Since that agreement I have been working with Bruce Holmes (who, for the record, is a really good, well-intentioned man) from the UME to put together a list of manuals that are required in Med 1 and Med 2. The UME was worried that if they put out a blanket ‘ok’ to print required manuals, then various profs would just put all their class notes into one package and submit the collected class notes as a required manual, so the UME wanted to draw up a list ahead of time. The final list was supposed to be submitted by me at the end of Med 1, which it was. However, the UME wanted to have a sit down meeting to discuss the final list. Due to schedule conflicts (i.e. vacation conflicts) we haven’t been able to meet yet, but I figured all was going to go along as promised.

My faith in the UME may have been misplaced. The last email correspondence with Bruce Holmes included price estimates for the manuals (per page, per color, etc.), which was expected. What wasn’t expected was this couple lines following the price quotes:

“An idea proposed has been that we ask the class rep to identify the number of students who want a printed copy and we will print at cost for them. Everyone else can not print as it will also be on DalMedix or print on their own as they want. The proposal is that students pre-pay so we know the exact # to print”

To me, this sounds like the UME may be shifting gears and expecting us to pay for the required manuals after all, and merely taking on the onus of coordinating the printing.

“So what” you may say? These manuals can’t cost more than $80 bucks altogether. Hell, I spend more than that on a big night downtown. My main concern is this: across the courtyard, the dental students pay something like $4000 a year in “lab fees”. I am sure that bill didn’t pop up overnight, and very likely started out as something like “lab manual fees”. As it stands we don’t pay anything to the university itself aside from our tuition (student union fees such as health insurance, bus passes, 50 for life, etc. are a separate matter). And tuition is the only thing the government can easily do anything about (and I think that may be frozen for medical school - confirmation on that?). So it really doesn’t matter how much we lobby the government for student debt relief if we start letting the university itself imposing these additional “fees” in place of tuition rises.

Maybe I’m being too sensationalist here, and making way to big a deal over having paid $13 for my PIM lab manuals, so I’ve come here to get some feedback before heading off to butt heads with the UME. I know it’s the summer and many people aren’t checking the blog, but this is an issue that I foresee continuing well into the fall, so ongoing feedback over the next couple months would be helpful.

Now that I’ve got your attention (well hopefully, I can’t think of too many more exciting subject lines than the one I just fed you), here is the scoop. So where to start? I suppose at the beginning. Or rather, where I left you dangling in suspense (or not) a few days ago. It is pretty long (as per usual!) All of it is about the trek, except the last paragraph which takes a rather sober turn, talking about Tuol Sleng, the genocide museum in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I think I will send a specific email on Tuol Sleng shortly for those who care to read it.

So sadly, the three musketeers have dwindled down to two, as Jayani left us after our sojourn in Koh Samui, so it’s just Arpun and I. We first ventured up to Mae Sot, which I won’t blame you if you’re not sure where it is because half the Thai people I meet have never even heard of it. It is a small town in central/northern Thailand very near the Burmese border. We came here for two reasons: first of all, trekking, and secondly, because I have a Karen friend in Canada (Karen are an ethnic minority in Burma and Thailand) who has friends/relatives in Thailand and who were able to set up a visit to a refugee camp where he used to attend school.
It was very kind of his friend to arrange for us to visit the refugee camp, especially since (I did not realize this until we were there) that we were being not-entirely-legal visitors (ie. quite illegal). This made me a little bit edgy, not only for my own skin, but also for the girl who was taking us in, because she does important work in the refugee camp, coordinating a bunch of youth activities, and so she was taking a big risk by letting us in. Actually it was surprisingly easy to get in and out; although there were half-hearted attempts at barbed wire barricades, most of the gates were wide open, with many refugees strolling along the highway. However, while this appeared to be freedom, it wasn’t, as there were checkpoints on either side of the highway traversing sprawling camp. The camp itself was a sprawling array of bamboo houses on stilts, traversed by narrow dirt roads, with the occasional random concrete one. We drove in partway, then walked when the roads got too narrow, avoiding the main streets so as to avoid being seen by any authorities. I have never felt so white and blonde in my life; it felt as if I were a bright flashing neon sign screaming: “foreigner! Does not belong here!”although no one really made me feel that way, I was actually surprised that no one seemed at all fazed by mine and Arpun’s appearance there; my discomfort was more a function of my paranoia of getting caught.
Next was our trek in Umphang, about a 3.5 hour drive from Mae Sot. Getting there was an adventure in itself; I am not normally one prone to motion sickness, although the incredibly tortuous road had me giving my seat a bruise from my white knuckle grip, longing for Gravol more than I’ve longed for anything in a long time. I wanted to ask to stop, but was afraid to open my mouth for fear that something more than words would come out. We arrived with my stomach contents intact, somehow.
The first day of our trek was not actually trekking, however, but instead a raft ride through some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen, anywhere. We went past a series of limestone overhangs, with water dripping from them in light curtains, the moss of the cliffs and overhanging roots and trees making an otherworldly scene that I have never seen anywhere in my life. Those few hours rafting alone made the trek worth the price we paid.

