Valentines Day – Praying for a Miracle and the Day I Asked for You…

It was the week my mother died.


I was at the cottage and would walk along the beach 20 minutes in either direction every morning. If I missed the morning, I would walk the beach at sunset. My father had brought my mother home from treatment in Toronto to be by the water at the cottage. As I walked down the beach on this particular morning there wasn’t a soul around. The sky had a pink mist about it, and the rising sun was big and you could tell it was going to be a hot day. I had not been able to sleep easy this past week and was up at sunrise most mornings. I walked 25 minutes to the left, around the bend and on the way back I decided to do something. I decided to say out loud what was on my mind and deep in my heart to anyone who would listen. Oz in the sky – whomever. It went something like this.

“God. Hi. Or whomever. Universe. Sun.Moon. Back to you God,

Hi. Um. I’m not sure where to start. I don’t want her to die God.

Tears welled in my eyes. I felt my stomach swell in and burning in my legs. Well that didn’t take long.

Can you save her? Oh wait, what if that’s not what she wants? I don’t know God.

I began to cry silently and a childlike gasp started every new sentence. I breathed again after each request I made.

I just want her to be happy. That is all. Can you save her? Can you bring a miracle? Can you put her out of her misery if that is what she is in?  I don’t know what to ask for. I just want her to be happy. It does not seem like she has been happy for a very long time and I just want her to be happy. If it’s too late for a miracle to save her, then, then, I don’t know. Please help her, help this situation. I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe I am going to say this, God, if you cannot bring a miracle, if it is just too late to help my mom,  please put her out of her misery. Oh I don’t want her to die. Who says things like this. Ugh. Please make it pain free, please do not let her suffer. I do not want her to be in pain. Whatever is your will God, whatever is your will. I’ve tried. I’ve tried. I tried to help her. I tried to save her. I don’t know if it’s working. I think she is better, but I really don’t know. Whatever she wants. Please help this situation.

I felt some relief in saying those words – Out loud. Getting them off my chest.

And then I didn’t feel like I was done. I paused long after that request. I felt there was nothing else I could say. And I began to walk down the other side of the beach now. I continued,

“While I’m here and while you’re at it there big G in the sky I, I am going to ask for someone. I’d like to meet my best companion, friend, lover, my soul mate – whomever….

I walked 20 minutes down the other side of the beach and this list, this very long list just came out of me. It was so long, so detailed, so pure. I can’t imagine there was any detail about the possibility of this man that I left off this list. To this day, I don’t know if this was a list I was making up on the spot, or details of someone whom some part of me already knew was out there. All I can say is, it was quite detailed. I described what I am attracted to in a man, physically, emotionally, morally. I described what he might do for a living – it wasn’t so specific that I cared about what this person did for a living, but I actually did say something specific. I capped it off with, may it be something he is truly passionate about and gives him great joy. I think I even laughed a few times at what I was asking for thinking, that’s strange where is that coming from. Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything, just to make sure I wasn’t limiting myself, I think I added, more better then I could possibly imagine. I also put the same weight on this mystery man’s desires and said,

“May I be all this to him as well. May I be everything he has every wanted in a woman. I put this completely in your hands to know who is the very best for me and the very best for this person. I put this completely in your hands to bring us together. Distance makes no matter. What matters is the heart.“

That is why I wonder, did some part of me already know he was out there in the ethos and I was simply describing qualities of him?

I forgot about this request and went back to the reality of my mother inside the cottage and trying to save her. I did not know it would be her last week.

This was the first week of August 2006.

Do you believe in fate?
Do you believe in soul mates?
Did you find yours?

Happy Valentines Day!
Go spoil all your loves ones and compliment that stranger you see today who may be going home alone!
Kate

• “I Will Wait”  (for you) by Mumford and Sons
•  Sterne Palace, London
• On my way to get pampered…

© All rights reserved. Kate Flood.

Unwinding What Triggered My Journey Into Holisitc Therapies

“Shittt! Shit! Shittt! Oh my God! Seriously? Owww..” My arms were swinging below the massage table, my hands were grasping at the closest wall, banging them tight-fisted. My toes were curled tight and I was thudding one of my feet into the table. “This is supposed to help me right?”

I continued working at the restuarant, but  I was also working at the a high end sports retailer – the one that went belly up. I’d met many interesting healthy sports minded people. Lots of travelers, climbers, cyclists, skiers, boarders. One particular day one of my colleagues Richie had some friends stop by after work. He’d actually been taking about them for a while saying how great they were.  One of them was a massage therapist and he wouldn’t stop talking about how good this guy was.

I hadn’t had a lot of “work” done on me since that first major accident in university. The accident was Oct ’95 and it was now 2001. Remember -  my ex had no insurance for that car to even be on the road, so I didn’t get treatment right away in a time that is most crucial for healing. When I started to get some, it was a little physio. Then that mandatory chronic pain program a couple years later which was no therapy and useless for me. Then maybe 2 massages from that guy when I went to Algonquin. This was now 6 years later and I had been living with this chronic pain riddling my body ever since and just lived with it. I didn’t take pain killers and didn’t have money to treat it and really wasn’t offered any solutions. I didn’t believe in pain killers and wanted to find the source of the issue and heal it naturally.

I still remember meeting him. I was on my way up the stairs to the tent department (very cool room by the way – picture an entire second floor decked out with 15 colourful high-end tents – any kids Fort dreamland). We often took naps in the tents during break time as they were decked out with thermarests etc. Until an unsuspecting customer went looking inside!

