Sturges Harley Davidson Annual Motorcycle Festival: It was 2013 that I took my Harley Electroglyde and rode 5000 km Vancouver, Colorado, to Sturgis, South Dakota and back. I was the speaker at the International medical conference in Colorado and then rode on to Sturgis, the Annual Motorcycle Ralley. I heard Kid Rock, ZZ Top and the Dooby Brothers. I loved seeing the antelope, bison and deer that I passed as I drove through the most beautiful country, doing 500 miles a day on average. I’d love starting my day listening to Christian singer song writer, Steve Bell. His song ‘it was on a morning like this’ about the birth of Jesus was so uplifting. I’d later listen to Steppenwolf, Born to Be Free, remembering seeing the movie with Jack Nicholson as a kid and so longing to be riding a Harley across country. Now here I was. So many drunks and drug addicts talk of ‘going to Sturgis’ yet their bikes don’t work, or they’ve sold them for drugs. I was just glad to be sober and glad to be riding.I stopped at Custer’s Last Stand and bought an American Saber I carried strapped to the back of my bike. I brought back Sturgis ‘swag’, the shirts and t shirts. It was a great adventure. I tented in Sturgis with some combat vets and later would tent on the side of the road when I couldn’t find a motel on the way back. Rocketed to the fourth dimension.
My brother and sister in law bought a beautiful home in Hay Bay on the lake. It was his dream and they were so happy there. I loved visitting. Then he learned he had pancreatic cancer. I put my life on hold. He came first. He’d cared for my mother and father and me and his family, always there, always solid and loving and funny and brilliant. I shipped my boat down to Loyalist Cove and took him sailing. I had this idea if only he could sail enough maybe he’d have a miraculous cure. I was trying to get a license in Ontario so that I could spend more time there working part time to defray the costs of flights and being away from my practice. The administration and College’s totally screwed up creating barriers and demanding paper work and finally claiming that they’d introduced a ‘new protocol’ so required the ‘whole application to be redone’. They were evil. You can’t criticize them either. Like depots they remember and pay back. I’d criticized in an interview saying it was easier to get a license in another country than for a Canadian trained, Canadian citizen to move from province to province.
It wasn’t long after that the Doctors of Ontario exposed the grossest corruption in the Ontario College beurocracy. The liberal government then fell after losing an untold wealth. The Charbonneau enquire in Quebec showed the province run by mafia and biker gangs with millions. With the liberal government win the corruption seemed to just spread faster and thicker.
When pretty boy air head dope smoker commie elite Trudeau was ‘gifted’ with the PM ship, my brother before the election had said, “I couldn’t live another 4 years of Liberal corruption”. He died.
I blamed the government first. He’d worked for them and when he left they replaced him with three people. He’d been so stressed working in his work. He had integrity and cared and believed in ‘excellence’ but the government had been so invaded by mediocrity and corruption. He loved his family so and worked always to give them the best he could. He’d loved to have been an entrepreneur and take risks but instead he cared for family. After retirement he managed stocks and investments of my Dad and his own but always was there for family. He’d wanted to travel but he’d have so many obligations.
He was the good son.
He was the smart one.
He told me how he’d read about my adventures and watch my course in life with mixed envy and sadness.
He’d been the one that I talked to when I’d been sodomized. He’d understood and let it pass. He didn’t judge me. He liked when I stopped drinking. Actually, he did judge me, He thought I didn’t save enough money. My father had been concerned that I worked without a pension. Both he and my brother ‘prepared for old age’. I never expected to live half this long. He was so careful with money and admonished me to save and invest. Yet here he was having taken care of everyone else but himself and dead as so many men of our generation, worn down by the work men have had , the unsung heroes, the back bone of society, not the dilettantes or the drama queens, but the ‘steady eddy’. That was him. Always there to be relied on. The truest pillar.
Canadian men were dying 10 years younger than women, the most critical factor being the work place. Equal job , truly equal, not the lying misinformation equal statistics manipulating, name changing states of the left but real hard data, men and women died the same. The home was the place of safety. Testosterone was the hormone of war and defence. Men in the workplace were worn down by the stress ,dying of chronic stress disorder of heart disease and cancers.
