John's first political campaign

I'm sure it won't be his last, he really seems to have the fire of politics in his blood. In the contest for the position of mayor of the city of Kingston, he ran fourth, with 377 votes, far behind the three high-profile well-known candidates but well ahead of the other two 'fringe' candidates. I am pleased and proud of this youngest of our grandchildren. He got valuable political experience, conducted a smart and almost cost-free campaign, and perhaps more important, was noticed by more experienced politicians, which could be a useful attribute in a few years if he stays with his career aim and becomes a political journalist. I hope I will stay alive and sentient long enough to see what becomes of this young man.

Our grandson the political star

Young John Last, our grandson (age 19) is making ripples, rather than waves, in his campaign to be elected mayor of Kingston (pop 135,000) a university city about 250Km
southwest of Ottawa. Kingston is home to the venerable and prestigious Queen's University, the Royal Military College, miscellaneous light industries; tourism, farming etc also contribute to its economic base. John's campaign is mainly internet-based (he can't afford lawn signs, hire of assembly halls, etc), and hasn't got a team for door-to-door campaigning: he has no moneyed special interest backers. If I've got the right URL, you can see his picture and an article about him at
http://www.ktw.ca/ArticleDisplay.aspx?e=2780352 (I tried unsuccessfully to upload a very good photo of John that heads this article, but the file format would not upload; however you can see it- and read the article - if you copy and paste the URL above into your browser).

There are various other links and a website, http://www.runthistown.ca/
There were originally four of them involved in this but it seems to have
narrowed down now to John. It would be a hoot if he were to win, which in this time of political volatility isn't entirely impossible.It's valuable experience for his future career, no matter what the outcome.

He has lived in Kingston about half of his life. His campaign got a big boost this week when he was endorsed by the Queen's University student newspaper. Their editorial staff interviewed all the candidates, asked each of them three leading questions, said his responses were the best, most impressive of all the candidates. You can see this editorial at http://www.queensjournal.ca/story/2010-10-22/editorials/last-doesnt-lack-lustre/ where it appears with a cartoon that is quite a good likeness.

The election is on Monday October 25. We will be awaiting the outcome with keen interest

How to spot good writing

Today I did what I suggested in the last note I posted: I read aloud to Wendy the Introduction and part of Chapter 1 of Bill Bryson's new book, At Home. Out loud, his words read mellifluously, proof if proof were needed, that he writes extremely well. This experiment will continue for as long as Wendy wants it to continue. I haven't read aloud since we lived in Edinburgh in the 1960s: I had a commodious chair in which I sat with Rebecca and David beside me, each perched on a low, broad arm of the chair, and skinny little runt Jonathan beside me. Whatever happened to that chair? Why didn't we bring it to Canada with us, in the same way we brought our piano, the breakfront bookcase and several other living room chairs? I missed that chair for years; I suppose someone made an offer for it that we couldn't refuse. But I digress. I was writing about reading aloud. I treasure the memory of those reading aloud evening experiences because they were so pleasurable; and what made them so was only partly that in this way I bonded more closely to all three children. Another part of the experience was that we read some of the greatest works in the English language -- children's books to be sure, but great literature nevertheless. Reading Bill Bryson aloud is as pleasurable because he is such a fine writer.

