Author: theinvolvedhusband

Saving the world ain’t easy.

It’s product review time again! Faithful readers will know that every now and then a product comes by that deserves some extra attention – and I am just the guy to give it. So without further adieu, let’s talk paper towel…
Recently I was wandering through my favourite grocery store and on my list, right between sour cream and celery, was PAPER TOWEL. I always cringe a little because paper towel math is very similar to toilet paper math. Single roll, double roll, triple roll, half sheets, full sheets, 4 pack or 6 pack… We’ve all been there, scientific calculator in hand, trying to figure out the best deal. Some quick algebra and crudely sketched graphs and I was down to two choices. One of those choices was in a nice green package and claimed to be “sustainable” and something about eco blah blah. Now I’m not against forestry but honestly our forest management could use a little help so if I can have one tree directed to a much needed $12.00 two-by-four instead of being wasted sopping up my coffee from the Kuerig I forgot to put a cup under, then why not?
Curious what “tree free” paper was I did a quick read on the package and discovered that this amazing product was made from BAMBOO. And not just any bamboo, but the SOFTEST, MOST ABSORBANT bamboo on the planet. Intrigued I decided to try it.
I took their word on the sustainability part – I do not know if the bamboo was stolen from a Panda family or not. Perhaps I was using a baby Pandas last meal as a soak pad for bacon grease? Unfortunately I do not have that kind of information. I also do not know the carbon footprint of shipping bamboo halfway around the world instead of using local trees. I also do not know the human rights issues that may or may not be involved with the harvesting of said Bambo. Hmmm – a lot to think about for simple paper towel, but it was cheap so… Best to stick with imagining that I am saving the planet.
Upon opening the package I noticed that it was significantly umm – let’s say “crunchier” than normal paper towel. The package claims “the softest paper products in the world” and while i didnt do a scientific experiment with peer reviewing, I will stand by my assertation that I’ve felt softer. In fact I’m pretty sure I’ve felt softer 120 grit sandpaper. Alas I am trying to clean a counter top not do bodywork on a car. (At this moment I made a mental note to NEVER try bamboo toilet paper should the opportunity ever arise.)
Fast forward a couple of days and, with my incredible purchasing decision a distant memory, I walked into the house and noticed a smell. Now when I say “smell” I mean a noxious odor of indescribable horror. A full on olfactory assault of apocalyptic proportion. And when I say “notice” I mean it was like the preceeding scent was applied to my nose with a high speed shovel.
One of the dogs had apparently eaten something that didn’t quite agree with her intestines. Also apparently, whatever she ate came out as demon infused chocolate tapioca pudding mixed with mud water – and it came out from the opposite end that it went in. (It came out the end that doesn’t have teeth in case you didn’t follow me there). I wasn’t sure if I needed doggie pepto bismal or a K9 exorcism, but neither was available at this moment so through clenched teeth and watering eyes I held my breath and sent the somewhat forlorn looking offender outside.
Now I don’t want to be too graphic but the above mentioned chocolate tapioca was EVERYWHERE. Including a delightful spray up the wall. I did note that the spatter pattern would make for interesting abstract art – which added to my thoughts of cutting out the drywall and starting over. A coat of varathane and I could sell it at an art auction perhaps. I’d need a catchy title though, and unfortunately “The Last Supper” and “The Scream”, while both very fitting names, have already been taken by some other artists. Anyway, back to the product review.
I hurriedly grabbed my new paper towel, never having thought that it’s first usage would be a full blown, five alarm emergency situation. I quickly unraveled a few sheets and pulled at the perforation and… nothing happened. I regripped and tugged again and the bamboo paper-replacement finally ripped… LENGTHWISE. I now had two strips of this eco-friendly science experiment hanging from the roll mocking me. I gave up on that particular perforation and spooled down a couple more sheets, starting my rip carefully now at the edge of the line that was, by all accounts, put there for the very purpose of ripping. A ragged line formed, tearing quite literally everywhere EXCEPT on the perforation. Apparently the perforation guy didn’t understand the assignment.
By this point the smell was permeating my eye sockets and I was pretty sure I could taste the K9 chocolate tapioca so a smooth tear was now very low on my priority list anyway. I bundled up the mass I had been able to set free from the main roll and applied it to the brown soupy mess at my feet and… nothing. It soaked up nothing. Apparently bamboo is not absorbant? In horror I began to move the bundle in a circular motion, smearing an amazing pattern of liquid brown goo around while actually soaking up very little. Now in full blown panic I started spooling off paper like a blue marlin taking line on a deep sea fishing charter. I emptied the whole roll across the floor two and three layers deep like a new carpet – anything to block the smell. The empty spool fell to the floor as I unloaded roll #2 onto the mess at my feet. Dizzy from holding my breath, I have now left it that way in the hopes that a wandering Panda will smell the bamboo and come to help clean up. Either that or when it dries I can just paint over it and call it good. I suspect it should dry pretty solid and might even take a good coat of wax. I will need to change the couch cushions to match the colour however that rule of three goes on home decor.
I do have to wonder what exactly the purpose is of paper towel that is not made from paper, doesn’t tear and also doesn’t soak up the spills is actually for? The only thing it did right is hold its shape in the non-environmentally friendly plastic wrapper and look like paper towel long enough to trick me out of $5.49. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a shower.