My brother was to me like a soldier who gave himself for the home. He told me that under all conditions he wanted to die at home, he’d seen his mother and father in hospital and seen the sickness and sadness there, and he wanted above all to be at Hay Bay. He asked me to do whatever it took to let him be there as long as he could. His beautiful loving wife Adell equipped the home for home care. I walked him and walked him even when he complained. I’d resurrected the dead by keeping them moving.
“Don’t stop moving or they’ll throw dirt on you’. We’d seen new nurses kill old people listening to their complaining. Forget the pain and fatigue and keep them moving. My patients lived days, weeks and years longer than the textbook answer because « I keept them moving.’
“Once you stop moving they throw dirt in your face.”
We talked privately. We’d shared a bed room as children and talked late in the night after our parents put us to bed. Now here again it was like a continuation of that time. Precious. It comforted him to talk of the times in childhood when we shared a room, shared our fears and successes and reminisced about silly things that only he and I knew, the Russia Canadian Hockey games, mom’s popcorn and mandarins, dad’s snoring, the dogs farting. We laughed so sadly. Life is so unkind . I still miss him and but so much of grief is self pity. He’s in a better place.
I’d know that he’d join my father and mother and aunt and the dogs. Heaven was real to me, a place I’d seen and a world I’d looked into. I’d heard my mother and my grandmother telling me about it. I’d visitted the after life in dreams. I loved the peninsula and the meetings there with the old ladies. I loved seeing the dogs again. I have visions meditating.
I had withdrawn from my life here as much as possible to devote my time to my brother. Another office was sold out from under me, so I had to move and there the administration, these deeply evil, greedy dirty little people, rented me an office without the proper zoning. I was told by the city I had to cease and desist in a month. I was grieving my brothers death and had a lying malingerer complain to the college when I refused to say she could never work again, her other doctors saying she could work again. She had black market jobs and didn’t want to work because she’d make less money. Increasingly patients were coming in wealthy on their ‘non taxable’ incomes while I struggled 12 hour days and paid the outrageous burden of taxes for the stoner government and their Quebec crony criminals. We’d learn that even the Quebec doctors worked half the hours for more pay, than western Doctors’s worked.
I’d hired two assistants and trained them only to have them foul up in a couple of months, one leaving for a boyfriend and one being deceitful and unfrustworthy. I actually had to fire the last one. For months though I was doing full time work and administrative work and training and teaching. It was exhausting. Then I got my last assistant.
My assistants was excellent at times but unreliable. She had another job and her own goals. Computers and internet allowed staff to work on their own work whenever there wasn’t any immediate work. Even the garbage didn’t get taken out and the dog didn’t get walked. I was amazed at how good she could do a job but had to remind her about any routine like dealing with adolescents. I spoke with my colleagues only to find this was common for ‘millenials’, not at all the ‘steady eddie’s ‘ but rather the hare of the tortoise and hare race. Projects were done well but the day to day got forgotten.
I was living in fear about what was done and what was left undone because the government was demanding ‘perfection’ from doctors with the typical superiority and judgementalness of dictators while ready to punish everyone for anything. Meanwhile they were grossly mismanaging resources, corruption reigned and BC had a black market economy of countless billions. The health care system being given away for free to the illegal immigrants and everyone seeming to be getting government ‘free bes’ , while I and the decreasing frontline workers were the only one’s working. It felt like scabies.
My dog developed hereditary glaucoma and the veterinary and veterinary staff made the grossest errors which wouldn’t have saved his eye indefinitely but hastened his loss and increased his suffering for countless hours. The specialist was uncaring. I changed vets and found a wonderful canine ophthalmologist and excellent vet with wonderful veterinary assistants. It was sad as the vets there had been overall excellent and it was just more ‘staffing’ and ‘administration’ screw ups that caused the problems. I couldn’t risk my dog. With the new arrangement he had the best of care though the condition would continue and he’d be blind but that’s a year ahead of where I am in the overall tale.
Because of the dirty landlady, unfortunately Asian and soulessly money grubbing, I didn’t have an office anymore. Again a great lawyer, Mr. Reilly came to my rescue and got me time from the City’s outrageous demands. The College said patients needed 3 months notice of close of practice but the city evicted me in 1 months. Thanks to Mr. Reilly I got the time to move. I had 50 boxes of records which I was told had to be kept till I died and yet they cost $200 a box to digitize and the storage locker for them was costing $700 a month. I couldn’t afford to retire or cut back. I was in an insane merry go round and yet whenever I went to the College of Physicians or walked into a government office I saw the doctors and staff sashaying, fat, purring cats , ‘looking busy’. I’d worked in government 2 years of my life and literally had nothing to do. Little bursts of activities but soul destroying committee meetings where we all sat and listened to some person pontificate.
