My current experience is very different from that of six months ago. Different even from that of two months ago. It is like I am drinking from a fire hose.
On Monday, I walked into the city to see Dr H. It was a slow walk. The forest path was coated with a meringue of snow. My crunchy footsteps, and extremely slow progress, created an opportunity to contemplate recent events, and attempt to place them in perspective. A description of what I think I understand follows.
In June, or July, Dr D suggested undertaking volunteer work. I was hesitant. Volunteer work would result in increased costs for gas, parking, meals, and other incidentals. Paid employment was what was needed, not the burden of increased costs. In my search for job opportunities, I contemplated work as a grocery store restock clerk, or as a restaurant dishwasher.
My first job out of university was as second cook in charge of the busy evening shift in a popular Gastown B.C. restaurant. I cooked the high value menu items and co-ordinated the entire team. When it became crazy busy, I supported any aspect of kitchen operations impeding service delivery. The dishwasher station was a key problem area. During periods of high turnover the dirty service china would back up at the dishwasher. We would be delayed in getting food orders out to the floor because we couldn’t plate the food. When dish washing bottle-necked, I would jump in to help out the team, and clear the backlog. And believe me, dish washing is hard work.
Since performing physical tasks requires a high level of stamina, I started an exercise routine. This exercise program benefited from a cell phone upgrade which gave me access to apps that measured distance walked, calories burned, and split pace. With this new source of feedback I went from 5 miles of flatland at less than 3 mph, to 12 miles of ridge climbing at 4.25 mph. That was a huge improvement.
In retrospect, I realize my blind attempt to push my physical envelope altered my cognitive structure. I developed greater confidence in my abilities, and my ability to “push through” both obstacles and physical pain. When I was offered a volunteer opportunity, I hesitated but then took a chance and pushed myself out on a limb. The new social interaction, and the positive feedback, further increased my confidence. I recognized I was bumping into my limits, but the experience of “pushing through,” learned from my exercise program, served me well. The same methods applied to blisters and pained ankles on the torturous rocks of the Gatineau were now deployed in a quiet social setting in urban Ottawa. I made mistakes, acknowledged them, but did not allow any errors to divert me from continuing to push forward. I reasoned that life is a mess, and people everywhere are unpredictable. The human capacity for error is infinite. As a TBI victim, I am likely more unpredictable and error prone than others. But since I deliberately avoided telling anyone that I was a TBI victim, any faux pas, or similar error on my part, would simply be chalked up to me being pushy, having a boorish personality, lacking in social graces, and being a bit of a nitwit.
To be blunt, I cared very little for what others might think. I had been abandoned by the Province of Québec, and its barely concerned, internally-focused, happy Buddha, implausible system of almost health care. If you are guaranteed a steady pay cheque, and the promise of a fat pension, why concern yourself with the needs of patients? Québec receives $9 billion a year in Federal transfer payments. If you consult the relevant legislation you will find that equalization payments are intended to ensure all Canadian citizens enjoy equal access to essential services regardless of province of residence or its fiscal capacity. As Canadians, we seek to share the same burdens and ensure each individual has access to needed services. Yet Québec, with its $9 billion in transfer payments, spends less than all of the other provinces on health care. If the equalization funds are not being spent on needed services – and clearly they are not – then the equalization transfers end up in whose pocket?
If Québec forces me to fend for myself, and denies me rehabilitation services, then I am compelled to devise my own program of rehabilitation. And, if my attempt at self-rehabilitation results in my imposing my problems on a volunteer organization which is not equipped, or intended, to provide rehabilitation services, then I do not feel I should be held responsible. My sense of the world is that I am left alone, fighting to avoid living under a bridge in an Office québécois de la langue française approved cardboard box.
Joyeux Noël.