Serendipity, or Finding lost treasures

In each of our last two homes before we moved to our apartment at 300 Queen Elizabeth Drive, I had over 70 meters of book shelves - 76 meters at 34 Waverly Street, 72 meters at 685 Echo Drive; here I have 24 meters. So several shelves hold rows of books behind other books and many hold books untidily stacked in front of or on top of more or less neat rows of books. The long column of Hakluyt's Voyages, the Everyman Encyclopedia, and several other sets are sturdy enough, and leave enough space above them and the bottom of the shelf above, to hold a pile or a few books for which otherwise there would be no space anywhere. What's more, when we moved in here I didn't take the time and trouble I'd taken previously to organize and arrange my books. So that's why I often hunt long and fruitlessly for a book I know I still have, that I didn't pass on to one of our children or grandchildren, or dispose of to a dealer or in a garage sale. (There is also the John Last Collection of over 700 rare and antiquarian books on medicine, public health and related sciences that is safely stowed in the Roddick Room of the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons). Hunting is fun though, even when there's only 24 meters to hunt through. I've remarked before in this blog about the unexpected delight of coming upon a lost treasure when hunting for something else altogether. This afternoon in this way I found Bill Bryson's Notes from a Small Island. I'm a great admirer of Bill Bryson, and mine is a treasured copy I bought in London many years ago, almost an identical twin of one I saw last week on the shelves in the corridor between the tower and the garage; but not quite a twin because mine is the original UK published version, the one in our condo's library was published in Canada, with the subtle changes in wording and style that publishers make presumably in the belief that readers are insular idiots. I should compare the UK and Canadian versions, but the latter quickly disappeared from the condo's little collection so the opportunity was lost. Why do I admire Bill Bryson? An American from the middle of Middle America, he's married to an Englishwoman and has lived most of his adult life in England. He has written one of the best books extant on the English language (The Mother Tongue) and several of the best, certainly the funniest, travel books of modern times. Notes from a Small Island exposes mercilessly some of the flaws and fault lines of modern Britain and British life and times, but it's written with love and affection unequalled in any other travel book. Most of his other travel books are like this, often with rich patches of laugh-out-loud rollicking wit. I read Notes from a Small Island on a train trip from London to Edinburgh and it's as well that most of the time I had the carriage to myself (it was one of those modern long carriages, not cut up into compartments) so my guffaws of unrestrained mirth didn't disturb fellow-travellers. For her birthday last week, I got Wendy several books, one of which is Bill Bryson's latest, At Home. It looks full of interesting, quirky, odd, offbeat information and ideas. It may be hard to resist the temptation of having first dibs -- or maybe this is one I could read aloud to her...

birthday celebrations

Yesterday, October 14, was Wendy's birthday, her 85th. We celebrated in a low-key way, 'we' being Rebecca, Richard, David, Jonathan, Sharon Morrison, Wendy's charismatic personal care worker, and I. Throughout the day, various friends and neighbours popped in briefly (just about everyone now is aware that brief visits are better than long ones).

Wendy got some splendid presents, practical things like large handkerchiefs and a useful device from David to help her lift herself off a chair, books by Stuart McLean and Bill Bryson among others, a new wrist watch (an el cheapo one from Zellers, not a multi-mega-buck watch by Cartier or Rolex); gloves and mittens, and a lovely fur 'scarf' that doubles as a muff, from Suzy and Elfie Juneau. The most original present is a fancy printed and bound copy of Richard's menu; having been associated for many years with the restaurant business, Richard knows where to go to have fancy menus produced. The result appears in the two pictures at the top, the cover, and the specialty dishes he has prepared. Most people can eat these with knife and fork. For Wendy's special consumption, Richard blends each of these, and freezes them in ice-block sized nuggets. Our freezer is full of rows of labeled plastic bags full of nuggets of each dish, which we thaw and heat as required. This began as an experiment that has been so highly successful that we have encouraged Richard to consider making a commercial venture of his creations. I have a hunch that this venture would be successful enough for us all to retire on the proceeds.

Thanksgiving Parade of Lasts - a photo album

Three perfect days: cold, frosty mornings than warm sunshine all day, lighting the brilliant Fall colours. Accompanied by Wendy's personal care worker Sharon Morrison, our three kids and I took Wendy out in her power wheelchair. Jonathan,in his role as the official family photographer, took many photos. Here is a selection, including one of him when he entrusted the camera to Sharon. I tried unsuccessfully to arrange them in rows but this elderly computer is moody, crotchety, has the sulks or for some other reason best known to itself it won't do what I tell it to do. Also, the photos aren't arranged in the order that things actually happened.

The Speed FiendTerrorizing the Neighbourhood

As a learner-driver, Wendy is confined to two speeds in her power wheelchair, for easy reference designated "snail" and "tortoise." As the names imply, these are not the highest speeds at which the chair will move. Yet to judge from the expression on her face -- reminiscent of an E H Shepherd drawing of Toad of Toad Hall at the wheel of his racing car in The Wind in the Willows -- Wendy has challenged a chipmunk to a race to the next tree, or perhaps has just run one down and is pursuing another. Anyway, it's a picture that signifies how much she was enjoying her spin in the open air on a lovely autumn day with the colours almost at their best; today I think they were a little nearer perfection, and tomorrow they may achieve their utmost brilliance.