As I was going up my colleague Archie yelled at me,

“Hey Kate meet Emillio Maximo. Emillio Maximo, meet Kate. I looked back and Emillio looked right at me and came up to me and shook my hand firmly.

“It’s nice to meet you Kate.”

I never forgot that. I’ve always recognized when someone has a firm handshake AND looks you in the eye. There was also something about the way he looked me in the eye that had this kind of I see you sense to it.

I don’t remember the first few times we met now – I think they were social gatherings with a number of people just hanging out, chilling, having some pints after work on east commercial drive in Vancouver.

Meeting this person was important to me. Something that happened while he worked on me would set off my search in getting properly treated for the pain my body was carrying. We became friends and eventually he worked on me.

Wow!

It didn’t feel good ladies and gentleman. In fact, it killed like a son of a gun. When he worked on my in his small room, I could literally bang the walls – which I did – and moaned and cursed during the work. Have you ever had rolfing? This was worse. To this day I have never found a therapist that works the way he does and I’ve searched high and low. Why did I continue to go? I wasn’t going to “relax” I was going to take pain away. I would be freezing cold when I left, and after two days, I could move – more freely – my body wasn’t as crooked. He even worked inside my inside my mouth on my jaw. ‘Killed. Like.a.son.of.a.bitch. Awful. Like really awful. I’d be balling the whole time tears streaming down my face. All that orthodontal work amongst the car accident and me wanting to save my brain, but jamming my arms into my jaw, and the un-elasticized metal brackets getting lodged into my gums and the ER doc putting four freezing needles through my face into my jaw because he couldn’t get to the gums – my jaw is not a happy camper. Still isn’t actually. I’m not sure what it will take, but I wish the pain and tightness would go away.

I tried to see him as regularly as I could, but it was tough on a minimum wage  and paying my bills. I saw him around every 2 weeks, sometimes with breaks between. In the winter I went to see him and had a most peculiar thing happen that scared the bageezuz out of me.

He had worked on me an hour or more, possibly two as he would do sometimes. When we were done, I went to the ladies room and as I was sitting there all of a sudden, my neck and my head started twisting to the sides rather rapidly. It scared the shit out of me. It seem to be just happening naturally. I wasn’t shaking my head intentionally. It was doing it and I was trying to stop it and at the same time it seem to have a force of it’s own, but I wasn’t basically tripped out that this was happening without me engaging it. It calmed down and I walked back to the room quite timid and he asked me how I was doing and I told him that something weird happened in the washroom and I didn’t understand and quite frankly I was a little freaked out.

“Unwinding.”

“Sorry?”

“Unwinding. You were unwinding.”

“I don’t know what that is Emillio.”

“It’s ok. Your body was just responding to the work I did.”

“I’m scared. I don’t understand.”

“It’s ok. It’s actually a good thing. Go home and have a bath and go to sleep. Don’t worry. If it starts to do it again, just let it happen. If you need to call me. Try not to fight it.”

I left the office. I hated the commute back. It was way out in boonieville, it was freezing out and  my body temperature dropped even more after his work, and then having to take a bus all the way back downtown. I’m sure he would have offered me a lift, but he was an extreme athlete and  cycled back and forth to work daily. I went home and my body did start to “unwind” as he called it more. I tried to just let it happen a bit. I think he called to check on me as well.

After this happened/ I was very curious what this response was my body was having and how I could happen with out me controlling or telling it to do so – that’s what scared me the most. What else was in there? I remember asking him more questions, but he didn’t wan to press the issue. Just that things happen when they happen.

Within a couple months, having holding 3 part-time jobs none other them in my field at this point and no forseeable design work. 911 had just happened and companies marking departments were the first to feel the effects and as a designer we felt the fallout from that. Vancouver, was also not the bustling metropolis I thought it would be. There is not lot of big communications companies there. I had been there around 2 years and decided to up and move cold turkey to Toronto.

I took the train across the country and sold my furniture (roommate never paid me for it even though I trusted him and he was supposed to). The train took 4 days to Ottawa with a night time layover, so I took advantage of that as my home town before moving on to Toronto.
—-

Massage Heals. Find an excellent massage therapist. Educate yourself on various massage trainings. Typically certified is better. If you are looking for healing massage therapists or therapies in Ottawa, Toronto, Montreal or Vancouver I can help you out. Otherwise, you’re on your own. Look for multidisciplinary clinics. Often your local health food store bulletin board or yoga studio can have talented massage therapists with numerous modalities under their belt. A referral from someone you trust is always going to be the best referral.

All my Ottawa government friends. You have 5-6 massage allowances on your insurance. Go treat yourself to a massage even though you think you don’t need one. I don’t know a single soul who hasn’t loved a massage after receiving one. And, if you have never had one, then no, you don’t know if you need one if you have never tried!

Find a registered massage therapist in Ontario:

http://www.rmtfind.com/

Typical sessions: 1/2 hr – 1 hr – 90 min – 2 hrs
Typical Price Range: $60 – $120 / 1 hr. ($80-$100 average)

‘Miss my excellent Massage Therapists,
Kate
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• Listening to: “Land Down Under” by Men at Work
• Locale:  On route to Ottawa from NY.
• State of mind: Wishing for my literary agent to appear…

© 2013 by Kate Flood. All rights reserved.

