ObamaCare versus NobamaCare

Being a Canadian and married to an American means having American in-laws, which means usually that once per visit, I will be asked by somebody on my wife's side of the family what I think of the Canadian Health Care system.

I used to be pretty smug about the Canadian system. Even after the time when we lived in Peterborough (1998) and found that family doctors were, uh, "rationed", and because once, in a pinch, we saw a GP in Lakefield about a bug that our son had, that one visit therefore committed us to that doctor to be our family doctor.

And when we wanted to find a family doctor in Peterborough, since that was where we actually lived, well, first we had to get a signed letter from the Lakefield doctor "releasing us from his care", as a precondition just to apply to a new GP starting practice in Peterborough to be his patients. So Dr NewDoctor, who had collected one or two PhD's before seeking the challenge of his MD (think: subsidized post-secondary education), interviewed us so he could determine if we would be suitable patients for his fledgling practice. Which, because of our relative youth (at the time) and lack of impending ailments, thusly we were found to be not suitable. In the which case we suddenly became orphans of the medical welfare state, having formally cut our ties with the Lakefield doctor but then being ajudged too healthy for the liking of the one doctor in Peterborough (population 67,000) who deigned to take on new patients.

But I still maintained the superiority complex, even up to the time in Trail BC (2001) when we felt our 18-year old son could stand an MRI as a follow-up on his neurofibromatosis. So after a preliminary consultation with our family GP, we obtained a referral to the nearest specialist, who was a 50 mile drive away (Nelson BC).

When the wait for that appointment with the specialist was finally over and my wife and son made the 50 mile (each way) drive, we possessed a referral for an MRI ... which placed our son on a waiting list ... which would take between 9 and 18 months to work through ... and would be performed in Calgary AB, a nine hour drive east.

We moved to Ontario at the end of 2002 and never did get a call for the MRI. But before we left BC, I had a brief discussion with my chief technologist at work. He was a Canadian, married to an American, and he spoke glowingly about the American health care system.

I asked him if he was a little off his rocker, since the Canadian system was still undeniably, er, incredibly, er, overwhelmingly, er, somewhat superior to the American health care system.

He replied that actually, he was doing the paperwork to be able to move to and work in the US. All because of the health care system.

"Hey Rob," he continued, pulling down his coveralls and opening up his shirt to reveal a gruesome scar on his chest. "I've got a pig valve in there."

"A what?" I meekly responded.

"A pig valve in my heart. I've got a piece of a pig in my heart. And," he went on, "the way I see it, if I'm living in the United States, and I need a repair to my heart, I'm going to get it."

"And it's going to cost you a fortune. It's going to bankrupt you!" I retorted.

"Exactly!" was his response.

I was not expecting that response.

"If I'm still in Canada, I'm on a waiting list" he continued. "And I'll probably die before I get repaired. If I'm in the US, I get it repaired the next day. And I'll be $75,000 in debt. And I am going to have to work the rest of my life to pay off that debt."

"But," he continued, "I would rather work the rest of my life to pay off that debt, than not have the rest of my life."

Which is one of the reaons why I, as a resident Canadian married to an American and with a keen interest in what is happening in the US, agree that ObamaCare must be stopped at all costs.

The New Year's Eve I Almost Partied with Frank Sinatra (a true story)

Okay, it's a snazzy title, but it is a true story and I really was disputably close to celebrating New Year's with Frank.

And it's a long story, but I will try to curtail my digressions ...

It was the Christmas break in 1981 and three of us 3rd-year engineering students at UBC in Vancouver BC had decided to do something really adventurous -- drive down to sunny California for the holidays.

Our organization was deplorable. The plan had been hatched in March 1981 and originally had five participants. But Richard Glue failed out that spring, and then Gary Sheffler backed out on December 23. That left myself and two classmates, Henry Man and David Fry.

We met at a Rent-A-Wreck in downtown Vancouver on Boxing Day, figuring we could just stroll in on a statutory holiday and rent a car. Amazingly, we could.

Feeling self-conscious about being the only traveller without a three-letter last name, I signed for the car. We had about $300 US cash amongst the three of us. Our collective analytical skills had determined that we could arrive in Los Angeles in 24 hours if we drove non-stop and rotated the driving.

