Why Are Wait Times High? Compliance or Complacence

Sitting in a waiting room in emergency is a painful act in itself, isn’t it?

Last year my wife sat patiently with me as I waited to be seen by a doctor. I had been in the night before receiving a high dose of steroids through intravenous, and I was required to return for another; after several days the oral dose I had been prescribed was proving ineffective. I was very sick and was eventually admitted, but before that I waited several hours sitting on an uncomfortable Waitingchair reading old magazines and trying to sleep with one ear open, listening for the nurse to call my name.  Looking at our watches, eyeing other patients with resentment when they get the call.  We’re the most miserable group of people you’ve ever seen right?

“I was here before that guy wasn’t I?  How come…I’m going to go talk to the nurse, I think they forgot I was here.”  “Did you forget I was here, I was here before that guy?  How many doctors are on duty?” as she patiently looks at you over her glasses with pursed lips.

The older man next to us looks at his watch again and tells us he’s been waiting since 8am, five and half hours ago, then another ambulance rolls up in front of the big emergency doors.  Another hour.  Good grief, someone else is jumping the queue.

What’s wrong with our health care system? Too much bureaucracy? Not enough doctors? Do we need more privatization or more funding?

Patient Compliance and Health Care

In the U.S. non compliance is estimated to cost 100 billion dollars a year. Yes that’s a b. Billion.

A HUNDRED BILLION! HOLY SMOKE!…Wait a minute.  What’s non compliance?

Compliance is how well you follow ‘doctor’s orders’. Did he or she prescribe you medication? Did you fill the prescription? Did you finish taking the requested dose? What about exercise, vitamins, healthier eating? The one hundred billion dollar figure includes the cost of hospitalization, complications, advancement of disease, and disability or death due to non compliance. That’s a nice round figure, but needless to say, the effects are costly.

What do the statistics show?

  • 14 – 21% of us wont fill our prescriptions.
  • 30 – 40% only fill it once.
  • 50% stop taking it within 6 months if prescribed for long term.
  • 30 – 50% of all patients ignore or otherwise compromise instructions concerning their medication.

The rate of compliance seems to differ, but only slightly between those of us with “silent” conditions like high blood pressure, and painful conditions such as rheumatoid arthritis.

Taking medicationResearch suggests we have any combinations of reasons not to comply; cost, forgetfulness, undesirable side effects, it doesn’t seem to work, other priorities, or down to lack of information–it seems 60% of us can’t even identify what medication we take.

So what does that mean to you when you’re miserable and sick sitting in the waiting room with a bunch of other miserable, sick people waiting to see a doctor? Potentially fifty percent of us may not even listen to the doctor when we do get to see him.  We open our mouth, bend over, take off our shirts, get blood work, get a ct or x-ray, pee in a bottle and what ever else he or she might ask, but in the end we’ll go home and make excuses why we don’t follow through with their recommendations.

Was that you I was sitting next to while I was waiting in extreme discomfort?

Unfortunately that was me. You see I was prescribed a medication by my specialist years earlier but it was expensive and I was feeling better and it was a pain to remember, so I dropped it, and for a while it was fine. But years later, after two weeks of a three week hospital stay, another specialist informed me that I may never had been here if I’d have stayed on that medication. I felt offended, then angry, then angry at myself.

Was it true?   I’ll never know.  But imagine what effect it would have on our health care system if we were to take a little more responsibility, do our part to ease the strain on emergency staff, hospital admissions, or doctor visits.

It’s another case of knowing what’s good for us but not doing what’s good for us. Need to quit smoking? Need to lose weight? No more tasty MSG?

Strategies to combat non compliance:

After some research I found some suggestions and came up with a few of my own.

  • You feel like crap, you’re anxious about having to see the doctor to begin with, and let’s face it, we don’t want to be there.  Why not ask a friend or loved one to come for support? If your condition is chronic, look  for support groups and forums.  There are plenty online, or search one out in your community.
  • Forgetful? Get a daily or weekly pill container – it seems simple but it works.
  • Make sure you understand what it is you’re prescribed, what it does , what are the benefits/side effects, and what are the risks if you stop taking it.
  • Don’t skip doses without first talking to your doctor or healthcare professional.
  • Bring a notepad and pen. We forget almost half of what was said to us after we leave the doctors office (just ask my wife). Again another benefit of bringing someone with you if you can, and don’t hesitate to ask questions. Try repeating back to the doctor in your own words what he said to you.
  • Listen to your pharmacist, ask questions and read the pamphlets.