The Difference?

Random thought…
Let’s imagine that I start making moonshine in my garage. Now of course there are laws in place and it is against federal law to distill hard alcohol (even for personal consumption) without a license. This prohibits me from legally making moonshine, but it really isn’t that difficult to do. All of the ingredients are readily accessible, it just takes some inexpensive equipment and a little know how and boom, the moonshine is flowing. I’m not allowed to legally sell it either obviously, but I soon discover that there are people who love my moonshine. In fact the demand is higher than I anticipated so I decide to quietly start selling my precious blend for cash. Hey, I’m just giving the people what they want, and if I make a few bucks in the process I’m helping the economy! Soon things are going great and my secret business is booming. My customers all know to keep quiet and we can continue our relationship forever. They all quickly grow to trust my discretion and expertise. One day I decide my moonshine would taste better with a little cyanide in it. My clients still trust me of course so they continue to drink my product. Suddenly my customers are turning up dead by the hundreds, or even thousands. In fact, cyanide laced moonshine quickly becomes the number one cause of death in males aged 19 – 39. I don’t care because I’m making a fortune, so I continue producing and selling my mixture.
While I am careful, this is a risky business and one day I slip up; the police finally catch me. I am caught red handed with a bag full of cash and a trunk load of cyanide poisoned moonshine. Upon my arrest I would expect to have some serious mental health assessments done. What kind of a madman would purposely poison his clients, or anyone for that matter? Assuming I was found mentally fit to stand trial I would then be stuffed in a jail cell for my remaining years. I would most likely make international news in fact. Every news department in the world would carry the story of the mad Canadian who was poisoning people with cyanide.

Now replace the words “cyanide laced moonshine” with “fentanyl laced drugs” in this tale and try to figure out why we dont lock up drug dealers and throw away the key?

