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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 03 July 2026

Hits: 25

I had come to believe I had Pneumonia, following the neon yellow mucous, the general feeling of fatigue, exhaustion from trifling exertions, a constantly running nose, so I’d had the plan to go to the hospital but so as not to offend anyone I first submitted to the suggestions of all my well meaning neighbours and friends.

This was the week of quack remedies, the cutting back on Alcohol, which only made me restless and sleepless at night. There was the Mullein Nebulizer, the Turmeric/Ginger/Honey/Peppermint teas, the spicy foods and menthol crystals and camphor, and finally it came time to discard all this friendly advice and folk remedies and see a doctor.

After work on Tuesday only I’m again exhausted and so wake up - far too early - Wednesday morning and take a cab up to the hospital. I arrive at 5:45, only the doors to emergency don't open until 6:45. This is not an emergency, not by a long shot, but if you don't have a family doctor these are the steps you're reduced to.

Doors open, I check in with nurse, and shortly thereafter I've been interviewed and admitted. Early morning is the time to go.

“3 Hour Tour”

…”…sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…”

The admission, a short process, I’m here about three things. #1 Pneumonia, #2 Hernia, #3 cutting back on my drinking and the CBD, CBN, CBG is not helping me to stay asleep, any suggestions?

Standard run down of questions - am I experiencing any withdrawal from Alcohol, the answer - other than "can't sleep" is none. He asks me some questions, about day of the week, my name and birthday, am I sensitive to the light, any hallucinations, auditory or otherwise, am I experiencing the DT's, can I hold my hands level in front of my body, are my extremities (wrists, ankles) swollen, etc, etc. 

I have none. I'm asymptomatic. This will come to be known as a miracle throughout the unit. Swabs for my supposed Pneumonia, listening to my heart, my lungs, checking my blood pressure, pulse - both high, but they have been as long as I can remember, last time I was here for pneumonia they were the same...

This time for some reason it's different. The Hernia will go unremarked the rest of my visit, and the Pneumonia is dismissed in a couple of days.

"One disease, long life; no disease, short life"

- Chinese Saying 

Well, this would be the disease…

I've been assigned a room while they run some tests. Second floor, room subdivided/partitioned into 3 by a thin blue curtain. The other 'rooms' - one is occupied by a younger man, late 30's/early 40's going through severe alcohol withdrawal. The other, an 80 something year old man waiting here to die. I'll come back to them both.

I'm visited by a series of doctors, nurses and trainees. The same inane series of questions is restated with every new visit. “Can I have your Full name and date of birth? And can you tell me what day of the week it is? The Date? ….seriously, these are the lifeline questions from “Who wants to be a millionaire, Kootenay Edition"…”Are the lights too bright? Are you itchy? Do you feel anything crawling on your skin? Can you hold your hands out for me? Have you had any hallucinations? Are you hearing any voices telling you to harm yourself or others….?”

I've had none of these and am beginning to doubt I ever was an Alcoholic. The young man a couple of beds over, he's had all of them. 

I'm given saline via the IV, hourly monitoring of blood pressure, heart rate, an Electro-Cardio Gram and an ECT, I'm weighed, poked, prodded, and then finally the ultrasound. This on the second day. And this is the clincher, this destroys any hope I might have of getting out of here in a timely manner, there's an issue and it isn't Pneumonia. 

One doctor consulted me to advise that while the condition was serious, it might not be as serious as they think, the Ultrasound will clear it up.  

The ultrasound confirmed that it was worse than expected. My blood pressure, somewhere around 140-150/100, my heart-rate in the low 130's. I have what they call a "Sinus Tachycardia". And the ultrasound has confirmed that my heart is pumping between 5-15% of my blood, typical function should be in the mid 60's. 

Tests are done, and now it's hurry-up and wait. I've received Medical EI - there's no way I can go back to work with this diagnosis, and the physicians, they're taking it seriously. I'll most likely be here until next week while they try and get me a bed in Kelowna.

They explain why and what awaits. "I should be dead" is largely refuted by the fact that I'm alive, and they rather grudgingly agree, only I still have to see the specialists...