Our arrival in LA was delayed by 24 hours for other amusing reasons, but we did make it and lived it up. We were staying in the le Parc hotel in LA and watched the sports news the night Wayne Gretzky scored 5 goals against the Flyers and hit 50 goals in 39 games.

The next morning, New Year's Eve, Henry suggested we visit a fellow UBC engineering student, Eddie Wentworth, whose family lived in 'nearby' Palm Desert. Eddie was taking Mechanical engineering and I never thought any of us knew him very well, but Henry was in Eddie's drafting class two years earlier, so I suppose that constituted a sufficient bond. Somehow, Henry found out that Eddie would be back home with his family for the holidays, and being the forthright person he is, Henry essentially invited us over to Eddie's place for the holidays. Eddie, being way too nice a guy, agreed. (Or maybe he was just not able to say no to Henry).

We were driving in the dark and were lost somewhere around Hemet, but grooving to the tunes of radio station XTRA, "the Mighty 690". All we had were some scribbled directions and Eddie's phone number. Being males, we ignored both sources of information and kept driving.

Finally, as we were becoming most unfashionably late for a New Year's Eve dinner, panic set in. A review of the directions suggested we were excruciatingly close, but must just be missing a minor detail. There was a phone booth outside a lonely but closed grocery story, so Henry and Dave tumbled out to call Eddie for directions. I opted for plan B, which was to make my way over to the Ranger station across the road.

It was pitch black, except for a street light by the phone booth across the road, one light outside the Ranger station, and one light inside. I knocked on the door but drew no response. Hearing voices and moving inexorably toward the light, I found myself looking into the kitchen and knocked on the window.

A Ranger was washing dishes at the sink; the sink was right below the window. When I banged loud enough, he looked up and was startled to see someone staring back at him. He motioned me to come to the front door.

Opening it cautiously, he asked me what I wanted. I told him I needed directions to the Wentworth's house. He asked me where the Wentworths lived and I said, "Pinyon Crescent".

He stopped short, looked me in the eyes, paused, and then demanded, "who do you know who lives on Pinyon Crescent?"

"The Wentworths!" I replied cheerfully. I assumed he must have known who they were.

He pulled out a plot plan and studied it carefully. With an air of surprise he declared, "well, what do you know, there is a Wentworth on Pinyon Crescent. How do you know them?"

"Oh, my friend Henry Man was in Eddie Wentworth's drafting class, and Eddie is home for Christmas, and he invited us for dinner tonight. How do we get there?"

The Ranger recited some directions which sounded simple enough, but did so as if describing how to defuse a bomb. When he got to the point about a fork in the road, his words became halting and he explained, "you turn left at the fork. Not right. You turn left. Understand? You turn left."

"Uh, sure. Left at the fork. Sure. Thanks!" I stammered.

"Remember, you turn left at the fork. And you're going to see the Wentworths, right?"

Wow, I thought. Eddie's family must be pretty special to get this kind of personal protection! I was daydreaming what kind of a mansion they must have -- maybe a swimming pool! A private vineyard and wine cellar! This must be California at its best!

I crossed the road back to the car, delighted that I had scored the good directions at last. But the wind was taken from my sails when Henry and David announced that Eddie was going to drive down to meet us and drive us to his place.

In about 20 minutes, Eddie arrived and we exchanged greetings, as if we were all old friends. Eddie told us to follow him in his car.

After about 15 minutes of slow going uphill on a dark, unlit road, Eddie stopped his car ahead of us in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. He got out and motioned us to get out, too.

Being a rational engineering student, my thoughts naturally turned to something logical like Eddie pulling out a gun, tying us up, robbing us and pushing us down the hill. What a way to go. I wouldn't even find out if I had passed Thermodynamics II.

But Eddie had his usual pleasant disposition and told us we were at a fork in the road. Aha! I knew where we were.

So did Eddie. He told us we had to follow him left to his house, because if we went right, we would be approaching Frank Sinatra's driveway.

* * *

We had a nice dinner with the Wentworths, and then Eddie took us to a night club in Palm Springs called Nasty's to ring in the New Year, and we had a decent time. But deep down I wished we had accidentally taken a right instead of a left, and partied with ol' Blue Eyes like it was 1982.

