Should Mentally Ill Women Have Babies?

There was a time when mentally ill women were sterilized.  People forget history.  If you forget history you’re doomed to repeat it.

Identification with the Agressor is the coping strategy whereby a person claims to say or be something another wants out of fear. A mentally ill woman saying she doesn’t want children may well be identifying with the aggressor, the aggressor being society today.  It’s called ‘internalization’.  

I’m not invested in women having children or not having children.  It’s the reason that counts.  Mentally ill women commonly have major self esteem issues.  Many have been commonly abused.  The consequence of emotional, physical and sexual abuse is a sense of inadequacy.  This can well translate to I’m not ‘good enough’ to have a child or « I could never be a mother ».

Récent studies have shown that women’s magazines are one of the principle harms to women’s self esteem.  

Having a child I remind women is an athletic event. If you can run, jump, play basketball, soccer, or do a long hike you’re fit. Ironically the larger the ‘hips’ the more likely a woman is to have an ‘easy’ delivery. We have moved a long way from the Twiggy anorexic to the Kardasian butt proud celebrity images. 

Yet there’s still many myths perpetrated on women by the women’s magazine industry.  The myths and ‘politically correct narratives’ push their various sales pitches, backers and propaganda agendas.  Ask your doctor and he/she will tell you if there’s any ‘physical’ reason to not have children?  

When I delivered babies, like every midwife and obstetrician, I liked seeing ‘hips’.  Traditionally ‘female shape’ equates with easy delivery.   That’s it.  Obviously if a woman has heart disease or  a rare  metabolic disorder there is reason for proper prenatal care.  Few conditions are  a contraindication to pregnancy and mental illness in general is not one of them. 

Mood Disorders, Personality Disorders, Thought disorders, and in fact, almost any mental illness is not a reason to avoid having children.  Mental illnesses in general are genetically receptive and the risk of transmission is so minor as to not be an issue.  Really! Really!  

The ‘genetics’ of mental illness is in its infancy and while certain traits ‘run in familie’s’ like alcoholism, the chance of transmission of the traits is incredibly small.  Even schizophrenia which has a strong genetic contribution must have environmental factors to lead to the expression of the schizophrenic genes.. A person can have the risk of schizophrenia because of certain genes but only if, for example, they smoke marijuana in adolescence will the schizophrenia be expressed.  If one identical twin has alcoholism the other twin has a 50% chance of developing alocholism but only if he or she drinks.  

Mental illness is ‘multi factorial’ and commonly ‘recessive’ as opposed to ‘dominant’ which means least likely to be transmitted generation to generation.  Mental illness is therefore not part of the  standard ‘genetic talk’ given to future parents.  If you have huntingdon’s chorea and want boys you might want to talk to a geneticist.  The risk of transmission of a ‘dominant’ trait is significantly higher 

However alot of women who have mental illness have been told they are bad, different, crazy,  all their lives.  She come to  believes this.  She then is likely to translate this to mean that she would not have a good child. A child of hers will be bad like her. The bad ‘seed’ myth.  Further, she believes she will not make a good mother.  Yet motherhood is on of the principle reasons for women ‘changing their life’ around. So many professional women I know used to drink and party other girls but when they became mothers they put on their big girl panties and did a hell of a good job. So women can change and it does not follow that a woman diagnosed with mental illness young will produce a bad child or be a bad mother. 

Dr. Whitaker the famous child psychiatrist also said , If you want to know about how a woman feels about having children ask her how she feels her mother felt about having her.  Self fulfilling prophecies in families can be undone in counselling and routinely are. 

It’s useful to counteract mis information and disinformation with preventative medicine ‘facts’.

My favourite fact regarding child birth that I love to share, to the chagrin and groans of my female friends, is that having children is beneficial biologically for women increasing their health and longevity and reducing disease. This part is true and sadly not shared as wildly as the abortion industry data with its political baggage.  However, here’s what gets the groans, The Amish studies showed that improved health and longevity for women   held true up to 12 children. Therefore, I tell women ‘don’t have the 13th child’ . The data showed no value with having more than 12 children.

Further having children under the age of 30 causes women to have reduced risk of  future cancer and early death.  

Similarly since women have their ‘eggs’ for  life, giving birth young, age 20 to 30 is better than age 50.  As giving birth is an athletic event it’s not surprising that 20 year olds have easier less complicated deliveries than 30 year old and definitely 40 year olds.  However having a baby as a ‘teen ager’ is directly associated with poverty and social problems which translate to future health problems. 

 Probably in western culture and society the ideal time for having a baby is 25 to 30 years of age. It is significant  because men have no such ‘biological clock’.  Given the power of female pheromes and fertility coupled with sociobiology,  reproduction as male defence against fear and denial of death,  casual sex is attractive with this age group of women regardless the age of men.  That doesn’t mean the man consciously wishes to ‘father’ the child or children. It does mean that men and women are vastly different, in a society which wishes often to deny this.  Women  benefit from being ‘informed’.  

When I was doing a  specialty in community medicine and public health I learned that the doctor is a powerful source of health information which people tend to follow.  I believe in ‘informed consent’.  I believe women who have mental illness need to hear that there is no ‘general’ reason for them not to have children.  Of course they can simply not want children but this should be for that reason rather than ‘because I’m mentally ill’. 

There are valid reasons for not wanting to have children. A truly valid reason I heard from a brain injured patient for not having children was « I can not manage my own health needs I don’t believe I would be able to give the time and focus to a child. ».  The question then follows , would you want a child if that was not an impediment?

Underlying any discussion with a mentally ill person may be the idea of ‘worthiness’.   The elite commonly have children.  Justin Trudeau and Sophie have children and nannies.  Donald Trump has children.  Obama has children.  In a world where the elite have control they might simply want to reserve resources for their children and deny mentally ill women children not for their benefit but simply to reduce the competition for resources on their own children, whether they’re mentally ill or not. Power corrupts. Absolutes power corrupts. The mother of the prime minister of Canada was mentally ill and no one discouraged her from having children. Yet if she was poor and nobody would that be the case.   In general the discussion for having a child should be the same for the mentally ill and the not yet diagnosed mentally ill. This is a factor because mental illness often appears later in life. Further the sophistication of diagnosis in western countries is hundred fold beyond the diagnosis of mental illness in other parts of the world.  So many Canadian and American women would simply not have a mental illness diagnosis if they were born elsewhere. By contrast this is not true for heart disease or diabetes.

My friend wanted a PHD rather than have a child. Another friend wanted a house. Children cost money and sometimes only the elite are able to make marriages work in these anti family times.  « I don’t like children. ». Now that’s a good reason not have children. Fortunately in Canada we have a social system with a great deal of support for all women having children so that the mentally ill will as likely have social and economic support having children. Certainly in countries where there isn’t a social network mental illness is a greater stigma.

I enjoyed a mentally ill woman who said she wanted to adopt a child using much the same logic as a person uses who chooses a ‘rescue dog or cat’.  Suffering anxiety about a lot of physical symptoms she had fear of pregnancy but saw that her somewhat delineated fear would make that a challenge but she understood she would make a good parents.  She cared for her dog and her neices and everyone trusted her to baby sit. 

I sometimes hear young people in general say they don’t want children because there are too many people on the planet.  The reason that upsets me is that that was the halcyon cry of the Morgenthaller abortion industry in my youth.  Morgethaller, Jewish,   had three children but aborted so many catholic babies.   That was when the elite were having 3 babies and the ‘peasants’ were told not to reproduce.  Yet thirty years later the government is inviting all and sundry to immigrate to here, saying that there are ‘too few people’ in the west.  

Meanwhile,  the greatest means overall of  reduce third world child birth ,where the women don’t have the education or financial resources,  to ensure optimal parenting, is to address infant mortality.  Maternal education is central to reducing the size of the family which economically is associated with reducing overall the growth of population. .  Women historically have lots of children because children are an old age pension plan.  Boys are especially at risk of dying early but are also the ones who contribute most to the family income.  If children are likely to live women are more willing to have less children. 

Further maternal education regardless of religion, culture, country or race results in reduction of childbirth to the magic ‘three children’. This is the number even the ‘elite’ choose.  Replacement plus a spare. 

The trouble is the most barbaric repressive regimes deny women education . For God knows what reason feminists don’t address this issue.  Women’s liberation did. Women’s Libertation which I marched and fought for  considered female education as the means to female emancipation.  

I believe the stigma against the mentally ill is so great that women with mental illness are at risk of not having children because they feel unworthy or have low self esteem. They are at risk of being marginalized, demonized and denied what clearly the elite persist in having.  The old certainly still see the value of family though Marx and Engles were against family when they planned the communist revolution.    

Most mentally ill women have great pregnancies, easy deliveries and make great mothers.  

UBC Psychiatry Department has a specific division of enlightened brilliant compassionate female psychiatrists who specialize in Prenatal, Perinatal, and Post Natal consultations for Mentally Ill women. If any one has serious questions or concerns they can get the best answer there. Not on Google. Not from Hollywood. Not from Housewives on the Moon.    

I want women with mental illness to have the same ‘true choice’ that other women have in this regard.  I believe in education and informed consent. 

33-34 yo Drugs, Rape,Insaniety, Gay, GraduationDivorce, abortion,

I’ve woken again with the now familiar nightmare.  The psychedelic drowning with my mind moving about in it’s shell.  I’m quite afraid but not in panic. Just tired. The 3 am wakening. The memories.

The chronology of this time is confusing.

I remember her mother and her father fighting. He’s become violent. She’s again demanding her daughter’s total involvement.I ‘m a psychiatrist by now and call the ‘bluff’.  The constant alcoholic family drama and crisis have worn me down. My wife is in her final year of her residency but this constant loud distraction of her mother’s is a priority. I’ll be unfaithful after she graduates. After I throw the big party for her. After she gets angry about the gazebo insisting we can’t ‘afford’ one , after she’s taken the lowest paid academic job.  After she’s said she doesn’t want children and maybe we could adopt.

I drove over with her and took her mother to an apartment leaving her drunken father and drunken brother.  Problem solved. Yet, no.  The mother is now more depressed. Aparently safety and being out of the situation is not the solution.  She’s now even more of an issue for my wife. The mother’s chronic depression, hypochondriasis, drunken marriage, all of that is competing for centre stage as my wife is coming up to the finishing line of a good thing, her pediatric specialty. It’s all about the mother.  Alcoholism is like that. Untreated Al Anon’s are like that. But the whole family drinks and I drink. And as the stress of work increased the drinking increased a bit for us whereas for the mother she and her husband drank more along with the older brother who would soon die of liver disease from alcoholism

But my new friend is a woman doctor, quite the genius, from an amazing family. Yet she’s married the bad boy whose father is a schizophrenic criminal and whose family is even more bizarre than my in laws and definitely lower class to their middle class.  My friend’s family is if anything upper class. Class and education become a thing now because the boyfriend is a biker drug dealer and his attraction to the beautiful doctor with high intelligence is rather classic bad boy good girl dynamic. I’m of course studying all this at the time and treating families with wayward adolescents and paralleling my own life is this whole psychotic work life where the descriptions of the patients resonate with the friends and families outside of the psychiatry ward and psychiatry outpatients.  The walls between the two are grow thin.  

