It is said the survival of a society is dependent on the strength of it's culture. How successful these cultural weapons are against inevitable adversities is gauged against how the society has adapted in ones ever dynamic environment. As science discovers cures for illnesses, our environment mutates and presents new ones that pushes the boundaries of our logical mind thus presenting us with the juxtaposition of testing our faith. This is the core of humanity.
Henry Ross is an average looking Cree man. Slight in physical appearance he wears the experiences of his life heavily in his eyes. His eyes are what distinguishes him that is no ordinary man. In the modern world of medicine he has acquired the skill set of a surgeon. What differentiates him is that he acquired his knowledge through many personal fastings where the Spirits teach him how to harness the power of plants (an herbalist), how to detect the source of the ailment and finally how to re-direct positive energy in order to holistically heal all three levels of the human - mind, body and soul.
A week after the sweat ceremony Henry finally returned back to his home base. I had been on edge the entire time trying to figure out what the hell I had experienced and Joyce made the wise decision to not jump to conclusions by debating with me on what unfolded. That night Steph and the Azure girls, Aliea and Merissa decided it would be fun to sleep in a tent in the back yard since it was 35 degrees out and the house felt like an oven. Knowing full well that the national Saskatchewan bird population (AKA mosquitos) were going to eat me alive, I opted to stay indoors and take my chances sweating to death.
Sometime around 3AM that night I woke up in the dead of my sleep. Bob was still up watching the movie so when I sat straight up from what looked like a deep sleep, I startled him. "You okay?" he asked. "Where's Steph?" I frantically shrieked. At first I thought something was wrong with my heart because I can hear it pounding. As I got orientated to my surroundings I realized that I can hear Joyce's voice in Henry's bedroom which was right beside the room I was sleeping in. Well that's odd. Suddenly both Joyce and Henry went outside and herded all three girls back into the house. I asked Joyce what was wrong and she just blurted out that the girls were being too loud. Tired, I fell back alseep but only after the pounding headache faded. I didn't sleep well that night.
I woke up sore and with a really massive headache. Joyce poured me a coffee at breakfast and started to study me. "You look like you had a rough night? Did you stay up all night too?" Bob told his mom I woke up in the dead of my sleep and scared the shit out of him because I sat up like a bat out of hell. "When did you wake up?" she asked. "I dunno, just before you made the girls come in from their camping out session."
Henry looks up from his crossword puzzle. I was so crabby and tired I didn't even noticed that he was standing at the kitchen counter. "The girls were pretty loud, did they wake you up?" he asked. "No, I woke up because my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it," I blurted out. When the words left my mouth I realized how insane I sounded. Joyce shot a look to Henry and then let out a huge sigh. "Oh..."
The man that has said no more than 3 sentences to me over the last 2 weeks all of a sudden started talking.
Apparently Henry started to hear owls hooting around 1AM outside which he thought was odd. He came outside to investigate and noticed not one owl but a bunch of them roosting on the roof of the house. Owls in the Cree culture are bad omens. They are messengers that something not very good was going to unfold. He then heard the sounds of drums and they were getting louder which meant that they were coming closer. Joyce woke up too around the same time I did and immediately went to see Henry because she knew something was wrong. That's when they quickly grabbed the girls and brought them back in. Henry wasn't sure what exactly was happening but he knew something was definitely wrong so he quickly performed a protective prayer encircling the home with light. The owls quickly left and the drums came close to the house but never encircled it.
Now, when I haven't had my morning coffee I am bitch. Compound that with a lack of sleep and what you have is an UBER bitch with absolutely no filter. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I respectfully asked. The information overload on an unstable system was a bit too much. To stop my hysteria, Henry continued talking.
He tells me I carry exceptional energy for someone so young. Since he seemed to be in the mood for talking I thought it was an opportune moment for me to ask if he happened to see a random Demon thingy hanging out. Henry says all my energy is light, there is no darkness to it. I share the story of my dad's "gift" to me when I was born. Henry laughs. He tells me that I have such a huge energy source that it would be difficult for darkness to challenge it. I then ask why he mentioned he saw a Crow hanging out. Henry says the Crow may just be curious as they are attracted to strange light. He mentions that in the Sweat, my energy threw off his healing abilities so it made the heat more intense then usual. He also mentions that I have an army of Spirits taking care of me and my gift is being highly intuitive so that's why I sensed things people normally wouldn't. My eyes bulge out of my head. Henry tells me not to worry and I won't see things I am not ready for. I am not convinced. Images of an evil drummer boy is burned into my retina.
Joyce mentions that last night's incident was a result of "Bad Medicine." For some reason I had a feeling she wasn't talking about taking prescription drugs and chasing it with some hard liquor.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Always Pee Before Going On Long Car Rides
The sweat ceremony is one of the most powerful and sacred spiritual tools for the Cree culture. Older than recorded time, this holy ceremony is to used to cleanse the mind, body and soul by calling upon Nature's elements of Earth, Fire, Water and Air. Conducted by Elders who have be blessed with the ability to communicate with the Spiritual World, these ceremonies connect the participants with Creator (God), the Spirit Helpers (comparable to the angels and others depending on your spiritual or religious practices) and our ancestors (our grandmothers and grandfathers and all the generations who came before us). There are many reasons for attending but all have the unifying purpose of lifting the veil on the world that we walk in order to reveal and understand the truths. Obviously this journey is one that cannot be taken casually as it is often transformational.
As mentioned before, my understanding of anything Sacred is pretty embarrassing. All my knowledge is garnered by TV and I'm not even talking about the good kind. I'm talking about highly educated cinematography such as "The Exorcist," and "The Shining." My parent's are Bhuddists but no longer practicing ones since emigrating to the land of The Free Will and Modern. That being said, I have a high level of respect for Faith even though ironically I personally don't have a "conventional" one.
Knowing this, Joyce went through the teachings to ensure that my first experience with her culture was an "awakening" and also as an insurance that my ignorance (AKA inside voice) didn't disrepect such a powerful ceremony. She went on to explain that the Lodge is built to symbolize the Womb of Mother Earth. There is a separate ceremony where the Elder would choose very specific rocks that are strategically placed in the center of the lodge. These rocks are the Grandfathers Spirits as they have been on this Earth since the beginning of time and are selected to ensure they can carry enough healing properties from a fire to create the "sauna" feel. Chosen correctly, the rocks will not crack when cold water is poured over it.
In Cree culture, women are very powerful Spirits as proven by the fact that most of their theology is based on the maternal spirit of Mother Earth. A woman on her "moon" cannot attend a sweat ceremony because she becomes extremely powerful during this time thus disrupting the energies that need to be redirected for healing purposes. Women need to traditionally wear long skirts and a modest top and the men usually wore tunics and pants. Practicalities such as bringing a towel, a bottle of water, eating a light meal 3-4 hours before, emptying your bladder and removing any metal from your skin was also reccommended. Also, any religious artifacts from other cultures needed to respectfully be removed.
Being a medicine man, Henry was a rare elder in that in addition to the other ceremonies he was able to also conduct healing ceremonies. As his assistant, Joyce's role was to ensure the food for the feast afterwards was prepared, donations such as blankets, tobbacco, sage and food were collected and organized for re-distribution if there was an abundance. This required Joyce to arrive at the site about an hour before the time to prepare.