While doctors and healthcare professionals search for different methods of intervention to reduce non compliance, accepting responsibility for our own healthcare will take us much further than passing it on, and in my opinion is necessary for us to attain the quality of life we desire, for ourselves and our fellow citizens.

Wait times are a problem for most of us across the globe, and there is no magic solution. Doctors don’t have all the answers, but if we’re going to take the time to see them, lets take the time to listen.

What do you think can be done to reduce wait times?

Author’s note:  The article is to give an overview of my experience and research, I am not a doctor.  Always consult your physician or medical caregiver before taking any action.

 

Photography; Personal Freedom Infringed?

I was finished doing a little job for some friends, and instead of going straight home I went exploring further down some back roads; turn here, right here, left again – oh it’s a dead end. I came upon an old building just off the side of the road, pulled over, grabbed my camera and took a few shots from the driveway. A modern home was a few hundred feet off the road tucked in among some conifers. I walked back up the dirt road a little and took a few pictures from full on, I loved the old door, the boarded up window, the rusty tin siding revealing the boards beneath.

I sat in my truck and began to write – this actually; I was going to reflect on why photographers love old buildings, bicycles and cars etc. I looked up the driveway towards the modern house and saw an older woman walking towards the road, I noticed she had a pair of binoculars around her neck  as she became closer. I decided to pull my truck up onto the driveway and shut it off.  I got out and walked towards her with my hands open and a sincere smile.

“I suppose you’re curious about what I’m doing?” I said.

She nodded sternly.  She was about sixty I’d have guessed. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Well I was just taking a few pictures of…”

“I’m telling you, if I see someone on my land again I’m calling the police!”

A little shocked, I worked hard to express my apologies, that it was all very innocent, nothing underhanded.

“Just the other day two ladies stopped here taking pictures also. There’s a name on the mail box, you can phone first,” she was quite agitated.

I apologized again and explained that it was just a very curious old building.

“I saw you walking on my land, don’t say you weren’t.”

I said I was sorry again and moved towards my truck as she grabbed the mail from her mailbox.

“It’s a school,” she said matter-of-factly.

I drove away feeling as if she actually wanted to talk to me, to tell me about the school. Was I really that rude? I honestly put my feet only just off the side of the road onto the grass.  The featured pictures of no trespassing signs were not taken anywhere  near or around her property as there were none.

My intention though is not to ridicule the woman.  But why is it that some people will allow you to take a full portrait of them on the street, (like Danny Santos) and others are livid about taking a photograph of any part of there property. I certainly don’t want to be recognized as a filthy photographer who is infringing on peoples rights. I want people to feel as though they have something beautiful, be it their old building, car, or their face. That taking the picture does not pass judgment on them.  More people see your face while walking on the street, or while shopping for groceries than they will from my camera, and if they do, it should be because it’s something special, not dirty.

Now I know there is that side of photojournalism, those that seek to expose dirt on anyone they deem full game, and I will set that aside. Expository journalism has it’s place, but that’s not what I want to discuss here. I’m not Barack Obama and you’re not Lady Di.

Is it difficult though for some of us to distinguish between the two? Was I wrong? Was I assuming too much, that no one would mind? What do you think?

I mentioned Danny Santos above; while reading through his blog recently I discovered a post entitled “How to Shoot Street PortraitsHe explains the process of how he approaches people for his wonderful portraits.

 

 

Elsewhere.

Gallery

This gallery contains 14 photos.

Tweet The weathered planks of the boardwalk creaked gently under our feet as we stepped out from the dense growth of birch which separates the bog from the encroaching agricultural land surrounding it.  I felt as if we were standing … Continue reading

Best Websites for Ulcerative Colitis and Crohn’s

 

Information:

Support:

  • Crohn’s Forum  -  A huge group of IBD sufferers from around the world.  A great support group and always someone on line.  Someone is feeling exactly how you are right now.
  • I Have UC  -  Adam’s positive attitude is infectious.  A great compilation of stories from others with IBD is always being updated from UCr’s around the world.  Lots of advice and tips and info on the SCD diet.  You can’t help but smile with plenty of cartoons and potty innuendos to boot.  A growing Facebook group also that is never dormant.

Ways to Help:

  • The Gem Project  -  Based at Mount Sinai Hospital, a major study is looking for “healthy individuals who have a sibling and/or parent with Crohn’s Disease“.  If you’re looking for a way to help a family member you could start here!