I have real difficulty with this time.  The final year of my residency. There’s the conference and infidelity. She’s teaching and I’m continuing to do my residency, work seeing patients in my basement, moon lighting  in the detox ,studying for exams, preparing for orals,and actually attending my first AA meeting because I am invited as a professor and am working with alcoholic families. It’s unusual.  I don’t think in a thousand years I’ll ever come to such a meeting as fellow sufferer. decades later I will.

I remember that there are these huge house parties that academics throw.I’m attending them occasionally by myself. I guess this may be after my ex and I separated.  I remember the big party I threw for her graduation and that there was no such celebration of my graduation. It was Maria Gomorri who convinced me to attend my final exam. I was going to leave.  I have a tendency to leave things that bother me.  

I had been fucked by my professor. I’d divulged to him my difficulties with my wife.  We were apparently working on staying together but she was furious and hurt and life was a mess. I was either at work with crazy people who were angry and wanting to kill me or at home with a wife who was angry and wanting to kill me.  

I was smoking dope. i remember hot knifing hashish because the biker friend had brought some in from Montreal. There’s a few of us. Now. I’m a good customer. He’s used his wife to access uptown markets. I introduce him to other faculty members.  

At this party in Tuxedo, millionaires and academia, there’s a girl passed out on the coats in the room for that. I come in to get my coat and this guy is about to rape her. He’s with his friend. Their pants are down. She’s drunk and trying to push him away feebly because she’s so out of it. I fight with this lawyer and his buddy and push them out of thee room then carry this woman out to my car. Her girlfriend comes with me bringing her fur coat. I drive them to her apartment in the Osborne area. It’s very uptown. I carry her into the bedroom and leave her with her girlfriend.  

The lawyer and businessmen from my high school are identified as serial rapists who have victimized dozens of young women using the new ‘date rape drug’.  I don’t even register that this is what has happened to this woman I’ve rescued but that her assaillants were another couple of predators. I’m just glad I stopped it.  

I’ve stopped dozens of women being raped having arrived to interrupt the attack. Weird. I remember an Indian woman being raped outside a bar and I walked across the street because she was screaming help and this guy was ripping off her dress.  They were both drunk. My car was parked nearby. Broad daylight. Winnipeg.  

“Would you like some assistance, “ I ask as she’s being punched in the side of the head and he’s ripping off her panties. It may seem strange that I’m so formal in these sitatuions but I am. I’m kind of like a Roger Moore OO7 character come to rescue.  There’s a funny movie of home made super hero’s and I identify. I discuss these situations with my psychiatrist. He eventually says, the insight, the bit I’m to reflect on , ‘you must be ‘scanning’ your environment for opportunities to rescue people. I think most people just don’t see what’s going on around them. They have their head down or are focused on where they’re going but you must be scanning your environment for an opportunity to help.”

I remember the woman drowning at the beach. There were hundreds watching. Only six of us went to assist. The lifeguard pulled her out of the water. I ran the length of the beach to help him pull her body out of the boat as he’d pulled her in and now was getting her out of the boat and I was helping with CPR. But there were hundreds of people and only 6 of us came to asssist him.  I’d run by them taking pictures, pointing out to the friend that there was drowning person, commenting on the lifeguard rescuing her.

“I’d rather be raped by an Indian than rescued by a white man,” she shouting at me spitting. At that time a half dozen other Indians stumbled out of the bar and I made my escape. They’d run a chain on her. I never know if she said that because she meant it or knew that this guy was one of a gang and that they would kill me if I interceded.  I just didn’t know but I left.

Now I’m avoiding talking about sex.  

I told my psychiatry supervisor, the professor, the clinical supervisor. “It’s all counter transference. You must tell me as it can affect your therapy patients.” He will abuse my trust. Use my information for his purpose. He is a narcissist at best, perhaps a sociopath but not a psychopath, thank God. 

So I open up and tell him about being raped as a teen by a man ,about the drugs , the betrayal by the band, the police and ‘good time Charlie’s back in town’ , about the first marriage. He told me it was terrible that the man had hurt me and that I shouldn’t have been hurt when I was penetrated.

 Someone who cared  would go slowly and caringly and heal all the pain of that time.”  It seemed like something odd at the time but only was something I thought of in retrospect when the mind wonders ‘why didn’t I see that coming....how could I have taken a different path...should I have taken a different path.”  

I’d go on to tell him  about my wife and the girl in Phoenix. I’d tell him how there’s no more  sex in the marriage any more, how lonely I was , how I’d given up everything ,being a country gp and flyin doctor to be a psychiatrist and now I didn’t know I wanted to be because my marriage didn’t make any sense and I didn’t like where we were going.  I felt trapped and desperate. I was so vunerable.   She was  constantly angry and I told him how depressed I was, how guilty I felt, how remorsefulremorse, and how I’d been seeing this psychiatrist for training but now all I knew was remorse.

Virginia Satir has come to town and we were attending a workshop.  She was doing all her human sculpturing and teaching us through ritual the positions of power. I was paired with my supervisor on stage and must sit before and below him.  

“I really liked when you were on your knees before me,” he said. 

“I liked the workshop,” I said. 

He was Jewish and had invited me to attend this weekly study of the tarot. It was Aleister Crawley and the demonic and we always drank and did drugs.  We’d go,  smoke dope and watch the slides and have a discussion of Alester Crowley and sexuality. It was very stimulating. .  There were followers of Crawley there.  He was into the demonic and drug use. Ironically my new friends the biker drug dealer would eventually tell me he too was a follower of Aleister Crowley. 

There was this whole ‘gnostic’ excitement. I felt invited into an inner circle of esoteric teaching by psychiatrists and psychiatric staff. I was studying psychiatry and attending this weekly seminar with a half dozen people from the psychiatry department. We were always smoking dope and drinking wine and it was intellectually very stimulating and fun. 

My work was thoroughly demanding and my home was depressing and these wonderful people invited me into their inner circle. One was an old lady who was a card reader and clairvoyant.  We’d talk about spirituality andspiritism  and the discussion of sexuality was free ranging as well. I was the youngest. 

I was deeply interested in spirituality and had been for ever. I was not meditating or doing prayer because I’d been told not to. I was ‘thinking’ and ‘overthinking’ and everything was related to everything. There was this huge fun insightful revelation of meanings in meanings and all this analysis. Analysis and analysis and analysis and jokes about analysis and comments about double entedre’s and lots of exhilarating insight into the unconscious.

I was no longer involved with Community Medicine because I was told I had to ‘choose’. I was always being manipulated. In retrospect I see this massive manipulation and how it was never about my “needs’ as a student but always about their “needs’ . They were always saying what they felt would be good for me but not ever how it would serve them. So of course I was taking extra call and doing others work and it was all their self sacrificing by letting me do their work.  I’d train in all this and realize how it was used in the workplace and it’s just all part of daily life but now I saw it.  Always there was a quality of you should ‘volunteer, but if you don’t you’d be failed in the residency.”

I had friends in the residency.  A beautiful colleague. She was getting all the same manipulation and disclosed that she’d had sex with her supervisor.  I didn’t register this.

A senior colleague told me that my professor was homosexual and that I should beware . He had a history of using the young staff men and students.  He had a overtly gay medical student as his companion frequently.  But I was in theatre. I wasn’t homophobic .  I had friends who were gay. I was married. HE was married. His Irish wife was divorcing him. I don’t know the reason but when I told him about my own marital problems he divulged his wife was cold and angry. “Irish, angry, unforgiving.”  

My mother was Irish and she sure was one to hold a grudge.

He was such a good man. So hard working. So spiritual. So loving to his daughters. His wife like my wife was so unsupportive. The women at the Aleister Crowley study nights were older but so sexually liberated.  So open in discussion , so avante  garde.

He invited me to attend a Jewish dinner. I think it was Passover. It was a central feature of his religion and he told me that I was being invited, ‘initiated’ into the very core of Judaic religion. He thought I would appreciate this. It was so spiritual. 

I went to dinner with his wife and children.  It was a wonderful evening.  The children participated in the ceremony. His wife was withdrawn and angry but they preceeded through this candlelight ritual. I think we had Matso ball soup. Maybe gefilte fish.

It was family. Warm and Rockwellian..

He invited me down stairs. We’d already drunk quite a bit and we smoked drugs.  “My cousin gets the best stuff. You’ll love this.”

I was catatonic after I’d shared a joint. He undressed me then.  I remember the most amazing sexual experience. I was frozen in moving, and he was all over me, pleasuring me in every way, massaging my body, licking me, fellating me, then he was in from behind, gently entering me.  It was surprising. Not painful.  Perhaps he had lube.  I know he was prepared. I was floating alsmost like a float room experience.

He kept saying, “I know you wanted this. You forced me to do this. You made me do this. You were so sexy. You wanted this. You made me do this”. Then he was pounding me from behind, his voice angry.

He was very angry at his wife. She was using the children as a weapon interefereing with his seeing them. They were separated.  He liked me to wear her lingerie so he could fuck me in their marriage bed.  I did as I was I told. I felt that my residency, more than three years of twining depended on my not angering him.

I enjoyed it all. Physically it was pleasurable. After it was over and he was sated I felt guilty and ashamed.I told him  that I just wanted to be friends, after that first time, 

“I just want to be friends. I don’t want a physical relationship”  I’d tell him every time and he’d just persist. A little wiry man who could destroy my career and reputation. The department was dominated by Jews. I now believed they all or most had been initiated this way. I didn’t want to look the fool, I just wanted it over. 

He’d describe homosexuality as the highest spiritual act and insist that my desire to be spiritual without being physical was the problem. That I must embrace my sexuality in my spiritulity. They were not separate.

I’d figure that this was what Jews did. This was the spirituality of Judaism. I’d also figure that my fellow residents were going through a similiar initiation into psychiatry. There was the woman being fucked by one of the other professors. I didn’t think hers was spiritual as much as romantic.

I felt I’d been so ignorant of this other adult mature level of reality and consciousness.  Was like doing drugs, feeling elite but dirty. 

