Over the last few weeks, American news media has been intensely preoccupied with the case of Terri Schiavo, a topic that has touched many and prompted vigorous and acrimonious debate. Her life and death struggle has sparked important dialogue in many homes, including my own. I cannot begin to imagine how difficult her life has been over the past 15 years. If, as some believe, she was aware and conscious of what was going on around her, that makes it even worse. I cannot begin to think of myself or a loved one, existing, helpless, at the mercy of those around me, unable to express my desires, unable to say what I’m feeling or what I need.

I was once in a situation many years ago that I can use as a comparison. I had been very ill, in a crisis state, and when I woke up in the hospital recovery room, I was alone, except for a nurse. I was hooked up to a respirator, which left me unable to speak. The room was excruciatingly warm (or at least, I was), and I desperately wanted to communicate that to the nurse who was monitoring me because I thought I was going to suffocate from the heat. Although I was attached to various tubes on both sides, I managed to move my arms enough to flip off the blanket covering me, hoping to get some relief and let in some cool air onto my overheated body. The moment I moved the blanket off me, the nurse immediately replaced it, tucking it in firmly at all sides. I desperately struggled, trying to communicate to her with my eyes and finger movements that I was hot and could not tolerate the blanket. With as much movement as I could muster in my fingers, I again tried to flip the blanket off, only succeeding in moving it a few inches. Again the nurse tucked the blanket in. This struggle had made me even more uncomfortable and hot, and again I fought to move it off. The nurse became quite irritated and reprimanded me, telling me that the blanket needed to stay put. She pulled it up even more firmly around my shoulders. After several more feeble attempts, I finally gave up. I lay there in helpless silence, tears rolling down my face, mutely accepting the fact that I was not going to be able to communicate my needs to that nurse, knowing that I would have to remain subject to her whims. I felt like I was going to suffocate, but I was powerless to change the situation. The feeling of having total consciousness, yet being forced to lay there without any control over what was happening to me, was indescribably horrible.

If Terri Schiavo was able to experience these emotions, I can’t help but feel that it was unbelievably cruel to keep her alive in that helpless state. To be at the mercy of those around me… to not be able to communicate even my simplest needs… I could barely tolerate it for those few hours until the breathing tube was finally removed — but for 15 years?

On the other hand, if Terri was in a “persistent vegetative state,” as her doctors ruled, then I’m not sure what to think. What is there to be gained by sustaining existence for an individual in this condition? In many ways it seems selfish, clinging to an unreasonable hope. As a parent, I ache for Terri’s parents, who kept hanging on to any shred of hope that Terri might come back to them. I wonder if I would feel the same, were it one of my beloved daughters. Yet, as a parent, do I have the right to force my child to keep breathing, enduring a life of complete helplessness? Do I have the right to inflict my own needs on her and force her to stay alive? Do I have the right to make a life or death decision for someone I love?

Adding to the complexity of this drama, countless individuals and organizations have used Terri’s suffering to advance their own political or social agenda. It seems to me that the only person really thinking for Terri was her husband, who made the decision on her behalf to end the torture.

Watching this drama play out on national television has motivated me (like many others) to write my own living will; to define in detail what I want done if I ever should find myself in a similar situation where I’m unable to make the decision for myself. It’s not a conversation most of us want to have with our loved ones, but a necessary one.

Quality of life is at the heart of the debate, and it has nothing to do with living with disabilities, as some would have you believe. I have many good friends who suffer disabilities of different degrees of severity. I would never presume to judge what they consider quality of life, nor would I ever presume to suggest that an individual has no quality of life simply because they are disabled. But my own experience has led me to conclude that quality of life takes priority over remaining alive simply for the sake of life itself. What is of utmost importance is individual free will, and I believe each individual should have the right to decide their own destiny and write their own quality of life definition. If, as Terri’s husband alleges, it was her decision not to be kept alive by artificial means, this should have been the deciding factor (as the courts ultimately ruled).

When I was a teenager, my grandfather had a stroke at age 70. When the stroke had hit him, he had fallen to the floor, weak and paralyzed, yet still able to speak. He told my grandmother that he could not move, but she didn’t believe him initially. By the time the ambulance finally arrived at the farm to transport him to hospital, he was almost completely helpless, unable to speak, move or respond.

I remember all of the family rushing to the hospital, as he lay in a coma. We didn’t know what to expect, and thought he might die. I stood by his side, stunned, watching the nurses administer to him when suddenly he began to cry out for my grandmother. I realized that, even though he was paralyzed on the outside, he was very much aware on the inside.