The Italian Job – Orgasmic Chocolate in an Alley

I stayed the rest of the month before moving on to another apartment. I was working 4 part-time jobs. Then Vancouver transit went on strike. Great! Exactly what I needed. For my main job at the Courier it wasn’t so bad. In fact I was one of the fortunate ones. I had a beautiful walk through west end Davie area, across the beach on English bay to a water taxi across the water, through Granville island to 4^th street. It took about an hour all in. Some people could not make it to their jobs at all and lost them. Some people walked 2 hours each way to get to their jobs. People actually died because of this strike. Health care workers couldn’t get to their patients. Elderly couldn’t visit loved ones etc.There was a positive aspect to this strike. The increase in environmentally friendly and healthy transportation was increased ten fold. The amount of bikes on the road was crazy. People were taking any alternative mode of transportation they could. This was one of the sad fall outs to this strike. People were desperate right? People were being inventive. Kids were taking boards, blades, rolling skates to work. And you know what happened? The cops starting fining people left, right and center for this – for being on the sidewalks etc. Give me a break right?

By summer’s end, Conrad Black had come in and swept up most of the print media, Vancouver Courier not withstanding. It was really sad. These people who had dedicated their lives to their jobs – some for over 30 years at various papers – would come in to  a generic email telling them their job was no longer. It was really sad to see them walk out. No notice. Nothing. I was relatively safe as a contractor filling a mat leave, but only for so long. They let me go and called me in only when they really needed me for a deadline.

I got a job at a high-end Italian restaurant in Yaletown – as a hostess. I’d only ever waitressed at a yacht club for weddings an events. The idea stressed me frankly. I couldn’t imagine remembering people’s orders and dealing with a till. Short term memory bad, Long term memory good. The restaurant was the best in the city. The chef having left another high-end eatery and popular night spot to buy,open and run his own restaurants. There were two side-by-side. High end clientele. Hollywood North, local financiers and real estate bigwigs, television reports and the occasional hollywood star when they were shooting in Vancouver. Once I met someone who’s role I always admired and one of my favorite movies as a an aspiring dancer, Ms Jennifer Beal. Booked well in advance for Valentines day. I remember seating her and going to get her when her meal was done and brought her her coat. She’s even more beautiful in person.

It was a tough gig. I was working 1/2 days at the gallery, napping in the afternoon and heading there for 430 pm and working well into the night daily. The hostess was the last to leave always – eve past the bar tender until the last patron was gone. I loved italians – heck of dated several coincidently. Never knew they were italian until we started dated and not your stereotypes either. Mostly lovely guys who ironically all despised their fathers. Must be an italian thing. As I came to find out, some italian idea of normal conversation is quite stressful. It’s loud, it’s angry and it’s a constant battle. This, I was not prepared for. I had a younger then I italian woman training me – giving me all the ins and the outs.

“God, why does everyone yell around here?” I asked her.

She laughed at me as she’s made a habit of. “Their Italian! It’s what we do!”

“Well it’s stress’n me out!”

“Don’t take it personal.”

The restaurant was quite formal – white linen etc. I was “asked” to wear dresses and skirts – all black. I wore high boots and heels occasionally, but 5-10 hours on your feet on tiled floor is hard. My legs were killing me by the end of the night. I had come to make a routine of taking a bath before my shift and rubbing that thera- ICE gel all over my legs and feet which helped numb them and then feel like ice. I was still in cronic pain during this time as well, but just lived with it. As hostess we greeted the customers and sat them. Removing the carefully fanned napkin in a twist with a snap of my hands and a snap on their laps. Some men would pick up their napkins and drop them on the floor and look at the hostess waiting for us to pick them up and place them on their laps once more. Nice. Class.

A couple weeks in, I was happy with the tips I was making. BC didn’t have a lower server’s wage like Ontario. Infact, they paid higher then minimum wage which is higher then a server’s wage in Ontario. It wasn’t long work, but it was tiring and I was a bit on edge he whole time, wanting to avoid being yelled at. One day when I arrived before the restaurant was open, the hostess came to me quite serious like and said,

“Chef’s on a rant. Wants to see you. I think you’re going to get fired.”

“What? Why? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. ‘Says your fired. Wants you to go the back.”

My mind started racing a million miles a minute – I hadn’t done anything worth a fire. My brain frantically searched for any mishaps. Notta one. Usually never is. Maybe it’s because I’m not italian?

I walked with confidence to the back. Seemed like I was headed towards a shark tank. I go in and the hostesses always stuck out like sore thumbs there – dressed to the nines in while in the back the rest of the kitchen are in white scrubs. I walked in and the chef was waiting for me at the corner and he just motioned me turn and go down this hallway without saying a word with this evil grin on his face. Holy jeezuz did he have it in for me or what? I turn down and walk towards this door ai have never seen before. I get to the door and it leads outside – to the back alley. I whip around and give a glare to my boss. He motions me to a chewed up red milk crate sitting on the ground. I look at him wide eyed from my dressed to the nines outfit.

“Sit! Sit! a sit!”

I spin around again on the backs of my heels and carefully sit down on the milk-crate. At this point IM seriously thinking I shouldnt have taken this job and maybe it’s mafia related and I’m, I’m I had no idea what.

I’m sitting there waiting and someone arm reached out and hands me a blindfold.

“Put this on.”

You gotsta be kidding me. Seriously? Some firing tactic. Lets scare the shit out of her first!

I put the bandana on – probably one of the sous-chef’s bandana to keep their hair back. Smelled clean at least – thank God.

Next thing I know I feel something be placed in my lap. It’s s bit cold on the outside but the middle is hot on my lap. I started to feel better then.

“Open your mouth.”

Oh god. Last time i played this game I was 13 and making “Just-Like-Mom” concoctions out of apple cider vinegar and instant porridge. seriously I’m thinking.

I open my mouth and trust what is coming on the other side.

It’s hot. It’s chocolate. It’s sooooooo goooood. Oh my God!