Maureen had moved out with her mother. I was left in the house alone. This whole separation and her moving out had preceded the sex but it was all so overlapping, his divorce and her leaving and then I met my friend and musical mentor from years before. We’d talked over the years, having coffee in Osborne village. This night he told me he’d sold his guitar and was drunk and picked up a bottle and threw it at the mirror on the wall across the from counter.  I settled things down. I did that. I’d countless times especially with doctors out drinking paid for the damages and got them home in a taxi.

I brought my friend home and told him as he had no place to stay he could stay in my basement.  Maureen moved out. He smoked dope every day and I kept the refrigerator full and he said “every artist needed a patron’. 

But he taught me to play guitar while he was there. And the psychiatrist came over and I had my harmonium and tabala and we’d smoke ganja and play drums and make music and chant. It was all so very holy but after the artist went downstairs, the man would get angry and demand sex. He was always agitated while the artist was so mellow. Stoned I’d see them as a cross and a star. We’d be smoking Thai weed and I’d see them morph into the catholic and the Jew. I didn’t know what I was. I was some kind of Christian Hindu. I’d say years later I sold the house to get rid of the house guest. I’d not say it was because I no long felt my bed was safe. He’d drop in at all hours for his “booty call”. I’d wonder whether I’d have liked this if he didn’t hold power over me. I wished we’d elsewhere and elsewhen but I grew increasingly to realize I was more an object to him.

I loved these nights but I didn’t like the sex. I loved making music. I loved the discussions. Which isn’t true in a way because I loved being used or more, I loved not being in control. I loved that after years of pleasuring of my frigid withholding wife here was this person who was solely interested in pleasuring me.  And yet it wasn’t right and I felt wrong.  But I liked that I was receiving rather than feeling she was always taking and then I felt he was taking and no one cared that I said no. I’d talk to him about it and say that I didn’t like it. I told him over and over again I didn’t want to do it again but he’d just climb into my bed at night. Show up for his ‘booty call’ and I thought I was such a woman, complaining and yet participating. Saying no and doing yes.

It was all what I assumed the other residents were experiencing or at least those who were the best.  My friend was studying multiple personality disorder and I was fascinated with borderlines.  I had this sense that I was now ‘split’ , two persons. Animus and anima. I felt I’d become the animus and anima and that this man who was Simon to my Garfunckel was enlightening me. I was doing kundalini yoga exercises and felt my chakra opening and expanding. I felt his energy penetrating me, burning up my spine. I felt at times he was breeding demons in me, I would later wash for years. 

Later I’d read that great line about Bob Dylan, “Bob, how come you promise us girl’s you’ll make us princess’ and  we all end up feeling like whores.’

I’d stopped seeing my psychiatric psychotherapist. I don’t know why. I didn’t want to talk about my homosexuality. I felt forced gay and wondered why I didn’t just leave my residency, leave the university, leave the city, the country and go to Africa. But I stayed. 

The women fm the Alistair Crowley group asked me to come by and stopped me naked and had sex with me.It was a bit mechanical.  There was lust but I was depressed. I’d known love I thought with Maureen but that had just become nothing. Here was this other world of sex and drugs.  I was in the inner circle. I kept wondering which of the Jewish psychiatrists was a top and which was a bottom.  There was all this secrecy and I was told I wasn’t to know ‘yet’.  I’d ask always about judaism and Freud.  There were heady discussions but he wanted to ‘show’ our sexual relationship. I was ashamed of it. I wanted to be discrete but he’d touch my bum in the cafeteria. He’d try to fuck me on an elevator. We’d almost get caught and that thrilled him though it horrified me. 

Once we were supposed to just be going out to park and talk and next thing I was stoned and having my cock sucked and a policeman was at the window. This invigorated him and terrified me.  He was off on vacation coming back and telling me about his gay pursuits but it was increasingly just sex.

I was also feeling like my other friend was using me. I was giving him a place to stay and lending him thousands. The week of needing a place to stay became months. He wasn’t leaving.  Why would he. Don’t feed the raccoons.

I learned I had a problem saying ‘no’ to everyone . I was simply not assertive when it came to my personal space and relationships. Years later it would be a central issue of advanced therapy. I was repeatedly pushed into situations I didn’t want because I was afraid of the emotional extortion. I was afraid if I said ‘no’ to the emotional bullying by Maureen she’d leave me. I felt if I said ‘no’ to my professor he’d have me kicked out of my program.

I felt that I’d given up my general medicine, my northern medicine and my community medicine and my marriage, all to complete this psychiatry residency. I was in the last year and if I could just take it up the ass a few more times I’d pass. 

Mostly I felt that I’d worked so hard and had the highest grades and was the most admired resident, offered positions in all the university, yet now  it was reduced to my just being a ‘fuck’ .  I felt I’d never be thought of as having passed psychiatry on my own merit but that I’d passed because I’d sucked the supervisors’s cock.  

I’d become a bimbo.

I’d tell a friend years later about this feeling. My friends were psychologists and they’d say, “He bred you. He made you his bitch. That’s all it was a bout. Domination. You were the golden boy and he showed you. You were probably a fantasy aryan in his twisted perverted mind.” Women and men would all tell me their rape and date rape stories. All my friends had been used in someway. I identified with the women. I’d been reduced to a hole in the mattress, a number on an arm. I had no self esteem. I just wanted out. I only felt good stoned. I was down so low it felt like up to me.

I thought that. He hated his wife for what she was doing. I was Irish. I’d find myself in these weird ancient struggles. A catholic Irish doctor would fuck me over, not literally but figuratively, and I’d eventually learn he hated the ‘protestant Irish’.  “You’re family was never Irish. You’re British. .”  It never was an issue to me. The idea of being Irish only gained meaning years later when I went to Ireland.  I’d spend the next decades wondering about my sexuality.  I’d wonder as much about my identity.

I’d begin to drink more heavily , regularly a bottle of wine and now I was smoking dope a whole lot. He always had some from his cousin and my drug dealer biker friend was supplying me with it and my friend had his source. I was working two jobs and paying .

So here I was being fuckcd and not wanting to be fucked, this guy showing up and taking me somewhere to fuck me when I ‘just wanted to talk’ and me feeling like I was in this weird Bizarro movie.  My wife was not speaking to me having gone back to her mother.  I couldn’t say anything to my parents and I didn’t want to be ‘gay’.  I wasn’t gay.  But I didn’t think I wanted to be a pscyhiatrist any more because the other psychiatrists were gay.

I was offered a job by Dr. Nady El Guebaly and I took it. I became an assistant professor.  I had a clinical position as the head of family therapy at the teaching hospital. I became terrified.  

“Now we’ll be working together I can have you whenever I want you. I ‘m so looking forward to fucking you over lunch. You can suck my cock  between patients and we can really get it on all the time. “ he whisper to me in the hallways grabbing my crotch. I’d cringe. 

I was horrified.

I’d had a girlfriend for a few months but she said she was pregnant and I said we could have the baby but she said she wanted an abortion and I begged her to not but she went ahead anyway. I was devastated. She was Jewish. 

When I left the city he took that girlfriend as his own and told me she hated me now. He took the position of head of family therapy that had been created for me and now was vacated. 

We’d remain ‘friends’.  

I was supposedly ‘bisexual’.

My friends sister was beautiful.  I was visitting him in California smoking dope and drinking wine and he told me ‘don’t get involved with my sister.’ Her ex is a great guy but she just had a kid with him and then made his life miserable. She ‘s my sister and I love her but she’s a bitch. I dont want to see you hurt.”

I didn’t know what sex I was but I was a ‘slut’ and easy. She just had to take off her bra and I was to quote Paul Simon, “just like a dog who was befriended.’

St. Paul said, I do that which I don’t want to do and don’t do that which I want to do”  my own life was a reflection of my fundamental clinical concern.  I flew to India when I graduated, asked what I always wanted. I’d spend a couple of life changing months around Bombay, now sex with women, wanting to be sure I was okay but feeling somehow ‘impregnated”

I returned to Winnipeg just wanting to get away from the insaniety. I couldn’t go on with his desire. He was oblivious of my feelings and I felt like I was saying all the things women said. It wasn’t spiritual. It was just lust and lies and sordid.  After I went to California and came back to move ther  felt I was again with a loving woman and with friends. I would move to the US and leave this mess.  

My friends were multimillionaires. I was going to parties with world famous doctors. I just needed to do my exams.

I felt badly telling Dr. Nady I was leaving. I so admired him despite my colleague fucker disparaging him. My colleague lover fucker friend was brilliant in a different eccentric way and admirable in his own way and intellectual. I liked being fucked but I didn’t like being fucked. Especially when I compared that to the experience I had with the women which was transcndent by comparison. So deeply emotional and reassuring. Homosexual sex was a kind of advanced mutual masturbation whereas love and lust with women was something more. 

It’s was all just overwhelming and I was a bit paranoid with all these ‘witchy people’. He was so looking forward to my joining them and he’d touch my crotch or bum.  Some of the women on staff were telling me they were part of a coven and excited I was joining them. . The Alester Crawley reference was always coming up. I was reading a book given to me about Madame Blavatsky.  It all seemed secret and sordid. I felt like I was in a Rosemary’s Baby episode only somewhere.mn the line I’d deliver a demon. I’d d meet still occasionally with Carl Ridd or John White and they seemed lighter freer. I felt so dark and heavy. I needed the pot to get by and to get sodomized. I needed more and more to be drunk fo when he entered me.

I was however having wild crazy time. My biker friends had me on the back of their motorcycles when we’d careen about the streets of the city at high speed. I was dealing with lawyers with Maureen. My mother was incredible. I kept wanting to just walk away. She’d help with all the horrendous ‘paper’ and protect me. I felt safe with my parents but a disappointment, I avoided my brother and sister in law not wanting to bring my sordidness in to the joy of their growing family and love. 

“I still think Maureen is wonderful woman but I’ll never forgive you for letting that mother anywhere near us. She’s the nastiest person I’ve ever known. She’s so shallow and arrogant. I understand now everything you were going through but I don’t approve of any of it. You’re old enough to know better..”

Well, I went off and had a glass of wine and smoked a joint and left the mothers to fight over the dead carcas of a life.

One night I spent the whole night drinking a bottle of whisky and considering ways to kill myself while looking at the pink house and all our possession and that life which was now dead .All of this was  dead ‘stuff’. I threw the television at the wall. I thought everything was better when we’d kept it in the closet. I blamed the tv and all the propaganda and us watching movies all the time and the news. I blamed this and that. But in the end I blamed me. I didn’t kill myself.  The sun came up. I watched it. Winnipeg is a beautiful city at dawn. 