But little did we know how much more we had in store! On our second day after about an hour of rafting, we had about a 3-4 hour climb through the wet jungle. Wet mostly meaning the trail (but also the weather), which in parts was fine, but in parts meant trying to climb through thick, oh so thick and sticky (yet also incredibly slippery) goo. by now my pants were brown from the knees down. Every day, except the last, we arrived at our desination before lunch; the 2nd day we stayed near Bor Tor Lo Sue waterfall, Asia’s biggest and #6 in the world. However, it could not have been more different than Niagara; we were lucky we came in the rainy season because apparently during the dry season it’s quite small; but now it spilled all over the cliffside, down through trees and bushes, looking almost fake, or like someone had left the hose running a bit too long and there was some massive overflow. Our guide, Bao, took Arpun and I (we were the only 2 trekkers; and we had 2 guides, pretty good ratio!) up partway to see the falls; it was a bit sketch going knee-deep through a swift current right at the edge of a cliff bank where one of the waterfall tiers was, but worth it when we got to an amazing viewpoint. We spent the afternoon bathing among the different tiers of waterfall, enjoying that strange little yellow orb if my foggy memory serves me some people call “sun” that poked its head out for that afternoon; the rest of the trip, it seemed very shy to show itself.

The next afternoon we swam across a swift and strong river to enjoy some more waterfalls and crawl through some caves hidden behind the falls filled with beautiful white stalactites and stalagmites. We stayed at a Karen village, in a bamboo hut on stilts. And I had the rare fortune to not only see, but utilize something that people rarely have the chance to experience; an actual s*%t hole! (Sorry for the profanity). Yes, there was a (doorless) shed that you had to wade through knee-deep grass to use, with a squat toilet, which I don’t mind at all, but the fact that there was no water anywhere to flush it, plus the fact that it was stained an ugly, ugly brown (my optimistic side told me it was nothing but mud) made things unsavoury to say the least. Now don’t get a wrong impression of the villagers-they had their own toilets which once I tried I discovered were actually in amazing condition (amazing being a very relative term. It’s amazing when you think that a tiny wet squat hole in a hut too small to stand straight in would seem like a great quality toilet, but I assure you, it’s all a matter of perspective!)

Day 4 was the most adventuresome of all. It started off pretty interesting, with declarations of love from two guides (one Bao, one a guide with another party doing the same route), and all before 8 in the morning! But the real adventure started with about 30 min. of trekking through paddy fields on teeny tiny narrow paths on dikes about 1-2 feet wide that were so muddy and slippery that I nearly held my breath the whole way because I was concentrating so hard not to fall into the wet paddy below. But it was mostly an adventure because we got lost. Not once, but many times! We found out after the trek ended that we were supposed to have a different guide (which now it makes sense why none of them could speak a word of English, so I was very glad I spoke Thai; actually it made it more fun, since I got the chance to practice, because there was not really a choice.) So one of our guides, the 16-year old Ngeun (means “money”; ironically he is the more responsible of the two) had never been this route, and the 23-year old Bao had only done it barely a handful of times, and three years ago at that! And within the forest was a maze of various paths made by Karen people who live in the area. They don’t need road signs, but we certainly did! AFter trekking all the way up a mountain and down into a valley, we realized that the trail we’d been following just led to the hut. . Hmmm…..Then it started to pour rain. Ngeun took refuge in the hut, looking decidedly pissed as he puffed away on his cigarette, while for the first time in the entire trip Bao actually started breaking a sweat as he called out to see if anyone was around. Nada.

We decided to hike up another even muddier hill to see if we could pick up the trail from there, but no luck, so backtracking it was. I thought of tobogganing down the mudhill in my poncho, until I saw all the tree stumps sticking out from the slash ‘n burn. Maybe not. I did, however, still get a great slide in later in the day. I was trying to be all clever, avoiding an especially deep and watery mud pit by hiking up on the side. Ngeun came up with me, holding my hand to steady me on the slippery slope. Things were going splendidly. That is, until I fell. Down and down and down the mud slope, facedown, right on my stomach, pulling Ngeun with me, until we landed, splash! shin-deep in a lovely combo of water, cow poo and mud. mmmm….tasty!
It was another wrong turn that ended up costing us about an hour, and a few times Bao asking us which way we felt like going when we reached a fork (this is how sure he was of the path) before we amazingly made it to our digs for the night, a shelter for local cowherds on tall stilts. And we even had an entire welcoming committee of ants to greet us!

And lastly, I can’t forget to mention our extreme elephant ride. No seatbelts or safety bars as is the norm (there was a seat frame, though). And no boring flat path, either. Instead we forded a swift, deep river, up past the elephant’s belly, which was not even the scary part. The scary part was getting down to and up out of the river on the steep banks so muddy I could not get out of them without using my hands and feet (I’d gone down earlier to bathe but it was a bit futile because by the time I crawled back up the river bank I was nearly as muddy as before…) We were especially nervous because on its way over to pick us up, we’d seen the poor creature slip and slide down another slope. But miraculously, the elephant didn’t slip, and Arpun and I, thanks to our white-knuckle death-grips, managed to stay on top of the elephant rather than ending up underneath it as I’d feared.

On our last night, we played Crazy 8s with the guides (again! We played every night!) I think if I never play another game ever again, it will still be too much. It’s just that that was the easiest game I could think of to teach, and then they couldn’t get enough.

And our last day, of course, nothing can go smoothly. We’d had another (slightly more tame) elephant ride, although I’d had to wear my poncho so that all the bugs falling out of the trees didn’t land in my hair, but when we arrived, our pickup car was across a river too fast and deep for the elephant to get across. Bao and Ngeun had somehow arrived at the other side, and decided to try to bamboo raft across the river. It was quite entertaining, because every time they even started across, they got ridiculously swept downstream, so they had to abort, hop off, and try to pull the raft even further upriver. Why they had not appeared to have planned for the situation they knew they would encounter, I’m not entirely sure. But somehow they managed to pull it off.