“Mmmmmmmmmm.” I groan “Ohhh, ohh, ohh my God this is incredible, this is the best damn farging chocolate I have ever had. Chef! More! More! More please”

Someone takes the blindfold off and I look towards the door and there stacked underneath, behind, beside and ontop is every single kitchen staff and the other hostess smiling and laughing at seeing my surprise enjoyment!

Apparently this was my initiation into the exquisite talent of my boss.

SOLD.

{The restaurant is still there Ladies. Get in touch if you’re in the Vancouver area.}
—
Hey Readers: Drop me a comment…
What’s your chocolate sin?

p.s. Treat me to this molten chocolate cake scores big in my tummy! ; )

Kate
————————————————————————————–

• Listening to: “Chocolate” by Kylie Minogue (Ok, I really wasn’t that time – but I switched it)
• Locale:  Cousin’s new office, NY
• State of mind: Regretting saboteur. Wanting courage.

© 2013 by Kate Flood. All rights reserved

FRAMED: The Missing Doorhandle, a Grow-op and a Skitzoid

“Ok. Fine. Watch this. They have 3 small kids right? I’m going to set this fire alarm off. Theoretically they’re on the first floor and should be out their door on the porch in seconds. We should follow after with 4 flights of stairs to go down. If we’re not. They should come looking for us to make sure we’re ok and investigate where the fire is.”

Go west! Go West! I had always wanted to go west. That’s what people did. That’s what Ontarion’s did. I had heard many stories and new many that made the trek after school. Most landing in Whistler. (Shout out to KBY!). So, that’s what I did. Sure, it was a shit week, but my mindset was. You’ve got to be kidding me. 2 bombs in one week? What does THAT mean? I’m outa here. See you later. I came back to Ottawa for school and that was it. I looked a this as an opportunity. No ties. I spent a couple months in Ottawa working at then I took all my stuff, dragged it outside and sold most of it. I had the best location you could think of in Ottawa. My building was on Nepean Street and my front door was in a main alley way connecting a major government building and a main parking lot. 400pm selling time. Clothes, books, comforter, tv SOLD! People loved what I was doing and so they wanted to support my move.

I was still hanging out with my ex from time to time. I never told him I was moving out west. Why would he care anyways? One day we came back to my place and went inside. The entire living room was chock full of marked up cardboard boxes. He stopped dead in his tracks. Surprised.

“What’s going on? I’m moving.”
“You’re moving?”

“Yup”

“Oh.”

I think he realized he didn’t have much he could offer here.

“Well, just around the city right? Which neighbourhood.”

“Out West. Vancouver.”

His face dropped. He looked sad. I was confused. Slight smile. Oh, now he’s going to miss me?

We hung out a lot before I left. Then, I took the greyhound across the country. I would have taken the train, but I popped in a visit to my favorite Aunt and Uncle in North Dakota. I packed my apply blue G3 tower into boxes and shipped them straight on the bus. I bought huge hockeybags and duffel bags and stuffed them with my clothing and some belongings and put them on the train. I started out in Courtney and Campbell River where my older brother and his wife lived just to get my feet there. Intending most likely to find my way to Victoria and Vancouver. I tried Victoria for a month living with my cousin and her twins. It wasn’t for me. Victoria just seemed like a rainy version of Ottawa on an island with a lot of pot.

I made my way to Vancouver staying with close friends of my older brothers who had known me since I was a teenager. That was pretty awesome. They had a huge beautiful home in Richmond, BC and I was able to land a job at a local high end sports retailed. Seemed my retailer in Ottawa had a reputation out West so it helped. I wanted to make my way into downtown. The retailed had a store in downtown Vancouver on the main drag beside the huge MEC on Broadway where all the main competitors were. I worked both stores and looked for a place to live downtown.

I stayed with a friend of my cousins who had a place in Yaletown on the water. Yaletown was perfect at is home to most of the media and design companies in Vancouver. I needed more work, so I ended up working at another high end sports retailer. I ended up being the clothing buyer and warranty manager. The other business asked me to be manager as well, but it was more of regimented system and I didn’t want the overtime with no pay and responsibility.

I found my own place to live in a bachelor apartment in a big house. Huge story here. It was in whats called West End Davie St area near English bay. The English Bay the Blue Rodeo sings about – it’s a beautiful beach area. Yaletown was nice, but it’s all concrete. No grass. This neighbourhood had laws and trees and sat on the bay. I was in a massive Victorian home – the size of the old lumber barons. I had a small bachelor on the top floor overlooking a treed lawn. It was a shared bathroom in the house. I had some decent housemates all in their own bachelor. I hadn’t been there 2 months when something rather peculiar happened one morning. The landlords were off site. On the first floor were the supers – a family – a chef and his wife and 3 children.

One morning I woke up to go to work and when I left the door handle was missing off of the outside of the door. I stood there bewildered. I was in a rush for work, but I was sitting there thinking this is weird. Where did the door knob go to? Seriously. It was a sturdy door knob. Whats more peculiar, is then I thought, geez – this means someone was outside my door last night and I didn’t hear them? I was right here. They could have broken in and I’m alone. No one is here. I decided I better call the super. I called the super, explained what happened and told him I was late for work. He said he’d call a locksmith and come up right away. I waited. A locksmith was there in record time. They looked at it. I explained the story again. I didn’t want to sit there doing nothing with these 2 men in my small room, so I said I was going down to clean the bathroom and I’d be back up. Stupid move.

I come back and they’ve fixed the door and the landlord asks me to explain what happened; I told you twice already. I have to go to work.

