life = $?

Premise 1: f(money accrued) < f(money needed)
Premise 2: money ≠ life

There it is. An absolute. A less than, with no chance of it being equal. Always, always less than, unequal to, never.

Peter Singer always asks what a life is worth. He also ponders what is the human responsibility - to what do we owe to the world? Jia Hu on the other hand always questions as to what we are called to do on earth.

I come to this not so novel conclusion here and say:
Altruism is dying.

That being said, it's not dead. I met a lady very recently who exhibited an uncharacteristic amount of altruism that you ne'er see in today's world. Granted, she also exhibits some tendencies towards a personality disorder or two (take it with a grain of salt) but regardless of what she is, her principle struck a cord in me. Here is someone that, despite all odds, is willing to listen to her heart guide her in the direction of what is the moral right. She will save her fellow man no matter what the cost. She finds it her purpose here, and follows it to the point that she will guilt us into believing what she believes. Absolutely fascinating.

I make a confession: This man in question might actually not be a man, though, but perhaps a female. And perhaps not so much a woman but a puppy. Does this matter? Does this detract from the cost of a life - is a puppy worth less than a human? What is my personal responsibility in all this? If I feel the need to help, must I help? To what extent? When is the boundary crossed between when somepuppy in need is my responsibility or someone else's or not anyone's responsibility at all?

Here is what I know. Life tells me to move on, to wash my hands of this. It says, "You are not being selfish but logical." My heart tells me to reach out no matter what the cost be. Jia loves to quote Schindler, so let us sing charity's favorite paean: "Whoever saves one life saves the world entire."

So I wonder:

1. If you saw someone in the alley clawing around for help, would you stop?
2. If you saw a puppy in the alley clawing around for help, would you stop?
3. If this person needed a lot of your help and had nobody else to turn to, would you help?
4. If a puppy needed a lot of your help and had nobody else to turn to, would you help?
5. I am a bad person.

new york, new york

I have realized that everything I consider romantic can be boiled down into my conception of the couple in New York winter (okay fine, John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale in Serendipity). Picture this in your head - two strangers holding hands, strolling through Central Park all bundled up in mittens and scarves, laughing as snow cascades and swirls all about them like a white tornado. You don't even have to have gone to New York to see this in your mind's eye - the movies have painted an image on us so strong that we can see them hovering under the lamppost, pausing to have a kiss, their breath freezing in the cold air into wet steam.

You see, everything I find romantic is from the movies - I grew up a dreamer and it continues still, albeit with a slight realist twinge because if I operated by the conventions of movies I would always be depressed by how it never turns out so. But think, everything I absolutely adore!: Steaming cups of coffee being sipped on the street corner waiting for the light to turn green, apple pie a la mode in some dingy diner across the street from a frozen ice rink where couples skating for the first time giggle as they hold the siderail and try not to fall over, Salvation Army santas standing at the corner of Times and 42nd Avenue ringing that fucking bell but people are in such a giving mood that there are a few twenties in there to help the less fortunate bless them, looking up into the endless expanse of darkened sky knowing that we are such a small portion of this universe but loving life nonetheless because we do exist here miniscule or not we are corporeal we are real we are part of something amazing; our gaze turns to the city skyline moving and shifting as the parallax from the falling snow dazzles and amazes us as the lights blink on the billboard sign displaying some ad for Mamma Mia.

So you and I, enjoying romance in the crisp winter air where love goes to live and, for the moment, escapes the clutches of reality, let us wander heels crunching through this snow, sipping our half-calf, avec whip, half-sweet hazelnut lattes, all bundled up in our winter parkas and just go nowhere because you know what?

We are here.

revelation

I have found
that ignorance is bliss.

dream

I have this dream I keep thinking about. It's not really that original but it means a lot to me, and I hope I can make it a reality. I have this vision of going to this place where I have no idea what the language is and nobody has a clue who I am. I am armed only with my Moleskin and trusty RSVP, my goniometer, tape measure, transfer belt and stethoscope. The setting is war-torn or post-apocalyptic earthquake or something equally devastated.

I complain a lot about humanity dying and the world not caring enough. The truth is that I do not do enough and am only complaining about how I don't do enough. My answer is simple: To go out and do something. I excel at holding a patient's hand and not seeing them as a patient but as a person. It is easy to become jaded in health care and we all vow not to but this feeling of giving your heart out to every patient you see is something I never want to lose.