I had the Mustang. I ‘d driven down to San Francsisco to see my friend and his wife. I’d begun a love affair with his sister. She wanted me back. She said we would move in together. It seemed such a good solution. 

I traded my mustang in for money. The now ex had frozen my accounts and was taking all the money. I told my Mom I just wanted out. I said not to fight. She took the house and the possessions and the back account and I left in this beat up bug that had been used by the Vancouver Folk Festival as an amb ulance.  I was travelling south with a Mennonite artist. I’d named the bug, Pendergast. I’d been given tickets for speeding in the mustang and convinced the authorities that this bug couldn’t speed. It hardly made 80 and was without a hand brake so on hills I opened the door and put a brick under the front tire.  It had problems with hills. 

Still I had money for getting to SF.

“You can’t leave, I’m not finished with you.” Maureen had said. I’d  replaced. “I gave you 10 years of respectability and nothing was ever enough.”

We would never talk again. I’d done my best. It turned out to be the worst. 

The gazebo had been the last straw for me. I’d been working three jobs and all the money was going to her but I wanted to sit outside in the summer. I hated the mosquitoes. I had my garden and I barbecued outside. These were good times for me. Gazebos’ went on sale for $100 and I could have put one in the backyard but she’d said ‘we’re not having a gazebo’ .she put her foot down. More shouting. More anger. And in retrospect I expect she didn’t want the neighbours to hear her screaming. She’d begun to scream at me just like her mother screamed at her father. It’s an eerie thing.  

I never got a gazebo even though I had the house to myself for six months.  

With my new “love” rented a house in Marin.  I had a steady supply of pot. We all smoked pot back then and we drank wine. She went to work . I studied for my American exams and got A’s. Stanford offered me a job on the basis of Jack Hildes reference. 

“Dr. Hildes is greatly admired. That’s a great reference to have.” They told me. 

I was going to enter the community psychiatry program on staff .  I had made a friend of a Berkeley prof and he offered me a position teaching in their philosophy, communication and culture department, a new position, which would have involved psychiatric research in community psychiatry.  

Her  boy had been impossible. The first week I arrived I was at the principal’s office because he’d been destroying things.  He was violent and destructive and I’d not been told he’d been expelled from every school, seven in total. He was in Gr. 1.

I’d come to know that women no longer were interested in me as a friend but would almost invariably have a crazy person in their family and see having a boyfriend who was a psychiatrist as a cheap solution. I’d learn women with old cars liked mechanics. It was a different and difficult insight.

Now that I had been womanizer and bred I was softer and had more insights  identifying with women and understanding them differently.

I assumed this was why psychiatrists as part of their finial initiation had sex with the residents. I didn’t think mine was an unusual thing. I knew there were psychiatrists who just prescribed drugs and were kind of ‘junior neurologists’ but I figured the psychiatrists who like me were the psychiatric psychotherapists, the analytically trained, the inner circle who could do magic, these ones had sex. I found myself wondering who was having sex with who and who I’d have to have sex with. I didn’t want any more homosexuality.  I didn’t want it at work. I wondered if non Jewish psychiatrists went through the homosexual initiation or just the Jewish ones. I couldn’t imagine the Jews I so admired all being homosexual or even have sex with students. 

I was going to marry and raise this kid and hang out in Marin and have a good life. It was a full time job straightening out this kid. His mother used him as an emotional weapon. Her ‘inability to control him’ resulted in him making her the centre of attention. No one wanted her around. He was sexualized. What I’d call the single mother syndrome. Without a man to protect him from the mother she’d smothered him. She treated him like a boyfriend. I’d call it emotional incest. 

I became the boys friend, another uncle. I ‘d phone up his father , meet with him and tell him that I was ‘pinch hitting’ that I was not going to interfere with his fathering. I was going to continue to love his ex but that his relationship with his son was completely sacrosanct.  He was my friends friend and soon the three of us would be taking the  “little man’ everywhere with us. His mother didn’t like this.  “You’re ruining my son.”  Yet he stopped being kicked out of school and soon we were invited everywhere as a family. He was a great kid and no longer had temper tantrums when his mother was angry . He had stopped being her surrogate amplifier. 

That’s when the shit hit the fan. One day at this elegant affair I heard the mother and aunts and other important women telling her how pleased they were with her son’s behaviour “since Bill had come along.’  They actually said she was doing a lousy job of parenting because he’d been becoming a little terror.  They told her matter of factory the family had been going to insist he be sent to military school. However, now that “ Bill had smartened her up and let her son be little gentleman it was all thanks to Bill.  Feminists don’t like any praise going to men and single mothers demanding their be no other god but them aren’t likely to take well to being told by their very successful wealthy and powerful mothers the way things were. 

She was furious.  She was angry. Her son this little man of 7 years old suddenly through his old fashioned temper tantrum beginning to break dishes at the table. I picked him up and gently put him in his room.  That had been the ‘technique’ which had lead to his stopping all his acting out.  I’d simply remove the audience and remove him from the audience. I was highly effective while his mother had played the game ‘i’m overwhelmed. I don’t know what to do’ but refused to give up control.  She and he could ruin any event. He was a very bright boy and learned a lot of bad behaviour from her. 

I’d been called and offered a locum at the Brandon Mental Hospital. The provincial psychiatrist had called me because they were desperate with an asylum and no psychiatrist. Could I come for a month or two. I was to start at Stanford. I didn’t need this drama. I’d been through the insaneity with Maureen.

Now she took the boy out of the room and brought him back into the kitchen .  Splitting and using the poor kid to get back at me and her mother and all of society for wanting quiet and order. 

I phoned Manitoba.

“What are you doing.” 

“I’m taking the job I told you about.”

“You’re supposdd to be starting at Stanford.”

‘That can wait. I don’t want the kid screaming and your screaming and us going back to the way it was when I arrived. I told you I was never again going to sit in front of a principal again.. I’d done my own time as a child and I wasn’t going to do that for you again. Your son was doing great. That’s what your parents and grand parents and everyone said. He’s getting A’s at school.You’re angry so he’s angry but we agreed he’s not allowed to break things or he goes to his room. You’ve arbitrarily changed the rules and frankly I’m not going to do this again. The evidence is overwhelming. I think I’ve done my job here. You can think about it while I’m away.”

“No one leaves me.”

“I’m leaving you now.”

I got on a plane the next day.  We exchanged letters and calls for awhile 

Eventually I’d send her a bill for psychiatric services.  She didn’t like that. She never paid. My friend said that all the men who knew her thought that was genius. True coup d’tat. “ But my mother and she will never forgive you. The boys doing well and his father thanks you.”

Libet , Free Will, Masculine God and the Energy Matrix

Benjamin Libet’s  experiment went like this.  He had volunteers hooked up to electro encephalograms and make a spontaneous movement. There was a precise timer each volunteer read at the moment they became aware of the urge to act.  There was a 200 millisecond delay, on average, between subjective urge and objective movement.

A signal appeared in the brain even earlier, approximately 500 milliseconds and  this was called the ‘readiness potential’.  This was interpreted initially as a blow to ‘free will’ and evidence of ‘determinism’ or ‘fate’.  That is not thought the case today as further experiments unfold. Trevena and Miller in University of Otago showed that it was unclear what the ‘readiness potential’ was as it was present regardless of the decision to act. Scourged and his team recently hypothesized that neural noise must pass a threshold and that this appeared like an readiness potential.  

First this all adds to the notion of the human and free will as a ‘second response” or ‘after thought”.  In spiritual theological terms God is considered male and man collectively female. God acts and man reacts.  Hence the prayer Thy Will Be Done rather than My Will Be Done.

The determinist position would be that we are a comic strip but unfortunately the ego of aetheists and determinists is too large for that.  They hypocritically deny free will but demand credit and esteem for denying free will. They deny God yet want the praise we give God. We are an after thought. Our actions follow thoughts by milliseconds.  Neuroscience teaches that consciousness itself is an after thought.

The Now is perhaps a ‘field’.  This brings forward the idea of the brain itself as not being the centre of the universe but rather an organic computer , like a communication receptor which can receive messages from elsewhere.

In further studies of the Libet phenomena  an observer could predict the movement before the volunteer even had the ‘urge’ to act.  This could indeed be a model of God and creation. String theory allows for the emergency switch and spontaneous unplanned or predicted events. God could interrupt a particularly catastrophic action.  It’s not so much what God does as what God prevents.  The possibility is raised.

But how this observer can manipulate action is as yet unknown.  It is known that the observer looking at the EEG could be prescentient.  The image follows of the neuroscientist as ‘brain reader’ and ‘soothsayer’. Armed with a portable EEG he could be a fine mentalist addition to any carne fortune teller’s game.

I like this research as I’ve been following it since the 80’s interested in the fundamental question of psychiatry which is ‘change’.  Can interventions bring about change.

St. Paul’s state “I do what I don’t want to do and I don’t do what I want to do’. This has been my central issue of research and reflection since I was a family physician and a patient died because he didn’t take the medication that was recommended to him by three physicians and not only that lied about not taking it.

That one case  lead to my interest in non compliance and non adherence to medical regimen.this is common in 30% or more of general clinical medicine rising to 80% in psychiatric medicine. It’s the elephant in the living room government denies.  Eventually this interest lead to addiction and addiction addiction psychiatry where St Paul would flourish.

Administrative medicine is an extension of legal medicine and exists purely by war and diplomacy and leverage, a rationalists wet dream, a purely masculine Mars God activity with all the room possible for grandiosity. It’s based on a set of outdated unscientific ideas that don’t take into account Libet or the unconscious. 

By contrast a clinician struggles with this rather beguiling phenomena.  Can I change this disease.  Can I help this person get a life. Mental health is the ability to love, work and play. Can I with a variety of tools in the armementariam change this persons desire to kill themselves or others.

 But most importantly can I do it without force and without paying the person. The family physician predominantly works with the conscious processes but a psychiatry addresses the unconscious and communicates in specific ways to achieve a mutual aim of change. It’s the exact opposite of coercive administrative medicine.

We found that we could change all manner of behaviour the way lawyer, administrators and judges and politicians do by ‘buying’ or ‘threatening’ people or causing pain or removing things.  This is what I did to some extent  as a family physician and especially in surgery. I worked in the conscious realm.  

As a psychiatrist I worked in the realm of conflicting internal programs , the anima or female and the animus or male.  I noted long ago that I could stop people killing themselves. When I was a family physician and later as a resident my patients killed themselves.  I actually stopped suicide in a suicide ward and reduced attempts remarkably and the effects of these interventions persisted for years.

