INIMICAL

(02,24,2024) Inimical describes one who is adverse in effect or tendency. In fact, they can be downright hostile and unfriendly. This accurately portrays the American Republicans in Congress, the party of the P.O.T.A.S. (President of the American Supremacists). And, the same can be said for the conservative party which currently runs the province of Ontario, in Canada. Here, Ontario’s corrupt premier, Doug Ford, has not only appropriated prime Greenbelt land, for his own greedy purposes, but he is also talking about placing a sales tax on food and even getting rid of seniors’ pensions as well as their health care. He is trying to privatize everything so that his government’s treasury (whose coffers he treats as his personal piggy bank) does not have to foot the bill for anything (even though the money actually belongs to the people) while they are squeezing more money out of the taxpayer. Ford does this so that we, the people, have to pay for his own self- glorifying grand schemes which profit none but his rich buddies. Ford even went after the people, who require special help the most, by drastically reducing the medical assistance to the families of children with autism. Under Doug Ford’s government, his new Ontario Autism Program has seen fewer young children receiving the core clinical services which they require. Doug Ford cares nothing for the young, the sick or infirmed, nor the elderly. He thumbs his nose at farmers whose prime land he has stolen. He is completely void of character, morals and any sense of what is right. Mr. Ford, like his counterparts in the states, has lost his humanity (if, indeed, he ever had any). Likewise, the Republican party, in America’s House of Congress, have ruled out compassion, decency, honesty and any empathy whatsoever, for their fellow human beings, while worshipping at the feet of the anti-Christ, the P.O.T.A.S., who has openly declared that he will go after and punish good and honest people while he destroys democracy. These two evil would-be conservative dictatorships are evidence of a very fundamental shift in the way the far right view and treat the people who have elected them to office. In fact, the total lack of sympathy, on their part, tends to make me worry about an even greater threat that, now, seems to have grown into a pandemic. I am speaking about humankind’s inability for any kind of serious diplomacy through communication. Mistrust of all others has become innate in many a person, especially if another is of different background, race, colour or religion. It has been taking seed and growing, over the past several decades, just like a poisonous weed, and has become inherent in far too many people. Our children have picked up on this, as they have, apparently, been doing for decades, and it bothers them to the point at which they become afraid, depressed and worrisome! I, myself, have dealt with bouts of depression, in the past, trying to understand why this world is in such turmoil. I even had to visit with a psychologist, over the course of a few weeks, in order to help me climb back out of my funk. Then, I had to helplessly watch as both of my daughters had slowly slipped into the same crevasse, and began to suffer from clinical depression, for which they are still being prescribed medication. I used to blame myself for their plight, either because I deemed myself as being part of the cause, or for the fact that I could not do enough to prevent it, even though I tried, and yet, I could not do anything to protect them from the hate that is festering among the world’s population, today! Although I still carry some of that blame, or guilt, I have come to realize that these are symptoms of an earth wide epidemic, which has been spreading, exponentially, for centuries or even millennia! Our children, who are so innocent and trusting when they are brought into this world, soon learn that something is wrong. They are quick to sense when someone is harbouring ill will toward another. And, suddenly, their innocence is replaced by fear and dislike of another human being! I came to realize this, with shocking clarity, many years ago, while speaking with my grandson, who was only about four years old at the time. He had joined me, on the sofa, to chat as we often did. Unfortunately, I was watching a drama on television, which was portraying some act of violence. “I don’t like them!” stated my grandson, referring to the actors. Then, “They are bad men!” he added. Of course, I immediately turned off the television. My heart broke when I witnessed his beautiful, smiling and innocent young face, cloud over and begin morphing into one of fear and dread, brought on by his realization that the world harbours people who would actually do harm to one another. “It’s just a T.V. program!”, I had tried to explain. “They’re just actors. It isn’t real!”, I added. But, it made no difference. The portrayal had already just confirmed something real, which he had recently learned. “Mommy watches those kind of shows, too!” he said. “I don’t like them!” he continued. So, I steered the conversation away to more pleasant topics. Then, I made a point of watching some of his favourite