Water Under The Bridge

Many details of my emigrating to Canada have slipped my mind; but there are snippits and more that come back to me.

I was the youngest of six children and it was the oldest who had married a Canadian soldier toward the end of WW II who sponsored me.

Leaving Stirling station where I was seen off by the family, I took the train down to Liverpool. I was a few months past 21 and the few possessions which I had acquired were squeezed into a heavy leather suitcase; a holdover from my father’s WW I days.

I was so overwhelmed by my adventure that the pangs of leaving the family did not sink through. It was not until I was aboard the RMS Franconia and the ship’s horn blared our departure that I was overcome with emotions.

The passage took eight days with very rough seas; causing the decks to be roped off for over 2 days. I was in the bowels of the ship; sharing a very small cabin with three others. Talk about claustraphobia. No wonder I was sea sick for over 2 days.

Landing at Halifax, Nova Scotia, I boarded a train that took four days and five nights - or was it five days and four nights - to get me to Edmonton. The next and final part of the journey was the train that took me to Dawson Creek, BC. That was a milk run that took 24 hours to travel about 400 miles; and I sat up the whole time.

An amusing aspect on my arrival was that I was met at the station by my sister and a friend who was driving a Oldsmobile convertible with the top down and the heater running at full blast. Even though the sun was shinning it was a very chilly April afternoon.

Another point of amusement was when my sister told me that she had received my wire that I would be arriving on the noon train. There is only one train a day. LOL

In hindsight, the differences between entering Canada and States leaves me wondering.

Before I was allowed to enter Canada, there was the usual medical examination with plenty of forms. Additionally, there were the standard forms detailing family background. The unexpected, however, was that when my sister and brother-in-law sponsored me, they were required to submit a notarized statement to the Canadian authorities that they would be responsible if I were to become ill. This was based upon my less than good health. Thank goodness that was not an issue for them. All this took almost a year.

Now, when it came to the States, all the paper work and medical examination were wrapped up in about four months; no sponsors and there was no real change in my health.

One possibility for the ease with which I entered the States was that I received Canadian and FBI security clearance when I went to work on the Mid-Canada Radar Line, a joint venture between Canada and the States during the Cold War

First a big THANKS to my friend Daniel who has not only enhanced the appearance of my blog today but is the instigator of me even having a blog.

When he added the beautiful scene at the head of my blog which had originally been a little bland, I was reminded of the colors of my clan tartan. With some digging by me, we found a site that displayed the tartan and he was enthusiastic that the colors meshed with the landscape colors.

In what appeared to be next to no time, he had used his magic touch and, voila, you are looking at the finished product; unless he comes up with more ideas.  LOL

Television, at times, boggles my mind. The numerous channels to suit many interests. I was not aware of this until I came to the States; and even then it was strictly the basic networks.

I was brought up on radio and my recollections are of the programs during WW II. The six o’clock news was short and precise; opening with “This is the BBC Home Service and here is the news” There was no ’stayed tuned’; or ‘at nine o’clock we will give an update on’. In fairness I should say that there were no competing stations.

The first television I saw was when the neighbors invited us to watch the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth in 1953; and this was in black and white. Obviously there were no commercials; but I do believe that was not the case when it was broadcast in the States.

When I was in Canada, again there was no television. Our closest city with a station was Edmonton; four hundred miles south. A few short years after my arrival. a local radio station expanded to broadcasting television; dare I say very sophomoric.

Like many things, television is good and bad; the choices are ours to make

This is continuing from “High”

In the past few posts, I have referred to my pressure breathing unit which had to be used four times a day. This was relative to me being diagnosed with emphysema back in 1962 and re-confirmed around 1964 when it became necessary for me to use the unit.

After I moved to Clayton from Oakland in 1972, I asked my family doctor for a referral to a doctor of internal medicine. When he realized that I really wanted a pulmonary physician, he sent me to the Director of Pulmonary Services for John Muir Hospital.

The usual forms where completed on the day of my appointment; with no tests except the usual height, weight and blood pressure. The doctor and I chatted for a little while and then he asked me why I was using the pressure breathing unit. I was taken aback and replied that it was for the emphysema. And here comes the shocker. He told me that I did not have emphysema.

When I started to protest, he emphasized that I did not have it. He explained that as soon as I had said that my lung capacity had increased he knew I did not have it. It is not possible to increase lung capacity with emphysema. My mouth opened and closed several times but nothing came out.

But that was just the beginning. In running down my list of medicines,he told me that I didn’t need that one, that one, and that one. Now I was in a state of total shock. One of the medicines was Predisone which I had been taking in relatively large doses for almost ten years and was have a problem coming off. Within two months, I was able to get come off Predisnone; apart from the rare occasion when my acute and chronic bronchial asthma would flare up more than usual.

There are times when a second or third opinion becomes important.

This is continuing from “Winging it”.

After arriving in Scotland, I was picked up by the family who lugged my baggage and the breathing unit home. Apart from mentioning the weight of the unit, I did not say anything about a converter needed to handle the current between the two electricity systems. This converter weighed in about 6 pounds; so you can see that I was carrying quite a lot; not including my personal luggage.