Grow Long and Prosper

Everyone I know enjoys that quiet time at the end of the day when you get to relax. You know the time – a long work day is done, dinner is done, chores are done and you get to curl up in bed with your spouse and watch a movie or your favourite series on TV. So relaxing! I was enjoying just such an evening when one tiny error changed my life. You see, I forgot to shut the closet light off. Normally not a big deal, except – the closet light caught my face just right and my charming wife noticed that I had a long eyebrow hair that was a little rogue. She sat bolt upright and said she had tweezers handy and would (I quote) “just pop it out quick”. In hindsight I now realize that the look on her face upon spotting this renegade hair was the same look of excitement a wolf gets when it spots a defenseless bunny casually eating a dandelion – and, like the bunny, I was oblivious to the horror about to befall me.  Naively I thought “sure why not” after all she plucks them on herself all of the time and I’ve seen her do it without even flinching. At this point I really believed that she was being helpful. It turns out that she was actually plotting a form of medieval torture – and she had the audacity to look me straight in the eye with a smile when she said I would hardly feel it.
I laid back and closed my eyes while she leaned in with her dainty little tweezers and grabbed a hold of this hair that somehow had pissed her off. She gave a quick little trial tug and I started to have doubts: not only did the hair not come out, but it was far from “hardly noticeable”. In fact it kinda hurt, but I wasn’t going to let her know. I cracked open one eye slightly to peek and watched in growing concern as she pushed her sleeves up and leaned in again, now wielding the tweezers with a white knuckle grip and a crazed look of evil glee in her eye – I began to worry more.
She took hold of this sad, innocent hair again and said “ok, on three – one, two…” and yanked! On two!! I opened my mouth to tell her that she cheated but before I could speak the burn set in. Now, when I say “burn” what I mean is it kind of felt like she had hit me in the face with a shovel. Since my mouth was already open to call her out on her cheating, there was nothing to get in the way of the scream that followed. While the neighbors were undoubtedly locking their doors and preparing to call 911 to report the bloodcurdling cry, I panicked and clamped my hand over my eye, assumedly to stem the flow of blood. I quickly looked to see if she had ripped my entire brow off of my face or only half of it – but no, the tweezers were clean. Expecting to see blood sprayed across her face I glanced at her next, her lip curled back maniacally shouting “I got it!” with a purely evil Dr Frankenstein expression. At least I think she said “I got it” – she may have said “It’s Alive!!” I honestly expected to hear lightning and thunder outside of the laboratory…err, house.
It is at this time I realized that the particular hair she was so angry with must have been very long indeed as it obviously had its root firmly implanted in my backside. That’s right, I am 100% convinced that she had just pulled a hair from my ass out through my face. That is the only possible explanation for the depth that I can feel this pain.

The tears were still streaming down my face and the full shock was just setting in when I think she said that she had spotted another one. I’m not sure; I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of her sentence.

If anyone needs me, I have currently locked myself in the closet until she falls asleep. If anyone knows a good therapist please give them my number.

Conspiracy 101 – use your tin wisely

Lately the subject of “tinfoil hats” has come to my attention a few times so I feel it is necessary to help dispell some inaccuracies that are common around their construction. Whether it’s 5G networks, mind control rays, chemtrails, space lasers or any of a number of other conspiracies against you (the list is endless really), you may find yourself wondering how to make a proper tinfoil hat. On the surface it seems easy, you grab some good old Reynolds food wrap and shape it as you wish over your somewhat vacuous noggin. But hold on, it’s not that simple! First off, after the Second World War, tinfoil was supersceded by the cheaper “aluminum foil”. If you’ve been making your tinfoil hats out of food wrap over the last 75 years or so you have not been getting any tin protection. While aluminum does help with some things like chemtrail fallout, it does nothing for 5G waves. You need to know your material properties! Pure tin sheeting is expensive, but really can you put a price on saving yourself from brain eradication?
I prefer a multi-use type metallic hat just in case there are conspiracies out there that we don’t know about yet. Copper, for example, is the most conductive non-precious metal you can buy – 65% more conductive than aluminum! – and it comes in tape form, which makes it absolutely perfect for hat assembly.
What I like to do is start with an old beanie type hat as your base – it helps keep your hat from getting itchy on your scalp so you can wear it for more hours of the day. Since tin is expensive, you can limit its use to about a 10cm wide rectangle for the forehead area and two small squares, one for each temple area. Those 5G waves are targeting your frontal lobe so this is really all you need to protect with tin. (Note – take a look in the mirror and increase the size depending on how big your forehead is)
Once you have your tin cut out, go ahead and hot-glue gun those plates directly onto your beanie base. The glue will not affect the reflective qualities of the tin however I do strongly reccomend taking the beanie off of your head before you hit it with hot glue – but you do you.
Now you are ready for the first layer of aluminum foil. You want to be careful that you orient this layer correctly and ensure that you put the “shiny” side in. This will keep your thoughts from escaping to where others can read your mind. Keeping your thoughts secure in your head will honestly make the world a better place. I also like to leave a couple of foil flaps hanging down at the back to cover the neck area – an alloy mullet if you will. I’m not sure if it does anything but it looks super cool.
Up to this point we have been using all non-ferrous (non magnetic) materials. As an extra layer of protection you can wrap a coil of good old-fashioned galvanized fencing wire around the hat now. This layer doesn’t need to fully cover the surface area, just 6 or 8 wraps will sufficiently disrupt any magnetic impulse beams trying to penetrate your deepest and darkest secret thoughts. (Helpful hint – Leave a loop of free wire at the back that you can grab with plyers later to twist and tighten, so that no NWO agents can pull it off of your head)
To hold the wire wrap in place, cover it with the copper tape. Use as much of this as you like, remembering that copper is very conductive so if you are outside during a storm later you may just become a 5 or 6 foot tall lightning rod. Some risks cannot be overcome. In fact, as a functionality test you may wish to actively search out a thunderstorm to stand in. (Note – please video this test and send it to me. Please.)
The final step is what will give your hat its “traditional” tinfoil hat look. Cover the entire assembly with your second layer of aluminum foil. Be sure to put this layer of foil opposite to the first layer, with the “shiny” side out this time – to reflect the mind control rays away from you. Some people like to put the foil into a point on top. This conehead look is very aerodynamic and is also quite dapper – style is style and you want to look as good as you feel. You just never know when you will stumble across the love of your life. Of course, you won’t stumble across anyone while living in your basement so now that you have a stylish and functional protective hat, get out there and meet some people. Just be sure to update your Tinder profile pic.