Today in Glenn Hall history -- Tuesday, March 28, 1961

Montreal 5 at Chicago 2 Dickie Moore's goal at 17:57 of the first period put the Montreal Canadiens in front 2-1, a lead they would never relinquish as they won going away, 5-2. The win for Montreal tied the best-of-seven semi-final at two games apiece. Ex-Hab Dollard St-Laurent tied the score for the Black Hawks after Phil Goyette opened the scoring. Second period goals by Billy Hicke and another by Moore and a third period tally by Hicke were too much for the Hawks. Stan Mikita scored the other Chicago goal on a rebound of a Bobby Hull shot.

The two goals for Moore were a redemption of sorts -- he drew a penalty in game three which caused Montreal coach Toe Blake to take a swing at referee Dalton McArthur. NHL President Clarence Campbell hit Toe with a $2,000 fine for those actions. The Hawks were playing without Ab McDonald, a key member of the Scooter Line with Mikita and Kenny Wharram. Despite losing, Hall was sensational in the nets for the Black Hawks. They were outshot 26-4 in the first period alone, and an incredible 60-21 for the game. The Canadiens were a powerhouse and were trying to win their sixth Stanley Cup in a row. But the Hawks, with Hall tending the nets, polished off Montreal in six games in this series and Detroit in the next, to put an end to Montreal's reign and claim the Stanley Cup.

Today in Glenn Hall history -- Wednesday, March 27, 1963

Chicago jumped out to a 1-0 advantage in their best-of-seven Stanley Cup semi-final series with Detroit by defeating the Red Wings 5-4 at the Chicago Stadium.

Hawk coach Rudy Pilous devised a keen bit of strategy before the game, switching the positions of Eric Nesterenko and Ab McDonald to enable "Elbows" Nesterenko to shadow Detroit's Gordie "Elbows" Howe.

The strategy worked -- Howe was held to only two shots on Glenn Hall for the entire game.

Today in Glenn Hall history -- March 23, 1967

Definitely not a night to remember for Mr. Goalie. It was the last game of the 1957-58 season and the Black Hawks had already been eliminated from the playoffs. They must have been comparing Monday morning tee times, because the Boston Bruins blitzed Hall and the Hawks for five first period goals en route to a 7-5 win.


Hall showed no partiality, as seven different Beantowners put the puck behind him. The Hawks clawed back to a 6-4 deficit before Jerry Toppazzini put them out of their misery with a back-breaking goal at 16:43 of the third.

The Black Hawks finished the season at 24-39-7, good for 55 points, fourteen behind fourth-place Boston, but three ahead of last-place Toronto (who finished in the basement for the first time in their existence).

But two seasons later, the Black Hawks -- backstopped by Glenn Hall -- would win the Stanley Cup.

My Dad, one year on

I caught the 7:30 pm flight from Toronto to Edmonton, on business. I had a pounding headache that not even a Tim Horton's french vanilla cappuccino, consumed quickly at the airport terminal, could fully quench. The plane was only about 1/3 full and I had the whole row of three seats to myself. I sat in the middle seat and set up shop. I unpacked my duffel bag and marked up (corrected) about 120 vendor drawings, most with the same tedious corrections. I felt good that I was able to carve into the mountain of work I had been swamped with in early 2004.

We landed in Edmonton at about 9:30 local time, and I buzzed through the Wendy's drivethru for a hamburger in Nisku and was on my way to Fort Saskatchewan by 10:00 pm. It was just before 11:00 by the time I got to the hotel.

I checked in and the night clerk handed me a slip of paper. "You have a message to phone home." I figured Alexa wanted to know I had landed safely and maybe had a story about Rocky to tell me. I nodded and smiled. She kept her gaze fixed at me and said, "It's important." And I nodded and smiled again. I figured Alexa wanted to make sure I didn't ignore the request or just send her an e-mail once I got unpacked in the room.

So I took my time unpacking my clothes, unpacking the vendor drawings, getting the laptop plugged in, and dialed home. Alexa answered and asked how I was doing. I said I was fine and asked how she was.

Then she said, "Rob, I'm sorry. I have some very sad news for you...your father passed away today."

I think those were her words.

We talked for another 10 or 15 minutes, though I don't really recall what was said, and I don't really believe anything else needed to be said.

Well, I do recall saying, "this is the saddest day of my life", and Alexa agreeing.