I went to work. I returned home…my landlord was standing on the doorstep waiting for me. He seemed to be acting funny. “Did you figure out what happened to the door knob I asked?”

He gave me an angry look. He said, “ Are you  ok? Are you scared of living here? Are you afraid to come home?”

“No. No I’m not. Well, maybe until now.”

“Why?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out and presented to me…the doorknob.

“You found it! Where was it?” I knew it was the same doorknob because it was sdistintvely an old glass and brass doorknob. He stared at me.

“Are you a schizophrenic?” he asked me.

“Pardon? No, God, why would you ask such a thing? Where was the doorknob?”

“In your pillowcase.” He looked at me sternly.

“My pillowcase? Really? Impossible. How is that even possible? What are you talking about?”

“We found it in your pillowcase.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. One, how did it get there? Two, I would have felt it if I slept on it. Three. I would have seen it because I have a form fitted pillowcase over an obusform pillowcase.”

“Well that’s where it was.”

Then he reached in his pocket and handed me an eviction notice and gave me back my postdated cheques.

I stood there in shock. Then in complete worry. What on earth has just happened?

I went upstairs. I called the cops. They told me to leave and go somewhere and wait for them. I went to this local hangover Monkeys something that rocked. I went to bed scared every night sometimes camping out with the friend I had met on the first floor. I stuck it out until months end looking for a new place to live. The neighbours heard of the story. Turned out the landlord also owned two more buildings on the corner – large Victorians full of apartment and was waiting to buy the fourth and final on the block to tear down and build.  My neighbours even through a rally to “Keep Kate” Noone could understand why I had been evicted. They all said, “Kate, you’re the most reliable tenant here with a fulltime job who pays their rent. We’re the deadbeats. I went up to my apartment that night.

The guy across the hallway was at his door.

“You know why they’re getting rid of you right?”

“No.”

“Your too good. They’re worried about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t trust you.”

“Trust me about what?”

“To keep your mouth shut.”

I looked completely confused.  “Keep my mouth shut about what do tell?”

“Geesh – you really don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“The supers. They have a grow opp in the basement.”

“No they don’t!”

“Oh yes the do.”

“No way. I don’t believe you.”

“Ok. Fine. Watch this. They have 3 small kids right? I’m going to set this fire alarm off. Theoretically they’re on the first floor and should be out their door on the porch in seconds. We should follow after with 4 flights of stairs to go down. If we’re not. They should come looking for us to make sure we’re ok and investigate where the fire is.”

“Don’ you dare.”

He stood there with his lighter under the fire detector smirking.

I stood there smirking. “You wouldn’t”

“Flick!” A small flame burned under the detector. The fire alarm starting ringing.

I stood there looking at him with a you little devil look on my face.

I started to go down the stairs. He stopped me with his arm. “No wait. Take our time. This will prove to you. They’re going to be freaked out that all their precious pot is going up in smoke, that they’ll be in basement tending to it first instead of getting their kids out of the house.

We walked down the stairs deliberately slow. Taking gigantic steps and jumping on each landing, exchanged a few sentences, swinging are arms around the banister ends. On each floor we were met by our fellow housemates coming out who seemed no less worried. We walked out the front door. I looked at my housemate and he raised his eyebrows back at me with an “I told you so look.”

The supers door handle turned quickly and the husband brisked through the door.

“Which on of you set the fire alarm off?”

“Have you got the kids out? Where are your kids?” asked my housemate.

The super’s look grew from angry to a fake concerned. Oh, their in the house, their mom

s bringing them now. The super’s wife go to the door, out of breath.

“Why you out of breath?” asked my housemate.

There was noticeable sweat beating off of her brow. She seemed to be in such a state.

I looked at my housemate. We all dispersed.

As soon as we reached the stairs, I looked at my housemate. ‘Wow. You’re kidding me. Wild.”

“Kate, your too good, their scared you know and you’ll snitch on them.”

“But, I didn’t even know.”

I called my friend and she recommended I have a lawyer come over and photograph the apartment since his behaviour was so irrational. The lawyer came over and what we realized was that there on the door frame to my apartment were square notches and holes lining both sides of the door frame nearly top to bottom.

They were the marking of several door hinges and screws. He done this before to frame a tenant and kick them out. Bastard!

Now I really didn’t even want to stay there. You know what else he did? He took my last month’s deposit and my damage deposit. When I questioned him he told me, “I had to pay for the locksmith work.”
—–

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Note to self: Do not live on top of  a grow-op.
Kate

p.s. A couple days later, I saw a white van pullout just after a many large black garbage bags were being thrown in the back from the laundry room next door…
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• Locale:  Starbucks. The guy beside me smells incredible. It’s his cologne.’Haven’t complimented him yet.
• On Deck: All along the watchtower by U2 {I swear to God – it’s on shuffle. These shuffle songs are very timely}
• State of Being: Do I keep writing to make 40,000 words by tomorrow midnight?

The Limp, A Hemorrhagic Cyst and Moving West

The Limp. The limp that brought me into the hospital that saturday morning. I spent the day having various tests done – blood work – x-rays – ultrasounds. All coming back negative. Until. Until. The pelvic ultrasound. Oh what a joy that is ladies? By this time I was in pain and hurdle over moaning and groaning. Then the doctors want you to fill your bladder with water so they can the ultrasound imaging properly. I feel like I’m going to explode and you want me to drink 2 litres of water and hold it?…while you stick a plastic wrapped plastic probe up my hoo haw? Hilarious. But we do it right ladies? The result?