Now Joyce is like my second mom so she would never put myself or Steph in any danger. "Pure" spirits are those people that have lived a good, honest life without much negativity. Being that Steph and I were quite young and very happy go lucky without a care in the world, she knew that we would not be bothered by the heat of the ceremony. Now, if you were a person that required healing emotionally, spiritually or physically then the heat of the ceremony would really affect you as the energies of the Universe work to "purge" or cleanse your negatives energies. If there was a participant that was heavily disrupted in their energies, such as a person that was a sexual abuser asking for forgiveness or a person that was infected by AIDS because of the lifestyle they chose then the heat of the ceremony would be unbearable not only for that person but for all that was sharing it.
The ceremony we were attending was for an ill man who had cancer but not due to his life choices. From her experience Joyce knew that this type of healing ceremony typically would not bother the "pure" spirits as the other Elders would do most of the heavy lifting in taking the heat. She equated the educational experience like sitting in a hot sauna.
I remembered driving in Joyce's humble car on a very rural dirt road to what seemed like in the middle of nowhere for hours. The weather was miserable. There were dark clouds, the winds were viciously whipping and the rain was pounding the poor little car. I was intrigued how a sweat ceremony would be conducted in such awful weather and even chuckled to myself as I was imagining the winds blowing over what I envisioned was a grass hut. My charming sarcastic inside voice inevitably escaped, "Maybe the Gods did not get the memo we were suppose heal a man today." Joyce ignored my tone and continued to focus on the road as the visibility was increasingly getting worse.
Finally I saw a homestead off in the distance. Remember, this is Saskatchewan so even though you see the building doesn't mean it's close by. I mean, by now I'm sure you have heard of the joke, "How do you know you're in Saskatchewan? Because you can watch your dog run away for days." Ya, well it's true. So my enthusiasm quickly waned when I realized it was more like 30 minutes aways versus 5 minutes. At that moment, the most bizarre weather phenomenon unfolded. Like a perfect movie scene, there was a small sliver of sun breaking over the homestead while everything else continued to be drenched in this torrential down pour. Steph and I shared a look of "WTF?" Joyce smiled and gently whispered, "Well, I guess Henry had no choice but to part the clouds..."
Nothing would have ever prepared me for that humble comment. Seriously? Part the clouds? Like Rainmaker style? Who says this shit anyways? Steph's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her round head and my brain started racing a million miles an hour trying to attach some type of scientifical answer to it all. Apparently this healing ceremony required the energy of the Sun so logically one would just call up the Big Guy Upstairs there and put in your order. "Oh hi Henry! Of course you needed the Sun... my bad, here you go." I must have missed that chapter in Geography class. Note to Self: Western public education is a waste of my time.
As we pulled up the entire weather system seemed to have passed over. The sun was definitely out and the angry black clouds turned wispy white revealing the intense indigo sky. The Cree folks looked curiously at Steph and I trying to figure out what kind of weird-ass Native breed were we. Joyce politely introduced us as her Vietnamese daughters which I think a collective "Aaaaaaahhh" was released when they finally figured out that we were "China Men" (as one polite Elder mentioned) and not a bizarre hybrid. Hmmmm... don't get out much on this side of the world heh?
Henry summoned to Joyce and soon we were ushered into the Sacred Lodge. Henry started his chanting and quiet prayers while I tried to keep my eyes wide open trying to not miss a thing. The heat from the water poured over the rocks obviously made everything really difficult to see as there was no light except for a few cracks in which the sun poured through. There were about a dozen people, both men and women and then us random Vietnamese rift raft. The first 20 minutes were pretty therapeautic and Joyce was right about the heat feeling as soothing as a sauna. In fact I was so relaxed between the darkness, the warmth of the heat, humidity and the rhythmic chanting that I almost fell asleep.
Well... until that bizarre arctic gush of air that hit my lungs like a stabbing icicle came. It caught me so off gaurd that I think I had to steady myself from falling over. I quickly looked over to Steph but she just looked at peace with her eyes closed... like a perfect Bhudda statue. Joyce warned me to quiet the mind, to not talk and to just listen with my soul. I resisted the urge to ask Steph if she felt that weird gush so I resumed my "meditative" state. Again my thoughts were clouded and images of a tornado or a hurricane or wild wind filled the void. It then occurred to me that the heat was increasing in the Lodge. It was no longer soothing and beads of sweat was dripping off my head. I took a gulp of water and used my towel to pat my face and then focussed on my breathing as I started to gasp. This continued for another half hour and then Henry lifted the door signalling the ceremony was over. I stumbled out into the sun straining for fresh air and trying to adjust to the light. Steph came trottling out and beamed, "Wow that was so cool! I didn't even feel hot!" Her words hit me hard.
Joyce was one of the last ones to leave the Lodge and when she finally came out she looked like she ran a bloody marathon. She looked older for some reason and absolutely exhausted. You know that look when a woman gave birth? Ya, that was her look. She commented, "That sweat was a lot harder than it should have been." She quickly ushered us into the small house that was on the land for the feast. We ate some bannock, some bland soup and some fresh blueberries. The Elders continued their conversation in Cree. Joyce was busy assisting Henry so I started to grill Steph on her experience. She just shrugged it off like it was "spa time." She enjoyed the experience and the heat never bothered her. Oh damn... not what I wanted to hear.
Finally we left and on the long car ride home Joyce started talking, but only after Steph fell asleep. She asked if I was on my "moon." I was on the pill so my period was scheduled like clockwork. I knew for a fact that it was 2 weeks away. She didn't like my answer. Apparently the ceremony had a disrupted energy as confirmed by Henry and by the fact that the Healing Elders, including Joyce, experienced an abnormal amount of intense heat. In fact, Henry had to end the ceremony earlier than usual because he was concerned the intensity would have affected Steph and I. This only happens when a female's energy was exceptionally powerful meaning she was on her moon or she carried great energy. Henry told Joyce that he thought the disruption was from me so that's why Joyce immediately assumed I was on my moon and didn't realize it. I blurted out that my experience was not at all like Steph's. That I was dying near the end because I was so hot and strange ass visions of a tornado kept popping up. Oh, and my lungs were filled with really cold air in the beginning. There was an awkward moment of silence.
Joyce revealed that one of her Guardian Spirits was a Princess that lived hundreds of years ago and her element was a Tornado. She apparently was present at this ceremony to help heal the ill man but the fact that I sensed her was extraordinary. Damn it, I knew I should have peed before I left for the car ride home.
As mentioned before, my understanding of anything Sacred is pretty embarrassing. All my knowledge is garnered by TV and I'm not even talking about the good kind. I'm talking about highly educated cinematography such as "The Exorcist," and "The Shining." My parent's are Bhuddists but no longer practicing ones since emigrating to the land of The Free Will and Modern. That being said, I have a high level of respect for Faith even though ironically I personally don't have a "conventional" one.