On a more sober note, Arpun and I went to Tuol Sleng today, the infamous S-21 prison, where over 17 000 people were incarcerated, interrogated, and tortured for months before being sent to the killing fields for execution; only 7 people survived their stay in prison, mostly by making themselves useful (ex. photograph other prisoners). It was a very difficult experience and I cried a lot at the end. The most haunting were the photographs. I could barely look at the photos of the people who had been tortured to death, with their blank eyes and faces contorted in an eternal grimace of pain and supplication. Only slightly less disturbing were the prisoner’s identification photos of their faces when they first arrived at Tuol Sleng; mostly young people, between ages 14-25 I would say. All serious, sad, frightened, some defiant. One woman, a tiny baby cradled in her arms, had a single tear rolling down her cheek. She knew her fate. Others looked imploringly out, as if begging me here 30 years in the future, “please, help me!” The fact that all these young, innocent people died was horrible enough in itself, but the fact that they had to endure months of torture, fear, and pain, never knowing peace, was more than I could bear.

Well, I hope I have not depressed you too much, if I have, just go back and read the first part of my email again. And take care.

Heather

Dearest readers,

I have so many new adventures to tell you about, but I must restrain myself and try to keep some sort of logic and order, so unfortunately you’ll have to read the regular email first and just wait for the juicy tales until the next time I stop by at an internet cafe (could be tomorrow, who knows?)

I left off my last email at Ubon. We were there for Buddhist lent, which in Ubon’s case involves all the wats (temples) making hugely brilliantly bright orange, ornate wax floats of various religious scenes (or so I gathered). We’d arrived at around 6am after taking a 3am bus from Surin, so plenty of time to wander around the floats and take photos before the leisurely procession started. Unlike parades at home it wasn’t rigidly organized, the floats went a few meters, then stopped, and people milled in, out, and around. In between some floats were traditional dancers. But for many young Ubon teens, the attraction was not these phenomenal artistic feats, but rather the “farangs” (foreigners). Everywhere we went, it seemed that a group of kids would see us, gasp, and run (or at least speedwalk at top speed) towards us. What ensued was all similar, answering basic questions for an English assignment, followed by about 5 minutes of photo shoots with the various kids. Since the candle festival is more for Thai than foreign tourists, we were quite a rarity, and therefore in very high demand! I felt like Britney Spears being mobbed by the (very friendly and cute) paparazzi.

We took the night train to Bangkok, which was a rather unsavory experience…it was our 3rd night of sleeping on mass transportation and certainly the worst (although the toilet stench on the previous night’s bus was not exactly pleasant, either). We hadn’t been able to reserve any sleepers, so we got uncomfortable plasticky vinyl chairs, which luckily reclined. (Actually they reminded a lot of 1st class seats on Indian trains). There was no AC which was fine, but it meant that the windows were open, and the lights were on, which meant a constant parade of earwigs, beetles, and other little unsavories being blasted in a constant stream into my face. I can just imagine how many I ate when I finally got to sleep…mmmmm…..

The flight to the island of Koh Samui was decidedly more agreeable. Samui itself didnt’ even feel like Thailand. THere was no Thai writing in sight, and if you ignored the staff people at the various hotels and restaurants, there were no thais in sights, only heaps and heaps of farangs. The beach was pleasant enough, and we pampered ourselves in a nice hotel, and went on a pleasant kayaking trip, and I went scuba diving out to Ko Tao, which was fantastic. I was the only diver, and the divemaster was actually Thai (a rarity, I’ve only ever had Western divemasters wherever I’ve dived) and so although his English was good, he insisted on speaking Thai to me the whole day so I could practice. The only semi-scary parts were swimming beneath a giant jellyfish with a diameter of about 1 foot, and tentacles that probably dangled about 8 feet (luckily we were deeper). That, feeling like I was going to get sucked into the motor of one of the giant boats that were milling around ominously (the dive was only about 10m deep, and the boats probably sat about 3-4m down into the water), plus having to cut a dive short because of the dangerously aggressive triggerfish patrolling around, all just added to the excitement. On the funner side, I went through some great caves and saw gorgeous coral, fish, and even a stingray!

Well, I will sign off now, with the promise of more adventures forthcoming! (Very soon. They’re all written in my head, just not quite on paper just yet.)

Happy trails to all,
Heather

Hello all!
I find myself in a tiny yet strangely cosmopolitan little town called Mae Sot, in western Thailand, on the Burmese border. Although you can walk from one end of town to the other, on your way you will pass a variety of people-Westerners, both of the tourist, trekker, and NGO-worker type, Burmese in their long sarongs, Karen, and Thai. Also a mix of Indians and middle-eastern people thrown in for good mix. We are just here for a day, tomorrow we depart on a 5 day trek in this remote mountainous region. It is the rainy season so it was kind of rainy today, but hopefully the weather is decent enough that we have a good time, although with a mix of walking through dense tropical jungle, bamboo rafting and elephant riding, how can you not?

Today we did something a wee bit on the nerve-wracking side for me. We entered a refugee camp. Why so scary, you ask? Because we did it illegally. I have a friend in Canada who is a Karen refugee, and he set me up with some of his friends here who were able to “arrange” a visit for us. It was very interesting, and I feel extremely fortunate to have seen it; few foreigners ever get to. It is on the remote highway on the way to Mae Sot; a veritable city of 2-story houses made of bamboo, with leaves for a roof. Apparently the population is about 150 000. There was the occasional paved road, though for the most part it was mud paths leading in labyrinthine tracks in among the houses. We avoided the main areas so as to avoid any Thai authorities. The girl who took us to the camp is involved in a youth project and so she took us to the office, where we just hung out on the bamboo benches on the 2nd floor, and soon enough a group of youths started to gather; one of them was not shy and was quite chatty; although his English was far from fluent (maybe on par with my thai??) I really admired his effort; you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He later grabbed us a guitar and serenaded us. Most of them were born in the refugee camp, which made me kind of sad that they’ve never known freedom. But then again, how different is their situation from someone who is born into grinding poverty and who are not truly free, either? Either way, they were normal youths, very motivated which impressed me, involved in a whole gamut of activities within the camp such as sports, dramas, etc.