Personal Blogs

  • Know Guts – Follow Ben’s story of ulcerative colitis and the resulting surgeries.  Daily updates give you a detailed, raw description of his experiences with a very frank, almost clinical writing style that helps you feel as if you there with him.
  • The United Colon Vlog  -  Dennis and Nadia have a great library of videos (hence vlog) both personal and informative.  Often very sincere and heart felt, a great way to put faces on IBD and to feel connected.

 

Bookmark this page as I will continue to update it on a regular basis.  Any suggestions for other sites would be greatly appreciated, my goal is to make this a valid resource for anyone looking for information or support concerning IBD.  You can use the comment form below or the contact page.

How to be a Patient

Ten excellent tips on obtaining effective health care when you are admitted to hospital.  Thanks to Ben , you can follow his story at  Know Guts as he chronicles his battle with colitis and the resulting surgeries.

How to be a Patient

Posted on October 22, 2011 by Ben

After three extended hospital stays in four months, I thought it might be helpful to share a few things I’ve learned that I believe can make a hospital stay not only more comfortable, but more likely to result in a speedy recovery. These suggestions may not work for everyone, or apply to every situation, but I generally think they’re good rules to live by:

  1. Be patient. Hospitals move at their own pace, and you are not always the highest priority (and, quite frankly, you don’t want to be). This goes not only for the care you receive, but the pace of your recovery. You’re no longer on your timetable; let it go. I certainly haven’t been perfect in this regard, but no one has been more surprised by my patience in the hospital than me (except perhaps my wife, who came equipped to my first surgery with candy to apologize to the nurses for my bad attitude), but I tried ever day, and I think it has made a tremendous difference in my experience.
  2. Be persistent. Being patient doesn’t mean you just sit back and wait forever. If you need something, ask for it. Repeatedly, if need be. But…
  3. Be polite. It should go without saying, but based on what I’ve seen, it doesn’t. Say please and thank you to the nurses, patient care assistants, doctors, and other staff. Always. Every single time. Mute the volume on your TV when someone comes in to talk to you or take your vitals or change an IV. Take off your headphones. Put down your iPad. Give them your full attention—not only out of respect for them, but yourself (after all, don’t you want to know what they’re doing?).
  4. Be proactive. No one cares more about your recovery than you do; be part of it. Ask questions. Make suggestions. Make sure you understand what’s going on; what they’re putting in you; what they’re taking out; and why.
  5. Be prepared. The residents are the busiest people in the hospital; be ready for them when they come by on rounds, as you may only get a few minutes. I always tried to get up 10-15 minutes before they came around, so I was alert enough to ask any questions I had and could accurately represent my condition. Ask questions. Make a list beforehand to remind you. Rounds are your best chance to take part in your treatment, but they’re not the only chance. If you forget to ask something, ask a nurse to relay a message. Or find a resident in the hall or in their office. This is your recovery; take part.
  6. Be positive. Attitude really is everything. As tempting as it can be, there is nothing to be gained from a pessimistic attitude. I certainly wasn’t perfect in this area, and sometimes it is definitely overwhelming, but even on my darkest days, I tried to find a silver lining or keep a positive outlook. Fake it till you make it, if need be.
  7. Be presentable. (I really didn’t mean for this to be a list of P’s, but now I feel like I need to see it through to the end, so forgive the stretching.) Change your gown and socks every day. Get out of bed so they can change your linens. Brush your teeth. Wear deodorant. Wash your face. Take a shower if you’re allowed. If not, ask for help sponging off. You’ll feel better, I promise.
  8. Be physical. Get out of bed and walk around the unit. Early and often. Take it slow at first, and before you know it, you’ll be practically running laps. Bonus suggestion: As you walk around, say hello to the other patients doing the same and, perhaps more importantly, to their friends and families. They may be the inspiration for you, or you for them, but you’re all in this together, and the sense of peace that comes from encouraging someone else or seeing another patient make progress can be inspiring. And healing.
  9. Don’t be proud. If you’re in pain, ask for meds. If you need help going to the bathroom or getting out of bed, ask for help. This is no time to massage your ego; it’s time to take care of yourself. And that will almost certainly require the help of others.
  10. Be proud. Recovery from a serious surgery is incredibly difficult—physically and emotionally. But you’re doing it. One day at a time. And you’re getting better every day—physically and emotionally. This is the most important accomplishment of your life, and you’re allowed to be proud of yourself.