Knowing this, Joyce went through the teachings to ensure that my first experience with her culture was an "awakening" and also as an insurance that my ignorance (AKA inside voice) didn't disrepect such a powerful ceremony. She went on to explain that the Lodge is built to symbolize the Womb of Mother Earth. There is a separate ceremony where the Elder would choose very specific rocks that are strategically placed in the center of the lodge. These rocks are the Grandfathers Spirits as they have been on this Earth since the beginning of time and are selected to ensure they can carry enough healing properties from a fire to create the "sauna" feel. Chosen correctly, the rocks will not crack when cold water is poured over it.
In Cree culture, women are very powerful Spirits as proven by the fact that most of their theology is based on the maternal spirit of Mother Earth. A woman on her "moon" cannot attend a sweat ceremony because she becomes extremely powerful during this time thus disrupting the energies that need to be redirected for healing purposes. Women need to traditionally wear long skirts and a modest top and the men usually wore tunics and pants. Practicalities such as bringing a towel, a bottle of water, eating a light meal 3-4 hours before, emptying your bladder and removing any metal from your skin was also reccommended. Also, any religious artifacts from other cultures needed to respectfully be removed.
Being a medicine man, Henry was a rare elder in that in addition to the other ceremonies he was able to also conduct healing ceremonies. As his assistant, Joyce's role was to ensure the food for the feast afterwards was prepared, donations such as blankets, tobbacco, sage and food were collected and organized for re-distribution if there was an abundance. This required Joyce to arrive at the site about an hour before the time to prepare.
Now Joyce is like my second mom so she would never put myself or Steph in any danger. "Pure" spirits are those people that have lived a good, honest life without much negativity. Being that Steph and I were quite young and very happy go lucky without a care in the world, she knew that we would not be bothered by the heat of the ceremony. Now, if you were a person that required healing emotionally, spiritually or physically then the heat of the ceremony would really affect you as the energies of the Universe work to "purge" or cleanse your negatives energies. If there was a participant that was heavily disrupted in their energies, such as a person that was a sexual abuser asking for forgiveness or a person that was infected by AIDS because of the lifestyle they chose then the heat of the ceremony would be unbearable not only for that person but for all that was sharing it.
The ceremony we were attending was for an ill man who had cancer but not due to his life choices. From her experience Joyce knew that this type of healing ceremony typically would not bother the "pure" spirits as the other Elders would do most of the heavy lifting in taking the heat. She equated the educational experience like sitting in a hot sauna.
I remembered driving in Joyce's humble car on a very rural dirt road to what seemed like in the middle of nowhere for hours. The weather was miserable. There were dark clouds, the winds were viciously whipping and the rain was pounding the poor little car. I was intrigued how a sweat ceremony would be conducted in such awful weather and even chuckled to myself as I was imagining the winds blowing over what I envisioned was a grass hut. My charming sarcastic inside voice inevitably escaped, "Maybe the Gods did not get the memo we were suppose heal a man today." Joyce ignored my tone and continued to focus on the road as the visibility was increasingly getting worse.
Finally I saw a homestead off in the distance. Remember, this is Saskatchewan so even though you see the building doesn't mean it's close by. I mean, by now I'm sure you have heard of the joke, "How do you know you're in Saskatchewan? Because you can watch your dog run away for days." Ya, well it's true. So my enthusiasm quickly waned when I realized it was more like 30 minutes aways versus 5 minutes. At that moment, the most bizarre weather phenomenon unfolded. Like a perfect movie scene, there was a small sliver of sun breaking over the homestead while everything else continued to be drenched in this torrential down pour. Steph and I shared a look of "WTF?" Joyce smiled and gently whispered, "Well, I guess Henry had no choice but to part the clouds..."
Nothing would have ever prepared me for that humble comment. Seriously? Part the clouds? Like Rainmaker style? Who says this shit anyways? Steph's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her round head and my brain started racing a million miles an hour trying to attach some type of scientifical answer to it all. Apparently this healing ceremony required the energy of the Sun so logically one would just call up the Big Guy Upstairs there and put in your order. "Oh hi Henry! Of course you needed the Sun... my bad, here you go." I must have missed that chapter in Geography class. Note to Self: Western public education is a waste of my time.
As we pulled up the entire weather system seemed to have passed over. The sun was definitely out and the angry black clouds turned wispy white revealing the intense indigo sky. The Cree folks looked curiously at Steph and I trying to figure out what kind of weird-ass Native breed were we. Joyce politely introduced us as her Vietnamese daughters which I think a collective "Aaaaaaahhh" was released when they finally figured out that we were "China Men" (as one polite Elder mentioned) and not a bizarre hybrid. Hmmmm... don't get out much on this side of the world heh?
Henry summoned to Joyce and soon we were ushered into the Sacred Lodge. Henry started his chanting and quiet prayers while I tried to keep my eyes wide open trying to not miss a thing. The heat from the water poured over the rocks obviously made everything really difficult to see as there was no light except for a few cracks in which the sun poured through. There were about a dozen people, both men and women and then us random Vietnamese rift raft. The first 20 minutes were pretty therapeautic and Joyce was right about the heat feeling as soothing as a sauna. In fact I was so relaxed between the darkness, the warmth of the heat, humidity and the rhythmic chanting that I almost fell asleep.
Well... until that bizarre arctic gush of air that hit my lungs like a stabbing icicle came. It caught me so off gaurd that I think I had to steady myself from falling over. I quickly looked over to Steph but she just looked at peace with her eyes closed... like a perfect Bhudda statue. Joyce warned me to quiet the mind, to not talk and to just listen with my soul. I resisted the urge to ask Steph if she felt that weird gush so I resumed my "meditative" state. Again my thoughts were clouded and images of a tornado or a hurricane or wild wind filled the void. It then occurred to me that the heat was increasing in the Lodge. It was no longer soothing and beads of sweat was dripping off my head. I took a gulp of water and used my towel to pat my face and then focussed on my breathing as I started to gasp. This continued for another half hour and then Henry lifted the door signalling the ceremony was over. I stumbled out into the sun straining for fresh air and trying to adjust to the light. Steph came trottling out and beamed, "Wow that was so cool! I didn't even feel hot!" Her words hit me hard.
Joyce was one of the last ones to leave the Lodge and when she finally came out she looked like she ran a bloody marathon. She looked older for some reason and absolutely exhausted. You know that look when a woman gave birth? Ya, that was her look. She commented, "That sweat was a lot harder than it should have been." She quickly ushered us into the small house that was on the land for the feast. We ate some bannock, some bland soup and some fresh blueberries. The Elders continued their conversation in Cree. Joyce was busy assisting Henry so I started to grill Steph on her experience. She just shrugged it off like it was "spa time." She enjoyed the experience and the heat never bothered her. Oh damn... not what I wanted to hear.
Finally we left and on the long car ride home Joyce started talking, but only after Steph fell asleep. She asked if I was on my "moon." I was on the pill so my period was scheduled like clockwork. I knew for a fact that it was 2 weeks away. She didn't like my answer. Apparently the ceremony had a disrupted energy as confirmed by Henry and by the fact that the Healing Elders, including Joyce, experienced an abnormal amount of intense heat. In fact, Henry had to end the ceremony earlier than usual because he was concerned the intensity would have affected Steph and I. This only happens when a female's energy was exceptionally powerful meaning she was on her moon or she carried great energy. Henry told Joyce that he thought the disruption was from me so that's why Joyce immediately assumed I was on my moon and didn't realize it. I blurted out that my experience was not at all like Steph's. That I was dying near the end because I was so hot and strange ass visions of a tornado kept popping up. Oh, and my lungs were filled with really cold air in the beginning. There was an awkward moment of silence.
