I went to the hospital today for an ultrasound. I look about 22 weeks along, but I can assure you that was not the reason for the test. I"ll be fine, but the visit made me realize a couple of things. One is that despite being so maligned in the media, our provincial health care system is full of good people doing a job that is often thankless.The second is that doctors, nurses and the various technicians must be amongst the world best poker players. During my lifetime, I have had numerous tests and examinations, but I have never been able to read the minds of these people as they have been poking and prodding me. Those people are way too professional to tip their hands. They are expressionless and stoic. It's what you want your health care person to be, but it's hard on the nerves. I have had myself killed off numerous times because I suspected the sudden silence of the health care practitioner meant they had found something seriously wrong. Surely the extra time that they are taking to look at this or listen to that must mean that I'm a goner? To date, I've never been right. Thankfully. I never want to sit across from one of these people during a game of cards.
I really enjoy a game of poker from time to time. I'm not very good though. My buddies often remind me of my first real exposure to the game. It happened as a 16 year old, while we were on a softball road trip to Corner Brook. I kept getting shelled out, but luckily mom was on the trip with us. I lost count how many times that one night that I said "Mom, I need more money." I told mom that we would be on the "halves", so she keep bankrolling me, two dollars at a time. I learned one very important lesson that night - poker is even more fun when you are not losing your own money. I'd like to think that I've paid mom back, but I don't specifically recall actually repaying her. If she can produce an I.O.U., then I'll have no choice but to fork out the dough, but until that happens, mom is out of luck. Even mom's need to be taught a life lesson from time to time.
The reason I like poker has more to do with the sheer enjoyment of being with friends and the camaraderie, than with the prospect of actually winning. I love to study people too. For the majority of us, our real personality reveals itself during a few hours of low stakes poker. Watching when someone folds em or holds em, as well as how they handle the inevitable banter and badgering, are how you get a good read on your playing mates. As kids, my brothers and I would play various card games with cousins, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and mom and dad. Many a wild game of Pass the Ace has been played in my family circle over the years.
I can recall my older brother, Gord, being described as a stingy card player by our elders. At the time, I wasn't one hundred percent sure what that meant, but it wasn't a handle that I wanted. It turn out that being stingy, just meant that he was a thinker and not reckless. These days, I know no one better than Gord at the game of poker. Younger brother Bill was a terrible card player. He was (and is still today) just too nice. You didn't have to win his match sticks because he would just give them to you if you asked. I shouldn't forget my older sister, Margaret Ann. She was the most devilish card player I ever saw. Perhaps it was a combination of a great memory and the ability to deal off the bottom of the deck that made her so formidable. We couldn't win against her. When match sticks turned into nickels, dimes, and quarters, we boys made sure that the rules included a "no girls allowed" clause. We got away with that only because Margaret Ann moved away from home to attend school in the US when she was 16 years old.
As for me.... well, I'd probably describe my poker playing as unpredictable. No one is going to read me because I can't even predict what I'm going to do next. I've certainly never been accused of having a poker face. Can you imagine if I had become a doctor? Because I can't do the stoic thing, I'd have to mix it up so that my patients wouldn't be able to figure me out. In poker, your opponents do this by recognizing your "tells", which are your behaviour cues that come consistently with whatever type of poker hand you have. In order to counter this if I were Dr. Jim, I would sometimes laugh whenever a guy dropped his pants for a testicular exam or I'd sometimes say "oh oh" during a prenatal ultrasound. On further reflection, there is probably a good reason why I'm not a medical professional. I'd probably be sued so often that I'd be as poor as a pauper. I guess, as I did when I was sixteen, I could always shout "Mom, I need more money." I'd better fold while I still can.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
Monday, August 08, 2011
I Hope I'm Full of Baloney
Upon rising from my slumber this morning, I was somewhat surprised to come face to face with the two teary eyed little girls. I immediately thought that perhaps they believed the apocalypse had cometh because this summer's ever present wind and rain had temporarily forsaken us. Kendall and Avery must have reasoned that this was "the calm before the storm" and that the life ending meteor, the final flood, or the fire that finishes us was imminent. I splashed some water on my face to give me a chance to rethink the situation and to try to come up with the fatherly thing to do. Upon reflection, I realized that my kids are fairly level headed and not usually prone to such outlandish thinking. It had to be something else.