This is really just the tip of the iceberg, and everyone has to find their own path, but you’ve got to start somewhere. Good luck!

 

Remicade and Colitis

Remicade (Infliximab)I close my eyes as she slips the sharp point of the catheter under the skin expertly and then clicks to retract the needle once she is sure of its position. Holding the catheter with her left hand she firmly screws the end of the lure lock tight and unties the bright blue, elastic tourniquet from my arm. Her white gloves open a flat square packet and she covers the whole area with a thin film of clear plastic to keep everything in place. Unclasping the clamp, she pushes in a small amount of saline to be sure everything is clear. I can feel the coolness run up my arm. After placing a small piece of medical tape further up the line, attaching it to my forearm, she pats my other arm comfortingly and gets up from her stool, sliding it back smoothly on it’s quiet, rubber wheels.

The whole experience was relatively painless, but I am still unable to look until she is finished. I examine the paraphernalia I am now attached to. It is all so clean and new, I watch a tiny bubble pushed by the saline until it stops in the gradual bend before the lock.

Nurse Sheila appears from behind me with four small cardboard boxes that reminded me of packaging for 35mm film. She shows me the date on the bottom of each box and that the batch number was the same for each, then returns to the counter.

“Have you ever seen what it looks like?” she asks, returning with one of the bottles from inside the boxes. She shakes the bottle to draw attention to a large square, white block inside. “They freeze dry it and it stays that way until we inject saline,” she says. She disappears behind me again.

I push my chair back with my arms and the foot rest comes up, sliding my shoes off they clop on the floor. My book rests on my lap but I don’t yet feel like reading. I close my eyes and listened to the murmur of the other nurse talking with another patient. How much do you weigh? How are you feeling? No fever? No colds? When did you see your doctor last? Her voice is intelligible but the patient’s never is.

My nurse returns with a small, transparent plastic bag and attaches it to the same line as the saline bag. Piggy back she had said earlier. The drip starts and I close my eyes again. Perhaps I can sleep a little.

What is Ulcerative Colitis?

Without Remicade’s help I would no longer have a large intestine.  A little over a year ago I was hospitalized and put under NPO, that means nothing by mouth, not even water, because of a nasty flare that saw my colon violently inflamed.  The regime of intravenous steroids I was put on did nothing to stem the inflammation.  Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) is one of several autoimmune diseases.  The immune response system, being beautifully complex, sometimes gets hyperactive and reacts against it’s host, like a coup of  sorts, where the military that protects the country looses it’s mind and suddenly turns on it’s civilians. Colitis is the result of the immune system attacking the colonSymptoms include cramping in the lower abdominal area, loose and frequent bowel movements, blood in the stool, involuntary loss of weight, and can be accompanied by joint pain, and a host of other autoimmune conditions.   IVWhy?  Nobody seems to know.  Some   suggest that the body sends white blood cells to fight off the bacteria that is normally present in the colon.  There is no cure.    The drug modulates the immune system and keeps it at bay.  But it’s not guaranteed to work and for many it doesn’t.  For some it may work for a time and then stop, for a few there are allergic reactions such as respiratory problems.  And as always with many high powered pharmaceutics there are a list of dangers such as incidents of lymphoma, drug induced lupus, and reactivation of hepatitis B or tuberculosis.  Before receiving my first dose in the hospital I underwent a battery of tests including HIV.  There are several other drugs available to control the symptoms including Prednisone (steroids) for short term, Azathioprine (immunosuppressants), Ciprofloxacin (antibiotics), 5-Aminosalicylates.  Your doctor may prescribe any combination of these or others.

Research suggests that what food a person eats does not cause IBD, rather various foods will aggravate the symptoms in each individual differently.  Although there has been much anecdotal evidence from patients trying diet modification or homeopathic therapy.

What is Remicade?

Remicade (infliximab) is an immune modulator, rather than fully suppressing the immune system it changes part of it.  It is used to treat people suffering from Crohn’s disease and ulcerative colitis, rheumatoid and psoriatic arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis, plaque psoriasis, and pediatric Crohn’s disease.