Joyce revealed that one of her Guardian Spirits was a Princess that lived hundreds of years ago and her element was a Tornado. She apparently was present at this ceremony to help heal the ill man but the fact that I sensed her was extraordinary. Damn it, I knew I should have peed before I left for the car ride home.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Bird Watching
Up until Grade 12 I really had no religion or solid form of spirituality guiding me. My parents instilled strong values and principles of what was right and what was wrong and that's what I had relied on to navigate this complicated Earth.
My parents immigrated here from Vietnam when I was one and arrived with literally nothing. I can't even be cliche and say, "with just the clothes on their backs" because shortly after being rescued at sea, the Phillipines officials made everyone strip to incinerate all the clothing as a precaution against infectuous diseases spreading amongst the refugee camps. Growing up, my parents worked very hard to ensure our tummy were always full, our clothes were clean and we had a warm and safe place to sleep and play. We did not have much money yet we were very weathly. In this simplicity we were taught to appreciate everything we had so I grew up as a pretty happy go lucky kid with many memories of laughter. Luckily I had a very sheltered life which meant I never had to question the existence of anything that I couldn't feel, see, touch, smell, hear or taste. Well, until I turned 18.
In 1991 we moved in a fourplex where we quickly befriended the Azure family. They had a similar dynamic consisting of 3 kids with similar ages so between the 6 of us, we always had someone to play with. The Azures moved back to Saskatchewan 2 years later and we have kept in touch ever since. In the summer of 1996 I was lucky enough to spend three weeks with the Azures on the reserve of Muskoday - which is about a 30 minute drive from Prince Albert in Saskatchewan. They had a medicine man residing with them mainly to teach Joyce (the mother) the art of Native healing. If you met Henry, nothing about the very average looking Native elder would ever lead you to believe that he created miracles. Like, this man had a reputation of curing Cancer and AIDS. Being a critical thinker, I was skeptical of his "abilities" but not challenging to the point that I was narrow minded or rude about it.
The first time I met Henry I could tell he was analyzing me. He had an intense stare and was a man of very little words. For some random reason we were discussing everyone's "totem". A totem is the animal spirit that guides each Native person. I remember laughing at Bob's totem (one of the Azure boys) and teasingly asked if it was a Donkey since most of the time Bob was very good at making himself look like a jack-ass. In defence, Bob proudly anounced it was an animal of a more noble pedigree. I sneered in doubt. Henry was quietly at the kitchen table with his back to us doing his own thing when he suddenly whipped his chair around. Our eyes deadlocked and with the same intensity he blurted out, "I think yours is a Crow because one keeps following you." Besides saying "Hi" when we were first introduced this was the most Henry spoke to me during the entire week.
Gulp. Breathe. My depth of religion is very shallow but for some reason I knew what Crows signified from watching movies. Ya... A.W.K.W.A.R.D. I broke my eye contact with Henry and he nonchalantly turned around resuming to whatever he was doing.
That night I had a quiet moment with Joyce to myself so I bravely recalled Henry's strange observation for her analysis. She was a little shocked. Usually medicine men needed to go into a sweat lodge to receive guidance about another person's totem or native name. Unless of course their animal totem is so strong and therefore very visible that even an untranced spiritual person can see them. Fascinating. I think I peed my panties. Joyce detected my uneasiness so she broke the tension by saying that she'll ask him what he exactly meant because having a Crow totem had heavy implications. Why couldn't he have said something cuddly like a bunny rabbit or maybe a hamster? Hell, at this point I would have even taken the Donkey over the Crow. Jeezes...
The Crow has many meanings depending on the culture. The closest I found in definition to the Cree culture as explained to me by Joyce can be found here: http://hubpages.com/hub/Crow-Totem-Meanings.
A week later, Joyce finally got back to me as Henry was away travelling to a sweat lodge ceremony. She clarified that Henry did mention he keeps see a Crow following me but he actually doesn't think it's my birth totem because my energy is so different from the Crow's. Great... the plot thickens. Again, he would need to fast in a sweat ceremony and ask but it is very peculiar because this is the first time he has ever encountered this. Awesome... the story just gets better.
Now I have a confession. I am the biggest chicken shit when it comes to "scary" things. Like I don't watch horror movies, I can't listen to ghost stories and I don't have the stomach for anything paranormal. I will be the first idiot breaking down and crying in a fetal position should I ever see something that was not grounded in this world. My imagination is my gift and also my threat. I can read a scary story and my vivid imagination would betray me, meaning I would not sleep for weeks as the images are burnt into my head.
So as you can appreciate, the "stories" of my monkey on my back has me on heightened alert. Who knows why the hell the medicine man can see a damn Crow following me everywhere. I wish I can say Henry was a drunk and smoked maybe one too many sweet grasses but that gut feeling somehow told me that even if that was the case... the coincidences are too many for me to ignore at this point. I travelled to the other side of the Earth to have a Demon test his chompers on me and now in the Land of Eh, a medicine man is birdwatching wherever I go. All smashingly poetic.
Traditionally, one needs to find their totem through their own spiritual journey. You need to basically go solo into nature and create a sweat lodge of your own where you fast and meditate and in that trance, an animal spirit would select you. Considering my dad would karate chop Joyce into a million pieces if she actually sent his city-slick daughter into the woods by herself with no food, a bottle of water and a machete, it was obvious we needed another method to our questions. I needed answers and Joyce can tell. "You can come to a sweat lodge with me next week if you would like. We might not get your answers but you never know."
Sounds good. How hard can a sweat lodge be? I spent 4 weeks dying of heat and humidity in Vietnam fighting off swarms of bugs (and apparently one demon). I figured if I surivived shopping at noon in the heart of Saigon - which was equivalent to being in a toxic pressure cooker because the population of a million people are bargaining in a block of land - that this sweat lodge thing would be a walk in the park.
I was certain this sweat lodge thing would probably feel like a nice sauna right? Ya right...
My parents immigrated here from Vietnam when I was one and arrived with literally nothing. I can't even be cliche and say, "with just the clothes on their backs" because shortly after being rescued at sea, the Phillipines officials made everyone strip to incinerate all the clothing as a precaution against infectuous diseases spreading amongst the refugee camps. Growing up, my parents worked very hard to ensure our tummy were always full, our clothes were clean and we had a warm and safe place to sleep and play. We did not have much money yet we were very weathly. In this simplicity we were taught to appreciate everything we had so I grew up as a pretty happy go lucky kid with many memories of laughter. Luckily I had a very sheltered life which meant I never had to question the existence of anything that I couldn't feel, see, touch, smell, hear or taste. Well, until I turned 18.