A quick check of the Internet didn't provide the explanation that I was seeking. Miley Cyrus hadn't joined a cult (at least not yet), nor had Selena Gomez suffered a permanent case of laryngitis. None of the kids' icons were doing anything that would be considered abnormal for such Hollywood types. As a father of preteen girls, I resorted to the last course of action available to me - I asked them what was wrong.
It turns out that neither girl is too enamoured with the idea of going to swim camp this afternoon and for every afternoon this week. What's up with that? The girls love swimming and are even active members of a competitive swimming club from September to June. It's not like the swim camp was a surprise. We signed them up months ago. They even know some of the instructors and will probably see several of their swimming friends there too. So why the big alligator tears? Such emotions are alien to me. These girls are only 9 and 11 and there have been no signs of the "big change" that will eventually come to them, and indirectly, to me.
Kendall and Avery have enjoyed their time off from school, perhaps a little too much. Kendall can sleep like there's no tomorrow - late to settle each night and loves lounging until well into the morning. Avery has had more face time with the computer this summer than Charlie Sheen has had with his psychiatrist. If the on-line kids' game called Fantage ever goes public, I'd suggest buying a few hundred shares. It will put Microsoft to shame, as it is more addictive and I was even convinced to doll out some cash to the company so Avery could have an upgraded membership. Their mother and I have always tried hard to ensure the girls were adaptable and acceptable of change, but perhaps we've fallen short. I guess the kids were banking on living it up until they had to head back to school in the fall.
Lynda was gone to work while I was tackling this morning's emotional crisis, but thankfully, Grammie was able to lend a hand. Her specially prepared Bologna sandwich for Avery and a few words of encouragement to Kendall helped get the ship righted. I also had the perfect speech all prepared and practiced. One that would help Kendall and Avery see that the "doing" part of life is actually the best part. The motivation for my speech came from the fact that after being "retired" for a while, I'm heading back to work next week. I got a full time, but temporary position with the provincial government that will keep me out of trouble until next spring. Like the kids, my days of lounging and Googling will also be severely limited, so I understand their angst. I told the kids that how they are feeling now is exactly how I will feel next Monday when I have to go to a real office for the first time in a long time. Instead of feeling anxious, we should think of it as being an adventure and that we really are lucky to be able to go to a swim camp and to go to work for the provincial government.
What a load of baloney! The kids seem to have bought it though. They were both in good spirits when I finally dropped them off at the pool this afternoon. Well, at least they seem to have bought the part about being fortunate to be able to go swimming and playing with friends. I doubt they were too convinced about their dad being lucky because he gets to put on a suit and go into an office all day to work. Perhaps when next Monday rolls around I too may be shedding big tears. It is very likely that I will have some reluctance about going back to work. I'm hopeful that there may be a couple of fringe benefits that will make the transition easier: one is that the cafeteria at the Confederation Building serves Bologna sandwiches; the other is that my premium Fantage membership works on the government computers.
A quick check of the Internet didn't provide the explanation that I was seeking. Miley Cyrus hadn't joined a cult (at least not yet), nor had Selena Gomez suffered a permanent case of laryngitis. None of the kids' icons were doing anything that would be considered abnormal for such Hollywood types. As a father of preteen girls, I resorted to the last course of action available to me - I asked them what was wrong.
It turns out that neither girl is too enamoured with the idea of going to swim camp this afternoon and for every afternoon this week. What's up with that? The girls love swimming and are even active members of a competitive swimming club from September to June. It's not like the swim camp was a surprise. We signed them up months ago. They even know some of the instructors and will probably see several of their swimming friends there too. So why the big alligator tears? Such emotions are alien to me. These girls are only 9 and 11 and there have been no signs of the "big change" that will eventually come to them, and indirectly, to me.
Kendall and Avery have enjoyed their time off from school, perhaps a little too much. Kendall can sleep like there's no tomorrow - late to settle each night and loves lounging until well into the morning. Avery has had more face time with the computer this summer than Charlie Sheen has had with his psychiatrist. If the on-line kids' game called Fantage ever goes public, I'd suggest buying a few hundred shares. It will put Microsoft to shame, as it is more addictive and I was even convinced to doll out some cash to the company so Avery could have an upgraded membership. Their mother and I have always tried hard to ensure the girls were adaptable and acceptable of change, but perhaps we've fallen short. I guess the kids were banking on living it up until they had to head back to school in the fall.