Thankfully Ontario’s Ministry of Health and Long Term Care’s Trillium Drug Program  provides me with coverage so that the roughly $4000 / treatment is Remicade (Infliximab)payed every eight weeks, if not, my wife and I would not be able to cover the $24 000 per year it would take to keep me from surgery. And that’s a small dose – some patients receive nearly $10 000   of the pharmaceutical gold every two months.  Only available for treatment since 1998, Remicade’s brief but rocky history is understandable, since the U.S., Japan, Taiwan, China and Indonesia alone generated $4.6 billion in sales last year, anyone with a rightful claim will be looking for their share.  Johnson and Johnson have only been able to reclaim distribution rights in Canada and Europe as well as other areas within the last year, those being under Merck’s control, bringing in $2.8 billion.    It was originally developed by Centocor Biotech, and now owned by Janssen Biotech, Inc., a subsidiary of Johnson and Johnson.

What is the Future of IBD?

The Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of Canada reports that Canada alone has 200 000 cases, and has one of the highest incidences of IBD in the world.  1 in 20 of those diagnosed will be hospitalized this year.  IBD affects more people than multiple sclerosis or HIV and is almost as prevalent as epilepsy and Type 1 diabetes.  In fact the direct and indirect costs are estimated to be $1.8 billion a year.   The CCFC and the CCF of America have done huge amounts of fundraising and research with hopes in finding a cure, as well as offering support to patients and families with information, news releases, and forums.

Aim Health Group - Trainyards

After a few hours, I’m free to go. I sign my release papers, say goodbye to the nurses and other patients, and maneuver my way through traffic and out of the city to make my way home.  I can be thankful that they are there and it’s not something worse – because there always is.

To donate or get involved you can contact the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of Canada.

Author’s note:  The article is to give an overview of my experience and research, I am not a doctor.  Always consult your physician or medical caregiver before taking any action.

Source Articles: NJ.com, CCFC, The Burden of IBD in Canada Report, Wikipedia


Will the Word Proccessor Ever Replace the Typewriter?

You know those books you receive as presents from family or friends, the ones of which you may only read a few pages, more out of obligation than interest.  I have a few next to my bed, on the bookshelf in the living room, some stored in a box in the garage.  It’s not that they’re unappreciated, just not what I’m looking for at the moment.

In my early twenties, having acquired the opportunity to work as a reporter at a small local newspaper, my oldest sister gave me three books; Strunk and Whites, The Elements of StyleThe Random House Guide to Good Writing, Mitchell Ivers ;  and Writing!  An informal, anecdotal guide to the secrets of crafting and selling non-fiction, Adrian Waller.

I remember glancing through them, but I’m sure in my youthful arrogance I felt I was not in need of instruction.  Unfortunately the first of the three, and perhaps the most needed, Elements of Style, I’ve misplaced or lost.  The other two I’ve held on to and have moved with me many times in the nearly twenty years since receiving them.

Recently, I took in hand the Adrian Waller guide to non-fiction and read through it finally in it’s entirety.  At the time of publication (1987), Waller had written numerous article for Time and Readers Digest, as well as several other books on theater and writing.  It was a great read with a style and humor I appreciated.  Although dated, I think that the book has some great insights into writing and is still very relevant.  I would recommend it to anyone wishing to experience journalism first hand before the explosion of the internet.  (I’m sure there are plenty of other books on the subject available and would love to hear any suggestions.)

I found myself enthralled in the last few pages of chapter ten as he guides us through the process of self editing and re-writing his rough draft:

“I resort to a technique I’ve developed over the years to help me refine the organization I’ve done so far.  I call this my “clothes-line” system.  Developing chapters are strung together with Scotch tape and left dangling side by side like washing from a piece of cord which stretches from one side of my office to the other.  At a quick glance I can see how the work is really shaping.” 126

“As chapters grow, I work on dove-tailing the blocks within.  I then lay each on the floor so I can examine it more closely – on my hands and knees.  Friends smile.  On occasion, when seeing my work strewn from the kitchen to the front door, they’ve been known to ask if I’m being paid by the word or by the yard!”127

“Once again, the stapler, scissors, and paste pot re-emerge as I begin moving entire blocks of information, and sometimes only paragraphs or sentences, either within a chapter or from one to another.  It’s all trial and error because, later, I’ve been known to shift it all back to where it originally started out.”127

At first he admonishes the use of word processors, but then relents.

