Tuesday, July 18, 2006


My dad is a medical doctor. This is a wonderful thing. It means that if I run out of a prescription, I can just call him up, anytime, and get one. I can find out answers to strange medical queeries, get stitches at the kitchen table if needed and that sort of thing. Most of all, it means that in my daughter's entire 3 years, we have not known the horror of medicentres. Until today. I have always heard such awful stories about them. Waiting for hours among people who are drunk, dirty, or highly infectious and spurting blood everywhere, seeing doctors who do not speak english, or are grumpy because they have to work there. Well, I was pleasantly surprised today! Abby has an eye infection, so my sister Nawana called my up at work, (because there was a lot of gross pus and swelling. Yuck), and I came home to take her to the medicentre. (Our regular office had no openings today, and I needed someone to actually look in Abby's eye, so a phone consultation with my dad would not have worked.) Well. The place was clean, and while many of the patients in the waiting room were obviously there because they had survived yet another beating, (very sad), it was fine. There was no moaning and groaning, we were taken in after maybe half an hour of waiting, and they had good magazines! The doctor spoke english as a first language, he was nice to us, and Abby was not afraid of him. I must say that I am quite impressed, and just had to share. Emergency medical clinics are not as bad as you might think!

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Still a Quitter

I used to smoke. I smoked for almost 10 glorious years. I really liked smoking. I liked the buzz it gave me, how it gave me something to do with my hands (now I just pick at my cuticles, yuck) and how it gave me a way to fit in with new people when in an uncomfortable social situation. I liked having a cigarette when I had finished something, or was making a plan to do something. I liked the escape it gave me when I just did not want to be somewhere anymore, I could "go for a smoke". I liked lighters, in the many beautiful colours, and I liked the size of the package and how it fit in my purse just right beside my wallet. I especially liked sitting outside on a hot summer day, and having a cold drink and a cigarette.

I quit smoking over 2 years ago. I quit mostly because I was pretty sick with my Crohn's disease, and wanted to get better. I figured that filling my lungs with toxins was a pretty stupid thing to do if I expected my body to heal. There were other reasons, the usual stuff, like setting a good example for my daughter, saving money, and so on, but the Crohn's was the main one. I am glad that I quit, it was very hard to do, and I am proud that I have not had a smoke in over 2 years.

However. I really want to still be a smoker. I have these dreams where I am having a cigarette. I wake up, and I am so happy, I want to jump out of bed and have another. But then I realize that it was just a wonderful dream, and really, I should not go and sneak a cigarette from my husbands pack.

The thing is, my Crohn's never did get better, smoking or not. It was really a let down. The only upside to it all is that my Doctor gave me steroids which are really great drugs. I must say that I quite liked them, and after my prescribed doseage was over (a sad sad day) I was in serious danger of hanging outside of gyms to shake down the bodybuilders and steal their stashes.

Why, oh why do I enjoy chemical stimulants so much??? It is not fair. I am looking forward to delivering this child and maybe trying out some morphine. Just a bit. To take the edge off, you know.

Still, I am a quitter. And even though I do not like it, I am proud of myself.