So when I’m not being an illegal trespasser, what am I doing over here, you might be wondering? Well, the course I was doing finished last Wed. For our last night, some students arranged a truly asian experience for us; karaoke! But not the Western-style you’re familiar with where you go to a crowded bar and must wait ages and suffer through numerous mind-numbing songs before your one number comes on; instead we had a private party room, and we chose the songs we wanted to sing, so we got as much singing time as we wanted, and only played music we wanted to. I made a rather painful attempt at a thai song that I (thought!) I knew…as well as a few more English attempts that were more successful.

Last week was an exercise in massive travel and little sleep. On Wednesday, we took a night bus to Surin, the next night we woke up at 2:15am to catch another night bus to Ubon Ratchatani, then that evening we took a night train back to Bangkok, then flew out to the island of Koh Samui and proceeded to go to a full moon party that night, not returning until 9am the next day to our hotel. All in all, about 15 hours of sleep over 4 days.

The trip to Surin and Ubon was very fortuitous; we’d wanted to go to Ubon since it was an important Buddhist holiday and Ubon celebrates it best with a parade of gigantic brilliant orange, intricate wax sculptures throughout the city. But by the time we’d gotten around to booking anything, every place was full. So we thought we couldn’t go. Sad. Then, a friend I met (strangely enough, the masseuse I’ve seen a few times at Thammasat-I am such a sucker for cheap Thai massages! She was constantly trying to set me up with the lone male masseuse who worked there, (in front of him, and to the teasing of all the other girls) just on the basis that we’re both single, never mind the language barrier! ) invited us to come spend the weekend at her home, even though she barely knew me and had never met Arpun or Jayani! Her kindness was really overwhelming. She spent the entire afternoon with us taking us around. She would have in the morning too, but her train was 3 hours late; she finally gave up and walked the last little bit once it became apparent that it was not going to move-meanwhile I was passed out in exhaustion at the station, splayed out all over the platform, much to the amusement of all the locals who according to Arpun and Jayani came to point, stare and laugh at the crazy “farang” (foreigner). I hadn’t slept the night before on the bus, instead making friends with my Thai seatmate who was also sleepless and we ended up chatting most of the night. Meiji and her friend Wichiain took us for som tam (spicy papaya salad; Thailand’s spiciest dish) which my friend loves extra, extra, extra, extra spicy. The cook, a rotund, cheerful, greying lady, got a gleam in her eye as she got the order. Arpun looked as if she were about to expire-sweat exploding out of every pore, mouth gaping, eyes crying, barely able to speak…for most people, you would assume that this meant impending death and doom. But for Arpun, it meant joy in every mouthful.

We were so lucky to be able to stay with Meiji and her family; she lives in a rather untouristed area of thailand, although there is a very large percent of thai women from her village and around that are married to foreigners; one of her older sisters is married to a French man, the other to a German (who looks old enough to be her father in the family photo, although I never got to meet the husband.) Apparently many, many of the villagers are also married to foreigners (including, bizarrely, a nearby neighbour who is married to Meiji’s sister’s German husband’s grandson…)

Anyhow, I must sign off, so you’ll just have to wait before you hear about getting mobbed (by friendly kids don’t worried) in Ubon, and my beach time in Samui.

Cheerio,
Heather

Dearest readers,
Please accept my most sincere apologies for my most unexcusable delays in writing to you all, let me assure you that you have all been uppermost in my mind, it’s just sometimes the fingers don’t follow the heart…typing-wise, that is. Anyhow, for those of you weren’t aware, you will probably be only mildly surprised to hear that yet again, I am off on yet another adventure! But rather than treading entirely new ground, I am back to one of my all-time favourite haunts, Thailand. I am here through a unilateral exchange organized by Dalhousie with 2 classmates. We are doing a course about community medicine. The main part of the 3-week course thus far has been a 9-day rural field trip to the central province of Ang Thong, about 2 hours north-ish of Bangkok, in the midst of Thailand’s rice-growing region.

But that will be a separate email in and of itself; first to whet your appetites is an attempt at brevity of my first few days here in the land of the free (which is what Thailand means in Thai.)
We are at Thammasat University, which is just north of Bangkok in a suburb. Although I’m a bit disappointed we’re not in the big booming metropolis, Rangsit is a big beautiful campus (so big that there are lots of free shuttles running around. Which is a good thing considering that the Thais here consider anything more than about 5 min. walk away unwalkable.) As it is in Canada, they don’t like to contaminate the rest of the student population with the dirty meddies, so we’re a bit far from the rest of campus. But luckily they have covered walkways all the way around so that we haven’t turned into complete puddles by the time we finish the 15 min. walk. We are staying in the rather austere medical student’s dorm. Our room is the only one without mountains of shoes and boxes outside the doors, but we do have a gigantic stick-on baby donald and daisy duck set on the door, so I figure that makes up for it.