“Katherine , you have what’s called a hemorrhagic cyst on your left ovary and it’s ruptured. That’s why you are in so much discomfort.”
The docs gave me pain killers and said I just had to wait it off. That it would settle down on it’s own and there wasn’t much they could do on their end as it is quite normal and the ovary is not twisting or causing other harm.

I was in the hospital a couple of days and sent home with bed rest. “Are you in a particularly stressful situation in your life right now?” he asked.
“School. It’s a pretty tough program. 30+ hours of class, weekly assignments, 0 tolerance for absenteeism etc.”

“Well I don’t want you going back there for 2 weeks. Stay at home and take it easy please.”

I stayed home a week. I called my school director the day I went into the hospital. Funny timing was that the our directors just switched over the break. So I had never met this new director. Car Accident, hospitalization or death of a loved one were the only acceptable excuses for absenteeism. Clearly I fell under hospitalization.

I just stayed the week and returned the following. Too much missed school and I was feeling better.

The new director handed back my mid report card. It had a big fat 0 on it. I called him. ‘Excuse me Mr., could you explain why I have a zero?”

You didn’t hand in your assignments for a whole week.

“Mr. I was in the hospital. I called you on day 1 and informed you of this.”

“Oh well. You still didn’t hand them in.”

“I couldn’t Mr. Excuse me, but it is in our program that this is an acceptable reason.”

“Oh. Well, ok sorry. I’ll fix that.”

“Yes, thank you.”

That was 1999. I seemed fine until year end. I had wanted to do my coop placement in New York City, having always wanted to live there. I had collected a massive book and photocopied every single design, communications and branding agency in New York city from the small mom and pop shops to the big organizations. I can’t really remember why – maybe the tight urn around deadline – but I ended up doing  placement at a local supposed reputable firm. While I was at work one day I suddenly out of nowhere had the most excruciating pain. Livid pain.I’m sure working where I worked didn’t help. My boss was a yeller. He yelled at me, the kind of yelling where a person yells so much they’re spitting on you – yah that was him. One time he even raised his arm at me to swat me – I shied away and he brought his hand back behind his back. Geez! His office was a pigsty. I’d always had a knack for cleaning, sorting, organizing and decorating – got that from my mom. I reorganized the office completely – did a layout of the floor plan and everything. When he wasn’t given me assignments – shy of my skill level – I found other productive things to do (so I thought). Organizing his book shelf, clients lists, files on the computer. One day he lost it on me and said why was I wasting my time doing nothing – why wasn’t I looking through magazine for inspiration? Pardon?

It was only 2 months of work. They had hired me on after the placement and received a government subsidy for hiring a student straight from school. I could tell business was slow from the drop in incoming calls and jobs going out. I got called into the office one day with his main designer who was also a graduate of the program the year prior. Really nice guy too. The two of them were staring at me and not saying anything. I say there smiling. My boss tried to speak, but couldn’t. He looked over his my colleague, “Archie, can you…you?”

“What?” I said. “What. You have to get rid of me?”

My boss went wide eyed. My colleague smiled relieved. “Ugh, how, how on earth did you know that?”

“Doesn’t take much to see there’s not a lot of work coming in here.”

I did my two weeks and you know what that boss did? When I went to file my taxes, they had no T4, no record of any employment there so I couldn’t file. You go to be kidding me. I had to go and file forms with the government giving them permission to look for this business. They had changed their name once or twice but then disappeared. I was able to track down a fax of proving that he paid me as he would request the subsidy from the government every two weeks. And that rascal, he paid me with personal cheques, but had hand written the deductions on each one, but never submitted them. Nice. Even cheaper labour.

That was on Monday. On friday my 2nd love, dumped me on the phone. 1 week after celebrating our 1 year anniversary and I had bought him an expensive dress watch. Nice. Thanks.

I’m leaving! I’m moving out west…
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Go west, Go west…. { the Petshop Boys }
Kate
———-

• Locale:  Starbucks. Why have some Starbuck’s taken those away?
• On Deck: Slave to Love by Roxy (I have a wide assortment of music let me tell yah!)
• State of Being: It’s starting to feel like Christmas.

Ice Storm: A Limp, A Gimp and a Tree – Timber!

I looked at his blue skivvies and probably blushed seeing his parents standing there in my peripheral vision. (No, no Mrs.Lloyd I’m thinking to myself, what are those, I’ve never seen those before). My eyes moved so slow up his legs, somehow some part of me did not want to look at his arm. My eyes continued upward and it was impossible not to see his arm. It was completely split open.

Kate?”

“Yes, Ms.Renem?”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, why?”

“Your limping. Why are you limping?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t realize that I was.”

“Maybe you  should go get that checked out honey afer school.”

“Yes. Well it’s no bothering me that much right now, but I will if it gets worse.”

Every day that week, the limping got worse, but I did not seem to be in pain anywhere.”

I went to the doctor and he examined me ans told me my abdomen was swollen, and this could be my appendix. He advised me to drink liquids, go easy on the food and possibly be prepared for a trip to an ER next week.”

“I said alright doc” and went home.

Friday passed and I was staying over at my boyfriend Lloyd’s at the time.

Saturday morning I woke up ran to the washroom, was sick as a dog for seemingly no reason rapidly. I was throwing up, sweating buckets, felt hot, weak and dizzy. I knew something was more serious was wrong because the symptoms all came on rather out of the blue and I wasn’t “feeling” very sick, but had these symptoms.

“Take me to the hospital Lloyd. Something’s wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Something’s not right. This isn’t a flu or stomach. I don’t really feel sick anywhere, but my body is doing this and I’ve got a fever so it’s trying to tell me something.” My mother taught me that. Fever is there for a reason.