I was fortunate because I was working in others clinics for the addiction part of my work so asked and moved my practice into these walk in clinics. My income plummeted and my overhead sky rocketed but it was a joy to be among other doctors, not psychiatrists unfortunately, but other doctors, very good doctors, the best of the best. I loved seeing the excellence and immediately saw that these people I most admired were working as if through molasses with all the micromanagement of government and the interference that the cancerous waste at the top created. I wasn’t alone. They were facing the same stupidity and vulgarity but keeping their heads up trying to make the best of the bad lot of the mismanagement at the top.
I’d lose another year of sleep and nightmares and suicidal ideation watching this lying psychopath and her proxy warriors in government have their feeding frenzy attacking a good doctor. Meanwhile they were always like police celebrating catching jaywalkers while they let the killers in the profession go not even swarming them; I’d done their jobs on several occasions so knew directly their favouritism and cronyism ,corruption and deplorable behaviour. They’d sold their souls for swagger and pensions. They had no shame and were barbarians with guns. Disgusting people. I’d met some good folk there once but now I didn’t see them anymore. Their insensitivity, arrogance and the poor communication and their lack of professionalism caused me to repeated consider suicide. Just having to meet with them and watch their Nazi Doctor like displays of ‘tells’ afte ‘tells’ . So ignorant of psychiatrists. Their body launguage and vocal tones so loud.. Raucous laughter and serious grandiosity. Stupid people. Sad. They must have been selected for this lack of insight and superego lacunae.
I was again grieving and again the College was upstaging the dead. The psychopaths always attack the weak and the College never gives a doctor a chance but kicks him or her when they’re down. I saw the ‘pattern’. The government wanted to destroy doctors and had already reduced the ‘profession’ to the communist version. There was no more autonomy. The merger of the ‘licensing’ body with their education function had taken away the critical ‘division of powers’ They’d secretly and slyly moved to a dictatorship that reduced the university to a functionary. I loved hearing that doctors wanted to join the teamsters because the profession had been destroyed.
We had the largest beurocracy, least doctors and longest waiting lists and doctors were killing themselves mostly because of the grossest bullying, incompetence of doctors playing at being lawyers, selected for their need for control and power and lack of integrity and lack of insight. I’ve sat and looked into heir eyes and seen that Judas look, the look people have when they’ve sold their soul for cheap. I once was criticized by them when I said ‘it was okay « if doctors were asked to be escorts, the oldest profession being prostitution, but I didn’t think I should told to be a street whore for them’. Yet that’s what it had become.
But I didn’t know for sure. Because being a psychiatrist my grief and confusion caused me to see the world through sun glasses. I couldn’t see the light anymore. I was again questioning « selling life’ and ‘supporting this system’ when the life that was being offered was such a lie. Also, maybe these people in government weren’t insectoid, I likened them to dung beetles, but that was my perception. I’d see the lies of Trudeau , outrageously criminal deceitful unethical behaviour and in the new provincial governments it just happened that billions of dollars of money laundering occured and no government leader was shot or hung. Every criminal I knew was rich beyond their wildest dreams. It was the best place to have two years of college and narcissism and a lack of moral compass. It was the third world. Overnight Canada had become the third world.
But was this me not seeing the flowers in the war. I was so sad with my brother gone and so angry with God and so uncertain as to what I was to do.
I bought a truck and said I’d pay it off. It’s good to do simple things. My mother had said she liked when I had a vehicle debt to pay because she knew I would be working at least till I paid it off.
I thought I’d have a sex change too. I was without direction. I thought I »d adopt a new personality and travel and explore in a variation of the great book ‘black like me’. I’d love to live another life. I’d liked wearing women’s clothes and had started out in acting. Maybe a new adventure. Travelling as an old cross dresser with a blind dog. I was so tired of being ‘good ‘ and ‘true’ and studying up the yin yang.