Seasonal Pillows

I recently had a friend ask if we had “seasonal pillows” in our house. After a brief discussion, I learned that there are people who change out their cushions to match the colours or themes of the seasons and holidays throughout the year. This got me thinking about our humble couch and I realized that we have seasonal pillows as well:

During the summer our pillows are bright and warm, perhaps even starting to fade a little as the sunshine beats through the windows onto them. These cushions are a deep, natural green – and they are covered in dog hair.

During the dark and cold of winter we have pillows that are soft and cozy, lit up by a flicker of orange from the wood stove, the perfect place to sit with a cup of hot cocoa while the snow falls outside. These winter cushions are a warm, comforting green -and they are covered in dog hair.

At Thanksgiving the cushions transform into extra seating for family, with the smell of turkey and stuffing and ham and pie spread throughout the room. The Thanksgiving pillows are an inviting green colour, perfect for visiting with family – and they are covered in dog hair.

At Halloween they transform again, holding up skeletons and witches or perhaps stuffing a costume that needs filling out. They provide a place of rest for little ghosts and goblins to sit and sort candy, happily examining and organizing every piece of the evenings treasure haul. These Halloween cushions are a dark, haunting green – and they are covered in dog hair.

My favourite seasonal pillows however, are the Christmas pillows. These cushions are full of laughter and love as family and friends sit together and catch up on the year that has passed. They often smell of candles and fresh baking. They often smell of Ham and potatoes and butter and bread. They can be covered in crumpled up wrapping paper, or used as a seat on the floor on Christmas morning. They are lit up by the glow of lights from the tree, reds and blues and yellows and greens all twinkling across their surface. Beneath the shimmering lights of the season, these Christmas cushions are a rich, festive green – and they are covered in dog hair.

I love our seasonal pillows.

I See You

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In the darkness, I am watching. I see your face as it relaxes as you let out a soft snore, only to be pulled back in a grimace as the pain rears up again. I watch as you roll from side to side, asleep but not really, searching for a position where your body will be comfortable. I watch as you finally doze off again, lying on my arm this time, your breathing finally settled into a calm, easy rhythm. The tingles as my arm goes numb tells me that I should move but I dare not for fear of interrupting what few moments of peaceful slumber you do get. There it is, perhaps three or four minutes pass this time before your legs decide they need to move. Your brow furrows and your lips pull taught as you shift again, still convinced, or at least hopeful, that a new position will bring comfort. I check the clock; I know you were up long past me, waiting for the exhaustion to finally overpower the pain and allow sleep to come. The nights are not always this bad but when they are I can only lie here and try to not disrupt you. Its nights like this that make it impossible for you to have solid plans on any given day – I know tomorrow morning will not be a pleasant one for you. The pain coupled with the lack of sleep will combine to keep you away from doing many of the things you love. If I, or most people for that matter, have a bad night’s sleep we struggle through the day, complain and maybe joke about it a little before looking forward to the next night. You don’t look forward to the next night however. The quiet and the darkness only mean a lack of distraction so the pain may have the spotlight again; the pain demands it in fact. As I struggle with my own helplessness my thoughts are broken by you releasing another tortured moan. I look over again to see your lips pulled back with agony once more. Your forehead creased in frown as you again shift position, arms and legs stretching, searching for comfort and relief. Your face is so good at smiling all day, the rest of the world oblivious to your struggle, the constant pain, the inability to do many of the tasks that you used to. I often wonder how you do it, how you manage to fight this war daily. Your face has become a master at hiding it all. During this quiet time however, in the middle of the night while the world still sleeps, you let down your guard. The mask is off, there is no more disguise and the battle is real. I see you.