Lloyd took me to the hospital. By this time, I was limping and stooped right over clenching my belly.

Lloyd and I had our share of hospital trips. A story to digress to because it’s a hell of a one. In the winter of 1998 Ottawa got hit with the biggest ice storm. If you lived there you remember it. Haunting and gorgeous to see mother nature reek havoc on a city. I was fortunate, we lost cable for a few days and that was it. I was working at the high end sport retailer and most places of businesses did not make it mandatory to come into work on account of the damage to the city streets etc. There were electric wires down in front of my apartment all over the street, but you could carefully navigate them if you had to. I went to work. My boyfriend Lloyd also worked fulltime at the retailer. There was actually about 6 couples who all met at this place and were all dating. Quite seriously I might add, they all are married to this day, Lloyd and I the only ones who didn’t marry. I had exploring and traveling I wanted to do.
On this particular day, Lloyd was working at a neighbouring farm cutting down trees with a friend. Around 2in the afternoon I was paged to answer a call.

“Kate, Line 1, Kate phone call on Line 1”

I went to the phone thinking it was a fellow peer at another location wanting soft goods help. You know, do you have this in size 10 kinda thing.

“Kate? It’s Mrs.Lloyd calling.”

I felt nauseous immediately without even being old anything. It’s funny – our bodies know when something is up. The background sound of the store around me petered out in the distance. I stared down a my feet.

“Yes. Hi Mrs.Lloyd.”

“Kate, Shawn’s been in an accident.”

I swallowed. The heat rose up through my chest.

“He’s ok. I mean, he’s alive. They’re going to be doing emergency surgery. I thought you should know. We’re at..”

“What happened? I mean, was he in a car? Why surgery?”

“No,no. He was hit by a tree. Badly. He was out cutting down trees in the back 40 and the Swinson’s lot with their son Jack. And he, he, God I told him, his father told, him, he knows. I don’t know what happened exactly or how it happened.”

“Oh my God, Mrs.Lloyd. I’m so sorry. I’m sure he’ll be ok. Everything will be ok.”

“Kate, he has some prescriptions to pick up. Can I ask you to pick them up and bring to the hospital?” Of course, of course. I’m leaving right away.”

“They just air lifted him from the Kemptville hospital after they saw the extent of what happened; they’re not equipped for this kind of surgery.”

I told my manager I was leaving, I had to go, that Lloyd had been in an accident. It was serious. I still remember this particularly manager wining to me that I couldn’t leave. I had already gone up to the owners upstairs and had their ok.

“I’m outa here!”

She actually ran out the door after me and told me I couldn’t leave. Hilarious.

When I got to the hospital. I was so worried and scared for Lloyd. The ER doctors took me the room he was in and I’ll never forget this, I swung around the corner and first I see poor Lloyd in his blue skivies. They size and height of the tree coming down on Lloyd actually split his clothes and then the doctors tore them off to get to him. Hell, I found out then they believed it probably hit him in his head because of the proximity to the arm.

When they were out there cutting the trees down there are rules they follow. You are supposed to yell out to where you’re partner is so they know where you are and where the tree is going down. Jack yelled out,

“3-2-1 TIMBER”

(They actually do yell Timber? I thought that was a lumberjack cartoon thing of the past)

No response. The tree came down. After that tree came down, Jack couldn’t hear the sound of the other chainsaw running. He looked to where the tree went down. No Lloyd. And he wasn’t there when it went down, so where was he. He looked back. No Lloyd. Something wasn’t right. They’re in the back 40 with acres of snow filled fields and trees. Shawn should stick out like a sore thumb. He decided to go back to his last cut. He saw Lloyd’s snowmobile, but no Shawn which meant he had to have been here…somewhere.

I can’t remember what he saw first, but there was Lloyd under the tree. Out cold. He was unconscious. The tree grazed his head and smashed his arm. From what I know, I think Jack was able to get Lloyd out from the tree on his own or the adrenaline from the shock can kick in like when a mother can lift a car off of a baby, and he put Lloyd on one of the snowmobiles and brought him back to the farm. I don’t think cellphones were as a staple as they are today yet, so he would have had to wait until he could get to a phone to call 911.

By the time I got to him he had regained conciousness. I looked at his blue skivvies and probably blushed seeing his parents standing there in my peripheral vision. (No, no Mrs.Lloyd I’m thinking to myself, what are those, I’ve never seen those before). My eyes moved so slow up his legs, somehow some part of me did not want to look at his arm. My eyes continued upward and it was impossible not to see his arm. It was completely split open. It was awful. Looked like a complex roadmap of red lines and white highways – think downtown Montreal. My eyes could not stay there. I turned slowly to Lloyd’s facing being careful to keep a straight face and slight smile. It’s really hard to hide, “Holy Shit Your fucking arm is split right open honey!”. I think I did a good job. Either that or he was unfazed because he seemed pretty happy.

“They’ve got him pretty souped upon morphine.” Said Mrs.Lloyd.

“Ahh,” I said.

“I Lloydy. Oh honey. How are you doing?”

“Ummm…..” he just smiled glassy eyed.

I smiled back at him and gave him I care about you grin.

I gotta say, it was pretty surreal having a conversation with his parents over him and this split open arm in your face and nothing going on.

“They’re bringing him for surgery soon. They had to get in another specialist.” Said Mrs.Lloyd.

Just then a doctor came in and explained the procedure to us. He spoke a little and then he motioned us to leave the room with him, I guess so Lloyd could not hear. Not that he’d remember.