It is a good thing my friend Arpun is here, she is very hard-core about exercise, I fear without her I would find it too easy to find an excuse not to get out at all. But we did, and I’m ever so glad! We got up at 7 the first day and headed out to the stadium. I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, but it certainly was not what I found! Thammasat hosted the Asian Games in 1998, and so their stadium was, needless to say, phenomenal. I have never set foot in such a huge one, let alone run in one. Even the provincial track championships in high school were in a piddly school track. This stadium, with literally thousands of seats, inspired pure awe. We were almost afraid to enter. It was empty, except for two Thai long jumpers and their coach. We approached cautiously; luckily there were a lot of stairs down so I had a lot of time to think about how I would ask in Thai if we could use the track. But after my oh-so-carefully constructed sentence, the coach looked up and said in near-perfect English, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak any Thai.” He let us use the track, and better yet, told us that the Asian Grand Prix were happening here the next day. Our run in the track was surprisingly productive considering the blistering heat even at 8:30am. For every 3 laps, I had to stop for water, and could feel the sun penetrating every pore, which battled back with every ounce of sweat it could produce. After 20 minutes I was as hot and soaked as if I’d just been submerged in a hot tub.

The Asian Grand Prix were a different story, though. As we approached the stadium, we could hear loud drumming, which we discovered was coming from various drummers and cheerleaders (including some guys in satin pink outfits) who were leading various groups of schoolchildren cheer on the athletes. These kids themselves (about jr high, I’d guess) seemed professional cheerleaders themselves, with coordinated little clapping schemes and chants. Of course, as interesting as they were, the athletes themselves were the main attraction; up close, it was hard to believe how fast they were running, especially the distance runners; the 1500m runners seemed to have legs that would carry them faster than me at my 100m sprint pace. There were competitors from all over east and south asia, from as far away as Oman.

We decided to hang around after the games were over, when I suddenly noticed a guy from the Indian team subtly taking my photograph! I nearly burst out laughing, especially when I saw his sheepish look when he realized I’d caught on, but the three of us decided to pose for him. Some of the people we saw today qualified for the Olympics, so who knows, I may end up as a pinup on some random Indian Olympian’s wall….but he had given us a great idea…we got photos with the athletes! We also got videos from them, all saying a certain line (which I can’t unfortunately reveal; it is secret). I think they thought we were slightly absurd, but trust me, it will all be worth it!

One highlight of my trip so far was visitn my old haunt of Thamaka, where I spent 6 weeks two years ago. I got off the bus stop but couldn’t quite remember where the hospital was located. So I just kind of asked as I walked; people here in this one-bus-stop town don’t often see foreigners (when I lived here people often gave me rides everywhere so I wasn’t around , so on my trek I nearly caused more than one traffic accident from people rubber-necking at the strange white “farang” that was wandering their streets. The last lady I asked left her fruit stand to accompany me to the hospital. Once inside, I mentioned that I knew Dr. Eh the orthopedic surgeon and was ushered into the ER (which is also his office). He had changed his email and phone #, and so had no way to know that I was coming; he has not seen me in three years, and probably not heard from me in about 1-2 years, so boy was he surprised to see me waltz in through his doors! He was so kind, he closed his private clinic that night (Fri) and Saturday too to spend time with me and take me sightseeing. He said he wanted to take off Sunday too but he was working at the government hospital and couldn’t switch his shift. He took me to Erawan waterfalls, probably my favourite place in Kanchanaburi, where you hike up a trail and can swim at various levels of the waterfall. you just have to watch out for the nibbling fish, which will munch away at you if you stay still too long.

Dr. Eh’s work ethic never ceases to astound me; he works long days at the government hospital M-F, from about 7:30-5pm, has about a half hour off, then goes to his private dlinic from about 5:30-8:30. He works at his private clinic Sat morning and works again at the public hospital SUndays. In addition to all of this, he is on (home) call 4 nights a week; basically he only has Saturday afternoons totally off…And in addition, he has two toddlers at home that his wife takes care of. I am always amazed at his dedication and cheerfulness. I don’t think I could manage that kind of schedule for more than a few months, let alone years…yet he feels so strongly about serving the poor who must use the public system so he won’t work all private, yet to earn enough money for his family he feels he must work both systems.

Take care everyone!
Heather

As a paramedic, our training was heavily geared towards managing acute, emergency situations. Most of the time it was to deal with chest pain, shortness of breath, and trauma. But, another skill that all paramedics receive training in, is how to deliver a baby. Today, this is not a very common call for a paramedic as most expectant mothers get to the hospital long before they would ever need a paramedic to deliver their baby. In fact, other than their inhospital training, most paramedics will never deliver a baby. Nevertheless, all paramedics are trained to deliver a baby, as well as manage complications such as breech delivery, problems with the umbilical cord, neonatal resuscitation, etc. The thing to remember though, is that although they call it delivering the baby, it is the mother who does all the work. For the most part childbirth is an uncomplicated process, and mothers have been having babies long before any doctors were around. Usually you will just be there to “catch”. Now onto the story…

Around 7 years ago now, it was around 0630 and I had 30 minutes left in my 24 hour shift when the emergency tone went off for a woman in labor. Soon my partner and I were in the ambulance on our way to the scene receiving updates like “Contractions are every few minutes” and “Delivery is imminent”. After around 15 minutes we arrive at the house, we grab our gear, and make our way up the stairs. Unfortunately the stretcher couldn’t make it up the small stairway and into the house so we had to leave it outside. At the door we were met by the husband, who was holding a 2 year old girl, and a 5 year old girl. They were Chinese, not overly important to the story at this point, but more relevant later.

Anyways, we ask the husband where his wife is and he says she is in the very back bedroom, furthest from the door. Of course she is I thought, where else would she be?!! So my partner and I make our way down the very narrow hallway in single file with the husband and kids following us to the last room. I entered the room to find a woman (in her late 30s I think) laying on a mattress on the floor and the first thing I saw was part of the non-ruptured amniotic sac protruding from her vagina. Immediately I knew this delivery was going to be happening here. So I ruptured the membranes and at this point my partner asked me what I wanted to do. I said we should try to get her to the ambulance in case there were any complications and that way we could just leave for the hospital. I also said we needed a second ambulance with 2 more paramedics, standard protocol for an at home delivery as soon we were going to have a second patient. The only problem was there was no second ambulance available. So who did we call for extra help, the fire department. All we needed was some extra people to help lift, etc, but apparently it became the “big story” in this little community that the fire department was called to a woman in labor!