Lynda was gone to work while I was tackling this morning's emotional crisis, but thankfully, Grammie was able to lend a hand. Her specially prepared Bologna sandwich for Avery and a few words of encouragement to Kendall helped get the ship righted. I also had the perfect speech all prepared and practiced. One that would help Kendall and Avery see that the "doing" part of life is actually the best part. The motivation for my speech came from the fact that after being "retired" for a while, I'm heading back to work next week. I got a full time, but temporary position with the provincial government that will keep me out of trouble until next spring. Like the kids, my days of lounging and Googling will also be severely limited, so I understand their angst. I told the kids that how they are feeling now is exactly how I will feel next Monday when I have to go to a real office for the first time in a long time. Instead of feeling anxious, we should think of it as being an adventure and that we really are lucky to be able to go to a swim camp and to go to work for the provincial government.
What a load of baloney! The kids seem to have bought it though. They were both in good spirits when I finally dropped them off at the pool this afternoon. Well, at least they seem to have bought the part about being fortunate to be able to go swimming and playing with friends. I doubt they were too convinced about their dad being lucky because he gets to put on a suit and go into an office all day to work. Perhaps when next Monday rolls around I too may be shedding big tears. It is very likely that I will have some reluctance about going back to work. I'm hopeful that there may be a couple of fringe benefits that will make the transition easier: one is that the cafeteria at the Confederation Building serves Bologna sandwiches; the other is that my premium Fantage membership works on the government computers.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
House For Sale (Marihuana Plants Negotiable)
This is a week of birthdays in our household. My two daughters were born on July 20th and 26th. No, they are not twins, although that would be pretty cool to have twins born 6 days apart. Well, maybe not so cool for their mother. Kendall and Avery are turning 11 and 9. They are growing into independent and responsible young ladies. The middle school and teenage years lay before us, but so far it has been a pretty enjoyable ride for Lynda and me. Depending on how those coming years shape up, I may suddenly develop an affinity for woodworking out in the garage or become even more of a fixture at my office, a.k.a. the table by the wall at Starbucks. I've noticed that lots of other dads and husbands take up seemingly outlandish pursuits during certain periods that correspond with times when "things are a changing" most for the women in their lives. Training for marathons and skydiving are virtual cakewalks compared to living in a household bursting at the seams with female hormones.
I have learned that children are more likely to emulate their parents behaviour and habits rather than follow advice that is given to them. I believe I have mentioned it in a previous story, but a certain piece of advice I give my kids falls right in line with this fact - "Don't believe anything that you hear and only half what you see." It doesn't matter if that parental advice is heartfelt or is accompanied by threats of never being allowed to leave their rooms ever again. It's not exactly a case of monkey see, monkey do, but those little orangutans of ours learn so much more by what we do, than what we say. Kids are incredibly smart and cannot be bamboozled.
This leads me to my latest predicament. Please feel free to weigh in on this one, as I can use the help. Tell me what you would do. The easy way, which is also sometimes the correct way, is to just let it go, do nothing, don't get involved. I can probably sleep easy at night by trying to convince myself that it's really none of my business. Just the fact that I'm still thinking about it after a week and now I'm writing about it, should tell me everything I need to know. I do care and I probably should do something. Let me tell you what the issue is.
A couple of years back, when I was a hotshot narc with the RCMP in St. John's, our team received information about marihuana being grown at a house in the downtown core. I lead the investigation and we uncovered several interesting facts:
The renter, ur ur .... I mean patient, was cooperative, interesting to speak with, and did indeed have the necessary paperwork to do what he was doing, just not in the volume that he had chosen to do it. I did not arrest and charge the patient and I even went to the extreme in the name of police-client relationship building. That being said, it was certainly my duty and obligation to seize the plants that put the patient over the limit stipulated by Health Canada. I let the patient decide which plants would be kept and which ones would be seized by us and destroyed. He certainly chose his half well. None of the ones he kept were growing in orange clay.