The next few days fall into a rhythm. In the morning nurse comes in, does Blood Pressure, Heart Rate, Blood Oxygen, gives me a mix-up of meds designed to lower my blood pressure, clear any clots, asks me my name, date of birth, day of the week (still no damned withdrawal, my apologies), this will be done several times throughout the day by the presiding nurse, there's breakfast, lunch dinner, little cups of milk/juice cocktail/margarine tabs, the instant coffee/lukewarm tea, the oatmeal, meat, veg combos that are borderline inedible; Soylent in a variety of colours, Soylent Beige, Soylent Green, Soylent....

Hospital food.

***

I don't want to be here, I didn't prepare for this - I brought only my phone and a book. I've met the neighbours. The young man, not properly introduced, but I listened in - eavesdropped - on his therapy sessions, he's been here before, will be back again. 

I pop outside a few times throughout the day to have a cigarette. I'm not smoking, not hard, more looking for the clearness of head that comes with being outdoors, away from the bedlam that is the hospital...Every morning they offer me a nicotine patch to try and discourage me from the cigarette, invest more fully in the madhouses, but I refuse. I assure them that I will have no problem quitting when this insanity is past and I'm safely back in my own house. But - all of this - all at once - it's a bit much. And I'm not giving up my final joy, my last joy, not now when there's so much other stress to divert me...

The man in the bed across, 80 some years old, sent here to die of a broken leg some 35 weeks before, is constantly soiling himself in the middle of the night, a big, older man, needing help out of his bed; calling for help every 20 minutes, “It’s a big one…!” referring to a #2 that’s already half slid down his leg; or yelling in the middle of the night “I Peed! I Peed!” or lying in bed in that gaping slack-jawed mockery of death; the night terrors, night talking in German or English or very often indistinguishable, the gasping and death rattles, the nurses are extraordinary in their patience.

Nights aren't so good for sleep. In the afternoons I fall into a deep nap - deep, and dream as I haven’t dreamed in decades, and am woken by his guests, family, friends, come to visit and shouting at the sheer curtains as if trying to hear their echo’s off the Matterhorn, I want to cry, scream, but - hey - I’m not dying. Probably. And it’s funny how they all bring him gifts that line his window ledge as if he’s going to take them all with him to his tomb, the amount of possessions he’s here, his general condition, everyone, including him, knows he’s not leaving.

The Kitchen:

The Kitchen, where I discover I can make my own coffee only all the coffee is decaffeinated; there are boxes of “thickener” for foods & drinks, texture being an important part of every hospital meal, a chart provides a guide for nursing staff, sadly there's no chart dealing with the taste, the colour, the nutrition or “plausibility” of said food, it's all a bit surreal...

I hear from people I haven't heard from for years, Melodie, who I worked with years ago at the Dock 'n' Duck, wondering what treasures I've found, and Anna, an ancient X, just crossing her mind, and these thoughts while kind come at a time that predisposes me to think I'm pulling on a string in the current and that they're somehow foreshadowing something final...

No one knows I'm here.

***

Liminal Spaces

This, the last of all liminal spaces,

the IV drip drip dripping, the darkened corridors and plated up despair served lukewarm,

There’s no light at the end of these tunnels,

And all these years I’ve been the king of liminal spaces 

and now the destination’s now finally in sight;

***

My pulse rate drops alarmingly overnight they tell me, they have me wired up to a wireless heart monitor to monitor my vitals. My medications increase daily as they try new things in the hopes of dropping my pulse rate, blood pressure. Nothing so far is working.

This hospital, it's where all hope goes to die. I haven't been in - not to stay properly at least - a hospital for over 50 years. 

I'm thoroughly appalled. The food, the company, by and large, (sick people waiting to die), the lack of "wellness" and the concentration on sickness and misfortune, misery, no one gets better here. The best you can hope for is a prescription and to be released to recover in your own time and space. But here - well, no recovery happens here.

I look about at the crowded wards, the harried nurses and staff, and think of the the outlandish imaginations of the Hollywood Auteurs that write “House M.D.” or “General Hospital”, lies, every one, the Doctors are handsome, true, the nurses are cute, and undoubtedly they are prone to all manners of inappropriate relationships but here, in this setting, with these patients?