It was more emptiness than sadness. It was one of those moments when your heart really gets ripped out of you, and you feel empty and incomplete.

I called my parents place, but my Mom didn't answer the phone. The answering tape came on -- it was my Dad's voice on the recording. "I'm sorry we can't answer your call right now...". I laughed quietly at both the irony and the truth, and cried a little more.

I was able to get in touch with my sister, who lives nearby my parents, and shortly after that, finally, my Mom. Then my sister in Edmonton, and we kicked off the first formative discussions about arrangements for the funeral and flying to Vancouver.

Ever the engineer, I calculated that he would have passed away around 5:00 pm PST or so, while I was up in the air, doing my excruciatingly important work of correcting instrumentation drawings for a filter press I might never actually see operate.

I was up in the air, and he was down on the earth, at home. When he needed me, I couldn't help him.

I suppose I can't explain the bond between my Dad and me. There is a percentage of you out there who are fortunate to have a similar bond with one or maybe even both of your parents. But we were very close. We didn't even have to say many words. Just knowing he was there, 3000 miles away, made me feel good.

He had done so many things for the family...for Mom, my sisters, and for me. Compared against common measuring sticks, I am sure there are many fathers who spend/spent more total hours, more total money, did more favours, than my Dad. But there was a just a quiet, understated, humble, pure and honest love in the way he treated me. He treated me differently. He behaved differently toward me. It was a different gear. There were different rules. Favouritism (as an only son) really isn't the word. He just acted out a father's love for his son like it was an art. And not in any overt way...it was very natural, but very gripping too.

I don't think you stumble on that. I knew he drew that from his father. But his father, my Dziadziu, had five sons. Dziadziu passed away in 1965 (on my Dad's birthday) and I only knew him through a child's eyes. How special HE must have been to have been able to distribute that love to all his boys. And how lucky I was to have my father's love-for-a-son all to myself!

But back to the point. All his life, he had done things for me, and I never had a chance to pay him back. I was a university student for way too many years, which meant I was usually low on cash and somewhat dependent on the generosity of my parents to keep me going. (The money I did have was accumulated from five summers working. He got me the job, where he worked, it was union wages...hard and dirty work, but in the summer of 1979 I made $7,900.)

Then I was off to make my way in the real world, saving up money to buy a car, buy a house. Never really had a chance to repay him, or my mother, for their sacrifices and their love.

So all these years it was him nurturing me, teaching me, helping me, supporting me, encouraging me. It was all one way.

And all I could think of, here was the one time where he, who I always considered to be a rock, was helpless, and I couldn't help. I was in an airplane still two time zones away.

Of course, in the logical sense, it is exceedingly foolish to even entertain the notion that I could have helped in any practical way, and proud, and vain, and selfish. And I knew that. But that was the raw emotion.

If that was the case, if he was lying there, breathing his last, beyond the help of even the paramedics, helpless, I still wanted to be there, to hold his hand, to give him a hug, to walk with him that last step, to thank him, to tell him I love him, to just BE THERE to let him know I was loyal to the end, that I would never forget him.

From time to time I reflect on March 23, 2004, on being on the airplane, and I feel that pain and frustration all over again.

I am sorry I was not there, Dad, for your last step. But I am still loyal, I still love you, and I will never forget you.

A grandfather's love for a grandson, too

Today in Glenn Hall history -- March 22, 1967

Bobby Hull scores his 52nd goal of the season, but Vic Hadfield's second goal of the game, a power-play marker with 12:25 left to play in the third period, lifts the New York Rangers into a 3-3 tie with the Chicago Black Hawks at Chicago. Hall was in goal for the Black Hawks. The tie kept the Hawks an amazing 20 points ahead of the second-place Rangers, with five games left in the regular season.

Mis Amigos Argentinos

Seektheway (Thoughts & Ruminations...) drew attention to a bishop in Argentina who stood up to the national health minister on the topic of legalisation of abortion.

I take an interest in news from Argentina, having had the opportunity to travel to Buenos Aires twice in 2003 on business.

The Argentinos are a resilient lot. I do not want to be presumptious and generalise like I have the nation figured out after eight days in the country. But in speaking with my counterparts who worked in the office of one of the largest engineering firms in Argentina, riding with eyes wide open from Ezeiza airport to the heart of downtown BA, walking through the astounding safety of the Florida 'mall' even late at night (though not deviating too far either to the left or to the right), a picture comes to mind.