I did some additional follow up with Health Canada and realized that the political and social will to allow the use of medical marihuana was light years ahead of any policy and procedures needed to ensure that it was being done effectively. For example, growing marihuana indoors requires lots of heat and cycles of intense light. The lights utilized are extremely hot and their wattage, as well as the number needed, usually require the grower to rewire circuits or to dangerously overload others. The risk of a fire has to increase substantially whenever an indoor grow is present. Health Canada has no provisions for assisting in the electrical requirements of the grow ops that it permits, be it financial or advisory.
I was most surprised to learn that the patient, who was a renter, was not required to advise the owner of the house that marihuana was to be grown in it. The moisture, the high temperatures, and the length of time marihuana is grown in a house are all factors that combine to provide the optimal breeding ground for mold and mildew. If you've ever watched an episode of Holmes On Homes then you are aware of how serious a problem it is and the expense and effort that is undertaken to rid homes of the mold. Whenever a marihuana grow operation is encountered, police use hazmat suits and breathing apparatus. In my experience as a cop in Ontario, where grow ops flourish, houses that were used as marihuana grows saw their resale value drop substantially. In some jurisdictions, I believe there is also a legal requirement to note on the title documents that the property was once used as a marihuana grow operation. I am not aware of any such requirement in this province. It seems it is buyer beware.
Finally, I come to my dilemma. While flipping through the newspaper last weekend, I saw that the house, where the medicinal marihuana was being grown, is now for sale. I do not know whether the patient still rents the house or whether the legal grow operation is still occupying those two rooms on the second floor. I do know that if I were purchasing a home, one where I intended to raise a family, I would certainly want to know about anything that may compromise the health of those I love most. The listing did not say "Lovely three bedroom in the heart of the city, close to parks, shopping, and the George Street entertainment district. Appliances, as well as the equipment to grow marihuana included. The 70 marihuana plants are negotiable. Make an offer." If the plants are still there, at least potential buyers will be making an informed decision. Perhaps the patient wants to stay, so buying the property as an investment may also make some sense (some, but not a lot).
My fear is that there are no longer any obvious signs that this house was used to grow marihuana. Potential buyers may not be aware, nor advised, that under the gyproc walls lurks a silent health menace, just waiting to harm the little lungs of their children. Perhaps the listing agent is not aware either. I do know that the owner of this particular house was aware that the tenant was growing legal marihuana. Perhaps the owner felt there was no recourse and had to allow it because Health Canada issued the tenant a permit or perhaps the idea of a steady monthly rental cheque made it tolerable. Whatever the reason, the owner now has an obligation..... no..... a duty to disclose the existence of the marihuana grow to potential buyers.
I am tempted to call the agent. Perhaps I can pretend to be interested in acquiring the house just to see what information is given. Then again, I could just do nothing. I could just assume it is no longer any of my business. Surely, my kids would understand why I chose to sit silently on the sidelines and let possible harm come to people. Surely, I can keep from them the fact that I compromised my values in the name of not getting involved.
I can't do that. I have to speak up. Another expression I like is "You reap what you sow." My kids have gotten to be the wonderful people they are because they are growing up in a home where caring about others is valued. If I don't look further into the sale of that house, then I am failing my children because I will not be practising what I preach. In essence, daddy will be a fraud. If I become just another member of the silent majority, then I will be choosing to disengage from my family. If I do that, then I may as well book my first skydiving lesson right now.
I have learned that children are more likely to emulate their parents behaviour and habits rather than follow advice that is given to them. I believe I have mentioned it in a previous story, but a certain piece of advice I give my kids falls right in line with this fact - "Don't believe anything that you hear and only half what you see." It doesn't matter if that parental advice is heartfelt or is accompanied by threats of never being allowed to leave their rooms ever again. It's not exactly a case of monkey see, monkey do, but those little orangutans of ours learn so much more by what we do, than what we say. Kids are incredibly smart and cannot be bamboozled.
This leads me to my latest predicament. Please feel free to weigh in on this one, as I can use the help. Tell me what you would do. The easy way, which is also sometimes the correct way, is to just let it go, do nothing, don't get involved. I can probably sleep easy at night by trying to convince myself that it's really none of my business. Just the fact that I'm still thinking about it after a week and now I'm writing about it, should tell me everything I need to know. I do care and I probably should do something. Let me tell you what the issue is.