In 1991 we moved in a fourplex where we quickly befriended the Azure family. They had a similar dynamic consisting of 3 kids with similar ages so between the 6 of us, we always had someone to play with. The Azures moved back to Saskatchewan 2 years later and we have kept in touch ever since. In the summer of 1996 I was lucky enough to spend three weeks with the Azures on the reserve of Muskoday - which is about a 30 minute drive from Prince Albert in Saskatchewan. They had a medicine man residing with them mainly to teach Joyce (the mother) the art of Native healing. If you met Henry, nothing about the very average looking Native elder would ever lead you to believe that he created miracles. Like, this man had a reputation of curing Cancer and AIDS. Being a critical thinker, I was skeptical of his "abilities" but not challenging to the point that I was narrow minded or rude about it.
The first time I met Henry I could tell he was analyzing me. He had an intense stare and was a man of very little words. For some random reason we were discussing everyone's "totem". A totem is the animal spirit that guides each Native person. I remember laughing at Bob's totem (one of the Azure boys) and teasingly asked if it was a Donkey since most of the time Bob was very good at making himself look like a jack-ass. In defence, Bob proudly anounced it was an animal of a more noble pedigree. I sneered in doubt. Henry was quietly at the kitchen table with his back to us doing his own thing when he suddenly whipped his chair around. Our eyes deadlocked and with the same intensity he blurted out, "I think yours is a Crow because one keeps following you." Besides saying "Hi" when we were first introduced this was the most Henry spoke to me during the entire week.
Gulp. Breathe. My depth of religion is very shallow but for some reason I knew what Crows signified from watching movies. Ya... A.W.K.W.A.R.D. I broke my eye contact with Henry and he nonchalantly turned around resuming to whatever he was doing.
That night I had a quiet moment with Joyce to myself so I bravely recalled Henry's strange observation for her analysis. She was a little shocked. Usually medicine men needed to go into a sweat lodge to receive guidance about another person's totem or native name. Unless of course their animal totem is so strong and therefore very visible that even an untranced spiritual person can see them. Fascinating. I think I peed my panties. Joyce detected my uneasiness so she broke the tension by saying that she'll ask him what he exactly meant because having a Crow totem had heavy implications. Why couldn't he have said something cuddly like a bunny rabbit or maybe a hamster? Hell, at this point I would have even taken the Donkey over the Crow. Jeezes...
The Crow has many meanings depending on the culture. The closest I found in definition to the Cree culture as explained to me by Joyce can be found here: http://hubpages.com/hub/Crow-Totem-Meanings.
A week later, Joyce finally got back to me as Henry was away travelling to a sweat lodge ceremony. She clarified that Henry did mention he keeps see a Crow following me but he actually doesn't think it's my birth totem because my energy is so different from the Crow's. Great... the plot thickens. Again, he would need to fast in a sweat ceremony and ask but it is very peculiar because this is the first time he has ever encountered this. Awesome... the story just gets better.
Now I have a confession. I am the biggest chicken shit when it comes to "scary" things. Like I don't watch horror movies, I can't listen to ghost stories and I don't have the stomach for anything paranormal. I will be the first idiot breaking down and crying in a fetal position should I ever see something that was not grounded in this world. My imagination is my gift and also my threat. I can read a scary story and my vivid imagination would betray me, meaning I would not sleep for weeks as the images are burnt into my head.
So as you can appreciate, the "stories" of my monkey on my back has me on heightened alert. Who knows why the hell the medicine man can see a damn Crow following me everywhere. I wish I can say Henry was a drunk and smoked maybe one too many sweet grasses but that gut feeling somehow told me that even if that was the case... the coincidences are too many for me to ignore at this point. I travelled to the other side of the Earth to have a Demon test his chompers on me and now in the Land of Eh, a medicine man is birdwatching wherever I go. All smashingly poetic.
Traditionally, one needs to find their totem through their own spiritual journey. You need to basically go solo into nature and create a sweat lodge of your own where you fast and meditate and in that trance, an animal spirit would select you. Considering my dad would karate chop Joyce into a million pieces if she actually sent his city-slick daughter into the woods by herself with no food, a bottle of water and a machete, it was obvious we needed another method to our questions. I needed answers and Joyce can tell. "You can come to a sweat lodge with me next week if you would like. We might not get your answers but you never know."
Sounds good. How hard can a sweat lodge be? I spent 4 weeks dying of heat and humidity in Vietnam fighting off swarms of bugs (and apparently one demon). I figured if I surivived shopping at noon in the heart of Saigon - which was equivalent to being in a toxic pressure cooker because the population of a million people are bargaining in a block of land - that this sweat lodge thing would be a walk in the park.
I was certain this sweat lodge thing would probably feel like a nice sauna right? Ya right...
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Guess Who's Got My Back?
I have some very strange stories. Like the kind that you think a kid makes up when they want to get attention. The problem is I am an adult, and they're true. Unbelievable and bizarre, but definitely true. Whenever I divulge these details to my close friends their usual and understandable response is one filled with wonderment, followed by disbelief and then ending with a questioning look.
So here's the first part of my story. Before I was born, my father practiced a form of martial arts that engaged the spiritual plane. If you follow Japanese Anime storylines, there is usually a ballsy dude that essentially fights "demons". Well, this was my father. Some people pick up knitting or gardening as a hobby. My father preferred beating the crap out of evil spirits. Being the confident person that he was, he decided one day to wager his honed skills with the "big kahuna" of all demons. If he lost, the Demon can take possession of his first born. Should he win, the Demon would be an appointed guardian to the same said child. That's how much balls my dad had. "Luckily" for me, my dad won. I use this term loosely because even to this day I am not sure how I feel about having such a dark entity watching my back. One of the "gifts" of being born with a Demon guardian is apparently the natural ability to access your intuitive side. Some refer to this as the 6th sense, the spiritual element or the psychic plane. Yes, I will be the first to say it, this is some weird-ass shit.
My dad told me this story when I was younger and over the years more and more details were added to it. I always thought that this was just one of those Vietnamese "boogy-man" folklore stories designed to keep kids in line. I would have happily kept it categorized that way except for the fact that way too many coincidences started backing up my dad's story.
My family went back to the motherland (Vietnam) for the first time ever in the Christmas of 1995. My paternal grandmother lived on this tiny island that is so remote it can only be accessed by boat. At the time most homes had no power, fresh water was still drawn by a central well in the village and the bathroom was an outhouse. As foreigners, we were eaten alive by the local insect population so it was customary that we would sleep under mosquito netting at nights to fend off the nightly feasting. The first night I was there my sister, brother and I crammed ourselves under the only mosquito netting available. That night, I had a horrible dream about something suffocating me. The sensation is equivalent to having someone double your weight sitting on your chest thus causing you to gasp for every breath of air. I woke up the next morning and my left arm was covered with the most bizarre marks near my wrist. They were not welts from bug bites. I knew what those looked like because I had them all over my legs. They looked like bites marks from a super tiny mouth and the strangest thing is that they were purple. I showed my mom and I will never forget the look on her face. She went pale and then started to look extremely uneasy. While she quietly went to find my dad I showed one of my relatives my arm and he blurted out, "Ma can!" which translates to "Demon bites."