Hangin’ Around

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My wife and I are the proverbial “empty nesters” and that has brought about some exciting changes with how we utilize our living spaces. One of the biggest changes we have made is to transform our spare bedroom into a giant walk in closet, or “dressing room”. We opened up the wall to make it an adjoining part of our master bedroom and finally almost have enough room for all of our clothes. I say almost because we have a LOT of clothes. My life of haberdashery used to be so easy – clothes for going out in and clothes for not going out in. Done. However thanks to career changes, hobby upgrades and some mild lifestyle tweaks I now find myself in a state of awe every time I walk into the “dressing room”. There are clothes for work, clothes for yard work, clothes for going out for dinner, clothes for going out for a fancier dinner, clothes to go to the beach, clothes to snowshoe in, clothes to dirtbike in, clothes to streetbike in, clothes to snowmobile in, clothes to sleep in, clothes to work out in… you get the idea.

Armed with a slight understanding of our clothes situation, one can clearly see that there is a need for some organization and planning for storage. Bins, shelves, drawers, high racks, low racks; all have their place and they all make perfect sense, but there is one little detail that I never envisioned would become so important in my life: the simple clothes hanger.

Up to this point in my life I had put zero thought into the mighty clothes hanger. It had two purposes: Hold a shirt from falling on the floor and opening a car door after you lock your keys inside. That’s it; the industrious hanger was simple and effective for its intended uses. So perhaps you can imagine my surprise the first time I was told I was using the WRONG HANGER while helping my wife with laundry. I was shocked in fact. I turned and quickly looked for a glaring mistake – the shirt was clearly off of the floor so the hanger was doing its job to perfection – what could possibly be wrong? Little did I know that this was only lesson 1 of what was to become a bachelor’s degree in hangerology.

The error was a grave one; I had mistakenly hung up one of my t-shirts on a wooden hanger. I had obviously missed the memo wherein the declaration was stated that wooden hangers were for the sole purpose of hanging the fancy dress clothes; T-shirts were relegated to the white dollar store plastic hanging devices. Ok, fair enough, the wooden hangers are nicer so it makes sense for the “good” clothes to be on them. I corrected my mistake. Uh oh, not so fast – apparently I was still in breach of hanger regulations. Did you know that there was more than one size of plain white plastic hanger available? Neither did I but ignorance is not a defense of the law so I very quickly learned that the thicker and heavier white plastic hangers were reserved for use in the closet with the heavier jackets – they were not to be wasted on the menial task of t-shirt suspension.

I proceeded to finish hanging my t-shirts with the approved hangers and moved on to the new laundry. Things were about to get more interesting. I pulled out one of my nice work shirts and hung it to dry. I carefully did up the top button so that the collar would lay flat (read about the top button here) and hooked the hanger on the nice bar we had installed for the sole purpose of drying clothes before they were put away. I was quite proud of myself until I heard a voice behind me say “what exactly are you doing??” I froze. Holding back the panic I did a quick run through of what I knew: The shirt was hung nicely, button done up, nice clothes so nice wooden hanger – what was I missing?? With an eyeroll she informed me that WET clothes could absolutely not go on the wooden hangers to dry. I had failed, obviously missing another part of the lesson somewhere along the way. Wet clothes needed to be on plastic hangers. Dang I thought I had nailed that one. Back to the drawing board.