My rich doctor friend laughed, “I don’t know anyone whose read so many books and studied so much psychiatry, you’re interested in it all, the pharmacology, neurology, sociology, psychology, spirituality. I stopped reading anything to do with my field decades back. I get my 50 hours CME attending hospital rounds each week and the rest of my time is devoted to real estate. I’m rich today on investment. This is a mediocrity. I look over to see you and there’s no reward for going the extra mile, the patients don’t know it. The College doesn’t even care about morbidity or mortality. They’re worse that ‘rate your doctor’. It’s do the least and look for ways to make money. That’s what the hospital administrators and bureaucrats have done. They made a fortune off the doctors and nurses doing the work and their being the parasites. You’re killing yourself for others. Stop caring so much. Be like the lawyers. No one cares. The bankers certainly don’t. The accountants certainly don’t. Be happy. ». He’s always good for a laugh. I love his hedonism and realism.
I was living in a trailer. The only people who could afford houses in Vancouver were criminals or foreign criminals . I’d also owned houses and saw that my life was devoted to maintaining these properties which really I had no rights over, the government leased and taxed the land. I just wanted to rent. My friend Dr. George and I talked a lot about ‘ownership’ and ‘renting’.
“I’m renting. » he said. « I’m just not going to spend all my time keeping a property and not really owning it.” He loved his Pink apartment with the balcony and view of the harbour. We’d make music together there and talk about women and life. George loved women. He especially loved his children. We both loved medicine.
All the men I knew had lost a house or two to marriage, the lawyers, the banks and the government.
Canada was a matriarchy. The women all had their homes and the children who worshiped them .There was no other gods but mom in the matriarchy. The guys en mass were off the grid. A day doesn’t go by I don’t meet another divorced or single male MGTOW. Men Going Their Own Way. The country was dying and abortion was all the rage. Low testosterone epidemic. It was all insane.
I wanted to be sailing again. I dreamed of vacations. A little time away from the insaneity. Patients didn’t come in , themselves insane anymore, but they came in describing insane workplaces or governments or communities. Everyone was stressed to the max. I’d never had so many people coming throug hthe door , middle class, hardly making ends meet. Rent evictions and homelessness.
When I began it was said ‘it’s not a psychiatric problem if a vacation or money could solve it.’ But now half my patients don’t have family physicians and don’t have access or money to pay the rent or stable housing. It’s insane. I feel like I’m working in India among the poor but these are the middle class and they’re all afraid of losing their jobs and knowing that in a matter of months they’ll be in housing with thieves and drug addicts as neighbours or pedophiles and rapists. The thin line has gone. They’re all afraid. Anxiety. It’s real.
I go to work. I’m like a little boy with his thumb in the hole in the damn. I do my bit. I hardly get time because the College has all the doctors doing other things than seeing patients. We’re routinely called to the office to give meaning to the lives of people who have sold their souls , the hollow men, the hollow women. They haven’t even read T.S. Elliot and don’t even know Kafka . I don’t know if paying off my truck will hold me.
I think of a sex change. I listen to Leonard Cohen’s “I want a new face, one that’s not covered up in grief and shame.”
I started to write this review of my life, the task I give to patients to write their life one page per year.
Gilbert got a glaucoma and his eyes needed to be removed. George the cat almost died but the new vets antibiotics saved him. I had an infection in my mouth when a tooth abscessed, I was so sick. We were all sick. The stress causes sickness.
I drove to San Diego in my new little mini with a back seat for blind Gilbert. I was taking him to the beaches. He was so sad. He was so depressed blind and banging into things. But I took him to the beaches in Oregon and watched him run free. He’s been alive ever since. I’m looking for my own beaches.
I go to churches and go to meetings. I see how poorly the elderly are treated here in Canada and I fear aging. I have lost my hearing and different joints are always in pain and I don’t have the strength I had. The criminals are in charge and I fear another young person accosting me on the street. A year of having that man threatening to kill my dog wore me down. Knowing that the College didn’t care for doctors and wanted us dead and the police didn’t protect us and that the great success of this government has been Euthanasia and smoking marijuana.
Well I have to change my attitude. I have to say the serenity prayer. I have to do more gratitude lists. I got another call from a person at the College they want to examine me some more. Want to look at my files. I’ve now met doctors who have had constant harrassment by their bosses. It’s never mentioned on the Communist Broadcasting Corporation news. No one in the general public knows the constant abuse of doctors. The Ontario family physicians for a first actually campaigned against their left wing government but now they’re killing doctors in the Middle East jailing them for helping rebels. No one cares.
