No Way Jose!!

 

I'm a cat person.  In part, because I'm allergic to (most) dogs, but mostly because cats are awesome.  Watch any cat video on YouTube and try to convince me otherwise.  Cats are also fairly self reliant and don't need that constant coddling that dogs need.  I can't visit my sister's house without their Golden Retriever showering me with attention and constantly lying at my feet, starving for attention.

Another benefit to having a cat is, never having to take him for walks around the block or through the park.  He gets most of his exercise in the house, but in the warm weather, he likes to venture about in the backyard.  Daily walks around the perimeter, assuring that we are secure, I always say to him, jokingly.  When the temperatures dip down to the frigid temperatures that we've been experiencing over the last week and both, he and I, are more than happy to stay confined within the warmth of our house.  Meanwhile, I see my neighbour, bundled up into a furry ball, venturing out into the Arctic blast with dog in tow.  Neither one of them really look like they want to go for that walk and who can blame them?

The other day I was driving home when I noticed a bundled up person dragging an object behind her on the sidewalk.  As I drew nearer, I realized that the object was a small dog.  Completely bare, the short-haired dog looked catatonic.  It's tiny body, rigid, even when it was picked up and held in the person's arms.  I couldn't help but wonder just how important it actually is to take dogs for walks? 🤔  Everyone needs exercise, but can't daily walks be put on hold when the temperatures outside dip to below minus fifty with the wind chill?

I felt like there may have been a conversation between the two as they stepped outside into the frigidity of the morning.  Dog likely pulled back on the leash, exclaiming "No way, Jose, am I going out into that!!"  His momma probably tugged on the leash, coaxing the little one out the door, all the while uttering kind words to the dog in a soothing manner, "It's okay.  It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?!" I imagined the dog thinking, "You're wrapped in multiple layers to keep out the cold wind, while I'm standing here buck naked!!" 🥶

Granted, some dogs absolutely LOVE the outdoors, especially when the temperatures get so damned cold.  My sister's first dog, Tucker, was a pure breed Saint Bernard and I felt terrible for that lumbering soul in the summer months when the mercury would rise about thirty degrees Celcius.  However, when that same mercury dipped thirty degrees below zero, that dog was happier than a pig in mud.  When my mom would dog sit Tucker at her house, he loved running around her huge backyard, jumping, digging and rolling around in the deep snow.  She could pull a chair up to the back door and watch that dog have the time of his life back there.

Not Tucker, but this is what he'd look like after his play sessions in the snow.

I've seen all kinds of outfits that people get for their dogs.  I love watching these examples awkwardly walking down the sidewalk, marching like Soviet soldiers, kicking their feet high in the air in an attempt to shed their little shoes.  Then there's the little cloaks and other clever outfits crafted for their comfort. Many seem to fight it, while others almost seem to embrace it.  I recall a little Boston Terrier that belonged to a woman I used to work with.  His name was Riley and he wore a couple of different outfits, but the favourite one seemed to be a little leather bomber jacket like something you'd see a hot shot pilot wear in an old World War II film.  It was awesome.

Dress for the occasion.

The best thing about having a cat is, arguably, the worst thing about having a cat.  They shit indoors, so we can all avoid going outside in the cold, but then I have to shovel that shit out and I don't know what's in the food I feed that boy, but golly them shit's are rank.

Perhaps I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.  I've never owned a dog, myself.  I grew up with dogs, on the farm, but they were fairly self reliant.  No walks necessary as we lived on a farm and they were allowed to run freely.  Usually along side of my dad with he was working in the field.  Even when the temperatures got so unbelievably cold, those dogs stayed indoors, pausing only to go potty outside.  

I don't know where I'm going with this.  Suffice it to say; If it's too cold outside, I think we can shelve the exercise for that day or few days.  It's not like the deep freeze stays forever.  A week or two at the worst, though admittedly, it feels much longer.  Your pet, I'm sure, will appreciate it.  

That and.... Cats rule and dogs drool. 😁

Out of the Black

I remember those old TV shows where someone would be driving home after an evening out with friends, but they'd never arrive at their destination.  Something nefarious was set in motion from the moment they sat behind the wheel, for there was a dark figure hiding in the backseat, who would accost them and eventually do horrible, terrible things to them.  As a young boy, I never understood how this was even possible.  "How did they not see someone hiding in the rear of their car, just inches from where they'd be seated?  Admittedly, these days, I will get into my truck, never peering into the backseat compartment.  The space back there, mind you, can be cramped and anyone of significant size would find it difficult to hide there.  However, I don't always drive my own vehicle and one such event occurred two nights ago and it's affected me in so many ways.

As a transit operator, my view of what is behind me is limited.  Many times, when I thought I was alone and began singing to a favourite song playing on the radio, I am surprised by the 'DING' of the stop request.  With all the security features that protect us drivers, sometimes you can't always see what or whom is seated directly behind you.  This is a huge problem for me as I've had many nightmares of questionable people stabbing me from behind.  It's a level of anxiety that I deal with on a daily basis.  So at the end of my shift, usually when I'm about to return the the garage, I'll pull over to the side of the road, secure my bus and walk the length of the bus, checking for lost articles or people left onboard.  The bus is always empty and I can shut off all the interior lights and be on my way.