I went to see my patient who I worked closely with, the same one who allowed me visit to their home and showed me photos of them as a child - black and white things that are timeless and precious. L. had gone to the hospital for a severely leaky mitral valve that led to a serious pulmonary edema. L. was going to be discharged from the program, and one Sunday at cell group I went out on a whim and prayed for L.. Whether it be due to divine intervention or simply coincidental luck (confound - we'll never know), L. got better, and on Friday we went to the heart institute for a visit. That is a moment that will stay emblazoned in my neocortex for all time - the "Hello Joey" as they entered, the "You'll have to work very hard with me Joey" when talking about exercise, L. asking me about our house party and the social worker commenting "My that little L. loves you, how come we weren't invited to your house party?" and finally me giving L. a hug and saying I couldn't wait to see L. back at the program.

Mag once wondered aloud why I am so moved by every ebb in health my patients undergo, and it's as simple as saying that these relationships mean a lot to me. I said before that if it matters so much to me that one be healed, then it will mean so much more to heal a lot. I must go to a place that needs me, because I need them and together we will heal the world.

So hurry up school and finish so that I may be the answer to all those e-mails sent out from the Canadian Physiotherapy Association calling for physios to Haiti. My heart cries out to be divided million-fold to those that need aid - mitosis for the masses.

fuck

Not a good week.

need/want pt. 2

I have, however, learned the price of a life. I see these patients come into my clinic and assess them, spry old things with lots of stories and quips. I work with them for days, improving their strength, getting them on the recumbent bike, clapping on their backs to improve secretion removal. I listen to their life's tale, then I listen to their lungs, then I listen to their hearts dying, gurgling.

I come to work the next morning and he's in the hospital, she's in the hospital. Cachexia, congestive heart failure, stroke. Then they get discharged from the program; they are never coming back. They go from two years ago running marathons to multi-system atrophy and 2-wheeled walkers to the hospital for 4-person assist. I see them at their homes holding their puppy, showing me their room and the pictures of them when they were young.

If the death of one or two affects me so. I begin to see life as it is, to be happy and grateful and to thank God that every day we are alive is a blessing. I look at my parents and know that they too are getting old and I thank Heavens that we can still go to dim sum together.

I cannot help but wonder that if my heart cries out for one or two, then what about the parts of the world where hundreds, thousands dying means nothing to us over here. If we could stop the death of one, we save at least the grief of having one more dead. Nobody should ever have to experience sorrow and anguish.

I often contemplate the answer to this question, and often have many an answer. But I think the meaning of life is to preserve it and to do as much as you can to save life.

need/want

I have never known what is means to need God.

If you think about it, you only truly appreciate something when you really need it. We don't realize what food means to us until we don't have any. We don't know true thirst until our wells run dry and there is nothing left to quench our parched throats. In that same manner, I can say without a doubt that I take God for granted.

I feel as though I don't need Him, that my life would not be so devoid of fulfillment even if I didn't know He existed. I got along just fine without religion for the majority of my life. Of course, I was a miserable little brat of a child, but my melancholy cannot be attributed to life without God as the confound of the misery of life itself muddies that dichotomy. I'm just beginning to think for myself and wonder if God is what I truly need. Will I ever encounter a moment where I will be so completely without God that I will understand what it means to need Him? I wonder when I can truly be so weak.

I suppose it is for these selfish reasons that I have been contemplating missions trips as of late. Don't get me wrong, I do want to go to Haiti and rehabilitate people who have had their legs crushed by falling cars during the earthquake; I think it would be a lovely experience and one where I would feel as if I was contributing to humanity rather than sitting in my study room playing Starcraft till the wee hours of the morning. I think, though, that if I were to go on a missions trip, it would simply be out of my own personal spiritual desperation, a final, self-initiated alpha course to educate my brain that there is the importance of God. In that respect, perhaps it isn't a missions trip that I need but simply a weekend of solitude in the mountains to reflect and peruse God's righteousness and majesty.

I just want to know if I am forming a relationship with Him out of necessity, or if I am truly getting to know Him with the purest essence of my heart.

I am sad to say that at this point I cannot tell.

the definition of cool

Gosh DARN this people are cool:


Chris Pine, Star Trek; eating an apple with the Kobayashi Maru.


Daniel Craig, 007; ego + suavity + caviar.


George Clooney, Ocean's Twelve; Oprah.


Jin & Mugen, Samurai Champloo; sword is faster than the gun.


Lupe Fiasco, The Cool; skateboarding and glasses.


Morgan Freeman, Lucky Number Slevin; the Schmoo.


Tunde Adebimpe, TV on the Radio; hand waving.

Fanboy? Yup.