television programs with him, particularly one which I also enjoyed, which took place in an animated 3D garden or park. However, it made my heart cry out in anguish when I knew that my grandson could no longer be protected from the influence of those in the outside world. Gone, forever, was that sheer state of complete and utter innocence, to be replaced by one of mistrust with regard to all others outside of his home. Several years later, once he’d been enrolled in school for a few years, my grandson was diagnosed with autism. Although he communicates, quite vividly, with those who have earned his trust, he still shies away from communicating with strangers. This makes it difficult when he has to deal with the public, be it in a local store or some place like the hospital. Still, he has a very active and fertile mind, which excels when he’s dealing with any electronic devices in computer technology, in general. In fact, back at that tender age of four, he had to demonstrate, to me, how I was to get my newly acquired V.C.R. to function. This was before we got automatic record on the television set. A few years after starting school, my grandson had to spend some time in the hospital, due to the fact that he had contracted pneumonia. He was afraid of needles and did not trust the nurses or doctors who were demanding his cooperation, some of whom were even shouting at him. They had no idea how to communicate with him in order to gain his trust and, thereby, comfort him and get him to relax. Recently, I had the great privilege of making friends with another young man, Max, who also reminds me, very much, of my grandson when he was Max’s age. My grandson will soon be twenty-two years of age. Max appears to be approximately ten years younger, although it is difficult to tell. I met Max in the hospital, while we were both patients there. Exactly four weeks ago, I found myself fighting for my life, in the same hospital’s emergency room. An ambulance had taken me there, and not a moment too soon, I might add! Upon arrival, I had stopped breathing and collapsed in the emergency room. I have to say, nearly dying can give one a whole new perspective on life! Later, when I was awakened, in the I.C.U., on a ventilator, I was informed that I had contracted Influenza A, which was compounded with pneumonia. This had been further complicated by the fact that I also have had Myasthenia Gravis for the past ten years. M.G. (for short) interferes with the neural passages, depletes one’s auto immune system and leaves the muscles weak and refusing to do the work required of them. But, my worst case scenario (until recently) was waking, in the middle of the night, feeling like I’m being suffocated, because I had fallen asleep on my back. In that position, the muscles around my lungs cannot supply enough strength for them to open and close properly, thereby leaving me struggling to breathe. It can be exasperating, not to mention frightening! So, about one week later, after ensuring that I was no longer contagious, and I’d gained back enough of my strength to walk on my own, with the assistance of a walker, I was moved from the I.C.U. to another ward. By now, most of my nasal passages and lungs had been cleared, and I was breathing freely, aided by the oxygen flowing from a tank, through a tube, into my nose. After a few more nights in Surg 1, I was transferred again, this time to the Integrated Stroke Unit. I have to say that my first impression, of this ward, was not a pleasant one! Visions, straight out of Dante’s Inferno, accosted my eyes from every angle, leaving me to believe that they had moved me to the psych ward. The hallways were all lined with patients calling out for help. One old man, looking like a skeleton covered in its skin, lay on a cot, completely naked, save for a small diaper. I remember thinking that he must have thrown off his bedsheets. Another elderly person, a lady, sat in a wheelchair, stroking a tabby cat whilst talking to it, and trying to fit some sort of booties onto its paws. The cat meowed as I was being wheeled past her, and upon closer inspection, I realized that it was a stuffed toy. Others in the hallway, mostly in beds, stared while rocking back and forth, one of them, a young woman, repeating over and over, “No! No! No!” to no one in particular. Wondering why I had been brought here, and what the story was, I had later enquired about the patients in the hall. “Because we have to keep a very close watch on them!” came the swift reply. As I was being wheeled to my room, # 20, I passed a security guard, sitting in the hallway, outside of room # 17. He looked like he was bored, and idly viewed messages on his cell phone. Shortly after settling into my new ‘digs’, I heard the most anguished screams, apparently coming from room # 17. “No! No!” called a young man. “Please! No more blood! No blood!” He cried, while (I found) he was obviously being manhandled by the burly security guard. The nurse was shouting at him, in an attempt to make him understand that they required another blood sample. “No more!” he pleaded. “Help me! Help me!” he begged. But, his calls fell on deaf ears. My heart went out to the young man, and I