“Shawn’s arm is pretty serious, but we have excellent doctors here. The surgery should be done around midnight.”

Shawn went in for this surgery. I stayed with Mr and Mrs.Lloyd. Midnight came, no doctors. 12:30am. 1:00am. God, I’m sure I’m not the only one out there who’s had this experience of watching the clock while waiting for a loved one to come out from surgery. Amazing how minutes seem like hours. 130am. 200am. Finally just after 2am the doctors came out to us.  He didn’t look very happy for someone just having come from surgery. In fact he looked really sad.

“The surgery went mostly well.”

“Mostly doc?”

“We were able to save Shawn’s arm. We put the bones back in place for them to heal.”

“And?”

“Well. There it was quite a mess in there. I’m sorry, but the most important part was putting the bones back. There’s been nerve damage. It was unavoidable. I’m sorry.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s too soon to tell, but some of Shawn’s muscle will not be working properly because of this. For now, his fingers. He has no use of his fingers at all.”

“Oh my God. But doc he’s a rock climber, a carpenter, a ski tech, he works on farm. He’s a bike rider.”

“We know. Which actually fares well for his recovery. We don’t know how long it will take. We’ve implemented an apparatus on this cast that will help rejuvenate this fingers. Nerves repair themselves. This is the good time. We just don’t know how long it will take. It could take a year. Shawn is not awake yet. He doesn’t know this yet. Leave that to us ok?”

“Sure doc, yes of course.” (Like anyone would want to break that news to him).

Shawn returned home eventually. He had a massive full cast and this odd looking contraption made of metal spokes that jutted out from his elbow on an angle and then had these elastic bands that dropped down at 90 degrees over his hand attaching themselves to each of Shawn’s fingers. Geez. Let me tell you, fun between the sheets! Not so much. I moved temporarily into Shawn’s place to help him out. It was hard to even make a meal with only the use of one hand. Sleeping beside him was a mild nightmare trying to avoid the side his contraption was on and any odd random mid night swinging arm landings! The sports shop kept him on working the floor instead of the shop. He couldn’t bike or climb, so it was quite a bummer for an incredibly active 25 year old. He did it though. Month and months went by and there was still no movement from his fingers. Quite scary really.

A year almost to the date, Lloyd’s fingers started work again. He biked again and he climbed again. I don’t know if he’s every cut a tree again…

I full story within a digression. It was a good one though no?

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I’m getting to the limp next,
Kate

p.s. Hellos to you Llyod where ever you are. Grapevine says you moved West, but no one has heard from you since.
———-

• Locale: Cushy Leather chair @ Starbucks. Why have some Starbuck’s taken those away?
• On Deck: Happy Cycling by Boards of Canada
{I’m beginning to think my shuffle ituned is somehow magically linked to my stories!}
• State of Being: Hungry.

Rock Climbing, Rheumatoid Arthritis and a Blind Medical System

And as I was standing there in my workout gear and sporty windbreaker jacket in my fit body and him knowing my daily physical activity, he looked at me and said, “…Have you thought about taking up swimming?”

I reluctantly decided to defer my acceptance into the program I had wanted my whole life for another year. Stating medical health reasons. How could I draw? How could I design with pain rattling my 24 year old hands? Just a year. I could beat this pain in a year. I took on a full time position at the store and waiting the year.

I became very active socially with my colleagues. All working at a high end sports retailer, we walked the talk.  Some more then others. I continued my workout return daily and ran to my job every morning and some evenings. I got up early and took care of my grandmother every morning before work for 2 hours. Waking her up, changing her, bathing her, changing her bed linens and keeping her company – making her earl grey tea, hot toast with butter (i has to be hot) and watching Dallas. ‘Trying to keep her min busy in her pint size old age room. It wasn’t fun – it wasn’t too bad either – but, I felt sad for her.

I rock climbed with my new boyfriend, mountain biked at the back of the pack in the Gatineaus and learned to ski and snowboard weekly. I was a size 2. And yet, every single day, I had chronic pain piercing through my body. It never left. It only got worse. I began to see specialists. The pain was so bad a this point, that frustration turned into anger and anger into rage. I began to pitch in an effort to get the pain out. Worse thing I ever pitched was a glass lamp. It broke. I had already gone through being sad and depressed because of this chronic pain, leaving my university degree a year early and losing my closest friend.

I waited 3 months to see a rheumatoid arthritis specialist. I showed up with my father, curious for an answer so I could just  fix it. My mind is such that, I need to know what’s going on, when I know the facts, I will find a solution and fix it. I met with the doctor for minutes, only minutes.

He performed a few tests and looked at me and said, “You don’t have rheumatoid arthritis. At 24 it is rare I have to say anyways.” I was saddened. I wanted an answer. Someone to tell me an answer so I could fix it. I looked at hm bewildered. “ Well, I guess that’s good doc. But, please you know my history. What is going on? Why am I in chronic pain every day all day through most of my body?”

And as I was standing there in my workout gear and sport windbreaker jacket in my fit body and him knowing my daily active activity, he looked at me and said, “Have you thought about taking up swimming?”

Holy shit! I wanted to jump over the desk and plow him one. Your kidding me right. I looked down at my outfit. Do you see what I am wearing? Do I look like an unfit person? “I exercise every day doc.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any answers for you.”

I left – frustrated. Unsure of my future, confused and bloody scared.

I continued to work. I continued to exercised. And the pain continued.
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Kate
——————–

• Listening to: “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd
• Locale: Starbucks @ Chapters/Indigo  – yes – still here.
• State of mind: Glassy eyed tired.

© 2012 by Kate Flood. All rights reserved