As she followed along redoing my hard work I began to wonder if I was actually helping at all, or just creating more work for her as we went. I was informed that I had incorrectly used the black plastic hangers throughout my side of the dressing room as well. To be fair, the black hanger is absolutely identical in every way to the white hanger with the exception of its colour. I did not realize that apartheid is alive and well in our dressing room as the black hangers are solely for use on her side of the closet. Supposedly it’s to differentiate her clothing from mine which makes perfect sense – I can clearly see how I might grab a pink “women who sled” t-shirt when I clearly wanted my black “AC/DC” t-shirt. I promised to be more careful.

There are many other hanger styles scattered throughout our new-found clothes storage space: Some have clips, some have multiple levels, some are straight, some have hooks for straps, some have swivels – it’s actually quite intense. I now realize that I do not have a hope of correctly memorizing all of these different hangers and their correct usages so I am resolved to sticking with what I know: I get the skinny white hangers for most of my things and a few wooden ones for some of my other things. Anything else is reserved for her specialty clothing department on the other side of the room. Unless it’s not.

Next week I may tackle lesson 2: Direction. I have just found out that shirts should go on a hanger facing a certain way so statistically I have just hung up 50% of my clothes incorrectly. At least they are off of the floor.

Big News – and a little history

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Warning – this post contains some background information that some of you may find… well, boring.

As long as I can remember, I have been putting words onto paper – yes actual paper, I am that old. I started writing stories as a child, using a manual typewriter that my parents had. I would make some notes on a paper and then type out a copy of a story. Afterwards it would require the use a pencil to make edits, move lines, scribble and rewrite in the margins and then retype a “good” copy – only to see that I missed a word and had to retype the entire page. Good times. No grammar check, no spell check, no copy and paste – just raw words and a dictionary. This pastime was always just a hobby for me, something to do in the evenings before Netflix and social media were a thing. Many times I suspect it was something I did to avoid homework too. The first time I recall my writing actually being “successful” was in high-school. The class was given an assignment to write a story, but there was a twist; every student had to use the same plot. Thirty students wrote the “same” story, in their own words; my story won and was published because of it. An obsession was born.

Faithful readers of The Involved Husband will know that I usually bake my stories with a spoonful of sarcasm, a dollop of half truths and a bucketful of hyperbole – sometimes with a dash of salt. My stories have made their way into newspapers, magazines and online publications. I have written news articles for local papers as well as product reviews, entertainment pieces and how-tos. I wrote and produced a small local magazine called Snow Country Magazine for a number of years, researching, writing, printing and delivering copies throughout the city. This blog itself, The Involved Husband, has been read in 47 countries around the globe, by tens of thousands of people. I have made people laugh, I have made people cry. I have had complete strangers tell me how a story has touched their lives. As my hobby has grown, so have my goals and aspirations for it. Honestly the feedback from both friends and strangers around the world is undoubtedly the most fulfilling part of this voyage. 

I won’t bore you further with this little stroll down memory lane. I have given you just a small glimpse into my literary history as a lead-in to this news: One of my stories has been published in the latest edition of the hugely popular Chicken Soup for the Soul series! 

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Laughter is the Best Medicine has a story I previously put together to (mostly) pick on my wife. Long time followers will know that a worldly portion of my dissertations center around my wife, albeit all in humour and loving fun. This story looks at an aspect of our then new-to-us exercise regiment, and it’s aptly titled “My Wife Tried to Kill Me”.  Please check it out, available in stores and online April 14 2020.

Thanks to my wife Carla and all of my other readers and supporters (and yes even the critics) – on to the next goal!

Social Distance

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So many things have been taken for granted for a long time. Maybe you should have visited that old friend. (But you were just so tired after work)
Maybe you should have taken your significant other to that movie. (But it was just so late to stay up)
Perhaps you should have been a little more diligent in saving for a rainy day (that rainy day is now btw).
Maybe you should have made that trip to visit your parents or grandparents. (Next summer, right?)
We have all created habits, both good and bad. We have also gotten very comfortable in thinking “theres always tomorrow”. We will get through this but I suspect we will all have new appreciation and understanding of what is actually important to us, our priorities realigned.
Maybe, just maybe, this is the reset that we didnt know we needed.