Tuesdays are especially problematic for me.  I run an afternoon shift of the 40s.  Routes, 43, 45, 44 and 4.  The forties head out to Evergreen, Arbor Creek and Willow Grove and I do it all on a 60 foot articulating bus.  The size of this vessel can be a little overwhelming when you consider it's size, but in actuality, it's pretty easy to maneuver.  However, there isn't enough time to complete the routes in a timely manner and I often find myself 45 minutes to an hour behind, usually by no fault of my own.  First time was because I didn't have a working transit master (GPS) and I was unfamiliar with the routes.  Working off the book, it becomes increasingly difficult to read as the night grows darker and the interior driver light, overhead, is a freakin' joke.  The second time I drove the route, there was a car accident that blocked one of the two lanes heading into Sutherland and both occupants of the cars abandoned their vehicles, thus backing up traffic for hours. The last time, two days ago, the brainiacs with the City, chose to close College Drive, again, backing up traffic for nearly an hour.  It took me, in my elongated bus nearly an hour to travel three blocks and cross the College Drive bridge.  This put me behind almost an hour, so it was dark by the time I was rounding out my last loop, Route 44 (Willow Grove).  By this time, the transit master has gone blank because it thinks that I've completed my routes and it's gone to sleep, rendering me lost to figure out the route on my own.

As I approached one of my final stops before heading for downtown, I was stopped by a fellow operator who knows that I shouldn't be out so late, especially with the articulating bus.  This bus is mainly used for peak times when there's the potential for the most riders.  By this time I only had a handful of riders.  Krista, the fellow operator, boarded my bus and instructed all my riders to transfer to her bus, explaining that (I) was finished for the day and that she'd deliver them the rest of the way.  Krista walked to the articulating part of the bus, checking for everyone and urging them to transfer to the other bus.  I was double-parked, blocking the traffic behind me and neglected to do my own walk-through, believing that Krista had, indeed, cleared everyone for me.  I thanked her, shut off all my lights and continued on my way.

If you've read this far in my tale, I think you may know what is coming. 

Please bear with me.

I turned up my radio and began my arduous trek back to the garage, which is located outside the city on the west side.  Because there's a glare from the interior lights that reflects off the front glass, I like to shut off all the lights to allow me to see the road more clearly and when you're dealing with black ice as the temperatures drop to below freezing at night, especially driving a sixty-foot articulating bus which is notorious for jackknifing on frozen surfaces, I'll take all the helpful advantages that I can.

I was traveling south on Circle Drive at the posted speed of 90km/h, being mindful of the glistening ice crystals reflecting off the asphalt, in a pitch black bus when out of nowhere... A hand grabs my shoulder from behind.  My heart rate jumped from normal to a million in less than a second and I screamed at the top of my lungs and I swear that if I wasn't wearing my seatbelt, I would have exploded and skyrocketed out the top of the bus.  I began screaming at this person, telling them that they scared the shit out of me and asking WHY she didn't get off when she was instructed to?  She never answered she was almost as startled as I was and stepped back, disappearing once again into the darkness that shrouded the interior of the bus.  Frankly, it's a miracle that I maintained control of the bus on this icy surface.  I pulled onto the 8th Street exit and continued to berate this poor frightened woman.  I followed my tirade, immediately, with apologies for my reaction, again scolding her for grabbing me rather than speaking up and for not coming forward when the lights were first shut off, which was probably about ten minutes before this time.  I got her squared away at another stop that would take her the rest of her way to the downtown terminal, then continued on my way, taking an alternate route back to the garage, all the while, grasping at my chest.

Can a person literally be scared to death, I pondered as I struggled to calm myself.  I managed to get myself back to the garage, a choice that I continue to question to this moment, because what occurred next is still bothering me to this juncture.

When I came into the supervisors window, I saw the acting supervisor who asked if I was alright.  I was white as a ghost, had difficulty catching my breath and I was clutching my chest.  It was decided at that point that I should take a seat and 911 was called. 

The EMTs arrived within about 20 minutes and my heart rate had not slowed.  They hooked me with more than a dozen sensors and tested my heart, to make sure I wasn't having a heart attack.  Thankfully, I was not.  They urged me that I should go to the hospital for further testing and in retrospect, I wish I had taken them up on their offer as in the two days since this incident, I've had an uncomfortable pressure in my chest, which increases with fatigue.  I joked to a co-worker, that I believe I may have "blown a gasket".  I'm going to call my personal physician today for a follow up.  Last thing I need on my plate, now, is a fucking heart condition.

Tuesday night, all I wanted to do was go home, hug my cat and be thankful that I was still alive.