They endured the Perons...who are remembered not quite so romantically as Evita would suggest. And most recently, they suffered a stunning devaluation of their currency. International financiers can explain why, and perhaps even claim to justify it. But it set every man, woman and child two steps back. The nation took the hit, across the board, and they still feel it. The people I saw in the restaurants, the business people and the entrepreneurs, were cosmopolitan, western, sophisticated -- but sombre. As if the world had harshly put them in their place, and they were now quietly, somewhat humbly, digging themselves out.

The poor -- well, I did not have to stray too far off Avenue Florida to see them. Our project engineering manager, who was stationed there, told us to be on the lookout for the street people who collected scrap cardboard. They would recycle it and get paid for it. And sure enough, every couple of blocks, there were FAMILIES who scurried around amassing piles of cardboard and boxboard.

The engineering manager remarked to an Argentinian engineer how fastidious these street recyclers were. He saw them taking hoses and washing off the cardboard. How considerate to clean the cardboard off before recycling!

"They are not cleaning the cardboard, Senor John," he was told. "They are wetting it, to make it heavier, so they will get paid more."

Such are the wiles of the street people.

But I digress.

There was ambivalence about President Nestor Kirchner, but he seemed the best of all possible compromises. Now, feeling confident in his reign, the true colours of his social programs are beginning to emerge.

The Argentinian bishops collectively have been active in voicing their opposition to Kirchner. I did not sense I was in an exceedingly Catholic or even Christian country. There is societal, historical acknowledgment of Catholic roots, but on the whole they seem to operate in a relatively secular manner. So it is not as if the bishops have this unspoken mandate to speak on behalf of the people. But they have done so, increasingly so, in the past few months.

Where does this courage come from? Is this a product of the subjugation by the World Bank and IMF financiers, who have kicked the country and broken its spirit, such that the bishops have taken the lead to stand up for the people? Or is it simply the courage to speak the truth when the truth needs to be spoken, no matter who is sitting in the king's chair?

Perhaps Argentina can export this collective resolve to the northern hemisphere, where there are words aplenty on soft issues, but the Bruskewiczes, Burkes and Ambrozics seem to be in the minority?

Rob's Top 5 Video Games

Okay, so I'm dating myself here.

I haven't played a video game in maybe 20 years. So I'm not talkin' X-Box or PS2 or Dreamcast or any of those new-fangled things. I'm talking real, honest, arcade-style video games, ca. 1982.

#5 ... PONG (1975)
The origin of the species, and it was great.

My grade 11 Social Studies class took the ferry over to Victoria to see the British Columbia Parliament Buildings. This was about November, 1975. On the way back, somebody noticed that there was a table-top version of this new game called "PONG" near the windows. A couple of people monopolized the game, until somebody had the bright idea to put down a quarter and 'buy' the next game, to challenge the reigning champion. If the challenger won, then he got to play for free and another challenger would buy the next game.

I stood in line and eventually got a chance to play. Mark Wong had won about three in a row, but I dispatched him from his throne on the first go-round. And then I reeled off about 8 or 10 straight wins. Everybody was crowded around, watching this cool new game, and watching me, the ubergeek, beat all the 'cool' kids. It was my fifteen minutes of highschool fame.


#4 ... ASTEROIDS (1980)

Another classic with a cult following.

The Student Union Building at UBC had a games room, with a bowling alley, some foosball tables, several stand-up pinball games, plus Asteroids. It was a real step forward when it came out, and although it was eclipsed in complexity and imagination pretty quickly, it was always fun to go back and play it.


#3 ... DIG-DUG (1982)

I hardly ever saw this game but loved playing it.


#2 ... BREAKOUT (1981)

This was a variation of the paddle-and-ball principle from PONG, where you would knock bricks out. We used to line up to play this at the Student Union Building. This was one I could master, after about a roll of quarters.


#1 ... REACTOR (1985)

Maybe a bit of a surprise...don't know how many people would remember this one. But it was way cool. In spite of many quarters, I could only get to the point where the outside wall would vanish, which caused problems trying to negotiate around the reactor core. I would buy this for the PC if it was available.