I could do better. I'd bring Gordon Ramsay in to critique the food, do a week as a patient, there’s entertainment, the cupboard of Campbell’s soup, Zest Crackers, iodized salt & pepper packages, oatmeal, decaf instant coffee, his room-mate whooping out “I Peed!! I Peed!!!” or “It’s a BIG ONE..”, the nurses scolding the patients for playing in their faeces, I'd never thought of nursing, ever, but having witnessed it first hand - well, $30, $35 an hour is a pittance given the work they’re doing…

Last night the older roommate, hereafter "Von Shitzhizpantz" in fits. Sleep talking, loudly, he's complaining he can’t get out of bed, can’t get dressed, needs to get to the dentist. The dentist, I’m just guessing, it’s his way of trying to find what’s been unsaid in his life, he’s overdue, largely vegetative, prone to these fits of confusion, he wakes up and buzzes the nurse to tell her how he's so confused; he's unable to live because there are things he needed to say or do and has somehow forgotten but these nightmares well up again in his dreams…

It's a 4 diaper night. When I entered the room he asked loudly, repeatedly, in a tremulous, nervous, stringy Werner Herzog sort of voice and accent "Who's there????", he's terrified, I know who he's waiting for. All night long, 4 times, "I Peed!!!', "It's a Big ONE!", he's not even trying anymore, by 4 AM he's had 4 diaper changes, he's not even trying to go to the washroom and I've rather had it with his psycho-sexualization, this infantilization of his faeces, my compassion is exhausted. He's now woken up and demanding breakfast, 4:00 AM, buzzing on the buzzer, once, twice, then a hundred times, the nurses are ignoring him until they no longer can and come in to confront him, only he can't remember, "What do you need?", only he doesn't know, can't remember, he's forgotten already, and they tell him again to go to sleep.

I'm getting no sleep.

Daytime he spends dropping things on the floor like a toddler, then paging the nurse to come pick them up. His family, his children, have given him a phone that, depending on how loudly you shout into it will connect you with relatives in Nelson or Kelowna, and so there's no catching up on my sleep in the daytime either.

The Doctor thinks I should quit smoking.

The Alcoholic has been discharged and we've a new patient. My age, 5'8", maybe 240 or 300 lbs, he's a short mountain lying on the bed, I'm not sure why he's here. 

I hear him talking with the physiotherapist, they're taking him for a walk. Only a walk is 4-5 pushes of a wheeled stroller across the room, then back to bed because he's too worked up. Meanwhile he's telling all the nurses and physiotherapist how he's in great shape, he's been doing this thing called "Chair Tai-Chi", and I'm laughing because I've seen the ads for it on Facebook, YouTube, it's a scam designed to persuade older men they're not in dire shape...

The owner of the restaurant comes to visit. I had to tell him, there was no way I was going back to work. And he's kind, offers to bring me clothes, food - soup, whatever I want to eat, and we have a laugh at my circumstance, it is all very droll. I promise to swing by the restaurant as soon as I'm done here and he wants to make sure that I'm OK, I'm family, whatever I want I need only to ask...

He's definitely been one of my better employers, but I know - I'm done with restaurants. This "illness" - it's a physical manifestation of my done-ness, it's time to do other things. And while the locker diminishes, items are sold, books are traded, there's a lot left to do before I can comfortably shed this mortal coil, and this hospital, it's my body's way of urging me along...

There's a code blue on second, not surprising.  

....And finally it's Monday, and I'm waiting the dismissal orders that will see me off to Kelowna. I've almost given up, it's 2:30 in the afternoon when the nurse comes to tell me. Pack up my things, and 5 minutes later the paramedics are there with the stretcher, I opt to walk. They have a tendency to make things a little overly dramatic.

The ambulance ride - to Midway, where I swap onto a new ambulance, then Kelowna, where once again I'm submitted to the same rigour of questions re: Name, Birthdate, Day of Week, they take my vitals, blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, there's the weigh-in, pills, blood thinners, blood samples, the walking ECG and the carry-about heart monitor, the IV flush and Kelowna, well, it's a hell of a lot better than Nelson. My own hospital room, bed, bathroom, a non-functional TV, and I'm advised by the nurses what to expect...