Angels among us – Flight C-GPUN

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*special thanks to  Werner Fischdick and the Werner Fischdick Collection for permission to share this photo of C-GPUN*

As Christmas 1994 approached, my wife and I were frantically getting our lives ready for our first child, due to arrive in the second week of February. As soon-to-be new parents we were trying to juggle the excitement with fear and trepidation, unsure of this new adventure we were undertaking. Apparently all of the buzz around Christmas was too much for our unborn daughter to miss out on as in the early morning hours of December 23rd she decided that she was going to join in the festivities; Seven weeks premature and weighing a spritely 5 pounds, the world welcomed our daughter Kirsten Anderson. It was a scary time as her underdeveloped lungs meant that she was confined to an incubator, with bright lights to fight off jaundice and constant monitoring of her oxygen levels. She had to remain in the hospital, unable to come to home, and we spent every hour sitting or trying to sleep in a chair by her side. On Christmas Eve the nurses assured us that everything was fine and sent my wife and I home to spend Christmas with the rest of our family, leaving Kirsten behind in the hospital for the night. The drive home without her was, and remains, one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

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Hours turned into days and days into weeks as our daughter made steady progress and we began to anticipate being able to bring her home. Something went wrong however, and heading into the second week of January we were notified that her blood oxygen level had started dropping and had to be compensated with higher and higher levels in the incubator. Tests were run with no clear answers and as her oxygen intake continued to deteriorate the emergency decision was made to fly her down from our Prince George hospital in Northern BC to Vancouver Children’s hospital for further investigation into the cause. We were also advised that there was room on the flight for one of us to join and it was quickly decided that her mother would be the one to travel with her while I stayed behind for work. On the evening of January 10 1995 I watched the Air Ambulance Learjet 35 take off from PG and turn south for Vancouver with my baby and my wife on board. I have never felt so helpless.

During the short one hour flight from PG to Vancouver the medevac team received a call out of Masset, a village on Haida Gwaii, (then named the Queen Charlotte Islands) for another medical emergency transport. Haida Gwaii is north of Vancouver and it would save time and distance to redirect the flight and pick that patient up enroute instead of making a second trip. The flight crew discussed going straight to Masset and transporting both Kirsten and the other patient together but it was determined that with the three paramedics, two flight crew, Kirsten and her mother all on board it would be too crowded; It was decided to drop Kirsten and her mom off in Vancouver first.

After unloading in Vancouver, at 12:35am the Learjet Medevac plane and its crew left YVR and headed towards Masset for the second patient. That flight never arrived. At 1:46am on January 11, 1995 the aircraft and its flight crew of two along with three medical personnel were all lost into the ocean on descent into Masset.

As the investigation unfolded the Transportation Safety Board contacted us for any information we may be able to give. They took prints of the photos that Kirsten’s mom had snapped while on board to see if they could spot anything that would give clues into the accident. They also did interviews to see what was noticed regarding the flight staffs moods or anything else that may shed light on the incident. In the end the Transportation Safety Board determined that an incorrectly calibrated altimeter caused the plane to descend into the ocean before reaching the runway. The plane was eventually recovered in approximately 80 metres of water and all five crew on board were lost.

As a side note, our daughter’s oxygen levels began improving immediately upon arrival into Vancouver and she was released back to Prince George after only a couple of days of observation. The Doctors suspect that the change in altitude experienced on the flight was enough of a shock to her lungs to encourage them to start functioning properly. Now, 25 years later, she has finished Medical School and is working through her residency in a hospital on Vancouver Island.

To the family and friends of those lost in this tragedy, my heart goes out to you all. To the Doctors, Paramedics, Medical teams, Flight crews and personnel that work so hard to keep us healthy, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are all heroes to me.

In honour of: ITT Paramedic Andreas Goedickie, Paramedic Wendy Thompson, Dr. Jeffery Dolph and Pilots Daniel Jorgensen and Geir Zinke.

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SamKruleskiNationalCoffeeDayFixed

⬇️⬇️ Coffee please! ⬇️⬇️

If you’re enjoying what you’re reading please consider helping me stay awake with a caffeinated beverage or two! ❤️

CA$5.00