my doctor referred me to a sleep specialist and sent me for a head CT (without contrast). If you want to know why – read that last post.

Now – we are most fortunate to live within five minutes drive of the Saanich Peninsula Hospital – which is where I get all of my lab work done. I paid them another visit for my head CT – which took all of about two minutes. I was in and out so fast that it hardly seemed worth going at all – but when the results came back they confirmed that I do still have a brain and that it looks pretty much the way that 68 year old male brains should.

This is all good news.

The sleep study was considerably more of a pain. Having had a phone consult with the specialist I was booked in for a night at the clinic – the which is up in Nanaimo, about an hour and a half’s drive up island from here. I had to be at the clinic by 9:00pm on a Friday evening and was told that I would be booted out at 6:00 the next morning.

Things have, of course, been disrupted by the COVID pandemic. My instructions were to arrive at the clinic and to park outside, awaiting a phone call to tell me when they were ready to admit me. This I duly did, in company with the other poor souls undergoing the same ritual. One by one we were summoned, taken inside to our rooms and, eventually, wired up to a huge harness and loads of sensors, which were stuck to our bodies with some sort of unpleasant goop. We were then invited to go to sleep whilst the technicians monitored our vital signs.

I cannot say that I had a good night’s sleep – so I have some doubts as to the value of the data recorded. Sleep was difficult because:

  • the bed was uncomfortable
  • the pillow was uncomfortable
  • I was obliged to wear pajamas (which I never do!)
  • the room was far too hot
  • I was wearing a cumbersome harness of cables
  • the technician woke me up a number of times during the night, over the intercom, to request that I sleep on my back (which I rarely do!)

All in all then – a rough night. At the end of it I was woken abruptly and sent packing (no showers for COVID reasons). 6:00am on a winter Saturday morning, with snow falling and unpleasant goop in my hair… I had to drive back down the island to catch the first ferry of the morning from Mill Bay over to the peninsula. The photo at the top of this post was from that ferry crossing. Not too much traffic at that time of day, you’ll note.

But what of the sleep study?” – I hear you cry. What indeed? The follow-ups with both the sleep specialist and my doctor revealed nothing conclusive. The sleep specialist is convinced that I do have a bit of sleep apnea – when I lie on my back (which I rarely do!) – but couldn’t say anything else definitive. He suggested we wait for a few months and then go around the circuit again.

Joy!!

The one definite thing that he did observe was what looked like a heart arrythmia. Concerned about a heart block he flagged this up with my doctor who in short order sent me back to Saanich Peninsula Hospital to get set up with a Holter Monitor to wear for 24 hours. This monitor revealed that I do not have anything like a heart block – but what I do have is Premature Atrial Contractions (PAC). This is where one gets additional contractions in front of the actual heartbeat. During the 24 period that I was monitored I apparently had some 15,000 additional early contractions.

Did I ever have heart flutters or palpitations?” – asked my physician. ‘”No!” – said I – truthfully. “Probably nothing to worry about then” – quoth he. Even Dr Google agrees with this diagnosis!

I reassured my doctor that he was not the first to have noticed this slight irregularity – and none of the other doctors who did so knew what to do about it either.

Still – gives them something to ponder on, I suppose…

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So – here’s the thing… (this is – should you be wondering- a continuation of my last post, ‘Ask your doctor – 1‘).

Over the last year or so I have experienced a few random instances of an odd phenomenon connected to sleep and to dreaming.  I have always dreamed vividly, but on these occasions I have woken abruptly from the dream to find myself ‘acting’ it out. In other words – if in the dream I was being attacked and tried to retaliate – I would awake and find myself doing just that.

This is, of course, somewhat worrying because of the potential to cause injury to myself or to The Girl. Clearly something needed to be done about it and – naturally –  I did what I should not have done; I consulted Dr Google!

Dr Google knows a lot about parasomnias and in this instance he directed me to some literature on the subject of REM Behavioural Disorder (RBD). It seems that this is a dysfunction of the muscle atonia that the body utilises during REM sleep to prevent one from physically engaging whilst dreaming. This sort of thing can, sadly, occur as one gets older.

The worry lies less in the immediate behavioural issue – the symptoms of which may be ameliorated by such treatments as taking a nightly dose of Melatonin – but in that RBD is thought to be a long-term precursor to other neurodegenerative diseases such as Parkinsons or dementia with Lewy bodies. These are a considerably less pleasant prospect – even if years in the future.

Dr G also offers the sop that that not everyone with RBD goes on to develop Parkinsons and indeed that there are other sleep disorders that mimic RBD. One should not, of course, in any case rely on the good(?) doctor for diagnosis and I took notice of this. Clearly the thing to do was to actually talk to my own doctor – which I duly did (talk only – of course – because one doesn’t actually get to see one’s doctor these days – only to chat over the phone!).

With a new scent to pursue my doctor was immediately off and running. He quickly arranged for me to have a head CT (scan) at our local hospital – and he further referred me to a sleep specialist (that’s not someone who just sleeps a lot!). This all took place back in the autumn (Fall) and I promise that I will shortly finish this saga in a third and final post – to let gentle readers know where that all went.

Bet you can’t wait!

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”Take charge of hidden, sneaky sources of chronic inflammation that can trigger illness and disease by wearing comfortable shoes daily, getting an annual flu vaccine, and asking your doctor why you’re not on a statin and baby aspirin if you’re over the age of forty”.

David Agus

Yes indeed – ask your doctor… but you had better be prepared for what he or she might say – and indeed what that might lead to. Still, it is good to feel well looked after.

Gentle readers may recall that around this time last year my ever-zealous doctor drew my attention (as part of my annual check-up) to signs that my liver might be developing a certain fattiness and that a change of lifestyle was probably overdue – a diagnosis confirmed by means of an ultrasound of the organ concerned.

Actually – regular readers would not have been able to read about this last February as I didn’t post the pieces concerned until May. Well – one wants to see how these things pan out before committing word of them to an enduring forum such as this.

Anyway – as reported back then, a fair bit of weight was lost by yours truly (and remains so) and a variety of acceptable comestibles were sourced that were apparently both palatable and yet reasonably healthy. At this year’s edition of the examination my doctor nodded approvingly at my liver stats and suggested that – with the passing of another year – we might revisit the ultrasound process with a view to determining if the fattiness were gone… which is, apparently, a quite feasible outcome.

Now – all of these health related shenanigans seem to me quite enough to be getting on with, particularly with Covid lurking constantly in the background waiting for the slightest slip-up. The fact, however,  that my doctor complains (unsurprisingly!) of being swamped with work doesn’t seem to stop him jumping onto the slightest casual remark and turning it into a further investigation…

Actually – that is unfair. He is simply admirably conscientious – and I did raise another matter with him during the year the which set in motion a further unexpected chain of events.

The tale thereof will, however, have to wait for the second part of this missive – which will follow forthwith.

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