However the government and administrative doctors in Canada have moved into killing people. Euthanasia is all the rage and death is paid for more than life. We’ve seen this extensively in the Planned Parenthood Abortion Industry Scandal with it’s billions of dollars funding.

I see tombstones in peoples eyes. I looked at an administrative doctor and saw tombstones in his eyes. He couldn’t tell the difference between lie and truth and literally used the metaphor for ‘entertainment’ as his idea of what a doctor’s role. He really believed that medicine was just a Shakespearean Stage.  But he had obviously never studied the Fool and knew less about their wisdom .

I believe this as a Tibetan Buddhist and St. John mystic might. But his choice of this view was based on his dying and the failure of his life like those who ‘give up’  increasing numbers seek euthanasia. The mentally ill are demonized by those who deny their own pain. Such a shame.

Like lawyers and men of the 19th century they talk of ‘pain’ in a mechanical way.  They actually live

in their ‘actuarial’ materialistic constructs. They are money and numbers. A comic strip 2 dimensional
reward seeking animal soulless machine construct.

Yet the universe is fractals and time. These experiments challenges the creepy silliness of the political

 administrative processes  so utterly outdated and so banal.

They do not know what they do.

But then I’m but a  kazoo in the symphony of life. I actually am a psychiatrist who reads the research and questions the very existence of this world. Because that’s the essence of psychiatry, reality. Do we create it or does it create us.  Whose pulling the string. It’s what a professional psychiatrists do not what lawyers or administrative doctors do despite their grandiosity and arrogance coupled with banal committees.

The administrative doctor is a slave.  The professional was once ‘free’. But we’re all selling our soul  to the company store.  Yet someone may be watching.  And we may be on the verge of WWWIII.  If it is a comic strip and my thoughts are merely voice over then I really must think more about those ‘b’ observers and the ‘energy matrix’.

The Swami said, “I am the bubble , make me the sea”.  I do that which I don’t want to do and don’t do that which I want to do.  My patients are pre contemplation, contemplative, determined and action phased..  The guys with the guns always cut the Georgian knots. it’s an Alexander thing. .  Their administrations are thuggish, careless, wasteful, lacking finesse, good at killing. Suck at healing.
I’m uncertain.  Ambivalent.  There seems a higher path. Thy will be done. I.d like to talk to the observer.