In looking back, I find it hard to believe that I managed it. Now, imagine this. When I returned, unfortunately not with Qantas, I also carried extra weight, cabin luggage, in the form of a 6 pack of .75 litre bottles of Scotch.

Toward the end of my Scottish vacation, I found I was low in the meds for my breathing unit and without a prescription. After a minor panic, I remembered what my doctor had told me. Vodka was a good substitute for the medicine. Wow !! Alcohol fumes directly to the lungs.

Perhaps it was not the sitting in the upsatairs back bedroom looking up at the castle that mellowed me but the inhaling of vodka as I was doing that. Takes about 2O minutes each timed I used it.

This may give a new meaning to the High-lands of Scotland. LOL

To be continued

This is continuing from “Climb every mountain”

Although I was not accorded pre-boarding, it was nice to be on my way. One of the flight attendants (known as stewardess back then) assured me that they’d keep an eye on me and oxygen was available if needed. My lips turning blue was the warning sign. I settled down for what I hoped would be an uneventful journey.

On arrival at London, as I was descending the steps to the tarmac, I saw a nurse standing beside a smaller version of a limousine; and she was shouting up to the attendants, “I’m looking for 17-F”. I was stunned and told her that I was 17-F. I chuckle when I remember her next words. “You are the most hale and hearty lung patient I have ever seen”

When I arrived beside her she told me that I was being taken to the airport hospital so I could rest and maybe sleep since there were about four hours until my next leg of the journey to Scotland. Meanwhile, the driver was loading my take-on luggage into the trunk. The nurse also told me that they would drive me to the domestic terminal in time for the next flight.

Qantas will always be the number one airline in my books.

To be continued.

This is continuing from “Jumping through hoops”

Immediately, I called my doctor and explained my situation. He was not sure how I would react to the cabin pressure; told me to drive to Donner Summit and walk around for two hours and see him on the Monday. When I reminded him that I had little time to spare, he gave me his home address, told me to come by right after I had done my hiking around the summit and he would give me a certificate dependent on the results.

In the hope that all would be well, I called Qantas, explained my situation and made reservations. After that, I called my buddy Dan who, thankfully, was still in town. Another blessing was that his car had a converter which would allow me to use my breathing unit on the way back. I decided not to use it on the way to Donner Summit since I wanted a fair evaluation.

Barely staying within the speed limit (I didn’t need any more aggravation), Dan drove me to the dizzying heights of the summit. I jumped out of the car, climbed up and down rocks and gullies; all the time Dan was telling me to slow down since he was getting out of breath. Luckily, the weather was sunny and refreshing and I felt as if I were on a high - well, I guess it was a high of different sort.

Once the two hours had been met, we hightailed it to the doctor’s house where I arrived while he and guests were enjoying cocktail hour. Opening the door, the doctor ushered me in, handed me a martini, introduced me to his guests and regaled them with my experiences. With Dan still in the car and me anxious to be on my way, I finally got a word in edgewise and asked it was OK for me to get my certificate. With no hesitation, the doctor picked up a prescription pad and gave me certificate.

Barely waiting to express my thanks and appreciation, I dashed out to the car - perhaps this would have been the time for me to say, “Gun it, Dano” but Hawaii 5-0 was not on the air yet - lol. Now was the time for me to set up my inhaler with its medications and head for the airport. It was amusing to see the look on the toll taker’s face as we dashed over the bridge; with me having a breathing tube in my mouth.

The Qantas counter staff could not have been nicer and more caring. At last I caught my breath, was able to relax and watch the world go by.

To be continued

For those who may have an interest in RLS , check the following URL.

Author Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edinburgh on this day in 1850. He is most famous for writing the swashbuckling adventure Treasure Island and the dark tale of Jekyll and Hyde. Read more about the novelist at:-

Isolated grave for “Treasure Island” author

Back in the early 1960’s I planned a trip to Scotland with Pan Am and, at the time, alerted them that I was using a pressure breathing unit for my lung condition. Pan Am assured me that there would be no problem.

It was a holiday weekend and my room mate, before he left, drove me to the local heliport in Oakland from where I was taken to San Francisco. Everyone appeared to be in a rush but I was calm in the thought that I had plenty of time and my reservations had been reconfirmed

When I approached the Pan Am counter I was asked, “What is this?” I explained that it was my breathing unit (by the way the sucker weighed 15 lbs) and that I had cleared this when I made my reservations. The clerk told me that it would be necessary to check with their medical department. Well, you guessed; I was not allowed to board and was advised that I needed a doctor’s certificate that I could withstand a pressure of 5,000 feet, the level at which planes are pressurized.

There was no alternative but to trundle back via helicopter and, since my room mate was not available, get a taxi back home. Hastily, I called my family back in Scotland that I would not be arriving as scheduled and had to further explain about the unit. No, I had not told them of my health situation . Next, I called my doctor; only to be told that he had gone on vacation. Another doctor in his practice said that he would give me a verbal authorization but I explained that a written one was needed. He refused. It was a no-go. Finally the receptionist told me that my doctor was still in town and gave me his telephone number.

To be continued.