The person who called herself a colleague from the college is involved in this further testing of doctor’s ‘competence’. It’s nothing personal. A group of colleagues are doing it. More people getting paid not to see patients. More emphasis on the ‘files’. The patient can be dead as long as the ‘file is alive’. I’ve actually had a file say my patient was dead when they were alive and had to argue the facts.
I’m struggling to carry on. I don’t want to retire. I ‘d like to do my job wthout this college like a grossly obese fat lady cat sitting on my shoulders shitting and pissing on me as a doctor all day long. We can’t carry the cancerous burden of this government Venezuela fell. The USSR failed. China is toppling. The future is supposed to be bright but I’m not. I’m tired.
The writing exercise I gave myself was to see the good and the bad. I have a blind dog whose still the joy of my life. The cat and he are entertaining. I have a wealth of friends and have food and shelter. Just for today I’m doing well. I have the sunshine and Vancouver in summer. I got this call from the college and it was like a knife in the back . I’m sick to my stomach when I see the colour of the paper they send their notices out in. I’ve no complaint but I live in fear. I struggle days to get to the office. It’s gas lighting. It’s getting harder and harder . I‘m afraid of patients. When will the next psychopath with an ulterior agenda come through my office and get the college army to attack me a lone doctor with a practice again. I wake in sweats sitting across from these Kafkaequely stupid people. They’re always having a party and they’re wearing clown costumes.
I’ve had guns pulled on me but I fear most the psychopathic women who use the College as their weapon with their lies and manipulations. I used to think that the College was just stupid but now I know it’s evil. It works with the criminals. They search for people to complain to give their hollow worthless lives meaning. They’re so sick but I’m taught to ‘pray for them for they know not what they do’. But I’m tired and failing . I love ‘Save our Heros’ and ‘Diana Davidson’.
I just want to go to work and save lives. I’ve done that all along. I have known impossibly wonderful success but now I’m too afraid to be creative. I”m too terrified of the demands and threats and anger in the office.
I have a shower. I love my shower. I”m clean and have clean clothes. These are things to be grateful for.
I miss my brother. We could talk and he’d make me laugh. He wasn’t Pollyanna. He knew the government and loved finance. He’d liked to take pictures and he liked to grow plants like my mother.
I’ve got to get back to defending myself from another attack of the Borg. The Borg have no other purpose than to assimilate. These burearcrats don’t have patients to care for . They just kill. They have no other obligations. Like the police. They don’t have to nurture and care . They don’t have to be creative and solve unsolveable problems. I’ve spent 30 years convincing people to live but now whenever I hear of the College and know the depth of their arrogance and corruption I just want to die myself. I pray to God to carry me.
Who cares for the caregivers. I’ve taken another cake. I’m soon with my colleagues. Whenever I share there’s someone there who has more entertaining ‘challenges’. « I’ve got this young social worker in charge in my military unit who thinks they know more psychiatry than I do after 23 years of experience and all the education. They don’t even know they’ve got low IQ and they just love polished boots. ». She’s a crazy black lady with long term sobriety who goes to church and keeps us in stitches telling stories about there being ‘no military intelligence.’ I see my amazing friends with sick wives and children or husbands and themselves with sickness and they’re carrying on. They have to deal with regular assholes and they’re actually practicing their faith and struggling to be better humans today than they were yesterday. I always feel better and want to carry on being a doctor after I meet with them.
They asked me to give a talk on anger so I began ‘Those mother fucker organizers asked me to talk about anger. That’s the shit topic. A loving peaceful guy like me should have been given something more spiritual like forgiveness and love but no the fuckers give me anger. Bastards ». The place erupted in laughter. I feel home as a doctor when I’m with these folk. I feel home as a person when I’m camping. Laura and Gilbert and I have more camping planned.
The writing connected to the time of blogging. I’ve some digital record and can see that I’ve got a lot of personal growth to go.
I’m planning a story that begins.
« They’re all dead. All the people who hurt me. All the people who could hurt me. I’m still here. I »m still no more happy and no more sure of what the Lord wants of me. Maybe I’ll eventually go to my grave. It gives me no satisfaction to have outlived them all. I’m alive. They’re dead. It’s like there’s less smog and it smells better but I’m still searching for God. I’m still seeking joy. It’s just one day at a time. «
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