This routine, every role has a different nurse - in Nelson, one covered them all, here, every role has it's own agent. And every one has to ask you again to confirm your name and birthdate, every time.

The "own bed" is somewhat curtailed by the measurement of my vitals at 12:00 and 4:00 AM, but I fall to sleep quickly thereafter, and these interruptions, next to my room-mates in Nelson, they're trifles. I sleep like the dead.

The next day - Tuesday - is set to be the procedure. They tell me not to eat or drink, and they'll confirm it just as soon as they know.

The Procedure

There are two - the first - I must swill an anaesthesia and have a camera thrust down my esophagus to poke round my heart and ensure there are no blood clots. The second, a Cardio-Version, wherein they shock my heart back into a regular rhythm and end the arterial flutters. All morning and in to the afternoon I wait. 18 hours now without food. And I'm getting hungry. Finally, 2:30 confirmation comes, it will happen within the half hour...

At 3:15 I'm on a stretcher with a couple of nurses in the "room". The doctor, anesthesiologist, other characters peripheral to the operation. I gargle the bitter anesthesia, swallow, then again, it's disgusting, but they're as well feeding anesthesia into my IV, there's a burning in my arm, it hurts and I complain...

And the room is empty and there's a nurse at the foot of the bed and she catches my eye, it's now - what? 4:00? I've teleported through time. And the procedure is a success. My heart rate, normal, blood pressure, normal. And this is it.

***

I'm in for observation the rest of the day, and Wednesday I'm discharged. The doctor recommended keeping me in for further tests - but - medicine has done what it can, and the rest is up to me; and this, this has been one of the longest weeks of my life.

I get my discharge papers, sign off, a thick sheaf of prescriptions, notes, change back into my civilian clothes, and I am free...

There will be further check-ins at the hospital, with the specialists, but provided I don't relapse into any bad habits this is the beginning of a fine recovery. Today, at the pharmacy filling my prescriptions, I check my blood pressure and heart rate. 110/72, 61 BPM. 

Now - home, and there are many things to be caught up upon and time is flying so, if you'll please excuse me...

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 20 June 2026

Hits: 112

In the news, Israel still genociding, Iran Peace Deal thwarted, Trumps newly painted swamp in front of the White House, there was the Europeans rejection of Palantir, Microsoft, and coming up with their own payment system (no longer US based MC/Visa)...

So - Europe at least is getting their shit together, and fast, the rise of the Middle Powers so to speak...

And there's the good-news videos of Ukraine hitting Russian Oilfields and hard, at the end of all this they're going to end up with more territory than they started with...

Wednesday I made Cannelloni. I don't know why; random, found some Cannelloni noodles aging in my cupboard, thought to use them up. And never have I put more effort into a meal to less effect. In the end, it was exactly what it was supposed to be, only I don't think I'm a Cannelloni fan, and having to mix, stuff the filling, make the sauce, well, - a lot of work when I could have cooked up an infinitely superior bowl of pasta in 10 minutes.

Wednesday as well I woke up bunged thoroughly up, thick neon yellow mucus, blowing my nose every 5 minutes, I'm thinking that it's the CBD working on reducing my inflammation...

Thursday morning and I wake up greatly improved, a friend drops off a Mullein tincture to clear my lungs, funny thing is she drops it off, does't say anything about what it is; yet all day my Facebook is filled up with videos telling me I'm using it wrong...

How is this possible?

And, to make matters worse I got a live one with my CBD gummies, and I'm high first thing in the morning, which is not how I like to wake up. I'm pretty sure all the "numbers" on the front - THC, CBD, they're just estimates, I have a hard time believing any of this stuff comes from a competent facility...

And yesterday, busy on the patio at work, I'm not ready for this, not at all...

The highlight of the week - so far - and it's a dark highlight, I shouldn't laugh but there's a video out of Brazil of a couple of guys carrying a young woman over their heads to a bridge and throwing her off. Then the camera pans down to the bungee cord - unsecured at either end, and the guys just looking over in disbelief as they realize what they just did.