knew, at that moment, that I had to do something, anything, to reach out to him, in an effort to comfort him and let him know that he was not alone in this living nightmare. Early the next morning, after a very restless night, I had to practically beg the nurses to let me visit with the young man. “Not a good time!” they kept on repeating. “So, when is a good time?” I asked. “Surely, he is allowed to receive visitors, isn’t he?” “Yes, but!” came the reply. “But what?” I pushed. “There was an incident with another patient.” I was finally told; hence, the security guard. “Just ask him if I could come in to visit.” I pleaded. Finally, a kind young nurse, on the afternoon shift, gave in and she approached the young man as he sat on his bed, rocking and rubbing his head. “Max!” she called out, the first bit of information which I’d been able to glean, due to their strict confidentiality rules. “There’s someone here to visit with you!” she told him. I could see Max’s head immediately lift with curious excitement, as I stood in the doorway. “His name is Gabriel,” continued the nurse. “Would you like him to come in and visit with you?” Max’s eyes lit up and the huge smile, that grew on his face, accented his cherry cheeks and blond brush cut. ‘Hi! Gabriel!” he practically shouted, as he waved to me like an old friend. “Hi! Max!” I said. “Can I come in to visit?” I asked. “Sure!” said Max. “Love to visit! Love to chat!” he told me as I entered the room, and then took a seat next to him. I knew, right away, that all this sweet young man craved was company! Meanwhile, the security guard had followed the nurse and I into the room and hovered over us while I talked to Max. Ignoring the guard, I paid very close attention to Max’s every word. Max was a little heavier than my grandson was, at that age, but, my grandson had also sported a blond brush cut, back then. The similarities were uncanny! After talking for a little while, I came to realize that Max may be a few years behind his peers, with regard to his education, but, he was bright and had everything he needed, at his fingertips, via a tablet for playing games and communicating with friends and relatives. During that first visit, I found out that he dreams of leaving the hospital and going to a new home, somewhere much more pleasant, that makes him feel safe and comfortable. We became fast friends, and I continued to visit Max, every week, after I was dismissed from the hospital, which came the very next day, after my first visit with him. On that day, I was refused the request to say goodbye to Max, for no clear reason except that the head nurse deemed it to be, “Not a good idea!” in her words, which had come after several requests and about fifteen minutes later. Feeling dejected and somewhat angry at her and her lack of empathy, I had to accept that, but managed to wave to Max as I passed his room. He waved back without a word passing between us, but I made a silent promise that I would not abandon him in that place. After all, at the end of that first visit, Max had expressed the desire for us to visit again. It now appears to me that Max is in the hospital for an indefinite period of time, due to a revelation that Max let slip during my last visit, right at the beginning of our chat. I was pleased, then, to see a female security guard chatting with Max, as I entered his room. All the other male guards just ignored him. Max had even commented on his dislike of one of them, by whom he’d felt mistreated, when he said, “You are not a nice man!” as he passed him in the hallway, reminding me, again, of my grandson. I never pushed Max, when it came to his personal life, just gleaning any information he’d let drop during our conversations, with me mostly just listening closely to his every word. Like my grandson, Max loves all Marvel and DC comic book characters. During each visit he enquires about my favourite action hero, Batman, and when he asks why, I explain that Batman is the only one without super powers. In answer to his quizzical look, “Anyone can become Batman”, I’d tell him. “He survives on his acrobatic skills, his strength and powers of deduction. That is why he is in detective comics!” This had made sense to him. “Even you or I could become Batman, with the right training, and if I were a little younger,” I would add. He liked this idea, and chuckling, would reply, “I would love to have my own bat cave! Some day, when I get out of here, I’m going to build my own new house with my own bat cave!” The very first thing that Max said to me, when I arrived at my last visit with him, was, “I don’t like the yellow medicine that they give me for cancer!” Disbelieving what I’d just heard, I said, “I beg your pardon!” Max repeated it, word for word. I was flabbergasted. This sweet young man did not deserve this! Nor did he deserve to be in this ward which could be detrimental to his mental and physical well being. All that Max craves is company and someone to listen to him and respond to what he is telling them. We owe this much to our children, who want the same thing. They all crave nothing more than to be assured that we are there for them to make them safe. They seek placation!