POW

I spoke to a patient yesterday and was just blown away by some of the history we have in our facility. My PT told me how Z. had been a POW in Germany and then queried me as to how I thought Z.'s legs got messed up. I had no idea, but then was informed that the Nazis flooded the mining camp and broke Z.'s leg. It was never fixed, because Nazis have no hearts. Z. was set to be hanged on Easter Sunday, but was able to escape and made way for Canada.

It's incredible that I can be privy to this kind of thing. Z.'s really an easygoing person, which is amazing after going through so much. Z. answers everything with, "Yes, thank you very much!", and only complains of shoulder pain every so often, but otherwise is just an incredible individual.

It's nice to know that even after pain and suffering there is solace in a positive attitude and an embracing of life.

physio pt. I

Last Friday I was involved in a fender bender in which I was sandwiched between two cars. As a result, I've been feeling some lumbar and cervical spine stiffness, and booked in for physiotherapy today.

I have to say it's weird being on the other side. I had remembered how annoying MVAs were what with all the paperwork, so I made sure to fill out my AB-1 and AB-2 forms as best as I could. When I got there, the receptionists were confused: "You're literally the first person I've seen that's filled everything out." I told them I used to work behind the desk. It's weird and almost a little bit ironic - I never thought I'd need physio or be filling out my own informed consent form, but there I was doing what I'd told so many other people to do.

My physiotherapist, K. actually graduated last year from the U of A program, so we had a chat about all the profs and their approaches to therapy. It was kind of refreshing to speak to someone who had already finished the program and was practicing - it was kind of the light at the end of this endless scholastic tunnel, that there really is a career waiting for us. We discussed the merits of challenging Level 1s quickly and obtaining acupuncture in second year - apparently the benefits of knowing trigger points and basic techniques facilitates the education process greatly. Tips and tricks and words of wisdom from the ex-student.

Physios hate it when physios are their patients because it becomes immediately obvious when they're doing something wrong. It becomes quickly apparent that in the real world, we are forced to skip many steps - whether it's out of time constraints or just because they're more focused and know what they're looking for is beyond me (likely a bit of both). K. was extremely nervous throughout the entire process, giving the disclaimer "I should probably do it this way..." the entire time. Regardless, it was interesting to see how proficient you get at the whole process, even though some things get left out.

During the observation, K. noted bilateral muscle wasting in my lumbar spine, which took me by surprise. Atrophy happens pretty quickly after injury (case in point) but I didn't think it would be so obvious in me. Unfortunately, I can't really see my back on a regular basis so it never became apparent to me. During the scan she found right-sided C5 myotome weakness, but I'm not sure what she recorded with regards to AROM/PROM/RI. I received the straight leg raise for the special test, and the majority of the time was spent on joint play in both C-spine and L-spine as well as with palpation for trigger points. In the end, I was diagnosed with L1/2 hypomobility and L3/4/5 hypermobility, likely due to ligamentous strain, with quadratus lumborum tightness due to overcompensation. I also had unilateral levator scapula tightness trying to stabilize for upper C-spine hypomobility.

I was placed on heat and given TENS, but for some reason - my guess is nerve irritability - the TENS would cause tingling down my L4/L5 dermatomal distribution. During this period K. performed myofascial release at different trigger points to loosen up some of the suboccipital muscles preventing me from full side flexion and rotation, the actions that were most limited for me during AROM. I was prescribed with stretches for lev. scap and upper trapezius (side flexion, side flexion /w flexion), as well as stretches for my paraspinal muscles (tucking knees into chest in full hip flexion) and my quadratus lumborum (L-spine rotation essentially). We remarked that the levator scapula and the quadratus lumborum have a tendency to be extremely tight following injury, but that we never learn much about them in class, which makes treating it kind of a guessing game. At the end, I was given a hot pack to take home and throw in the microwave, but I don't really believe in superficial heating so I just warmed it up for Mag's feet which are perpetually cold.

I think it's really interesting to receive physio. Everything seems so simple in classroom, but in application to injury everything is surprisingly helpful. My neck is incredibly limber, and even that little bit of release makes a crazy difference. Even though my back hasn't changed much, I greatly look forward to the next few weeks of treatment. I think it changes your perspective on your profession when you actually experience what you do, and despite having a mangled car and some soft tissue injuries, I'm really glad for this opportunity. I don't like how I got there, but I'll take it for what it is - an exercise (pun!) in enlightenment.

rem the gem

I don't follow hockey. I don't really understand the sport other than it being an excuse for having massive fun being rowdy and drinking beer at the pub. Perhaps it's my aversion to being on ice (clumsy) or my poor coordination with tool sports (ie. racket, stick, baseball bat), but it just isn't one of those things that really sticks with me.