It's not funny, and their comical stupidity cost their customer her life, but - well, dark humour makes sense of dark times. 

Which takes us to today, far too hot outside, cool in the library, time to find some lunch, probably a veggie wrap, as I'm overdue for some leafy produce...

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 15 June 2026

Hits: 140

I wonder, I mean, so much is made of their intelligence and yet - when I appear they caw three times and signal all the crows surrounding that I am “here”. They recognize me regardless of my clothing, and I change sometimes 3 times a day (painting, out and about, work). Nonetheless they find me. Yet when they summon all kith and kin they joust and steal and harass each other for the peanuts I throw out? Now, if you wanted exclusivity on a resource wouldn’t you just keep quiet about it? Not let the others know? Nope, Invite everyone to the feast and fight and quarrel over the spoils…..

Watching the battle, one small crow being bullied by the big shoe-fucking pigeon, who after bullying the crow comes after me, flapping around my head, landing beside me, trying to peck me (and I shove it away, sky-rat's pissing me off).

A Murder of Crows, now a plague, a pestilence, a disappointment, discouragement, Dollarama is out of peanuts and so I’m forced to by the bulk blanched peanuts, sunflower seeds, and a small bag of expensive cashews. The crows love the cashews, the new favourite, ignoring the peanuts now, waiting for the cashew throw, and the pigeons are as stupid and annoying as ever. I conceive the brilliant idea of buying a few bulk bags of tiny seed - Quinoa, Flax, Sesame, Millet, crush up some peanuts and sunflower seeds, sprinkle this away from the theatre of crows and it stops the pigeons harassing them and me, a cup of this mix will keep a dozen of them busy for about 20 minutes, peck-peck-pecking the ground, the crows run them off to investigate but there's nothing of interest to them there...

I ran out of peanuts to feed the crows,

wherein their disappointment was quite profound,

Circled me and landed, looked askance at the ground,

Looked away, looked up, looked down, just waited in sorrow, 

or perched above while I explained,

and they all pace aimlessly around

quite dismal, neglected, abject in their despair, their distress surrounds me 

there's no doubt they've been let-down... 

Dollarama still out of peanuts, I go to Save-On, theirs - inferior quality, triple the price, asking where they are and the clerk knows - “You have a crow as well?”, we banter - could be the same ones that are touching me; hard to tell, “IS yours black as well?” I have a dozen, two of which are friendly, even without peanuts.

I suck it up and pay too much for too few peanuts of an inferior quality. I'd continue with the cashews, only I'm not rich.

***

I've tidied my apartment to a passable state for Inspection. Which won't happen until tomorrow, I'm thinking it should pass, but every closet is filled to bursting, I have far too much stuff - still, and working through it, bit by bit, piece by piece...The art supplies alone, enough to fill a 1000 sq foot studio, and they have to be used up, there's no pawning them off on anybody else, time to get to work...

***

Sleep, waking at 4:00 AM, my thoughts are rattling around my head uneasy dreams like restless rusty thoughts that clank around and around my head, inescapable loops of the days news, dire current events, stressful days at work, nothing worth dreaming about and still the thoughts go on, best described as the dry rattling of rusty chains on broken rusty sprockets, less dreams than noise. I try but the CBD, it’s a different thing, I sleep deep, well, wake and my thoughts are more like smooth, like on a cotton cloud, warm, lie in, enjoy the slightly stoned lying in before getting up and productive for the day. I need a break from social media, reddit, the internet...

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 05 June 2026

Hits: 178

It's been a while since I went for groceries, instead opting to go to the Co-op and get a days worth at a time.

Eating fancy cuts of meat, like Bison and Venison and Elk, I expect to pay more for this and so there's no complaints.

But at the Save-on, and I'm confronted with how expensive quite literally everything has gotten, vegetables, Olive Oil, the basics, staples, lean ground beef at $11 a pound, sure, enough for 3, 4 meals, but still...

Bloody hell. And this is just the beginning, the straits of Hormuz still being closed and there's a famine in the pipes...