My dad came rushing in and I can tell from his body language that this was no friggin' bug bite. The entire house started to get excited and everyone was frantically whispering to each other. I can sense something was not right and when I asked my dad what was wrong, he tried to play it off that it was the most bizarre insect bite he has ever seen. He quickly gathered up the gawking relatives and ushered them into another room leaving my mom to tend to my wounds. As the elders debated something in the next room over, I was analyzing Lairay and Stephanie to see if they had been bitten in the same manner. Nope... they just had your run of the mill mosquito welts. Strange, we all slept on the same bed under the same netting. I was then straining to listen to their conversation. I couldn't catch much because my mom was trying to distract me with idle chat about what we were going to eat for the day. What I did manage to hear was bits and pieces. My grandma was yelling at my dad for wagering me against the Demon. She said something like he was a fool to think that the Demon would keep his word. One of my uncles was defending my dad saying that it's not HER demon, it's another demon. After the family meeting my dad came back and announced that we were promptly leaving the island.
When I asked and probed and pestered, everyone dismissed the incident as a bug bite. I was finally able to trick my favorite aunt about 2 weeks later. We were relaxing on the beaches of Nha Trang and she had her guard down. I manipulatively asked her, "Why did the Demon bite me? Why not Steph or Lairay or even dad?" She nonchalantly blurted out, "Because you're the one that can see them." When she realized she was essentially cornered she quickly changed the topic.
This was the first of many stories that supported my dad's bizarre story of his previous recreational activities.
So here's the first part of my story. Before I was born, my father practiced a form of martial arts that engaged the spiritual plane. If you follow Japanese Anime storylines, there is usually a ballsy dude that essentially fights "demons". Well, this was my father. Some people pick up knitting or gardening as a hobby. My father preferred beating the crap out of evil spirits. Being the confident person that he was, he decided one day to wager his honed skills with the "big kahuna" of all demons. If he lost, the Demon can take possession of his first born. Should he win, the Demon would be an appointed guardian to the same said child. That's how much balls my dad had. "Luckily" for me, my dad won. I use this term loosely because even to this day I am not sure how I feel about having such a dark entity watching my back. One of the "gifts" of being born with a Demon guardian is apparently the natural ability to access your intuitive side. Some refer to this as the 6th sense, the spiritual element or the psychic plane. Yes, I will be the first to say it, this is some weird-ass shit.
My dad told me this story when I was younger and over the years more and more details were added to it. I always thought that this was just one of those Vietnamese "boogy-man" folklore stories designed to keep kids in line. I would have happily kept it categorized that way except for the fact that way too many coincidences started backing up my dad's story.
My family went back to the motherland (Vietnam) for the first time ever in the Christmas of 1995. My paternal grandmother lived on this tiny island that is so remote it can only be accessed by boat. At the time most homes had no power, fresh water was still drawn by a central well in the village and the bathroom was an outhouse. As foreigners, we were eaten alive by the local insect population so it was customary that we would sleep under mosquito netting at nights to fend off the nightly feasting. The first night I was there my sister, brother and I crammed ourselves under the only mosquito netting available. That night, I had a horrible dream about something suffocating me. The sensation is equivalent to having someone double your weight sitting on your chest thus causing you to gasp for every breath of air. I woke up the next morning and my left arm was covered with the most bizarre marks near my wrist. They were not welts from bug bites. I knew what those looked like because I had them all over my legs. They looked like bites marks from a super tiny mouth and the strangest thing is that they were purple. I showed my mom and I will never forget the look on her face. She went pale and then started to look extremely uneasy. While she quietly went to find my dad I showed one of my relatives my arm and he blurted out, "Ma can!" which translates to "Demon bites."
My dad came rushing in and I can tell from his body language that this was no friggin' bug bite. The entire house started to get excited and everyone was frantically whispering to each other. I can sense something was not right and when I asked my dad what was wrong, he tried to play it off that it was the most bizarre insect bite he has ever seen. He quickly gathered up the gawking relatives and ushered them into another room leaving my mom to tend to my wounds. As the elders debated something in the next room over, I was analyzing Lairay and Stephanie to see if they had been bitten in the same manner. Nope... they just had your run of the mill mosquito welts. Strange, we all slept on the same bed under the same netting. I was then straining to listen to their conversation. I couldn't catch much because my mom was trying to distract me with idle chat about what we were going to eat for the day. What I did manage to hear was bits and pieces. My grandma was yelling at my dad for wagering me against the Demon. She said something like he was a fool to think that the Demon would keep his word. One of my uncles was defending my dad saying that it's not HER demon, it's another demon. After the family meeting my dad came back and announced that we were promptly leaving the island.
When I asked and probed and pestered, everyone dismissed the incident as a bug bite. I was finally able to trick my favorite aunt about 2 weeks later. We were relaxing on the beaches of Nha Trang and she had her guard down. I manipulatively asked her, "Why did the Demon bite me? Why not Steph or Lairay or even dad?" She nonchalantly blurted out, "Because you're the one that can see them." When she realized she was essentially cornered she quickly changed the topic.
This was the first of many stories that supported my dad's bizarre story of his previous recreational activities.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Identity Crisis
Yesterday my mom announced with great gusto at dinner that she will volunteeringly drive Tai to Vietnamese school every weekend so he can study the native language when he turns five. I groaned as the memories came flooding back.
My parent's dedication to our heritage started when I was in Grade 4. Every damn weekend I would get knots in my stomach as my parents literally dragged all 3 of us into the car kicking and screaming because we resented spending 4 hours of our "free time" learning the Vietnamese language. When we moved from Vancouver to Richmond, the anxiety got worse because we had a full 45 minutes of commuting to stew in our anger. I remembered the dreaded school, the awful smells of the Commercial Drive neighborhood and also skipping out on 50% of my classes to play at the playground or making daisy chains in the fields. I was too young to coordinate a three-way "hooky" sessions with my siblings but near the end of my tenure I was savvy enough to spring them from their shackles as well. Even after my slacker attendance record, I was always at the top of my classes as mastering the reading and writing portion came naturally. It's my conversational Vietnamese that's embarrassing.
I think I finally stopped going sometime in Grade 8 or Grade 9. I made a plea to my parents that the Saturday dedication was impacting my "real" school and I would prefer to allocate study time towards grades that would get me into University. When they actually bought my pathetic argument (I never actually had to study anything until I was in University) I remembered having this huge weight lifted from my shoulders and simultaneously I can see the sadness in my Mom's eyes that the inevitable was going to happen.
This year I turn 33. I speak "Vinglesh", half broken Vietnamese and half English. Although I still have Grade 8 reading skills, I totally bastardize the language when I speak to my parents and family. Growing up, I never saw the value of being multilingual. As an adult, I regret not mastering what essentially is a core of my identity.
When my mom proudly announced her plan to Tai, I saw that glimmer that died so many years ago light up again in her eyes. Tai is extremely excited to go to school - any school - so he fuelled her enthusiasm with, "Yay I will like to go to Vietnamese school! Then I can see what all the Vietnamese people look like!"
You know that familiar scene when you watch a sitcom and the camera slowly pans over to the main character's face after they were thrown under the bus by their partner in crime? Ya, well that was my look. Half shocked, half confused and 100% embarrassed. Being the supporting father that Chris is, he starts laughing so hard snorts had to be used to bring oxygen back into his lungs.