I was browsing my FB when I noticed a friend who had a chance meeting with an ex-Oiler great. I ho-hum'd then decided I'd look this guy up because I have no idea who he is or how prolific he was. Obviously I found him worthy of talking about, because
a. I don't like hockey and
b. Why would I talk about a hockey player if I don't like hockey unless it was an interesting story? and
c. It is an interesting story.

So:

"Rem Murray's one of two guys in this photo who have always personified the Edmonton Oilers to me (the other was Smith, I left the photo out). He was never an overly-skilled guy, but he made the most of his modest talents. His love for the game is also undeniable, something that he proved beyond doubt when he was diagnosed with cervical dystonia. I'll let USA Today explain:

Murray, 33, didn't skate for a year as he explored his treatment options. Eventually, Botox injections provided the best relief. He received a $1 million disability insurance payment because doctors thought his career was over.

But last summer he began to feel good enough to wonder if he could play.

"I remember saying to him, 'Are you sure you want to do this? Because it's going to cost you money to play in the NHL,' " agent Tom Laidlaw says. "But he said, 'I just want to play again.' "

Every dollar he earns must go to the insurance company until he pays back the $1 million. In addition, Murray must still pay his taxes on earnings, which means it costs him money out of his pocket to play for the Oilers this season. At $450,000 a year, he would have to go three seasons to stop losing money.

Murray's played for four seasons since his return; one with Houston of the AHL and the Oilers (the 2006 Cup run), two with HIFK Helsinki, and one with Innsbruk EV in Austria. He's been an impact player over in Europe, and now he's signed on for a fifth season with an Italian team (the Val Pusteria Wolves). He'll be 37 this season, and I hope he squeezes every drop out of his hockey career. He's also one of the few "old boys' club" additions that I'd be fine with, once his playing career is over."

Maybe a million dollars is small money for hockey players to deal with, but I still think the story is pretty awesome. You've got someone who has been faced with a disease process that is disabling, yet he fights it off, gets a little bit of luck and pushes on doing what he loves despite the costs. Sure it's inconvenient, but who cares if you have your goal and you pursue it?

So alright, hockey looks pretty good to me today.
Here's to you, Rem the Gem.

note to self

Reread:

there was a time

"when we were younger we had nothing to do so we'd close our eyes and spin around in circles / happy to hit the ground / happy to just fall down"

I just sat down to type something out and thought I might just leave y'all with these Communist Daughter lyrics, just because I find them really impacting and nostalgic. I was just about to hit "publish post" when I got a call from the police constable I chatted to yesterday.

In the wake of a destructive fender bender, buying patio furniture for our new house, finishing Block 2, and all other things adult, it just hit me at how my childhood is dying. I no longer see the world in the same naive and innocent way, a playground full of potential and free of rapists and pedophiles. I might still apologize to a stuffed animal when it falls from the bed to the ground, but I've come to realize that that's the extent of my imagination nowadays. I can't pretend anymore.

I can't go to the park and sit cross-legged and run my hands through the sand for an hour believing that I'm manipulating the earth like a Naruto character. I don't know how to touch the sky at the top of my swing peak anymore, nor can I pretend that by putting on a decoder ring from a box of Lucky Charms I now have powers like the Green Lantern. What was once a subjective reality is now just a game.

So as I look through the front window out onto the street and see that adorable five year old kid riding shirtless on his bike with training wheels, I'm disappointed that when I look through the front window it's just a kid on a bicycle with training wheels.

When I was younger that'd be Paul Bunyan on a Kawasaki Ninja.

rhinorrhea

dear antihistamines,

work please.

yours sincerely,

mr. snot.

how it is

bang bang she shot me down
bang bang i hit the ground
bang bang that awful sound
bang bang my baby shot me down

a tribute to grandma

was on facebook earlier and a bunch of people have been commenting on this guy's note and i thought i'd give it a looksee. possibly one of the best things i've read in a while, the tone is the epitome of what a eulogy should be. breaks my heart:

"a spectacular woman born months after World War I, who has endured more suffering and grief throughout her life than most people ever will, yet has been positive throughout and has lived until now, 91 years later.

the 'lucky' lady married a physician fresh out of HKU and had two kids..but little did she know, 4 years later, World War II would begin, the Japanese would invade, supplies to her village would be cut off, and she would lose her husband, youngest son, and many other family members to starvation. what good is a physician with no food and no farm?