There's no doubt her chair has been a great morale-booster, a timely, very necessary boost because life otherwise has not been fun lately. She is increasingly troubled by excessive salivation and mucus production so her suction machine is her best friend. She is using all her high-tech equipment with increasing confidence and skill, managing the Dynavox speech synthesizer, mainly to write short notes or single words, rather than lengthy speeches. The subcutaneous line through which I can administer a surreptitious dose of Medazalam to calm her when she gets agitated is another great help. I don't over-use this, perhaps twice or three times in 24 hours.

We continue to be enormously grateful and favorably impressed by the dedication, competence, charisma, and overall pleasantness of the battalion of skilled professional workers, community-based and at the ALS Clinic. All act as if Wendy is their only patient, though we know they have many others. These include quite a lot of patients with motor neurone disease, locally known as ALS. It's a commoner disease than I'd always thought until it struck so close to home. Epidemiological evidence is rather sparse and not informative, not even a plethora of intriguing clues as there are with MS and breast cancer. So we are a long way from discovering how to prevent it. Nonetheless, some time in this blog I must say a little about its epidemiology, which has some intriguing features.

noise-makers

Yesterday Jonathan 'personalized' Wendy's power wheelchair with noise-makers to attract my attention more effectively than the little tweeter with which it was equipped when we got it. That little tweeter sounds exactly like the warning signal a reversing truck might make on the street outside, so when I heard it I took no notice. Jonathan got two simple non-electronic noise makers, a little bicycle bell, and - at my suggestion - a little trumpet operated by a rubber bulb. These are screwed to the frame, one on each side just below the arm rests. I'm happy to report that the trumpet with the rubber bulb is a great success. It's easy for her to squeeze and it makes a very distinctive noise. It even evokes happy memories: in 1977-78 when we lived for a year in New York City we had one each of these on our bikes and could communicate with each other by coded toots -- until someone nicked our tooters. Unfortunately they were secured to the bike frame only with wing-nuts, not nut-and bolt, so were very easily undone and spirited away.

Wendy is continuing to fade away. Yesterday her weight had dropped to 77 pounds, much of the loss being further wasting away of muscle mass. She is increasingly afflicted with excessive mucus and salivary secretions, so the little portable suction machine is her best friend.

We are so pleased that Jonathan managed to persuade her to venture out into the open air yesterday. It was a perfect sunny Fall day, not a cloud in the sky, hardly a breath of wind, the trees a blaze of colour. Overnight it turned cold and today it's raining, so she made her open air expedition in the nick of time. Jonathan took lots of photos too, so as soon as I've had a chance to look at them I'll post a selection on this blog.

Wendy has a line now

For several months,Wendy has been taking benzo-diazapam by mouth and for more than two months I have been giving her an injection of Medazolam, a benzo-diazopam derivative that acts as a sedative and tranquillizer, at bed time every night. Lately I have had to give her another injection when the bed-time dose wore off, usually between 11.30 pm and about 0100; occasionally she has to have a third dose around 0300 to 0400. As you can imagine this is pretty disruptive of her sleep and mine. When Louise Coulombe called yesterday afternoon (a very busy day of visits, we had half a dozen friends drop in briefly one at a time as well as the dietician, the technician from the power wheelchair supplier, and the therapist who fitted her for the chair) and I told her about Wendy's and my disrupted sleep. She said it was time for Wendy to have a subcutaneous line and continuous small doses of Medazolam, with the option of a larger bolus as necessary, for instance to settle her for her afternoon nap. Dejardins pharmacy, which is licenced to distribute narcotics and similar supplies, arrived at 1015 last night with the boxes of supplies, and this morning, just as I was finishing off dressing Wendy's peg tube, Jodi Gannon, our visiting nurse, arrived and set everything up. So Wendy has become even more bionic! She gets most of hr nourishment from the PEG Tube which I use four times daily to give her high-energy liquid and sundry medications; but she also has -and greatly enjoys - food by mouth. At breakfast time she has jellied orange juice, mashed banana and a cup of tea; at lunch she has a thawed-out mushroom or carrot soup a la David Last, laced with whipping cream, and another cup of tear. Her supper, midway between her 4 pm and her 8 pm tube feed, is one of Richard's ever-increasing range of gourmet dishes. I will provide a complete list in a future post because I haven't time for this today.