“Additionally, next week, or maybe the week after, we return to our regular series of wry, some might say jaundiced, series of commentaries about life as an American in Canada.”
That was four weeks ago. A few things have happened since then. On the bright side, Jon got a job offer from McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario, way south of Sudbury, praise geebus.
On the not so bright side, shortly after finishing the edits on the 40th installment of my serialized book, God Can Wait my good friend and editor, Ken, suffered a stroke. No word on whether the two events were related or not.
The good news is that his husband Mark caught the symptoms quickly and had Ken whisked off to a hospital thereby keeping this, as Ken’s doctors said, a mild event. Ken is back home, doing quite well and on his way to making a full recovery, so much so I had no objection to sending him this column for editing.
Praise Geebus, indeed!—Editor
But Wait There’s More
About a week before Ken had his stroke, I pulled a muscle during a workout at our local gym. Never before having sustained an injury in this muscle I wasn’t even aware of its existence. I haven’t studied anatomy that closely for decades, well at least below the epidermis.
The piriformis muscle is this bizarre little muscle that runs behind each glute joining the lower back to the upper surface of each femur. Basically it’s what keeps your butt cheeks from flapping in the wind.
Over the years I’ve strained various muscles throughout my body. More annoying than painful, it usually takes weeks, and in some cases months, for them to fully heal, but they’ve never brought my life to a complete standstill, that is, until I strained the piriformis muscle in my right rear end.
The great sciatic nerve is a bundle of nerves running the length of your body down the spine all the way to your ankles. More importantly it runs right under your piriformis muscles making a knot or trigger point related strain in one of those muscles your sciatic nerve’s worst enemy and, therefore, something the sciatic nerve has no hesitation in letting you know it’s not happy about.
For nearly three weeks I could barely walk around our small apartment without screaming out in excruciating agony. I either slept or sat all day every day. While sitting, I began researching what is known as Piriformis Syndrome and more importantly how to treat it.
For the last two weeks I’ve stretched that muscle longer and more often than a wad of salt water taffy in the window of a seaside boardwalk candy shop.
Like all things internet-related, there is a mountain of material related to this condition, a great deal of it contradictory. After dismissing all the articles that determined I had terminal cancer with less than three months to live, I came to realize that there is little, medically, that can be done to treat this condition. It really all boils down to varying forms of physical therapy.
The most often repeated exercise for easing the strain at the heart of the pain is to sit down, on the floor if you can, the edge of a bed, or in chair, and place the injured leg across the other. Next, clasp the ankle of the crossed leg with one hand and brace yourself at about the two o’clock position with the other hand.
Once in position, keeping a neutral spine (straight back), bend at the hips—lean forward over the thigh of the injured leg until you can feel stretching and a slight pain in the area of the strain.
Don’t bounce, just lean over as far as you can without further injuring yourself. Do this about 35 to 45 seconds at a time four or five times a day. This will stretch out the injured fibers of the muscle and presumably help reduce the knot and ease the pain.
For the last two weeks I’ve stretched that muscle longer and more often than a wad of salt water taffy in the window of a seaside boardwalk candy shop. It is helping but I still have a long way to go.
Why Not See A Doctor?
Therein lies the rub, if you’ll pardon the pun.
As I’ve said before, Canada has great healthcare, if you’re a Canadian. While your automobile insurance quite effectively travels across the US-Canadian border, and vice versa, your health insurance not so much.
If, as an American, you require medical care while in Canada, you either need to first acquire travel insurance, which rarely covers more than urgent or emergency care, or pay cash for medical services rendered.
In Sudbury a trip to any one of the cities walk-in clinics costs $120 CA or about $93 US, and that’s just to see a doctor. Anything ordered up by the doctor, such as scans or blood tests. is extra. I should know.
Last week, I went to a nearby clinic for help with the swelling in my feet and legs brought on by all my inactivity. While there the doctor I saw, upon discovering I’m a Type 2 diabetic who hasn’t had blood work done in over 18 months, rightfully insisted I have the standard series of tests performed, as well as having my legs scanned for clots.
Jon and I spent the remainder of the day shuttling from the clinic to an ultrasound facility in the south end of town and a lab back in the north end of town.
On the bright side, Jon got a job offer from McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario, way south of Sudbury, praise geebus.
At the end of the day, I’d spent $120 for the medical consultation, $213 for the lab work, and heaven only knows how much for the ultrasound they’re going to bill me. To be sure far less than the same services would cost in the US, however, when you’re on a fixed income it’s still a budget buster.
Late that afternoon I got a call from the doctor saying the ultrasound came back clear and I could resume doing things to help drain the fluid in my feet and legs. The blood test results took another two days.
Late Thursday the clinic called and said the doctor would like me to come back in to discuss my test results. The following morning I returned to the clinic, waited 45 minutes before being called up to the admissions desk and was told it would be another $120 for what to me was simply the follow up and conclusion to my previous visit.
The soulless young wench behind the counter wouldn’t hear of it. If I wanted to talk to a doctor about the results of my lab work, which he ordered, I would have to pay $120 in cash for a “second visit.”
Aren’t You Married To A Canadian?
Why yes, yes I am. It doesn’t matter. Under Ontario law, for each province administers its own healthcare plans, even though Jon and I are legally married, I’m still considered a visitor and therefore not entitled to coverage.
I must first submit to Canadian Immigration an application for Permanent Residency status, not citizenship, just for the right to live here full time. Once granted, I will be allowed to partake of many Ontario and Canadian national social services and not before.
Unable to afford the services of an immigration attorney, it has taken Jon and I the better part of a year to assemble and complete a permanent residency application. Or at least we thought we had.
Between my injury and Kenny’s stroke, my residency application was returned because it contained two errors.
“Once corrected you may resubmit your application. Be sure to submit the updated, 02/2018 Checklist with your new application or it will be returned.”
The updated checklist required we complete a brand new form, along with redoing three of the five previous forms, which had also been updated 02/2018.
To recap, serialized version of book completed, editor and best friend has a stroke, husband gets wonderful job offer in southern part of province, I pull a sciatic nerve torturing muscle, Sudbury medical system takes me for a costly ride and Canadian Immigration wants more paper work.
And to top things off, Jon, despite having a great new job waiting for him, still has one month left of this semester at Cambrian College here in Sudbury, the fourth of six 2nd Class Power Engineering exams to take, and tomorrow, walking stick, ibuprofen, and all, I hobble off for our new hometown of Hamilton, Ontario to begin house hunting.
Stay tuned, it promises to be an interesting spring here at the Cafe.
…tomorrow, walking stick, ibuprofen, and all, I hobble off for our new hometown of Hamilton, Ontario to begin house hunting.
Edited by
Kenneth Larsen
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