“Not being able to see a large piece of writing  in it’s entirety when wanted to seemed to be a serious flaw.  Thus virtually all my work – including this book -  has been done with two fingers on a manual typewriter, then has been sent to secretaries for clean-typing on an electric typewriter.  More recently, as one of them fed my articles and books into her word processor, I began to see the values of this remarkable invention.”128

I must admit, there’s some part of me that misses the endless words written in spiral notebooks, terrible spelling and all.  I’ve never had the need to go to the lengths that Waller did in his description, but it sound enticing, the tactile feel of paper, the chack chack chack of the manual typewriter, the paper piling up next to you as you finish one and load another.  And we get a true sense of where the term cut and paste originated.

A friend reminded me recently of the process that was necessary to ready the newspaper for publication when we worked there in the late eighties, early nineties.  We would be cutting long strips of printed articles with scissors and arranging them on sheets of card with sticky rollers to be shipped off to the printer, it makes me think of subversive youths printing anti establishment flyers undercover in an abandoned warehouse.  Although the printing of the paper was no longer done on site, smaller print jobs took place in the rear of the building and sometimes I would go and help burn plates or watch the large letterpress’ rhythmic roll and sway.

Reflecting that this blog I’m writing now may never see itself printed on paper, that I can consider myself ‘published’ as soon as I left-click on the button on my right, I wonder if Adrian would consider these times as a renaissance for journalism or a plague.

Strunk, William, Jr.; White, E.B. (2009). The Elements of Style (5th ed. ed.). Boston: Allyn and Bacon.

Mitchell Ivers (1991). The Random House Guide to Good Writing.  Random House, Inc New York; and Random House Canada Limited Toronto.

Adrian Waller (1987). Writing!, An informal, anecdotal guide to the secrets of crafting and selling non-fiction.  McClelland & Stewart, Toronto, New York, Melbourne, London.

What Did You Discover Today?

The sound of the gravel road is left behind and all that is heard is the gentle whirr of the derailleur as my bicycle glides onto a grassy trail that disappears into green foliage ahead.  The seldom used tractor trail is lined mostly with willow on either side, but  the darker green of spruce and hemlock are found deeper, the darkness beneath I imagine as cool shade for squirrels and rabbits and other fauna, as well as cover from the interloper whirring past.

The perceptible quickening of my heart is felt when I’m about to embark on an adventure, whether it be bicycling to the marshland nearby, or finding the best vantage point for a sunset, or just driving until you see a location that perks your interest.  Is it nature that I’m looking for or people, architecture, still life?  Is it the quest for the perfect shot that drives me or the record of the experience that I want to capture?  Can I share how I feel right at that moment when I’m sitting on some exposed rock of the Canadian Shield next to untouched marshland watching minnows dart about in dark water that contains life in every drop, looking up at stout, hardy pine listening to the winds low hush in it’s needles, and smell it’s pungent humus beneath.  To hear the plop of a frog jumping to safety in the water, or the wind rushing over the wings of a crow overhead.

I’ve never considered myself a naturalist, although I spent most of my formative years in the woods and along streams (or in them).   I can look back and say that for the most part I’ve taken for granted what surrounds me.  After telling people where I grew up, they would often comment on how beautiful it is.  “Until you’ve lived there for twenty years” I would often reply.  We get caught up in the drama of life, pulled to distraction by responsibilities, relationships, finances, and a hundred other stressers you could list.  “Stop and smell the roses” they say.  “Yeah, I did that already, what now?”

So it isn’t trees and crows you’re interested in, that’s cool.  How about your wife, or your kids, your mum and dad, your motorcycle, your bicycle, cars, plains, guitars, churches, jelly beans, colour, monochrome, rainbow, hissing, bass drum, symphonic, jazz, chocolate pie, moonbeams, whatever…  There’s gotta be somethin’ that grabs you.  Grab your camera and look through that lens and look!  What do you see?  Where do you point it, and what do you see?  What do you see?  What lines are there, what curves,texture, what colour or lack there of?  You don’t have a camera?  Grab your fiddle, your paintbrush, your ipod, your salad fork, whatever it is that’s in front of you and look at what it’s made of.  What does it look like, smellsoundfeeltaste like.  Ask yourself what makes that thing beautiful.  Or ugly, or angry, or joyful.  I’ve managed to surround myself with vast amounts of stuff, with great effort, without ever affording the time to experience it, or ever really thinking to.  I’ve got a painting on the wall that I’ve never really looked at.