So my partner leaves to take to some gear back to the truck and to try and figure out a way for us to get this pregnant, soon to deliver, woman out to the ambulance. At this point the little 2 year old girl is now clinging around the neck of the mother on the floor, so I tell the father that he needs to take the little girl out of the room to let the mother have her space and not be stressed further. Now it is just me in the room with the mother and 5 year old girl. I then look back to the mother on the floor only to now see the top of the baby’s head! Things had progressed so quick to this point that I didn’t even have a chance to open the obstetrics kit, so with only my 2 gloves on, I started to put gentle counter pressure on the baby’s head to prevent an explosive delivery and supported the perineum so it wouldn’t tear. At this point the “inquisitive” 5 year old asked me “Is my Mom having the baby?” and I said “Yes, your Mom is having the baby! Do you remember the other guy who is wearing the blue coat like me?” She nodded yes. “Go find him, and tell him I need him right now” I said. So the little girl runs off to find my partner and a minute or so later I hear my partner coming down the hallway saying “Yeah the little girl said you needed me to come back right away…” just before he entered the room to see me delivering the head and then he said “Oh my God!”. I then asked him to open the obstetrics kit to get set up for the delivery in progress. Now these obstetric kits are wrapped in plastic, and when my partner ripped open the plastic, in the heat of moment, the plastic bag popped open like a bag of chips and its contents went flying everywhere.

At this point the head was fully delivered so I said just give me the bulb syringe and I suctioned the mouth and then the nose. Next I had to check for the umbilical cord around the baby’s neck. So still supporting the baby’s head, with 2 fingers I pushed back the labia and felt around the neck for the cord. The cord was tightly wrapped multiple times around the neck. There was no time to waste. We told the mother to stop pushing, but she didn’t speak English or at least not very well, and I don’t think she fully understood what we were telling her to do. I first tried to loop the cord over the head but it was wrapped too tight. Next I tried to clamp the cord where it was and cut it before the rest of the baby delivered. But the cord was so tightly wrapped that I was having trouble getting the clamps around the cord. At this point I thought we were going to end up having to try to resuscitate this baby.

Unfortunately despite our pleas, the mother kept pushing and the rest of baby delivered right into my arms. Now, if you recall from earlier I said I had to rupture the membranes. That is true, but as the head had already descended into the birth canal, all the amniotic fluid was still trapped behind the baby. So once the baby came out, so did all the amniotic fluid, and guess who was in the “line of fire” so to speak? I’ll leave it at that. With the baby now free, I quickly unwrapped the cord from around the neck and rapidly dried off the infant with towels. Then I suctioned the mouth and nose again and gave the baby a few slaps on the foot and the baby started to cry. A huge weight was off my shoulders. I then did a quick visual inspection and told the Dad that they now had another baby girl. I then evaluated the infant’s respirations, pulse, and skin color and all were fine. I then asked the Dad if he wanted to cut the umbilical cord but he said no, so I clamped and cut it.

At this the point the fire department had showed up so it was now pretty crowded in the bedroom. There was the mother, the father, the newborn, the 2 sisters, 2 paramedics, and a crew of firefighters. Now that things were under control, we were able to move the mother and newborn to the ambulance and we had a nice, calm drive to the hospital. I monitored the mother and newborn on the way, but the mother never delivered the placenta before we arrived at the hospital. After dropping off the Mom and baby, we said congratulations, packed up our gear and left.

Shortly after the call, my paramedic partner that day and I both received stork pins for our delivery in the field. Months later, the family invited us to attend the baby’s baptism which we did.

This certainly is one of the most unique calls I have ever attended, and I am sure will forever be

So we have an alphabet right? But what have we been doing to improve it? I’ll tell ya what. Nothing. We have had the same basic alphabet since….. well I have no idea how long, but given that it’s called the roman alphabet (or at least I think it is), I’m gonna guess we’ve been using the same alphabet for some time. Now that’s not to say that there haven’t been attempts to update it, let’s not forget Saturday Night Live’s attempt to promote a metric alphabet a fair few years back, but let’s be serious, LMNO can NOT be a single letter, it just doesn’t work.

What we need here is not a pared down alphabet. We need an all new and improved (read expanded) alphabet. And I humbly submit what I think is a suitable first extension. It came to me like a winters storm. All seemed so calm, and then suddenly… epiphany.

Here’s what happened. Last week, or possibly two weeks ago, it’s really not important, let’s just say it wasn’t this week, I was sitting in my living room with my flatmates (I hereby refuse to revert to the north american roommates, as I have my own room) discussing theories on the meaning of life, the existence of God and the Everafter and…. ok, we were talking about if the salary cap in the NHL is making the league better or worse. The correct answer is better, as was being posited by yours truly. However my flatmate Ben disagreed, saying that it was making the league worse. His main argument was that the Leafs were good when there was no salary cap, and now they suck with a cap. Whilst I couldn’t disagree with his argument, I felt it was slightly misguided. Somewhat akin to saying that since there are no bears in downtown Montreal, my Bear Patrol must be doing a good job. The giant badger or possibly racoon patrol is not doing such a good job however. But I digress.