flee she did, hunkering in limbo until her father-in-law in South America was finally able to get Britain to approve her move to Guyana, to start life anew with her surviving child.

who knew that years later Guyana would also be a place of violence, poverty, crime, and hardship?

despite warnings from my great-great-grandfather that Canada was a terrible place and Chinese get treated like shit (he worked on the railroad in BC much earlier on..), flee we did, scoping out multiple Canadian cities until we ended up in Vancouver.. hoping that the third continent would be the one to last.

over the years in Canada she would help raise my siblings, as my parents worked 7 days a week 365 days a year. not only did she do that, but she helped care for some of my cousins on my mom's side as well. totallly voluntary, and totally unrelated to her. but she did.

she was the most frugal person i've ever met. she re-used disposable styrofoam plates for years, never bought her own tissues/napkins(etc.) (that's what condiment stands are for), ate rotting/moldy food (but never got sick..), and pretty much never bought anything for herself. but she bought me toys when i was little, she took me to eat at McDonalds, she funded my grade 10 exchange to Japan when i failed at saving enough money and still selfishly insisted on going, despite our family's dire financial situation.
she has always been encouraging and supportive of me.

she looked after me when my parents weren't around. rushed me to the doctor the one and only time i had anaphylaxis. taught me how to make noodles and dumplings from scratch. she took me out to go places, took me to Whistler, to the Gulf Islands, to places my parents never took me.

she was a simple woman, made happy by food (esp all you can eat sushi), gardening, walking, socializing with friends. she was made happy by her grandkids getting married (..except me), and by her 4 great-grandchildren.

She had Parkinson's Disease for years but has always been positive about it, and never let it stop her in doing all the activities that she enjoyed. She lived independently till age 90 and never asked people for help. she didn't want to bother us.

then all of a sudden WHAM kidney failure. WHAM heart failure. WHAM stroke. WHAM pneumonia. WHAM Clostridium Difficile and toxic megacolon.
watching her suffer in the past little while has been so tough. for a woman who never complained about anything to keep repeating the words "i'm in pain, i'm in pain" makes your heart wrench.
and when she wasn't able to talk anymore, the look in her eyes told me everything. during the entire ordeal, she was able to smile once, and once only.

she knew her time was coming but it didn't come. her body kept wanting to hold on. finally, this weekend, she left us.

i miss her a lot, and i always will, but i take solace in the fact that she is no longer suffering.

if she wasn't so strong and wasn't able to make it through all the hard times, i wouldn't be here today.

here's to grandma"

hiatus

and hiatus again. finals and moving in.

see you april 24!

final fantasy tactics advance

New wallpaper, hoy!



You'll notice CCW from left: Shiva, Moogle Gunner class, Nu Mou Alchemist class, Marche, Ritz, Viera Assassin class, Nono, and Ramuh. Sweet!

a lesson from oncology

I think we have a lot to learn from cancer.

Someday, I hope humans learn to break the gates holding them back from growth. Whether we perceive ourselves to be ready or not (we are ready), we will push ahead and realize our dreams. We will discard anyone saying we cannot, make use of our own resources, grow our own so that we may thrive. We will take the path of most resistance and push it aside and blaze our own trail.

It will be chaotic and some roads wind upon each other, the misfortunes of a charging crash of rhinos that cannot see what is more than a few feet in front of them. We have our goal in mind but not a clue what it looks like, only the raw desire to make it happen. I think that it will be well worth it in the end when we circumvent that which prevents us from falling, which wants to keep us sequestered to our suburban lifestyles, the mechanisms of life that say we cannot when our mantra should quite classically be yes we can.

So fellow cancers, let us be the tumor that offsets the diseases that plague this world. Proliferate.

après moi, le deluge

I am disgusted by the world. They say you cannot judge God by the actions of His humans, but His humans are all that I see. So let me judge humans. If we have been sent here to love, to be the tangible manifestation of his Message, we have failed.

I often lose faith in humanity. My soul looks at the souls of others and attempts not to vomit. Hate, lies, deceit are rampant. A treasurer steals from an NPO. A man stabs a dog. A bride is murdered the day before her wedding. Ted Bundy.
Smiles hide treachery but actions cannot.

Morality is dead. To care is to practice futility.

/theotherdemifacet/

I
Make houses shrink
And trees diminish
By going far; my look's leash
Dangles the puppet-people
Who, unaware how they dwindle,
Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
Nor guess that if I choose to blink
They die.

-soliloquy of the solipsist; sylvia plath