I’ve found a way to strap my camera bag onto my handlebars which makes it comfortable and has easier access when presented with an opportunity.  I don’t own a zoom that surpasses 80mm so I’m not able to get many close shots of animals or birds unless I’m physically close, but that’s not necessarily what I’m looking for.  Most of the time I bike after the dishes are washed and the homework’s done and the kids are put to bed, so it’s nearing dusk and I’m still not used to hearing the coyotes yip from what seems a rather close distance, it’s disconcerting.  I push myself to go a little further, another road, another swarm of dear fly, another sunset.

My camera is always with me, but it’s not the focus of what I do.  It’s the tool with which I try to create a true, authentic representation of life with.  Like music, or writing, it’s a way for me to explain myself to others and to explain life to myself.  To capture an image is to hold onto a moment in time which otherwise passes by without a second thought.  Hold onto that the next time you are looking at someones family album, or pics of a fishing trip, or listening to someones music, or eating dinner at their house, it’s their lives they’re sharing with you.

I took these while visiting family in Sudbury Ontario last week, the sun was hot but the wind was cool.  Summer is fading quickly, you can see it in the shades of brown and ocher, and the sun hangs lower on the horizon.  The scents were overwhelming, it was as if every ten steps brought a new fragrance, or as in the case with the blueberries, taste!

Freeman Patterson

Freeman Patterson photographing in South Africa

Freeman Patterson talks about his early years, his photography, and his surviving two liver transplants in a recent interview with Paul Kennedy on the CBC program Ideas.

 

 

 

“What you choose to photograph says something about you the photographer.  How you choose to photograph also says something about you.”

I appreciate his notion of the photographer taking from the object, but also the giving of ourselves to the photograph, how our “desires, hopes and fears” are brought to the picture.

“The camera definitely looks both ways.  Every photograph you make, every photograph I make, we’re all writing our own autobiography.”

 

Let’s be cirrus for a moment.

My wife  and I decided to go out for a bike ride one evening after supper recently.  There were clouds in the west that looked a little threatening, but they were far away and we weren’t going very far.  We headed west up the road (read:towards the clouds) and turned south on a side road a kilometer from our home.  We agreed to go to the stop sign and back.  Watching the clouds to our right,  it seemed as if those black thunderheads had decided to race to see who would get to us first.  The corn field next to us began to whip into a frenzy,and a wall of rain approached us like a sheet of smoked glass.  We laughed nervously and turned around just as the large drops began to pelt us, the wind picked us up in itself, our bicycles speeding without our aid until we had to put our feet down and apply the breaks to slow down.  It was as if we had been transplanted into the Wizard of Oz.  We made it home safely, laughing and wet, someone had even stopped to see if we wanted a ride.

Where we live we are able to see the horizon from our back door, it’s wonderful to see a storm approaching from the south-west.  It seems the systems often come up the St. Lawrence from the great lakes region.  Many time this summer, perhaps due to the hot humid weather, my wife and I have been able to watch safely from our bedroom window as a storm passes in the south, long rolling thunder and sheet lightening.  Nothing else compares to the vastness and power of these great clouds hulking across the sky.

Driving her into work, my eldest daughter and I were trying to remember the different cloud types: cumulus, cirrus, nimbus.  The names were familiar but we couldn’t remember what they applied to.  A quick search online brought me to a site aimed at children which was appropriate.  The names are almost as beautiful as the clouds themselves.  Cirrocumuls or mackeral sky for the resemblance to fish scales, a thin layer high in the atmosphere.  Altostratus often cover the sky with a thin gauze allowing the sun to appear like a silver dollar.  Cumulonimbus tower high and bring thunderstorms.

I wanted to do a photo-study on clouds trying to capture that sense of awe one feels sometimes when we’ve stopped to take the time.  I wanted to make sureI gave a true representation, and didn’t manipulate the images beyond their natural appearance.  What I saw where beautiful silver fires; sometimes I felt as if I were beneath the surf looking up at huge rolling waves, or a crack in a sheet of slate to reveal silver mountains, and we’ve all seen sunsets that as they recede blend colour and hue so much it’s difficult to give them names.  It’s amazing how in nature we rarely see colours together that don’t compliment one another easily in our eyes.  It’s as if it was naturally inherent in us to see the beauty in creation.

The last week or so, if you saw me driving, you’d have seen me looking up, with my head in the clouds.  I chose a few photos I took to share with you.  The sunset lasted forever, a group of cows watched as I stood with my tripod, my feet in the soy field.  On the last one I decided to leave the rain drop on the lens to give a sense of the approaching rain.