So as I was trying to use handsignals to demonstrate what I thought of his salary cap as a negative, I got stuck between signalling “Whatever, Loser”. and the somewhat harsher, ‘Whatever, Wicked Major Loser”. For those unfamiliar with these signals, for the former you form a W by touching your thumbs together and pointing your index fingers up while holding your hands in front of you with the palms facing whomever you are signalling to. You then drop your left hand to your side and stick your right thumb out to the side, while leaving your right index finger pointing skyward. I know it doesn’t look like an “L” to you, but it does to whomever you are pointing it at. If you don’t believe me, check in a mirror. (I think that works, one sec, I’m gonna check…. actually it doesn’t, so I guess you’ll have to take me word on this one). The former (Whatever, Wicked Major Loser) is made in a similar style, but turning the “W” over to make the “M”. For those of you keeping score, yes I am eight.

In any event, as I was saying, I got caught between an “M” and an “L”, with my right hand in the “L” formation, but my left going to “M”. And it was at this moment that all became clear. What I was left with is my proposal for the newest letter. I call it….. “lightning bolt”. It was a stroke of genius. I think that “lightning bolt” will really spice up the alphabet. I’m not sure what it’s phonetic sound will be yet. Potentially “Boom!!” or maybe, “PGHwhssshghghghgh”. I have decided on the placement however. It should go in between “O” and “P”. It’s a tribute to yours truly since my name starts with “P” and further, it flows with the song. ABCD EFG HIJK LMNOlightningboltP QRS… and so on.

The benefits of lightningbolt are almost beyond fathoming. Onomatopoeia would take on a whole new level. Imagine, a letter that makes its own distinct sound! That would blow whoosh, boom, pow, and most of the rest of the Batman words next to obsolete. They would be the eight track to MP3, leaded gasoline to the hydrogen fuel cell, the vacuum tube to the microprocessor. It would be revolutionary! And that’s not even getting into the potential for new dictionary entries. Websters would experience a renaissance unlike any ever seen in the modern world.

I know what all of you detractors are saying, Dewey Decimal would roll in his grave if he heard of this. Well, too bad. There are always going to be those who champion the status quo because they’re afraid of progress and what it might mean to their bubble wrapped existance. We need radical thinkers such as myself to push the bill, explore the limits of the human mind. People thought Darwin was crazy, he couldn’t even publish, “On the Origin of Species” until after he died for fear of public reaction. Galileo was put under house arrest for proposing (some believe correctly) that the sun, not the Earth is the center of our universe. Well I will not be repressed! Lightningbolt is too powerful. It is not just a letter, it’s a revolution. Lightningbolt is poised to be one of the great discoveries / made up letters of the 21st century.

So get behind it! Get in on the ground floor. I guarentee you won’t be disappointed. I predict that in fifty years time, Paul Morrison will be to the alphabet, what John Lennon was to songwriting, what Steven Hawking is to physics (and voice replicators) what Nobel was to blowing stuff up. A visionary. A radical. A dreamer. A genius.

Sincerely

Dr. Paul Q. Morrison Esq.

(Doctor of nothing in particular)

5K – Mat Kiberd, John Morash, David Conrad, Kate Read, and Claire Hamilton
10K – Tiffany O’Donnell, PJ Rasmussen, Shasta Moser, and Alex Nelson
21.1K – Jon Chung, Annie Colwell, and Arpun Bajwa
42.2K – David Sibley

Training for this event turned out to be a success for many reasons. To begin, everyone who ran this weekend achieved the distance they set out to run. Also, preparing for this event helped us all to become more physically active which is an important part of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. It got people out training together and sharing an experience other than studying. Last, it helped promote that balance that we all need in medical school.

So I just want to say congratulations to all those who ran this weekend. Well done! The effort put forward by everyone in training for this event was well worth it. Also, a special congratulations to PJ who finished first in his event. Way to go PJ! Thank you as well to those who were able to get out and watch some of the events. Your support was certainly appreciated by those running.

As you can see from the list above, we had a good turnout for this event. If I am missing the name of anyone who ran please add your name at the end of the blog. Of course, I believe it would be even better if next year we could have even more runners from our class.

As many of know from my previous blog entries, I trained for the full marathon, which is a distance of 42.2km. A couple of weeks before the date of the marathon I started to get some significant inflammation in my right knee. Rest, ice and naproxen seemed to eliminate the pain and inflammation, but going into race day I had a lingering fear that during the marathon the pain and discomfort would return. Fortunately, I had no return of pain in the right knee, and during the entire race all my joints felt fine.

Now most Nova Scotians know that traditionally, the weather for the Bluenose marathon has always been cold, rainy, and windy. Fortunately luck was on our side this year as Sunday, race day, turned out to be a very good day for running. The sun was out and the temperature was nice and cool.

The first half of the marathon took place on the Halifax side. The route was mainly flat which allowed me to pick up the pace a little bit and finish the first 22km in 2 hours. This was important for me as I knew the second half had a lot more hills and it would be tougher to maintain a faster pace. Coming back into the split area, there was a gate to the left for the half-marathoners to finish and a gate to the right to continue the full marathon. The guy asked me if I was still going. I nodded and kept going to the right and said to myself “Here we go”.

For the second part of the marathon we crossed over the bridge to Dartmouth. This is where the hills began. Up Nantucket to School, across School to Woodland, up Woodland to MicMac Mall and then into Shubie Park. Once into the park we followed a windy trail through the woods and eventually we came out onto Waverly Road. We followed Waverly until it changed to Prince Albert Road and we continued by the Dartmouth Lakes. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing in off the lake right into our face.

Around Lake Banook (37 km), I knew I would probably start to get tired, and I was. My longest training run prior to the marathon had only taken me up to 35km. That’s when I brought out the secret weapon. Before the race I had told my family to wait for me near the canoe clubs. So as I ran by it was nice to get some encouragement to keep going.

