It’s an idyllic thought.
The other night, when a childhood friend and I were messaging, retirement entered the conversation. We laughed about a fleeting thought, then when I went to bed, I expanded on their idea.
Because wouldn’t it be awesome if the entire Class of 1994 returned to our small Manitoba town to retire? Back to the Town of Arborg?
On May 10th, 2021, Manitoba’s Health and Seniors Care Minister pledged $4 million for a “state of the art,” four-bed “Enhanced Adult Epilepsy Monitoring Unit” at the Health Science Centre in Winnipeg.
That was one year ago.
Heather Stefanson said, “The expansion of the adult epilepsy monitoring unit at HSC Winnipeg is a pivotal step toward reducing the need for patients to leave their support network behind to receive care outside this province and toward decreasing costs for anti-epileptic medications – costs that can then be reinvested into providing care for Manitobans.”
Stefanson made neurological care sound akin to a warm and fluffy feather duvet. But it was a pilled blanket with holes. When it comes to neurological care, $4 million is a start. But an EMU has operating costs. Those state of the art beds need state of the art trained epilepsy nurses. The EEG nodules that map a patient’s brain are thousands of dollars.
There’s little doubt the pledge was made to appease an under count of 23,000 Manitobans living with seizures and epilepsy.
Six months after this pledge, Heather Stefanson was upgraded to premier of Manitoba. During the same time, the current adult EMU was still graded as closed.
Since Stefanson’s announcement, two neurosurgeons have left Manitoba. By the end of the year, two epileptologists are fleeing the province, which leaves Manitoba with two overwhelmed epileptologists responsible for hundreds of patients. Recently, the neurology clinic was moved to a smaller clinic at the Health Science Centre. Fitting, because the department is shrinking faster than Shrinky Dinks®.
After a wave of resignations from neurology in 2020, there are approximately 25 neurologists left Manitoba, a province of 1.3 million people. Besides seizures, neurologists diagnose and monitor patients with multiple scoliosis, brain tumours, lupus, fibromyalgia, and other neurological diseases.
Stefanson’s defence could be, “I wasn’t premier at the time,” throwing her predecessor Brian Pallister under the bus. Or “We’re in a pandemic,” or she’ll pass the concern to current Health Minister, Audrey Gordon. While Gordon is the new minister, Stefanson made the pledge.
Continue reading “What Happened to Winnipeg’s Epilepsy Monitoring Unit – One Year Later and the Only Person to Benefit was Premier Stefanson”
My parents built their dream house.
A smaller home in the woods. Surrounded by trails and bulrushes – and black bears.
Which means they sold their house and acreage on Highway 68. The acreage even had its own business name, “Karatchuk Acres.”
On September 30th, mom and dad went to their former home. One last time before the new owners took possession. They walked around the yards, reminiscing, taking photos. Sending selfies with, “Saying goodbye.” When my dad was ten months old, he moved to that acreage. My mom, since she was seventeen, and the three of us girls since birth.
Everything went with the sale. The front garden, flowerbeds, the apple trees. Sheds, garages, and silos. The red-weathered barn at the end of the driveway.
With the sale also went a huge west yard where my first childhood home stood.
In 1985, my parents sold our 600 sq.ft. little house and we relocated to my late paternal grandparents house on the same acreage. The little house was lifted from the foundation, set onto a moving trailer, and transported to Eriksdale, Manitoba and its new owners.
But this is different.
When I visit my parents, I’ll see my second house and the acreage. My preteen and cusp of adulthood home. But from the outside – and afar.
Continue reading “When You Sell a House, You Keep the Memories”In 2010, I had my last real doughnut.
It was an éclair from the Arborg Bakery when my friends and I were in town for a college project. I told them, “Before we leave, we have to stop at the bakery!”
While my friends cooed in doughnut heaven, I drove back to Red River College, scratching my itchy burning hands as they bubbled like pop rocks.
I couldn’t accept the obvious: I was Celiac.
When one of my aunts was diagnosed in the late 1990s, few people understood Celiac disease. In a nutshell – no gluten. Barley, malt, malt flavour, brewer’s yeast, dextrin. And more! Celiac is an autoimmune disease, and it runs on its own timeline – and it’s often hereditary. Stress or an overload of gluten can mess with your gluten filled life. After years of yummy puffy homemade bread, a body can revolt.
Continue reading “My Last Real Doughnut: The Celiac Realization”
Tammy W. Karatchuk 