So for the record, I thought I was pretty diligent in teaching my halfie son that his "skin" color is half white (like Daddy's) and half yellow (like Mommy's). We also work on difficult social constructs such as "blended families" (Linda is re-married) and why Grandpa Manson (Chris' dad) is not a part of his life. Not easy concepts for a young man of all 4 years.
So apparently it is true. Even after my diligent efforts to educate Tai of his unique ethnicity he proves that children do not see the world in categories. The identity crisis will inevitably come later in life as society continues to label him as to what he is and what he's not in accordance to what I'm not sure. But in the meantime, I will enjoy this brief moment of his innoncence because if anything, this is where true harmony lies.
My parent's dedication to our heritage started when I was in Grade 4. Every damn weekend I would get knots in my stomach as my parents literally dragged all 3 of us into the car kicking and screaming because we resented spending 4 hours of our "free time" learning the Vietnamese language. When we moved from Vancouver to Richmond, the anxiety got worse because we had a full 45 minutes of commuting to stew in our anger. I remembered the dreaded school, the awful smells of the Commercial Drive neighborhood and also skipping out on 50% of my classes to play at the playground or making daisy chains in the fields. I was too young to coordinate a three-way "hooky" sessions with my siblings but near the end of my tenure I was savvy enough to spring them from their shackles as well. Even after my slacker attendance record, I was always at the top of my classes as mastering the reading and writing portion came naturally. It's my conversational Vietnamese that's embarrassing.
I think I finally stopped going sometime in Grade 8 or Grade 9. I made a plea to my parents that the Saturday dedication was impacting my "real" school and I would prefer to allocate study time towards grades that would get me into University. When they actually bought my pathetic argument (I never actually had to study anything until I was in University) I remembered having this huge weight lifted from my shoulders and simultaneously I can see the sadness in my Mom's eyes that the inevitable was going to happen.
This year I turn 33. I speak "Vinglesh", half broken Vietnamese and half English. Although I still have Grade 8 reading skills, I totally bastardize the language when I speak to my parents and family. Growing up, I never saw the value of being multilingual. As an adult, I regret not mastering what essentially is a core of my identity.
When my mom proudly announced her plan to Tai, I saw that glimmer that died so many years ago light up again in her eyes. Tai is extremely excited to go to school - any school - so he fuelled her enthusiasm with, "Yay I will like to go to Vietnamese school! Then I can see what all the Vietnamese people look like!"
You know that familiar scene when you watch a sitcom and the camera slowly pans over to the main character's face after they were thrown under the bus by their partner in crime? Ya, well that was my look. Half shocked, half confused and 100% embarrassed. Being the supporting father that Chris is, he starts laughing so hard snorts had to be used to bring oxygen back into his lungs.
So for the record, I thought I was pretty diligent in teaching my halfie son that his "skin" color is half white (like Daddy's) and half yellow (like Mommy's). We also work on difficult social constructs such as "blended families" (Linda is re-married) and why Grandpa Manson (Chris' dad) is not a part of his life. Not easy concepts for a young man of all 4 years.
So apparently it is true. Even after my diligent efforts to educate Tai of his unique ethnicity he proves that children do not see the world in categories. The identity crisis will inevitably come later in life as society continues to label him as to what he is and what he's not in accordance to what I'm not sure. But in the meantime, I will enjoy this brief moment of his innoncence because if anything, this is where true harmony lies.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Drama In The ER
Warning: The actors in this script are paid professionals so the stunts you read below should not be attempted by amateurs.
I thought I would share with you my "educational" experience with the BC Health care system.
Wednesday, February 2 - 4:00AM
- Was awoken by pain in the lower abdominal region. I was highly annoyed because I have my Spring shipments arriving all this week and next week which meant I needed to log a lot of merchandising time for the reset. Taking some time off to suffer my regular stomach spams was highly inconvenient. I peed and went into my usual "stomach cramping" remedy routine. Take 2 Gas-X pills (because 50% of the time it might be trapped gas), douse my stomach with the highly concentrated oil that my mama always used on my as a kid (its like a potent version of Vicks Vapour Rub), and fill a hot water bottle with boiling water. 8 out of 10 times, this routine works for pain management. Tried to go back to sleep.
Wednesday, February 2 - 9:00AM
- My routine FAILED! My pain level is about a 6/10 so because I was super excited to merchandise my new lines, I pulled on my big girl panties and got dressed for work. I get to work and just sit at the computer not really moving because it gets progressively worse. I puked bile followed by lovely diarrhea. In a pathetic attempt, I eat a pretzel stick to see if that can sop up any of the acid levels in my stomach. 5 seconds later I puked it up.
Wednesday, February 2 - 1:00PM
- I admit defeat and go home to switch out with Chris. My pain level is now 7/10.
Wednesday, February 2 - 4:00PM
- I call Chris at the store and ask him to come home early because I am in a fetal position from all the pain and can no longer take care of Kaiya. I can still yell orders at Tai to fetch things but Kaiya needs constant entertainment (aka "movement ") to keep her content. I noticed that the pain has now progressed to the back and hitting my kidneys. When I lay on them the pressure adds more pain. Fabulous... I suspect it wasn't my normal stomach spasm after all but maybe a bladder infection. I recall that last time I left it too long (not seeing the Doc) and my body revolted by going into fight mode. I had sweats, fevers, chills in addition to the glamourous vomitting, diarrhea and spasms. I check the time and know that there is no way in hell I can see my GP today - but I also know I can't survive the night without antibiotics. I tell Chris the game plan. I will take a nap and see if the pain subsides. If it doesn't by the time I wake up I will call Steph to drop me off at the hospital so I can get a prescription for antibiotics for my bladder infection.
Wednesday, February 2 - 6:00PM
- Woke up and pain level is all in the lower region, wrapped onto my back and now 8/10. Steph drops me off at the hospital and I wait. I was luckily assessed by the Triage Nurse in 3 minutes. And that's where my luck for waiting ended.
Wednesday, February 2 - 7:00PM
- Finally admitted to an assessment room. Dr. Sohn arrives and starts speaking to me in Chinese. I looked at him and realized that someone assumed I was like the rest of the 90% of the Richmond population that can't speak English. I unimpressedly tell the Doc I am not Chinese. He apologizes and switched over to English. Ironically I didn't really understand him when he started to speak English. The bad news is the Doc immediately ruled out a bladder infection (FUCK! So much for my in-and-out hospital drug run). The good news is that he also ruled out pregnancy from my urine sample. The other really bad news is he has no idea where to go from here given the details and my medical history. He starts palpating the stomach region and I SCREAM in pain when he puts pressure on the right hand side underneath the last bone on my rib cage. I start crying because it hurts so bad. The polite Asian Doc apologizes for causing the pain. He leaves the room and gives me a box of tissues.
