Ditch Doc

Doctors up here are a different breed. It seems like half of them are South African. “Why do they all come here, though?” I once had the naivete to ask. “Because they get killed there.” Oh. Right. In Fort Nelson, there are usually two doctors in town at a time, one of whom is often a nomadic locum doctor on the latest stop on the small town medical milk run. Between the two of them, they run the walk in clinic and the hospital, from maternity ward to laughingly-so-called ICU. They even do some veterinary duties on occasion, as the nearest vet is 200 miles south. Our current locum, who’s usually a farmer, was telling me some tales of impromptu animal medicine when he came out with this one:
“The only anaesthetic I have on the farm is my gun.”
[Contemplative, farmerlike pause]
“It’s pretty effective though.”

To moderate the bitterness of the last post, allow me to do a bit of flag waving:

and state that Canada is my home and native land, which I love with all my heart. That’s one thing that makes it so frustrating to see it making such big mistakes sometimes.

I’m becoming certain that we’ll make a much bigger impact on the abortion front by letting people know what we think without being asked. So here’s a belated Canadian election complaint: Of all the issues Mr. Harper could have promised to leave alone if his party were elected, why abortion? Has legalized abortion become a defining fact of our country’s identity? We’re always letting ourselves go off on the good things that make us Canadian: we didn’t go to Iraq, we love peacekeeping, we think everyone should have access to excellent medical care, there’s no death penalty, we don’t have racial segregation, women can vote. But right up there, in some people’s minds, is the fact that if we really think it’ll be good for her, we’re willing to kill a woman’s child. Mr. Harper and Mr. Martin might disagree on a lot of things, but it must be an indication of some kind of national unity that they agree on the fundamentals.

All right, you’ve all got to read “The Way,” by this guy:

It’s a small collection of aphorisms designed to help us all live our lives to the greater glory of God. A lot of them are so blunt that you can almost see the author’s finger pointing out of the book at you. Reading a few pages has the feel of scrubbing the sinful crust off your heart with a wire brush. Or a belt sander. I think I’ll be quoting from it on a semi-regular basis, but for now, I’ll leave you with the picture.

This next Tip comes thanks to Dz my awesome sister, mistaken for Dz in a technical SNAFU (OK, just my lack of attention):
Bachelor Tip #6: when posting confessions about state of personal hygiene on internet be glad you are anonymous. Otherwise bachelorness may be eternal.

When you get off the bus with two hours to go for a job interview, and you’ve left your shaving kit hundreds of miles away, you’ll probably think of buying a disposable set and shaving in a gas station bathroom. To make the operation a bit smoother, be sure to open all your wares BEFORE asking for the key. You don’t understand how noisy and time consuming that plastic shell packaging is until you’re trying to crack it on the sly. And if you need to have a stealthy sink-shower, find a second gas station.

How many things in life are more satisfying than spotting the ghost car as it pulls in behind you, dropping to the limit, waiting patiently for ten minutes, and watching him nab somebody coming the other way?

“Just don’t stretch your legs out too far; those are the rudder pedals.”

“Yeah, that was ninety degrees of bank.”

“Well, the good thing is both engines will never go out at the same time.”

“Hmmm…”

“Um, looks like we don’t have wing flaps for this landing.”

“We’ll make you puke yet.” (Nope. You won’t.)

To the co-pilot, on seeing the Bible I brought on one flight: “Look Ryan, he doesn’t trust us much!”

Overheard in a rig camp cafeteria, here’s a pretty good hint at some of the ways roughnecks spend time off: “Yeah, I just hate going out with his crew, cause none of them have drivers’ licences, cause they’ve all got impaireds, eh? You know, I bought a $70,000 truck so I could ride in style, not you.”

I once had a delicious feed of sushi with my Dad, about half of it sashimi so fresh that it almost made me want to grab a salmon bear-style out a nearby stream and take a bite. I went for a walk later that night, and it being a classically damp Vancouver evening, it wasn’t long before I had to sidestep a moderate sized slug. It had a graceful curve in its tail, and it glistened tantalizingly in the street light, not unlike a slice of tuna sashimi. And for about half a second, I thought: “MAN that looks tasty.”