Gratitude Friday

Thank you God for my night of rest. I have known countless nights awake on call in hospitals and community. I have been a wake nights at sea through storms unable to sleep for slept meant death.  I have had so many nights with nightmares, the faces of the dead and the constant judgement of the ungodly perfect superiors.  I have played to you Lord but being a people pleaser I have tried as well not to offend the devil.  The devil rules this land and I am sorely afraid.  But I beg for your mercy. These are the times Isaiah prophecized of the “long necked women and their boys”.  There have been so many nights sleepless at the bedside of sick and dying.  My dogs loss of his remaining eye this week has been terribly trying, but it is good that he is well now.  Thank you for the night of rest.
Thank you for the recovery of my dog. Gilbert. He was only awake once last night. Whimpering for attention. Lonely and afraid.  I am pleased each day as his life is restored.  I am thankful that his life is no longer being threatened.  I am thankful that he is recovering. It was such a gift this morning that George, the rescue cat, came out into the living room, walked up to Gilbert and put his head inside Gilbert’s cone of shame and rubbed noses.  Gilbert’s tail wagged. He’s been bored more now. Unable to play with the cone on.  Frustrated, and here was George making contact.
Thank God we are not alone. Even if this is a mental created illusion of me and others it’s better than that deep sense of despair that I feel at times when I touch the isolation and existential angst.  Thank you for the Holy Spirit, the advocate sent by Jesus to comfort us who are Christians.  I find comfort in that sense of connection with God.
“In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God.”  John 1.1
Thank you for the word.  Thank you for the silence and the word. Thank you for the contrasts.  Even now thank you for the rain after the glorious sunshine.
Thank you for the coffee and the oat meal. Thank you for the Red River Cereal I bought and ate a bowl of last week. Thank you for the brown sugar which I bought for the Red River Cereal but have now enjoyed with Quaker Oats.  Thank you for this keyboard and this couch and this table. There is so much I take for granted.
Thank you for all those I disparage and criticize especially the institutions and government. Thank you for the Prime Minister if not this satanic buffoon but for the position and the hierarchy. Thank you for leadership and beurocracy and ministries of health and communication and defence and finance even when I disagree with them.
Thank you for the courts and judges even though I feel increasingly they are becoming tyrannical and removed from the world of fairness and justice. Thank you for objectivity and the people who will put an end to the tyranny of ‘emotional abuse’ and ‘sexual harrassment’ and ‘racism’ and all the weaponized words and invasion of leftist communist aetheist ideology.  Today is the anniversary of the Un American Committee that reviewed Hollywood and black listed communists infiltrated into the arts community with the agenda of subterfuge and destruction.
I  enjoyed reading the article of Putin's time as a nihilistic KGB agent infiltrating the European 'hippy' scene, undermining peace and recruiting operatives. I remember meeting such an operative when I was in the Peace movement and wanting disarmament but suddenly this focussed fellow insisted we should unilaterally disarm and demanded it. It was so strange and I'd not trained as a group psychiatrist then so didn't know as I witnessed it, this hijacking of process.  The whole group had been promoting bilateral disarmament and then this fellow began to speak up vociferously, well trained, and insisting with much emotional and shame that good people would lay down their weapons first and that we could trust the aethesist communists.  They were just like us.  Everyone wanted peace, he said. I know today that's not the case that so many want war.  They profit from it, like Lenin and the UN. Many like to play with it and see if they can 'control' it and direct it's forces. I see it all like a cattle stampede and the young wealthy sons and daughters of the elite riding to the front and having stampeded the cattle now try to direct it to where it profits them most.
Today it’s Harvey Weinstein. There was no consequence to the woman who complained that Trump groped her 40 years ago. There is no consequence in the courts or in society today for ‘false accusations’.  There is no consequence for all those who through sins of omission and through 'enabling' supported the Harvey Weinstein's of the world.   The fake news, lying on the grandest scale is huge profit.  Fake news  has been caught repeatedly as the alt-left, CNN and CBC have worked their propaganda angles doing fifth columns from within. No one is punished for lying.  Goebbels reigns and it's all just 'white washed as marketing'.
“J’ACCUSE!” “J’ACCUSE!” “JACCUSE!”
Under French law, the false accuser must pay the penalty that would have been paid by the accused if the accuser was truthful.
I self reported that I was smoking marijuana and went to AA to address my smoking marijuana and nicotine and drinking. The drinking was a minor issue relative that when I drank I smoked marijuana and hence had to stop drinking because by definition this was alcoholism, as I persisted in doing a criminal act which held risk despite my realization of this. I saw a psychiatrist who recommmended I smoke marijuana and discussed my wine drinking with him as I was considered a wine connoseiur at the time. He felt that I didn’t have a problem but understood the ethical and moral dilemna that’s I had with ‘breaking the law’.  Marijuana was against the law and so many I knew had gone to jail and otherwise had their lives ruined by their contrary behaviour.  I could get get my ex wife to seek help as her behaviour was far far worse and that impaired she was a danger to herself and others but refused to seek help.
I don’t believe Justin Trudeau sought help with his addiction to marijuania and I don’t believe Morneau is seeking  help with his addiction. If anything I expect both are speaking to lawyers and marketing agents to improve their  lying and dissembling.  They lack remorse.  So the elite see lawyers and the poor see counsellors.  I doubt that Harvey Wallenstein or Bill Clinton will any time soon attend one of those mandatory sexual behaviour group counselling sessions the Justice Institute sells so vociferously for huge profit.
Now I’ve held myself to the highest standards of ethics and morality despite the constantly moving end point of political correctness.  I’ve never raped or sexually violated a woman.  I have fought for women’s rights and been ridiculed and shamed and beaten for supporting 'equality' and 'fairness' and  meritocracy. I've insisted gender, sexual orientation and other such factors should not decide who flies the plane.   I’ve been celebrated repeatedly for my “non discrimination”.  I've challenged based all the false flags and false values. I've have faced the wealthy and powerful on behalf of the principles and poor.  I have been physically attacked repeatedly for defending women and LGBT members and yet today the lies pile on and on. The cost to me personally has been in the tens of thousands of dollars.
Increasingly the “emotionally abused’ insist that they are ‘more’ harmed that those who have been shot and beaten and raped.  This is of course the age old demand for the girl who has it all to claim that she is a greater victim. It’s Sense and Sensibility.The courts have been taking smoking pot or are grotesquely power hungry like our present Government and are  increasingly removing them selves from the realm of objectivity to subjectivity.  Objectivity is all that the poor have had to balance the power of institutions, corporations and the elite, despite the latter's capacity for manipulations of 'evidence'.  The Judge becomes all powerful in the court of 'subjectivity'. This was what was once called the Kangaroo Court and was what always reigns in Communist revolutions.  The judge plays to the crowd and fears for his position so is politically correct.
The Assistant Registrar at the College of Physicians and Surgeons said “Women Don’t Lie About Sex”.  This is not out of context. This is reality. This kind of narcissism and arrogance and ignorance was confirmed at the Gomece trial where the Judge found the accused ‘not guilty’ and hundreds of women insisted that the judge was wrong and ‘women don’t lie about sex”.  Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. We had a decade when children who were used as weapons by parents in divorce cases were said “not to lie about sexual abuse.’  This is tribalism. It’s primitive sociopathic behaviour.
A sociopaths is a person who is of a group that has rules they obey within their group but not with outsiders who belong to the larger group. The Hells Angels theoretically wouldn’t steal from another Hell’s Angel but would steal from a Canadian citizen. Canadian Citizenship before the traitorous Un Canadian PM Trudeau took office superseded other social groups. Now however the courts of Canada are separated into some for us, Sharia Courts for Muslims and Indigenous Courts for Natives. Under Justin Trudeau there is no longer one law. Morneau and Trudeau are not held accountable to the same law as I am.
There is in CAnada like in the Middle East where the courts are uniformly corrupt, like the UN which is a den of theives, one law for the rich and one law for the poor.  The poor as we know in Canada now include the middle class. Because of social communism and the socialism of Globalism there is now an Elite, these are politicos and administrative class bean counters and paper pushers. They’re otherwise useless incompetents with lust and addiction to power.
Everyone lies. That’s why we have big brains.
Thank you God for my Big Brain.  Thank you God for my capacity to lie.  Yet thank you too for the Ten Commandments that demand in a society that I do not bare false witness. There are white lies and black lies, good secrets and bad secrets, good lies and bad lies. I have been sneaking pills into my dog in his food all week. If I didn’t disguise them he would not take them.
Thank you God for the Balance of Power.  Thank you for winter as it cleans and sterilizes the ravages of summer, the insect infestations and fires and dirt in the street.  Thank you for the pendulum that swings. Thank you for all those who see in Justin Trudeau the same megalomania that was in his father, Lenin, Napoleon,  Hitler and all those historical figures who demanded centralization of power.
Capitalism is decentralization of power
Socialism has been in effect centralization of power.
We have a mixed economy.
 Wall Street is just a huge casino. It  is rigged so the house always wins. " Steal a little and they put you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king."
For women, the most popular "50 Shakes of Grey" , more loathsome insidious overt pornography than ever Hugh Hefner stooped to, would be an episode of Criminal Minds were it not for the perpetrator being a billionaire.
I don’t trust Ottawa, Victoria or Washington or Moscow and especially I don’t trust Bei Jing. Brussels is distinctly evil.  Merkel played them all so well with her 'migrant armies' and 'scab labour' and overall threats.  She's East German. Her moves are so like the Cold War operatives.  There's that old guard world domination group left over from the Cold War and they're still so powerful with their secret cabals and wealth dating back to the Nazi wars and before.  A few families of elite playing with the world like a single family can control the politics of a country.  Corporate monarchies.
Thank you God for Faith. There is faith and anxiety.  Anxiety is a measure of one’s distance from God.  I have been too anxious with Gilbert's surgeries and the deaths of patients from Fentanyl.  There's a war on Canada by the Chinese who are marketing death for the west just as Canada was a conduit for terrorists against America.  Trudeau paid a terrorist 10 million dollars rewarding him for killing an american soldier and making bombs to kill Canadians.  All the gobbledygook legalism and disgusting disrespect for Canadian people still doesn't allow pot head pretty boy Trudeau to claim that 'two wrongs make a right'.  Even now as the Canadian dollar plummets further and the value of the country devolves to third world standard and our health care system caves, Canadians ask why is Mr. Trump playing hard ball with Justin Trudeau over trade.  You don't bite the hand that feeds, silly.  Stop the flow of heroin into the US through Vancouver and stop terrorists going into American and stop paying people for killing American soldiers.
I had hoped that Good Women would stop the Vagina Headed women and insist that these Subjective Nutbars join greater society. We have watched the Left with extreme violence attack the law and order of society and increasingly introduce new ‘justifications’ and ‘rationalizations’.  The whole ‘divide and conquer ‘and lack of willingness of the judges and the parliament to stop this raging insanity is diabolical. Always the marketing propaganda lies. Mr. Trump says he's going to stop 'illegal' immigration and the Left , the deceitful CBC and CNN say Trump is against Immigration.  Bill Clinton and Obama said 'stop illegal immigration' and no one said they were against 'immigration'.  They profited by saying one thing and doing another.  The democrat voters were dominated by illegal aliens.
According to the Charboneau Enquiry Quebec, the political home of the Liberals and Justin Trudeau, is ruled by Biker Gangs and Mafia.  Canada is no longer 'strong and free' but ruled by criminals whose incomes come from gambling proceeds, selling drugs, alcohol and pornography taxes. Why shouldn't young people kill themselves.  They're born into a rigged system and their value is only as consumers. Consumer fentanyl.  Nihilism.
Every person I know who has been physically (objectively) abused has been equally if not more ‘emotionally abused’.  You can have ‘emotional abuse’ without physical abuse but you can not have physical abuse without emotional abuse.  So where are the voices of women responding to this insanity.  Where are the voices of men. Where are those who say, sorry you don't get to claim 'equal suffering' and insist on 'safe zones' for 'bad words'.  Dr. Peterson in Canada must fight to live. When will the heads of universities that have allowed this debacle of education be challenged.  When will the university stop being a propaganda outlet for communism and sharia.
White privilege is a crock.  In India I had no 'white privilege' and in Africa they're killing whites .  The 'ruler' and his 'class' have superiority for a time. The Chinese are the most racist of all and each successful Chinese revolution has put their people in place. Now this lot is killing any indigenous people.  Jews were killed but now are ruling Palestine with an iron fist having see what they themselves did as revolutionaries. The ideas of Marx came from their ghetto existence, their years in Babylon.  But the Chinese are ethnic cleansing the Tibetans.  So here the uprising of blacks demands that whites give them what they earned.  George Soros profits from social war so supports Black Lives Matters. The Muslims massacred the Christian Kurds and the UN supported the genocides because the largest armies of the UN are muslim.  Money going to the UN goes to outfit the Muslim army of Bangladesh. Wahabi Sunni muslims kill other muslims.  The Saudi's killed the equivalent of the Shiite Pope in their country, out right murdered the man, no different than if Trudeau had ordered the Dalai Lama killed.  The steamroller narrative and marketing of fake media CBC and CNN hardly burped.
When is the pendulum going to swing. Do we need to return women to Burqas and declare the whole ‘women’s liberation’ and ‘meritocracy’ movement a dismal waste of time and failure.  Pierre Trudeau with his strong arm Mortgentaller aborted the catholic and Christian babies of Canada in the tens of thousands insisting that there was no room for children and unwilling to pay for mother hood. The women’s liberation movement was a movement supporting Women not Girls.  Mothers were included. Marriaed women were included. Feminism hijacked the Women’s Liberation and Suffragete movement and made it Social or Cultural Communism - women against men and girls against mothers with the abortionists killing more people than wars. Now Justin Trudeau who with his most un feminist wife just like his father with his addle brained drug addicted wife like Stalin with his crazy suicidal wife insists that we need to take refugees.
His SCAB VOTER campaign.
As much as I admire Sikh’s it’s clear our Defence Minister is a crazy ego inflated lwho insists he wins wars single handed is not representative of Sikhs in general.  His turban doesn't conceal his long hair but a swollen head.   What country in the world has a Defence Minister who wasn’t born in this Country?  Trudeau is selling citizenship and voting status en mass.  That’s what traiters do. This country is under siege and who cares.
Thank you God that I am old and slouching towards my dying end of life.
My father told me in his 90's  if he’d known that this was what Canada would become he’d never have fought in WWII. I’m utterly disillusioned .  I now know why he loathed the Trudeau family as evil as the Clintons, satanic and deceitful with arrogance galore.
Thank You God that I am nearing the dying end of life. . There are few years to remain.  I feel sadly for the next generation enslaved to the elite, Canada as increasingly an extension of the corruption of the  Middle East, Canadians collectively like Saudi citizens.  Trudeau would have us have a Sharia Bank already having introduced Sharia Courts. 1984 told it all. Some pigs are better.
I loved singing the Canadian anthem as a child, "True North Strong and Free" But they’re destroying the statues.  IF this was India and Trudeau was Prime Minister,  the Taj Mahal would have to be destroyed. ISIS destroyed the churches.  I learned recently when Ragga fell that there were videos of the ISIS fighters beheading Christian martyrs as Ragga was a Christian town.  The blood of Ragga Christian martyrs was then put in vials and ships en mass to Saudi Arabia. Muslims are told to Jihad and if you are too old to physically jihad then you are to send money to the jihad and that way be apart of the jihad. So this blood was payment to Saudi from Isis Jihadists to the money backers. And the video showed these old men, the brothers of Saudi elite Obaman bin Laden washing their hands in Christian blood. I am a Christian and Jews condemn me for defending my faith today. I have never criticized Jews for defending Israel against the hoards of muslims wanting to annihilate Jews in the middle east. Yet here in Canada I defend my fellow Christians and find no solidarity, no voices of support from the so called 'multi cultural' country, this land where we have tolerated the screaming raving atheists, the whining and self pitying of all the other religions of the world but when Christians are beheaded and their blood is sent to Saudi Arabia so bankers can wash their hands in it, well Justin Trudeau just gives my tax money to Muslims and celebrates terrorists.
The Civil War Statues are coming down in the States. If this was England then the Tower off London would be destroyed by Black lives matter.  Communists destroy history.  In Moscow they are rebuilding all the churches that Lenin destroyed if only for the tourist value. Aethesists would destroy the Louvre.
Wake up.  Wake up. Wake up.
Gratitude. Thank you Lord for those who will right these wrongs. Just as Pierre Trudeau was sent to the ashes and four prime ministers tried to clean up the mess he left with his communist ideology and arrogance so too will this pass. Just as they are building churches again in Moscow, the Muslim Jihad was stopped in Vienna, and Brexit is countering the Brussels beurocrat dictatorship revolution.    The despicable destruction by Justin Trudeau of all that is Canadian, the culture of Canada and values of Canada so well stated by Dr. Kellie Liethc,  and all respect for Law and Order, this criminal law breaker, will one day be gone as that greatest criminal Mao and Che and Castro went.  Please God let Trudeau go before Canada is reduced to a communist wasteland like Cuba and Venezuela and it's jails swell with independent thinkers , like the Gulag, Auschwitz and the jails of Mecca,  Tehran and Venezuela.  Canada is fast becoming a  country of lawless , a pirate’s den today.
Patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings.
I have no home. Jesus said that too.  My kingdom is not of this world.
I will go to work and serve my patients even today as Abortionists make more money and have more acclaim than those who heal.   Abortionists are rewarded more in Canada than  obstetrician.  The government now pays and celebrates more the doctors who do euthanasia than their colleagues. The College of Physicians and Surgeons has never published sanctions against any abortionists and hell will freeze over before we read of a doctor practicing euthanasia being sanctioned.
Where have you gone Dugald Christie?
Thank you God for all I have been given. Thank you God for your love and the promise of escape from this veil of tears. Thank you God for those good people who do the good fight and see clearly today. Thank you God that I am old and my days are numbered.  Thank you God for my teachers and friends and family and those who have passed on before me.