Wednesday, February 2 - 8:00PM
- I silently wish for death because since the prodding, my pain level is 9/10 and I am using labour breathing techniques to help manage the contractions that spams every 30 minutes. The soft spoken Asian Doc brings in a second Doc. This guy thinks he's funny and in any other situation I would have appreciated his wit. The younger White Doc starts palpatating and again puts pressure on the "sweet spot" which garners a huge scream of death by me. They both discuss probabilities. I immediately get sent for full blood work and an x-ray.Wednesday, February 2 - 10:00PM
- Results come back clinically insignificant. I have an elevated white blood cell count but that's it. Both Docs do a diagnostic ultrasound. The funny white Doc comments, "Don't you think that gall bladder looks pissed off." The Asian Doc (who doesn't understand the humor because he is ESL) asks what he means by "pissed off?" The funny Doc replys, "Not happy looking." They both decide that it looks like a gallstone which means that I need to have surgery to have it removed. They aren't absolutely sure yet so I need to stay overnight for observation.
Wednesday, February 2 - 11:00PM
- I get moved to an overnight stretcher across from an 80-something-old woman with dementia and a busted hip and a drunk diabetic man. A sweet White nurse comes and announces she needs to start an IV drip on me. She tries to distract me from the inevitable stab of a very large needle by asking my name. I tell her, "Huong." She asks if I have an English name. I proudly reply,"No."
"Okay, Hung tell me what your name means."
"It means Big Flower or Village."
"Oh does it mean different things in Mandarin and in Cantonese?"
"No in Vietnamese 'Huong' just carries two definitions," I dryly answer ignoring the latent racism.
"Oh that's a pretty name," she cleverly recoups.
She then asks me what I do. I tell her I own The Frog. She gets really enthusiatic and tells me she loves the store and bought all her Christmas ornaments there. Again, in any other normal situation I would have lapped up the flattery and basked a bit in my own glory. However, I noticed her new found enthusiasm has made her hands shakey and she is no longer focussed on finding some very small veins with a very big needle. 3 attempts, 2 collapsed veins and 1 very loud "FUCK-ME" later the IV finds it final nesting place in my left hand. Can this night get any awesomer? Forgive the badder English because by now you all should know that I am ESL right? In my IV drip is an AMAZING cocktail of morphine, Gravol and anti-inflammatory drugs. I call it my Jesus-Juice. Sadly, this was the highlight of my entire night.
Thursday, February 3 - 12:00AM
- Throughout the entire evening I was secretly texting and BBM-ing (BlackBerry Messenging) my family to keep them updated as cell phones are technically banned from the ER ward. My guard "aka nurse" keeps asking what I was doing and I just tell him I'm playing with some games. Steph brought me my overnight bag so I was able to finally take my contacts out and try to rest.
Thursday, February 3 - 1:00AM
- The crazy old lady across from me is screaming that she is in hell and she is dying. She clearly has not a clue where she is and her poor husband is trying to explain to her that she fell and she's in the hospital for treatment. She continues to throw things at the nurses and screams mean things at her husband like, "You are just leaving me here to die" and "You don't love me". One nurse was finally clever enough to sedate her.
Thursday, February 3 - 2:00AM
- The belligerent drunk man wakes up from his alcohol induced coma and starts swearing at the nurses that they are keeping him there without his permission. The nurses say that he needs medical attention or he will die of a heart attack. In retaliation he stands up in the middle of the ward, and pees in a cup for all to see. As a nurse approaches him midstream, he empties his bladder in her general direction. The clever nurse that sedated the crazy old woman, wrestles him and successfully straps him into his stretcher. I suspect he gave him some drugs because he winks at me and says, "Now my shift will be a lot easier." I whisper back, "Don't worry, I love my drugs and I will behave."
Thursday, February 3 - 6:00AM
- The Gravol is used to cut the nausea from the morphine and normally it makes patients drowsy. In my case, I actually get hyper and alert. I toss and turn the entire night waiting for morning.
Thursday, February 3 - 8:00AM
- Breakfast is served but I can't eat anything just in case I need the surgery. The crazy old woman's family Doc comes and he says, "You need to stay in the hospital to get better. Stop being so mean to everyone that is here to help you feel better, especially your husband. It's like trying to hug a porcupine." BEST. LINE. EVER. Note to self: Perhaps I can recycle this line on my own beloved porcupines. The crazy woman punches her Doc for the colorful comment. The Doc pulls the husband aside and tells him he needs to go home and rest. I finally get called to go into my detailed ultrasound. The technician says it looks like I can go home because he can't find anything "clinically significant". Gawd, I am really starting to hate the phrase. It's like... so... annoying.
Thursday, February 3 - 9:00AM
- The drunk beside me wakes up farting, burping and coughing up phlegm and swearing. What a ray of sunshine I was greeted with. The nurses quickly assess him and happily discharges him. The crazy old woman attempts to escape but she actually can't walk. She tries to trick the nurses by telling them she needs them to put her shoes on so her feet can be warm. They look at the warm fuzzy bunny slippers on her and don't look impressed at her pathetic attempt. They remind her that even with her shoes on she can't actually walk out if here without help.
Thursday, February 3 - 11:00AM
- Chris comes to keep me company. I keep him updated on my neighbors and all their ailments. He seems relieved that my healthy attention to the unusal is still intact. This is a sign that his wife is still "okay" relatively speaking. My nurse tells me that my specialist is fully booked for surgeries so he probably won't see me until the end of his shift which is about 4PM. Since I am clearly just in pain and not dying, Dr. Firmer will review my non-descript aliment in between the actual dying patients and his breaks. Fabulous.
Thursday, February 3 - 1:00PM
- A trio of UBC medical students comes to re-assess the situation. Like a cute group of eager bright eyed spring chickens they prod and poke at their new play toy, reviews all the details, scribbles down some notes and then leave.
Thursday, February 3 - 4:00PM
- Chris reluctantly abandons his post of "good husband" and puts on his "good daddy" hat. My dad has had both kids by himself for the first time. My dad is amazing with the kids but since Kaiya was born he can only take one at a time if he is by himself for long stretches. I am more worried about my dad then my issue.
Thursday, February 3 - 4:20PM
- The specialist Dr. Frimer arrives with the UBC students and after 5 minutes decides that they can't do anything without a CT scan. He's hesitant because the cocktail of drugs has calmed the inflamed organ in question so he doesn't want to zap me full of radiation unnecessarily as it might not show up if it's healing. He sends me home on an experiment. If it is an abnormal appendicitis (meaning my appendix is higher then the usual position) then eating a full meal might re-trigger it. If I get the same pain I need to come back for a CT scan.
Thursday, February 3 - 6:00PM
- After not eating for 36 hours I wolf down a McDonalds Quarter Pounder. Don't ask me why but after each child birth I would crave McDonalds so for some reason after being released I had to have it. Stomach is sore but not in pain.
So what is the lesson learned here?
Lesson #1: That BlackBerry's and morphine makes everything better because if I hadn't died from my undiagnosed illness I would have died from boredom. Thankfully I was able to play on my Blackberry and still keep in contact with my family.
Lesson #2: When I get to the point of that crazy old lady who kept asking me what town she was in every half hour and then yell at me to stop looking at her when I politely answered her... shoot me.
I am feeling better. My Doc enlightened me by telling me that Houdini died from a burst appendicitis. Thanks for the word of encouragement Doc.