That then brought me to what I think was the absolute hardest part of the marathon, Maple Street. It was about a kilometer long and started at about a 30-35 degree incline and half-way up the hill it increased to almost 45. As I started up the hill I could see people stopping and starting to walk up the hill. Somehow, with my legs burning I managed to keep running all the way to the top where it made a left hand turn and leveled off.

From there, it was back to the bridge to head back to Halifax and finish with a 2km stretch down Brunswick Street back to the Town Clock. My goal for the marathon was to try and finish under 4 hours and when I came off the bridge and turned onto Brunswick Street, I looked at my timer. I still had a chance to clear 4 hours. My muscles were aching and burning, and I really wanted to walk a little, but instead I just looked inside and somehow found the energy to keep pushing forward to the finish line. With the end in site I knew it was going to be close so I just put my head down and pushed my legs to go as fast as they could. When I crossed the finish line I recorded a time of 3 hours 57 minutes 55 seconds.

So that concludes my experience in training for and running a marathon. Someone has already asked me when I am going to run my next one. I can honestly say that running a marathon is something I never want to do ever again. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed training for the marathon, and by running it I proved to myself that I could push my body to do it, but now that I have done it once and achieved my goal, I really see no reason to ever do it again. Next year I could see myself cutting back to the half-marathon but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. I plan, however to continue to keep running shorter distances around 10km to maintain my cardiovascular fitness.

So I’ll end here with an invitation to the other runners and those who came out to cheer us on to respond with your thoughts and experiences from the Bluenose Marathon.

I suddenly looked back this year and realized that I can’t remember the last time I sat down to write just for the fun of it. But it had been too long; I was too intimidated to start something I knew I’d probably never finish. And where to start? What to write about? Then, hallelujah! One day I saw a poster for the Cynthia Davis Prize for Writing. It wasn’t even so much the prize that enticed me, but it was just the perfect excuse to get back into writing. It beckoned to me. I started to work away furiously at a story outline that day and typed long into the weekend. But then somehow I got busy, and let my writing go by the wayside (I’ll admit, my old friend writer’s block had a wee bit to do with this as well!). I realized it was the last week, and the due date happened to fall on the same day as our pharm exam. So much for that. I sighed. One more unfinished story. Sigh again. Another failed attempt to write. Add one more sigh.

But things seemed destined to align for me. For not only was the contest deadline extended, but for the first time in a very, very, VERY long time, I had the uncontrollable urge to write, and sat myself down at my laptop for seven hours straight (no breaks) and typed, not hesitating even once, my writer’s block all but gone, the story flowing from my fingers as fast as I could type it. Actually I think this has never happened before in my entire history of writing! I forgot how much I loved it, watching the characters develop and the story spring forth from my fingers, taking me to unexpected places, twisting the plot in ways I hadn’t thought of, exploring secret, long-buried corners of myself. For writing, as anyone who does it knows, is a deeply personal experience, whether you’re writing an autobiography or a novel about strange aliens on Planet Thoron. I had totally forgotten how gratifying it feels, the satisfying ache that penetrates to the very core of your being that you get when you can take a blank page and give it life that no one else could have. And you know what? I don’t even care if my story sucks. Considering I spewed most of it out in one sitting, it is probably not winning material, or even close. But just the satisfaction of knowing that I still have it in me, and the pleasure it gave me to write once more it makes it all worthwhile.

So tell me, what are your strange and buried talents? Things you used to do, but have long ago given up but secretly wished to restart? Take it from me, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve juggled, or knitted, or written poetry, or played with saws or a musical instrument or a baseball, no matter how dust-covered your old passion, it’s worth re-digging it up. Sure it may be rusty, but when it gets polished off, you’ll rediscover a side of yourself you’d long forgotten existed. Given the satisfaction and pleasure it brings you, you’ll wonder why in the world you gave it up in the first place. And if you’re lucky, you won’t let labels or lack of time let you bury it in the annals of “I used to be really good at…” ever again.

Needless to say by the time I got home my right knee was painful, a little swollen, red, warm to touch, and yes, there was, I guess you could say, some loss of function. All the classic signs of inflammation. Wow, I do remember something from PIM! So I started with the ibuprofen and the bag of frozen peas and then skipped a few runs. Things seemed to be calming down so on Thursday I decided to test out the knee with a short 10 km run. The swelling was down but during the run the discomfort and some mild pain returned. Being so close to race day I didn’t want to mess around, so after our pharm exam I went to the University Health clinic to have my knee looked at. Well, the good news is that there is no physical damage, but the subpatellar bursa is very inflamed. So no risk of injury, but things are going to be uncomfortable for a while. So I left with my prescription for Naproxen, which thanks to pharm I now know all about it, and went to the pharmacy. I must say that I found it very humourous at the pharmacy to receive from the third year pharmacy student a 5 minute description of Naproxen including the mechanism, indications, contraindications, side effects, drug interactions, etc, but I knew she is there to get her experience (we’re all students) so I let her continue, and she did do a good job.

So the plan now is to try and balance my running to keep my endurance up during this taper down period, with a little “damage control” which will include the Naproxen and icing the knee after my running sessions. I just finished another 10 km run today (Saturday May 3) and while there definitely was some discomfort, there was no pain. So I’ll keep up with the NSAID and the icing and hopefully things will continue to improve, but I may have to resign myself to the fact that it may be an uncomfortable 42 km run (but then again, is there such a thing as a comfortable 42 km run???).

Anyways, that is the latest status update. Again, good luck to everyone who is training. Keep it up and soon all your hard work will pay off!

David