Coming of the King

The shepherds are restless. The sheep feel something. The wise men are loading their camels and horses. Their journey is almost at an end.   The star is near.  Mary is not yet in labour.  But Joseph is very concerned.  The manger is waiting. Cattle are lowling.
Christmas is near.  The coming of the Lord. The forever change to creation. God incarnate.  God among us.  The Lord jesus is a baby already.  Alive and well in the womb.  Waiting.  Sensing.  At peace. Seeing. Loving. His mother is afraid but not.  Secure in her vision.  Trusting in her man.  Filled with the wonder of creation.  There are these moments in suffering. The routine of journey. The inevitable.  The coming to the end. A new beginning. She sees it.  She was always fay that way.  A touched woman.
Joseph is quiet.  He has worries upon worries.  He doesn’t know what he will do. A family. There was barely enough to feed himself and Mary. Now another mouth.  And work. There’s work. He loses himself in his work.  But there’s the Roman empire. Soldiers and taxes.  Then Herod and his priest police and Pharisees.  It’s too much for a man.  But he loves Mary and the baby is coming. He’s so proud of his young wife and the coming of the child.  So much has passed so much has transpired. He doesn’t even know if he believes but it’s good to be here.  Bethlehem is near.  He knows they’ll like Bethlehem.
Above the star is shining.  Throughout the galaxies and deep in the middle of the earth there is change.  A shuddering. Conception waiting birth.  The inside coming out.  If a person looks just right they can see the oscillation like diamonds.  String theory explains it.  A phase. A vibration.  Not much. Just enough.
I am here today waiting.  Christmas, just a few more days.   Family together.  I’ve been listening to Christmas songs on the radio. 103.5 FM.  What a wonderful station to play Christmas songs continuously.  All the artists, all the famous singerss and song writers who’ve added to the countless lists of caroles that have already been. Each one different.  Rock and reggae and bee bop and classical.  These songs inspire.  Fun songs.  Dancing through the snow songs.  Happy songs.  Awe filled songs.  So this is Christmas.  Deck the Halls.  Away in a Manger.  I ‘m dreaming of a white Christmas.
It was the darkest day of the year, the least light. It’s now passed. Impossible as that sounds.  I sat with a man who wondered why he should go on.
Christmas, I said.
I’m so depressed, he said.
But you can’t kill yourself before Christmas, I said.
Why.
Anything can happen with Christmas.
And there’s the New Year.
More possibilities? he asked.
Yes, I said.
He was out of work. He wanted work so bad. But the government and it’s new followers only wanted handouts. Hands out made men slaves.  Worse than work.  Work left a man with pride.  Now this man had none.
We talked some more.  He promised to live another couple of days, a week perhaps.  It  was Christmas and New Years was coming too.
He promised to go to church, and send a card to family, wish them well even if he believed they didn’t care. Maybe that was so but a card wouldn’t hurt. Christmas had to start somewhere.  He promised to see me in the New Year too. He promised to call me if he needed.  I gave him my personal phone number. I had his to call. I might call him. He might call me.
Any time.
I worried that this would be the last year I’d save another from suicide. There have been hundreds maybe a thousand or more I’ve convinced not to kill themselves.  Thirty years of working for life.  Thirty years of serving 24/7.
This year the Supreme Court, that August Government Appointed Body unelected, rank and  irresponsible power, declared that physicians can kill with impunity. Not the judges. They don’t get their hands dirty.  They make other people do their killing.  They hide behind words and lies. They don’t even read the Bible. Any holy books are beneath them.  So this year we wait for Justin Trudeau and his Liberals to rubber stamp their decree. Let the games begin!
I will be out of work healing.  No more holding shaking sobbing bodies. No more begging promises to live. No more late night calls. No more all nighters talking sense into defeated and lost souls.  They’re getting rid of the healers.  Only the elite will have the life once was promised to all.  Time to retrain as killers.
So you’re suicidal? Take a number. Guillotine? Gas? Electrocution? Firing squad? What will it be? You have a choice.
The bureaucrats at the Health Authority have already told us, if we don’t want to do abortions we must pimp for the sick fucks who would kill Jesus or Einstein or Bach or Sarah MacLachlan or St. Theresa while they’re still in the womb.  The lousy government elites have put trillions into bombs and bureaucracy but they have given no money to women who would have a child.  They’ve left them no choice but poverty and humiliation or abortion.   And they call it choice.  And cuckold fathers too.
Now they will do the same for suicide.  The marginalized and those in despair. The mentally ill ambivalent at the best of times. More suffering and abuse heaped on the already defeated.  Die you losers.  Die!
The Killers cry out. Murderers and Sociopaths rule. Life is a party for them.   Herod and the Pharisees are hot, hot, hot!    Nothing is new. Pontus Pilate is the ambassador of Caesar Obama. Herod's in Ottawa. The names change. The roles don’t.  Empires and war lords and baby killers.  Charming folk. Perfect teeth.
The real star is above us now.  Hardly moving at all.
Cattle are  lowling. I’m glad I’m old.  Hipocrates is rolling over in his grave. Luke is ashamed. The stars are weeping. The earth is crying out.  There will be gnashing of teeth.
But not now. Now is the coming of the King.
Now is  growing wonder. Now  is hope. Feel it. Feel it. Focus.  Feel it! Have no fear!  Fear not!  Believe it.  God is good. All of the time.  This too will pass. But now Jesus is awakening.  He will soon be here.  The world will know his cry again and again.  Not like a lion. But a wee small voice.  Listen. Carefully. Pay attention.   Hallelujah.  A baby will be born.
Renewal.  Praise. Hope.   Hallelujah. The Coming of the King.