Apparently this woman, who was dressed all in black, was seated at the very back of the bus, out of the view of both myself and Krista, the other operator who'd vacated my bus.  The woman, I believe, didn't speak very good English and may not have understood the words that Krista was speaking, but to sit in the back of this bus, in total blackness, not knowing where she was going or what was happening, is still inexcusable, no matter what country she was born in.  Then to just grab someone, in absolute silence, was just evil.  She may not have intended her actions to be considered as such, but it was a terrible thing to do to anyone.

Ninety-nine point nine times, I check and clear my bus before returning to the garage.  The one fucking time I don't, this happens and it's affected me mentally and physically.  It's a lesson that I will not forget and like most life lessons, it's one that I've learned the hard way.

Green Jell-O

In an effort to figure out what the "black mass" is that was discovered on my lung a couple of years ago, I underwent a simple procedure called a 'Bronchoscopy' on Friday, that involved having a tube equipped with a camera and a couple other devices, shoved down my throat and into my airway and lungs.  I've underwent a similar procedure, the 'Gastroscopy', more than a dozen times due to choking and swallowing issues. It's a procedure that is normally performed with anesthesia, but I've been informed that I've built quite a reputation hospital-wide, as being the only one to get that procedure done while fully coherent.  I usually drive to the hospital when the obstruction occurs, so naturally I'm going to want to drive home.  I'd NEVER leave my truck overnight in THAT neighbourhood.

The bronchoscopy is a much more evasive procedure, I was led to believe.  It began, much like the gascoscopy, where I'm shuttled into a tiny little room, surrounded by more medical professionals with more credentials and job-titles than I can remember.  The doctor, a real hack because of her shitty attitude towards my case, hands me a shot glass filled with a red cherry-flavoured substance, designed to numb the inside of my mouth.  She instructs me to pour half in my mouth then gargle.  "Do you need us to show you how to gargle?" she added, as if I'm a complete imbecile, but apparently, I was informed, there's a lot of people who don't know how to gargle fluid.  F*ck sakes, how stupid are people becoming, that they don't know how to 'gargle'?  I swished the concoction around like a true gargling champion, if there was ever such a thing.  Another freezing agent was then sprayed into the back of my throat to numb that region up, the reason being that it'd relax the region enough to receive an injection from a syringe.  Before that was to happen, one of the nameless other medical professionals sidled up to the gurney that I sat upon with two syringes filled with a clear fluid.  "This is a little something to help you relax." she said, with a soothing tone.  I watched as she injected the specimens into my intravenous tube.

"Now we're talking!" I said, gleefully, laying back on the gurney.  Just then I noticed the spots in the suspended ceiling tiles begin to spin frantically, the image resembling one of those hypnotic spiral posters you see at the carnival.  "Wow," I said, "This stuff really acts qui-"

That's all I remember.

Years ago, I tore my left bicep "clean off the bone", as the surgeon told me, the following day, after my operation.  I was, obviously, anesthetized for that procedure as well, as you can probably imagine.  I don't know how well my body reacts to being under anesthetic, because I heard a story from a friend who claims that I shared a hospital room with her ailing grandfather, who was none too pleased with the wailing coming from my side of the room.  I can't speak as to the accuracy of this claim, but there's no reason to embellish the situation.  Plus, from what I do recall from the experience, was repeated visits from the nurse-on-call, who'd come in and pump me full of morphine.  I don't completely understand the concept of addiction, but being on morphine provided a good argument.  So when I began to come out of my induced coma after getting tubes, cameras and other devices shoved down my throat and into my lungs, the process was, as I recall, as loud as it was confusing.

All I can remember from yesterday morning, following the procedure, was a strong desire for Jell-O.  I remember begging and pleading with the nurses in the section to bring me some Jell-O.  "I know you have Jell-O," I called out, "I've had it here before."  They declined the request, but offered me something to drink, instead.  Coffee, tea, orange juice or apple juice, were the options.  "No!" I demanded, "Jell-O!  I'll even take the green jell-o that nobody likes.  I know you have it!  Please bring me some."

Nicole, the prettier and younger nurse of the gaggle, approached me and softly gave me the list of options, again.  I softly responded, "I find coffee is gross.  Tea makes me pee too much.  I'm allergic to citrus, so orange juice is out.  And apple juice, I find, tastes like the afore mentioned 'pee', but I'll take some of that green jell-o you gals are hiding."

I continued for the next twenty minutes or so, pushing the green jell-o agenda, but the girls wouldn't budge.  Finally, it came time where I was coherent enough to leave the hospital, so walking on rubbery legs, I left the small second floor day-surgery locale and met my ride who brought me home.

I never did get my jell-o, sadly.  What does strike me as odd, however, is: If everybody hates green jell-o, why does it continually get made?  I've never once, in all my visits to cafeterias where jell-o was offered, have I ever heard someone excitedly say, "Ooh, good!  Green jell-o."  Always, 'ew, there's only green jell-o left'.

The woozy affect of the anesthetic.