used mont blanc pens The Province
The first day in a penitentiary is a lot like your first day of public school all ticky boxes and metadata. First stop is a place called SIS: Stores and Institutional Supplies. There they remove the Houdini flavoured shipping shackles you been wrapped in for the past four hours, and replace them with the costume of the convicted: clown cut denims (Calvin Cons), fireproof T shirts (in target practice blue), and a set of compressed paper loafers we call Freeboks. Now that you look the part on the outside, it time to check the inner man.
pull down your pants and lie on your side up there on the bench. I sized up the tweed coated prison doctor doing my intake exam. So far none of the hoops I had leapt through were on fire. This one sounded a little trickier. have to check your prostate, he said in response to my query. stuff. was 22 years old. I looked like I was 17. And though I wasn yet what you call well read, I didn need a doctorate in urology to know that playing does that feel? with a 17 year old man plumbing in a locked, windowless room is hardly standardized medicine. Besides, the boys on the bus had already warned me off this oddball.
name is Dr. Wang no, really and he loves them, said one. show up with a twisted ankle and he have your pants down. He say it to check for a hernia. not the best part, added a tattoo scarred con from the next cage. doesn wear gloves. And he doesn wash after. Just wipes them on a towel. So try not to shake his hand, he advised.
I stood my ground, informing the prison reigning sex gland supervisor that I was quite confident my prostate was exactly where God had put it.
you have to. Its part of the examination, said Dr. Wang. you don do the examination, we can let you into the prison. First I get an invitation to buggery that any straight kid raised in the shadow of rodeos and Playboy magazine would balk at. And now Doctor Without Borders was going to bar me from the Big House if I didn play house with him? I was sure I had just found the solution to my incarceration problems. Back up the bus, Doc I going to Disneyland!
In the end (no, not that end), we agreed to disagree. The good Dr. Wang took a rain cheque on my caboose, turning instead to a series of rapid fire questions apparently tailored to keep me behind bars until I did need a prostate exam. you ever shared in the torture of small animals? Slept in your mother underwear? Played ABBA backwards on a turntable? as the prison saw bone rolled through his checklist, it was his hands that captured the majority of my attention. While his left clutched co dependently at what looked to be a weathered Mont Blanc knockoff,
his right flitted about like a light hungry moth before finally settling on the physician hairless upper lip, square beneath his nostrils. Dr. Wang inhaled deeply. Fascinating. Me being the fourth new arrival that day, I sure the medicine man had much to ponder. I made a mental note not to sign anything.
I thought about that long ago exam this week while reading about a wearable smartphone (a watch!) that can take your pulse, blood pressure, monitor your exercise, diet and sleep patterns, remind you to take your medication, and even sync to your blood sugar monitor via a free app. It can call 911 if you fall (or suffer a heart attack) and send first responders to your GPS identified location. It can signal your pharmacist for a prescription renewal, encourage you to take a walk instead of couch surfing reruns of Dr. Oz, and even order you a heart healthy alternative from the menu of a local participating restaurant. In short, modern tech has really put the Wang in our pockets (or around your wrist, depending on your preference).
In other major news, Canadian bean counters are now declaring certain provinces at risk for a major financial coronary over rising health care costs. In Quebec where the ratio of multilingual, tax paying hijab wearers to retired separatist xenophobes is suddenly shrinking the province first aid kit may be out of Band Aids in less than a decade. I can be the only one seeing the magic legume here, folks.
Of course, provincial governments may wish to tread slowly into this arena. Remember what happened when the feds tried to take Canadian veterans into the space age. The good minister in charge of coddling the commandos almost lost his well, you get the point. But if the Big House can consistently turn out the lowest mortality rates and health care budgets in the nation, using only one country doctor cum veterinarian for 650 mobility challenged hypochondriacs, I can see how a 24/7 wearable generalist can miss. Heck, to avoid drawing attention, you could even shape it like a cigar.