Journal, Sept. 1, 2015

I would like to wake up like my dog.  Gilbert is always bright eyed and bushy tailed. He wakes happy and excited. Licks my face.  Walks all over my chest, squirms and cuddles me. Then eventually brings me a yellow tennis ball because he knows that will be the first thing I want to do when I wake up.  Sometimes he just drops it into my face in case I want to chew on it before I throw it for him to fetch.
I wake up more grudgingly.  I had great dreams last night.  There's a world I often find myself in, in my dreams, this alternate reality. I return to it often. It's not the toilet where there's shit everywhere and no where to shit or stand. That's a bad dream. I didn't have that dream. No this other place is water, boats, people, dogs.  I'm often rounding a peninsula in a sailboat, anchoring in a sheltered cove.  It's sunny and blue sky and the sea is calm.  I'm walking with a dog near the shore. Lots of meetings with friends and family.  Sometimes there's old people and coffee tables. It's what I imagine heaven as.  I didn't really want to leave those dreams this morning.
If I showed up in someone else's office and described my feelings, they'd say I was 'dysthymic'.  Probably a little seasonal affective disorder, the technical explanation.  End of summer, beginning of fall.  I find my mood fluctuated with the sunshine. Then there's that Canadian thing of fall and winter where the summer is leaving and it's like losing a loved friend you don't see enough of.  This summer seemed to rush by.  I feel like I've hardly had a summer. So much work and stress and anxiety and burdens. They're not even mine but I've carried them.
Just yesterday, on the last day of August I said to a colleague, 'Freud took his holidays in August.  August used to be the slowest month.  Everyone cancelled. Peoples problems were less. There seemed to be more optimism.  What happened?"  He agreed. This August was different.  Troubling.  Less carefree.  The pace was steady at his office too.  No change in the density and traffic and flow.  None of the lulls.  That's what it was for me.  The emotional sound of nails scraping on a chalk board or frozen pane of glass just seemed continuous all year round.  My patients circumstances, often financially burdened, didn't change.  Even as they learned new ways of coping the stresses they were under increased.
We're aging too. Not only are the celebrities of our youth and adult hood dying but friends and mentors.  Grieving is a reason for feeling blue.
Taxes were a trial this year.  The office move was costly and unsettling.  An expanding company growing wealthy with increasing staff and marketting success displaces the lawyers and doctors working in their little office. The big guy has more clout. Our leases come up. They're not renewed.  One can't blame a big corporation wanting to collect from just one tenant rather than a dozen.  But moves are unsettling.  I'm aging and fear I'm seeing change as loss more than as opportunity.
Aging is all about loss and handling loss gracefully.
I didn't ride my motorcycle or take out my boat as much as other years.  The challenge and work of it all seemed unattractive. I chose to run on weekends instead, thankful for the repair of injuries and the returning athletic capability. It's hard though. Everything hurts.  I hurt when I walk to the washroom each morning. All the traumatic arthritis of distant crashes and near death remind me with the first stiff and painful steps of the morning.
When I talk with friends I feel more and more like I'm reviewing the conversations I loathed when my father and mother shared. I tell her I've got back pain tying my shoes. She says her vagina itches.
Only older people 'share' such intimacies freely.  Harry tells me about his hemorrhoids. We discuss infirmities.  All the medical words I learned as a young doctor my friends are now using to describe their own symptons.  I try to remain in denial.  Denial is my first and favourite go to place.
Aging and the thought of dying are contemporary discussions.  I am morally against physician assisted suicide but I know that suicide is never far from my mind.  Homicide isn't that far away either.  Thankfully the Darwin Awards allow me to laugh about all the stupid people. The older I get the more people seem stupid. And truthfully they are. Their inexperience and ignorance coupled with their arrogance is flagrantly thrust in your face. The worst are those with some power.
Daily someone tells me about grandstanding clerk or low level government worker cutting off the heads of others to make themselves look taller.
I find myself back biting, back stabbing.  I speak negatively about individuals and institutions and immediately regret it.  My long deceased aunt who was the executive assistant to the Canadian ambassador in Washington during WWII never said a negative thing against others. At her funeral it was what we all talked about. No one could remember this lovely Christian woman saying anything negative about anyone.  She used to say "if you don't have anything good to say about someone it's best you say nothing."  She was silent at times. We remember that.  But I love that she was so positive and refined.  I would be like her.
I have resentments. I have fears.  I find myself often with one foot in the past and one foot in the future, resenting something in the past or worrying about something in the future, shitting and pissing on my day because I can't get my head in the same room as my ass is.  I'm constantly bringing my mind back to the present.  The present is all I truly have and it's called a present because that's where God is.  Yet I'm a sinner. To sin means 'to miss the mark'.  It comes from the days of archery when the intention of the archer was to hit the bullseye but for a variety of reasons including his attitude he missed.  I'm trying to focus on God and the present and practice the presence of God but all too often I'm distracted by news I listen to with the misinformation and disinformation of the media.
I find myself wanting to enlighten everyone to the lies that I hear. The talk of the economy is put at a propaganda level of communication. There's 'techniques' of misinformation and disinformation that Hitler and later Stalin first ingeniously developped. Then the marketting companies advanced them so that every add campaign now incorporates these fallacies and cognitive distortions.  I listen to the source and hear the 'hustle' or the 'ad campaign' then later in the day hear otherwise intelligent folk parrotting the fashion of the month.  I'm momentarily crazed.  I feel like the human in the alien attack 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers."
But what does it matter?  Stupidity is being nurtured.  Collectively we're being herded.  Someone is pulling the strings. Or is it just as it is.
I struggle to avoid thinking or discussing matters that are 'above my pay grade'.  It would be so easy to be paranoid, knowing one is right, relishing the warm cuddly feeling of victimship and being paranoid.  Even Freud said 'sometimes the paranoids are write'.
But I'm a psychiatrist. I'm trained to 'tolerate the tension of opposites'.  Like the chess player I am I play either side with equal skill. I see the Glass Bead Game for what it is.  Just light and shade. I remember Leonard Cohen's song, There's a war between the rich and the poor, a war between the man and a woman.....there's a war between the odd and the even."
It's the dualism.  It's Martin Buber's I and Thou.  My questions and concerns are always a dialogue with God. We're forever playing hide and seek.  I'm facing death and life is just another state of discussion with death.  Everything is relationship.  I'm just trying to find the laughter and the love.  The "L" words.  Sex is a metaphor for our relationship with life.  Everythign is bipolar, waves and particles, everything in motion.  Finitude is an illusion but infinity and finite are just faces of a coin.
Unfortunately the more intelligent one is the more risk there is for depression. As a great older Christian psychiatrist told me , bitter people are a dime a dozen. "You don't want to be a bitter old man. That's common.'
My friend talks about the obese ladies, first gaining weight then wearing runners and expandable pants.  "They've let themselves go," she says.
Addictions are a way of living with one central fear of death and invalidity.  The existential questions are now poignant for me.  I read Kierkegaard, Camus, and Doystoyevski as a kid, appreciating the art and enjoying the story. Today I wonder if the hundred babies I delivered were good.  Or were half terrorists.  My friends children are drug addicts and drug dealers. I look back on a life of healing but wonder how many of those I healed went on to be criminals and murderers.  I took comfort in my indiscriminate love yet today I question the daily work of rescue and seeing every single person as a child of god and treating them as if they were a family member.  I prided myself in believing I was being a good person treating the devil and the saint equally.  I took an oath 'do no harm' and now with 'physician assisted suicide' being promoted by the Supreme Court of Canada, I'm looking back wondering if all those suicidal people I spent hours, days, weeks and years convincing that life was worth holding on to, well maybe I was wrong.  I could have worked less, made more money, had an easier life, just killing people.  I know the abortionists have a hell of a good life killing babies.  I still have nightmares about the dead baby I delivered. I still have nightmares about the boy who suicided on my watch. If I was a killer at worst I'd have to think about the ones who lived.
The abortionists haven't always got away with their killing. I heard the deformed courageous woman who didn't die when she was aborted.  She lived and told her story. "J'acuse" comes back to mind. The great French story of justice.
But my friend says there's no 'justice in the courts'. The courts are there solely to protect the rich and maintain the status quo. The reformer is the enemy of anyone who benefits from the status quo.  So the whole the beaurocratic system and all the outward appearances of the government system especially the courts are there to maintain the position of the rich and powerful.  They now have a term 'social justice' and it's even more disengenuous. Deconstructionism and constructionism.  Right is wrong. Black is white. I read between the lines and educated beyond my intelligence see what's really being said.  The government and courts are as 'fixed' as soccer and Vegas.
But of course it's all above my paygrade.
If I knew what I know today, would I do what I've done with my life.  Well, I wouldn't have married. I told my wife that her idea that marriage was for a couple and that marriage didn't need kids meant that marriages might as well be gay. I'd married for the sake of family and the women overnight said 'my body my own.'  My baby was killed aborted. I married and raised some women who were only little girls and we played at love and kept each other close covering each others back for a decade at a time. But the children were killed and I couldn't even save the life of my own child. The Supreme Court killed my baby as much as anyone.  The Prime Minister and Queen killed my baby.  And now as I age I'm growing more and more alone. Like millions of other men who daily must struggle to avoid being bitter.
Another man says his son stole all his money and left him to die. Her daughter is using the grand children to maintain her drug habit. Her children get her the money from social services she uses to maintain her addiction.  Obviously if one wants to be bitter, one can chose having children or not having children as the excuse for having a bad mood.
My bad mood is explained as much by anything but I wonder if life wouldn't have been better if I had devoted myself to learning killing instead of healing, Hundreds of my patients begged me let them die.  I struggled through depression after depression.  I helped women get through morning sickness and waddling days, and aches and pains then labour and delivery only to find that the courts and the beaurocrats are going to judge me in my senility on my 'popularity'.  I took over from a doctor who the patients still sing the praises of down here in the Down Town Eastside. He's famous today and I see that he maximized the methadone and opiates he could give, maximized the benzodiazepines he gave and didn't ever really address their addictions, didn't recommend abstinence but just gave them more and more drugs until they died or he left and said he was sorry he couldn't give them more illusion and pain relief.
I expect families will thank me for killing their relatives.  So many of my patients over the years have suffered caregiver burden. I have defended my patients over and over again from relatives who were wanting them dead or committed. I have fought to protect my patients assets and over and over again begged and cajoled to get them housing and treatment and hospitalization.  I now think if I'd just become a lawyer I could have written a law and told the physicians to kill the patients. I'm still struggling with a judge who condemned me for advocating for my patient and the doctors who supported him.  It doesn't matter that years latter my lawyers 'won' and the doctor's role as 'advocate' was upheld. I know this judge as a lawyer had a conflict of interest. All over the lawyers are looking to be in every aspect of our affairs insisting only they can represent everyone. So now we each of us daily need a lawyer who is a beurocratic body guard.  My rich colleagues have them on retainers and some go into the hospitals with their lawyer at their side.
I think of physician assisted suicide as I consider these profound changes in society and the devolution of Canada as I know it. I've read the horror stories of Holland's experience with legalized marijuana, their banning BC Bud, their 180 degree turn around after 20 years of that failed experiment. I've also read how their 'physician assisted suicide' started out kindly then became a variation on Hitler's gas chambers with widespread killing of the aging mentally ill because killing is always cheaper.  The addicts are given places to shoot up because their doctors don't believe in them as humans. They've given up hope. It's palliative care because we'd rather spend money on court rooms and elections and massive government waste and corruption than on authentic health care.
But what do I know. My opinion about what is right and wrong is just one man's views.  The whole of the democratic process suggests that each individual's opinion is equal to another.  So today more and more individuals on the planes I fly on think their opinion is as good as the pilots. M ore and more people comes into my office after a cursery look at internet and tell me what I'm supposed to do as a doctor. Everyone is an overnight expert with a google and it doesn't matter that the research says that all the computer health care programs have a 50 to 80% error range.  It's sexy.
A few of us old doctors at the back of the lecture hall listened to a couple of cute your female academic doctors give a presentation on 'Physician burn out".  They called their talk 'compassion fatigue'.  We joked, "when was the first time you diagnosed yourself as burnt out."
My first year after residency. When I left the university and was on my own in real medical practice.", one answer.
"I stopped counting after my 19th nervous breakdown", the other grey haired world reknowned clinician said.
I said, I've not had a drink or drug in 16 years so I don't know if I'm just being a 'dry drunk - "rest irritable and discontent' or I'm experiencing "burn out".
"Remember that survey a few years back where every doctor said they'd have more compassion if they got the annual $50,000 in back pay they thought they deserved but had been diverted to excessive administration whose role seemed sorely to interfere with medical and nursing care."
Yes I do.
I don't see anyone lining up to work with ex criminals, drug dealers, addicts and the dangerously insane but you notice how people who've never got their hands dirty are the quickest to be critics.
We began talking when the lecture was on, pulled our selves to gether and listened to the pollyanna stuff about getting exercise and getting enough sleep taking more time to keep up with the literature and all this 'sweet recommendations' we usually hear from the College, the day before or after they come up with some recommendation that multiplies every physicians workloads a hundred fold or the government refuses to pay for the increasing aging patient practice.  It's so easy to tell others to do the work.
"I've been hoping for war, " I said after that lecture ended and the three of us continued to talk.  "I ask God for forgiveness but it seems it's the only way that the 'dead weight' is winnowed out of the fat cat systems.  Germany has a better health care system and 1/20 the administration. "
The things breaks down into a poor me and shared expressions of self pity.
"I can 't afford to pay for me kids university and the alimony his mother demands."
And three old doctors all obviously suffering burn out have an ad hock  group therapy session and go off laughing in the end.
The rich and poor, the doers and the takers, the lovers and the haters have always been around.  12 step programs broke down the source of fear and resentment to 'financial insecurity, concerns about ambition, concerns about status, concerns about face and friends, and family."  Mental health is defined as the ability to love, work and play,.
There's infinite amount of work for doctors and never enough time in the day. Our love lives collectively suck and increasingly no one has the time or resources for play.  Doctors can't afford to buy a house in Vancouver on their income.  But then no one can, except those who inheritted or the criminals.
Bitch bitch bitch.
We have gratitude lists to change our attitudes.  I have to give my head a shake minute by minute. I thank God for the light and darkness, the happiness and sadness, sickness and health, the good and the bad. It's only in the contrast can I appreciate the good.  I am thankful for this life. It's had it's ups and downs. I know there are drugs to make everything bland.  The addicts I see are bubble boys and bubble girls. They are living their lives in illusions wrapped in the candy floss of their drug of choice, missing out on 99% of the spectrum of living. I remember when I drank wine, smoked a joint or smoked a cigarette.  Even these are their own valium type experiences.  Living life on life's terms is walking a high wire. It's 'raw".  It's the same with being intelligent. It would be so much easier to be stupid and believe in the 'group think' 1984 reality.
It's like the desire to take the other pills colour in the movie Matrix.  Just live in the Solyent Green world.
Time to get on with reality.  Ironically until they insist I kill people, they have made it law that I pimp for the abortionist, it's not enough that I say I don't do abortions, I required by law to make their killer richer. I expect the same will happen shortly when I say I'm too old to start killing patients for profit and they're say it's not enough for me to say I don't do it but that I must phone the killers and make appointments for my patients.  I wonder if I should go back through my lists of people I convinced not to kill themselves over the last three decades, speak to each of the hundred individually and encourage them to reconsider our decision.  I really think the lawyers in the supreme court should have taken lessons in boundaries and profession and stuck to 'lawyer assisted suicide' rather than telling physicians to kill their patients.  At least in Saudi Arabia they have a public executioner.  Given the way they've been botching up their killing in the court and jail side of the ugly business they probably want 'physician' assisted suicide because they know only physicians seem to know how to get things done. Which is why every restriction is place on us and the system hates and is terrified of us and other scientists.
I have to get back to making gratitude lists. This is always a me and God, I and it or I and thou thing.  The complexity reduces to me and the other.  I'm obviously not in a loving carefree mood. If I surrendered and accepted God is in charge and all loving then I'd feel better.
It's all above my pay grade. As my friend says we're all 'slaves'.  Best to be grateful to be an 'inhouse nigger'.  He laughs at me calling me a 'wage slaves'.  He bought parking lots and made a lot of money.  The parking lot prices outside the hospitals and clinics are always the best source of revenue.
I lack some gene that makes him think like that.  Still I love his humor.  God has a real sense of humor. When you can get your head around that then finally you stop taking yourself so seriously. I have to remember that.