November 15, 2001

A Rude Awakening and A Sticky Situation



Here are a few of my favorite online haunts:
[This is the site I visit to fantasize about living in Toronto again, which is almost every single day during the winter]

Jonathan Cainer's Zodiac Forecasts
[This is where I visit in the morning, when I need a positive spin on things past, present and future.]

Living Local
[This is where I go to see what Canadians are up to, sometimes I even buy things from the businesses listed there.]

Environment Canada Weather
[This is the site I visit every morning, and before every road trip during the winter]

NOTICE: This journal has been moved to
and will disappear from the location at the end of November, 2001.

The last of the autumn leaves still cling to the trees in our yard; they are a delicate burnt yellow. When the sun shines, they light up my inner landscape. The temperature is mild, and it has been raining. The air smells of raindrops and leaf mold.

Attila spent an entire weekend at home this past Saturday and Sunday. A quiet peace has returned to our home in the form of snores and clattering pots and pans. The rhythm of our lives has been restored to the zone of comfort.

I underestimated the intensity of my excitement at the thought of Attila's prolonged presence. On the other hand, perhaps it was something I ate. The very first night of Attila's return, Friday night, I awoke with alarming chest pains. I decided to wait it out, Attila snoring happily at my side. As time passed, I thought the situation through, deciding that waiting it out was a foolhardy option. Pain can cause one to rethink any course of action. Rousing Attila, I began to dress for a trip to the emergency ward of the hospital. Within minutes, we were on our way.

Health care may be in decline in Ontario, but that night it shone brilliantly. It probably helps to have an easily identified, common sort of health emergency. I was admitted quickly and examined immediately. The pain had begun to subside by this time, to my great relief.

I was advised that there would be a six-hour delay between tests. I turned to look at Attila, standing by my side, as awake as he could manage on his first night of sleep freedom. I asked him to go home and go to bed. I promised I would call him when I wanted to come home. He did not struggle long with the concept, and soon kissed me good-bye.

There I lay, hooked-up and monitored, for the next eight hours. The whole time I felt grateful to have such care. The whole time I felt grateful that my condition was now painless and unlikely to be life threatening. Others around me were not so lucky.

My first set of tests indicated that I had not had a heart attack. I regarded this as extremely good news. I fell asleep immediately.

The second set of tests indicated that I had not had a heart attack. Just what had happened was, and is still, unclear. The need to seek the advice of my family physician was stressed.

Soon after the final test results arrived, the attending physician had a chat with me and released me to find my way home.

I called Attila from the lobby of the emergency ward. He sounded very happy to hear from me, and to know that I was in good health and feeling fine. He had slept the entire eight hours since I last saw him.

I walked out of the emergency ward into the sunshine, happy to be alive, happy to be walking. It was relatively early in the morning, and there were few people out and about. A cold, brisk breeze blew down my neck, so that I pulled up the hood of my parka. I was standing there in the sunshine, warm and euphoric, when a familiar car drove up and I was offered a ride. Attila wore the most wonderful smile.

We decided to pop into a nearby store to pick up some things we had needed for months. As I pushed the cart up the aisle, I suddenly became aware of a myriad of needles tunneling into my chest and back. At first alarmed, I was soon blushing furiously as I realized the nature of my problem. In my joy and haste to leave the emergency ward, I had forgotten to remove the sticky bits applied to conduct my ECG and other tests. Now they hurt, and they were impossible to ignore.

It was a socially awkward situation. Never one to be deterred by potential disgrace, I began as discreetly as possible, to rid myself of the sticky bits. First, I unobtrusively undid some buttons on the front of my shirt. Watching carefully for fellow customers, I reached into my shirt and began to rip the sticky bits off. Some came off quite painlessly. Others, the ones with metal nipples, clung to my skin with ferocity. These required additional force and privacy, as it was impossible to remain completely silent as I yanked them from my chest.

As far I know, no one was aware of my clandestine activities. If anyone observed the removal of my sticky bits, they were too polite to say so. Perhaps it was just that Canadians silently retreat from most displays of eccentricity, equating it wrongly with raving lunacy. I prefer to think that my attempts at subterfuge succeeded and that my public image remains pristine.

I am beginning to make some background changes to my site. On the surface, all remains as it has been.

Behind the scenes, my ISP has decided to change the URL for my site. Since this will necessitate a great deal of bother and change, I have decided to make the leap to my own domain. You can access my new location at My new email address will be Maggie Turner.

This move will be patchy and I am sure not to have anticipated all the complications. Particularly difficult is the migration on the Yahoo Web Rings. Please bear with me and please do let me know if any problems arise. The old location for the site will remain as long as the ISP allows. For the moment, I will update both locations.

I have decided to setup a notify list at my new site location. I will send an email message, to those who desire it, when a new journal entry is posted. You can join the notify list from the main Maggie Turner page at Please let me know if you have any problems with this process.

Top of Page

Worldly Distractions

Cherry Tree Trunk and Fall Leaves
An Angel's Ladder

By the Easy Chair
Falling Angels
by Tracy Chevalier

The steady rhythm of my own heart on a hospital monitor. There was no sound, but I could hear it.

On the Screen
Saving Private Ryan
starring Tom Hanks

15:17 EST
Temp: 15` C
Humidity: 77%
Wind: SW 20 km/h
Barometric:101.5 kPaSunrise 7:17 AM EST
Sunset 5:00 PM EST

Page by Page: A Woman's Journal
by Maggie Turner

Canadian Maggie Turner writes and publishes poetry, photography, and a personal journal online. Her work reflects the current way of life in Canada, embracing Canada's past, present, and future in a unique portrayal of everyday life. Maggie's voice is one of the many that actively depict the rich diversity of Canadian culture.

Photography: "a term which comes from the Greek words photos (light) and graphos (drawing). A photograph is made with a camera by exposing film to light in order to create a negative. The negative is then used in the darkroom to print a photograph (positive) onto light-sensitive paper.
Source: University of Arizona Glossary

Poetry: "a form of speech or writing that harmonizes the music of its language with its subject. To read a great poem is to bring out the perfect marriage of its sound and thought in a silent or voiced performance. At least from the time of Aristotle's Poetics, drama was conceived of as a species of poetry."
Source: Creative Studios

Journal: " "Though a journal may be many things - a treasury, a storehouse, a jewelry box, a laboratory, a drafting board, a collector's cabinet, a snapshot album, a history, a travelogue..., a letter to oneself - it has some definable characteristics. It is a record, an entry-book, kept regularly, though not necessarily daily.... Some (entries) will be nearly illegible, written in the dark in the middle of the night.... Not only is it a record for oneself, but of oneself. Every memorable journal, any successful journal, is honest. Nothing sham, phony, false...." (Dorothy Lambert from Ken Macrorie's book, Writing to be Read )
A journal is a way to keep track of your thoughts about what you read... as well as what you did on any given day."
Source: Journal Writing

A Blog is an online journal created by server side software, often hosted by a commercial interest.

"The term "weblog" was coined by Jorn Barger[4] on 17 December 1997. The short form, "blog," was coined by Peter Merholz, who jokingly broke the word weblog into the phrase we blog in the sidebar of his blog in April or May 1999.[5][6][7] Shortly thereafter, Evan Williams at Pyra Labs used "blog" as both a noun and verb ("to blog," meaning "to edit one's weblog or to post to one's weblog") and devised the term "blogger" in connection with Pyra Labs' Blogger product, leading to the popularization of the terms."

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