The Case for Private Medicine

Everyone has heard of the long wait-time for certain medical procedures. Likewise we've also heard of "private" clinics available on demand to perform many of the same services for a price. My latest encounter with the current "provincial" medical system has highlighted the differences though oddly not related to cost or wait-time. There appears to be a widening rift between the "provincial" medical professionals and the "public" they work for, even bordering on disdain by the physicians for the public.  Loud and clear I have discovered that doctors are rapidly joining the ranks of those who are acutely aware of their prescribed duties and entitlements, primary facts which regularly trump pride in the work they perform. The physicians have - no doubt unwittingly - boxed themselves into the same corner one might find a wary and angry dog.

Easy if you know what you're doing...

Since last September I have purchased several new things which generally belong to the category of technological devices; viz., an Amazon Kindle (for downloading and reading books electronically), an Apple iPhone 4S (a hand-held computer) and - as recently as today - an HP "All-in-One" desktop computer. The last of these devices is probably the least interesting of the three, except cosmetically, because it really does little more than the former monitor and tower did. The attraction of the All-in-One is that it eliminates the multitude of wires which plague the traditional computer. The new one has a wire from the keyboard to the screen/computer; a wire from the mouse to the screen/monitor; and the connection from the screen/monitor to the power bar. Now that the former machine is gone I can't for the life of me recall why there were so many other wires. The fact that the tower has disappeared does of course go a long way towards cleaning up my study, which has now a slightly more spacious air to it.

Tarnished Silver

Even at eight o’clock this morning (which is about two hours later than I normally turn out) I wasn’t in any rush to get out of bed, especially as I hadn’t got myself into bed until after one o’clock this morning. Last night, after puttering on my laptop computer and iPhone, I ended by watching a movie starring Peter Dinklage, something with a railway theme. I was more intrigued to see his performance as a result of his good showing in the British make of “Death at a Funeral”, but this particular film last evening was less than action-packed. I repeatedly found myself fading into sleep so I cut the power at last and went to bed.

Mulling Things Over

I had a Board meeting at seven-thirty this morning on Mill Street in the historic grey stone building which was the former offices of the Public Utilities Commission, once the throne of the General Manager, Brian J. Gallagher after whom the new $19M generating station is so deservedly named. I turned out precisely at 5:30 a.m. to prepare myself. Downstairs my new iPhone 4S was simultaneously sounding its alarm, producing the mock chime of Big Ben. Glancing out the upstairs windows, I was glad to see that it was raining. This meant I needn’t have any regret about not going for an improving bicycle ride (which in any event I couldn’t have done because my Electra bike, along with three others of various makes, is presently being overhauled at Almonte Bicycle Works).

Santa

It’s late November and already the days are infused with the pervasive exhilaration of “the Season”. It is impossible to take no notice of the swell of influence. It is standard commercial activity to play Christmas carols in shopping centres. It is no accident that this switch in white sound definitively took place precisely upon the expiry of the American Thanksgiving Day holiday. XM radio has an entire channel dedicated to Christmas carols (and oddly that station has for some reason temporarily replaced its “Forties on Four”, a collection of American standards from the 1940s). Last evening I received an invitation to a Hanukkah party, but it was weeks ago that I received two other invitations to similar Christmas house parties. It is nothing to encounter people talking about holidays and family gatherings. My mother has been wringing her hands for weeks about what she will get her granddaughters for Christmas presents (aside that is from the regular cheque which she pointedly mentioned was not indexed). Normal business commitments are being pushed aside until the expiry of the season’s social affairs. In short our mundane daily preoccupations are now overshadowed by this commercial/religious/family flashpoint.

Sunday Morning Indolence

Unusually the temperature is expected to reach a high of 11˚C today which at this time of year gives the effect of distortion and lack of resolution. If one were to ignore this supernatural feature of the day, it otherwise offers a further and diminishing opportunity to ride one’s bicycle which for me is the last form of physical exercise (apart from swimming) I am able to undertake painlessly. On balance such manifestly inconsequential considerations as the weather and bicycling are welcome contemplations on a Sunday morning.

Swimming Upstream

Yesterday began robustly enough in the fresh morning air with a sunny bike ride along a nearby country road. This ebullience was however to be a short-lived element of the day.

After our customary ablutions we trekked into the City on a mission to find a tailor to fix the tattered buttonholes of an old handmade sweater of mine. While parked outside the mall, and while I was fussing over my new iPhone 4S, a car pulled up directly beside mine. This instantly bothered me because I deliberately park as far away from other cars as possible; and there were ample vacant parking spots all around me. It further incensed me that this fellow felt the need to park immediately adjacent my car as my driver’s side door was open wide while I pored over the iPhone. The elderly fellow (who I could tell instantly was a nosy Parker) then unloaded himself from his vehicle and proceeded to plant himself like an inspecting policeman directly in front of my car where he pronounced “Nice car!” It was a gratuitous comment as far as I was concerned. His fat wife then likewise removed herself from their car. Apparently imaging that I had not heard her husband’s observation, she repeated it, adding that the car was a nice colour. When I failed to respond to either of them, although they knew I was aware of their presence because I glanced askance at them, the unattractive woman retreated and transformed their former compliments into something less flattering by muttering that “the car is nice but the driver is not Mr. Personality” or something to that effect.