A couple of years back, when I was a hotshot narc with the RCMP in St. John's, our team received information about marihuana being grown at a house in the downtown core. I lead the investigation and we uncovered several interesting facts:
- the house was being rented;
- the renter had a permit from Health Canada to grow weed for medicinal purposes;
- the permit allowed for no more than 70 plants to be growing at any one time; and
- Health Canada did not have any plan to inspect and regulate the marihuana growing of the people it provided permission to do so.
The renter, ur ur .... I mean patient, was cooperative, interesting to speak with, and did indeed have the necessary paperwork to do what he was doing, just not in the volume that he had chosen to do it. I did not arrest and charge the patient and I even went to the extreme in the name of police-client relationship building. That being said, it was certainly my duty and obligation to seize the plants that put the patient over the limit stipulated by Health Canada. I let the patient decide which plants would be kept and which ones would be seized by us and destroyed. He certainly chose his half well. None of the ones he kept were growing in orange clay.
I did some additional follow up with Health Canada and realized that the political and social will to allow the use of medical marihuana was light years ahead of any policy and procedures needed to ensure that it was being done effectively. For example, growing marihuana indoors requires lots of heat and cycles of intense light. The lights utilized are extremely hot and their wattage, as well as the number needed, usually require the grower to rewire circuits or to dangerously overload others. The risk of a fire has to increase substantially whenever an indoor grow is present. Health Canada has no provisions for assisting in the electrical requirements of the grow ops that it permits, be it financial or advisory.
I was most surprised to learn that the patient, who was a renter, was not required to advise the owner of the house that marihuana was to be grown in it. The moisture, the high temperatures, and the length of time marihuana is grown in a house are all factors that combine to provide the optimal breeding ground for mold and mildew. If you've ever watched an episode of Holmes On Homes then you are aware of how serious a problem it is and the expense and effort that is undertaken to rid homes of the mold. Whenever a marihuana grow operation is encountered, police use hazmat suits and breathing apparatus. In my experience as a cop in Ontario, where grow ops flourish, houses that were used as marihuana grows saw their resale value drop substantially. In some jurisdictions, I believe there is also a legal requirement to note on the title documents that the property was once used as a marihuana grow operation. I am not aware of any such requirement in this province. It seems it is buyer beware.
Finally, I come to my dilemma. While flipping through the newspaper last weekend, I saw that the house, where the medicinal marihuana was being grown, is now for sale. I do not know whether the patient still rents the house or whether the legal grow operation is still occupying those two rooms on the second floor. I do know that if I were purchasing a home, one where I intended to raise a family, I would certainly want to know about anything that may compromise the health of those I love most. The listing did not say "Lovely three bedroom in the heart of the city, close to parks, shopping, and the George Street entertainment district. Appliances, as well as the equipment to grow marihuana included. The 70 marihuana plants are negotiable. Make an offer." If the plants are still there, at least potential buyers will be making an informed decision. Perhaps the patient wants to stay, so buying the property as an investment may also make some sense (some, but not a lot).
My fear is that there are no longer any obvious signs that this house was used to grow marihuana. Potential buyers may not be aware, nor advised, that under the gyproc walls lurks a silent health menace, just waiting to harm the little lungs of their children. Perhaps the listing agent is not aware either. I do know that the owner of this particular house was aware that the tenant was growing legal marihuana. Perhaps the owner felt there was no recourse and had to allow it because Health Canada issued the tenant a permit or perhaps the idea of a steady monthly rental cheque made it tolerable. Whatever the reason, the owner now has an obligation..... no..... a duty to disclose the existence of the marihuana grow to potential buyers.
I am tempted to call the agent. Perhaps I can pretend to be interested in acquiring the house just to see what information is given. Then again, I could just do nothing. I could just assume it is no longer any of my business. Surely, my kids would understand why I chose to sit silently on the sidelines and let possible harm come to people. Surely, I can keep from them the fact that I compromised my values in the name of not getting involved.
I can't do that. I have to speak up. Another expression I like is "You reap what you sow." My kids have gotten to be the wonderful people they are because they are growing up in a home where caring about others is valued. If I don't look further into the sale of that house, then I am failing my children because I will not be practising what I preach. In essence, daddy will be a fraud. If I become just another member of the silent majority, then I will be choosing to disengage from my family. If I do that, then I may as well book my first skydiving lesson right now.
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