In the years that followed, my grandfather continued to “exist”, even though everything else changed around him. My grandmother died, the farm was sold, nothing of his former life was left. His body was paralyzed and movement limited, but for the first few years he retained his mental agility. He knew who we all were, understood his surroundings, and was able to be part of the community in a limited way. But he soon lost this as his physical body slowly deteriorated. I would go to visit him, and he had no clue who I was, nor was he able to even hold a meaningful conversation. It made me so sad to watch him decline, and I vowed to never live that way myself if it was under my control.

My aunt became the primary caregiver for my grandfather at the auxiliary hospital that became his home. She related to me how he would sometimes scream out in pain and frustration, asking God why he was being forced to stay alive in this helpless condition. He would beg her to let him die, to please not make him stay alive. But euthanasia was not an option, and my grandfather was forced to continue to exist until his physical body finally gave up 12 years later. For me, my grandfather died the day he had the stroke. In that helpless shell of a body, he was no longer the same grandfather I knew and loved.

Writing a will is a difficult enough procedure–no one wants to think about dying. Writing a living will is even more difficult because no one wants to even imagine what life might be like living in an uncertain physical condition, or with a severe disability. Many people with disabilities manage to have a very high quality of life. Many do not. What it should come down to is personal choice. No one should be able to decide for me whether I’m obligated to stay alive, regardless of the quality of that life. I do not want to remain alive, helpless, desperately trying to communicate my simplest needs to those around me, yet unable to do so. Nor would I wish this on anyone I love.

There are many other debates that surround this very sad story. First and foremost is the topic of euthanasia, along with compassionate care for terminally ill, definitions of disabilities and brain death, and the ethics of withholding treatment. The latter includes food and water, and many argue (quite rightly) that euthanasia would have been a more compassionate route than starvation in Terri’s case. Unfortunately, our society has not yet managed to resolve these ethical and moral dilemmas, so families will continue to face the same heartbreaking choices Terri’s family did.

The legacy Terri Schiavo has left behind is that many people, including myself, will have this necessary dialogue with their families — making a decision regarding their future. What is most important is the right each of us have for self-determination, the right we each have to control our own destiny, the right to decide for ourselves what direction we wish to go, whether it be life or death.

PHD GRADS PLAN TO LEAVE CANADA

The first national census of PhD recipients in Canada, Statistics Canada’s Survey of Earned Doctorates, has revealed that of 3600 doctoral graduates produced last year, one in five say they plan to leave Canada to work or to continue studying. Life science and physical science graduates were the most likely to leave the country, accounting for one in three PhD graduates in these programs. Although the good news is that of those grads intending to leave Canada, almost half say they plan to return, this may not be enough to sustain Canada’s universities. With a 9.5 percent decline in doctorates awarded and a need to replace up to 20,000 retiring professors in the next decade, Canadian universities are facing a serious shortage of professors.

Foreign students represent nearly one-quarter of all doctoral graduates, and are the most likely to report plans to leave Canada. With countries like India and China able to retain their own PhD grads and lure students back who study overseas, greater pressure is being placed on countries like Canada to produce even more PhD graduates.

On average, doctoral graduates were about 36 years old, and took almost 6 years to complete their programs, with those in humanities and social sciences taking slightly longer. About half were able to finance their studies with scholarships, or teaching or research assistantships, and among those who did incur debt to finance their graduate studies, 41 percent owed less than $10,000, and 32 percent owed more than $20,000 (Schmidt, 2005).

Schmidt, S. (2005). 1 in 3 PhD science grads plan to leave country, StatsCanada finds: first such census hints at coming shortage of profs. CanWest News Service, July 6, 2005. http://www.canada.com/edmonton/edmontonjournal/news/story.html?id=0d4e271b-bfd0-430f-a362-6ab279e73305

Earlier that evening, I had cried tears of joy as I welcomed my newest grandchild into the world. We had been on baby-watch for the last week after my daughter’s due date came and went. My cell-phone stayed on and at my side constantly. Every time her number came up my heart would begin to race as I expected that the moment had arrived. At 5:00 a.m. yesterday morning, she called to advise me that her water had broken. We leisurely began to make our way to the hospital. With her first baby, the time duration between her water breaking and the delivery was over 30 hours, so we were settling in for another long haul.

My youngest daughter had been assigned the task of taking care of her sister’s weekend shop, so I arranged to have her take my car and drop me off at the hospital. My task was to care for my grandson during the birth. I was surprised and pleased to discover that hospital policies have changed since the time I had my children, and my grandson was allowed to be present for the whole thing. One of the reasons I had opted for home births was because I wanted my children to be with me when their siblings were born. My daughter embraces this same philosophy. We feel it is essential that he be part of the birth process, welcoming his new brother into the world.

Shortly after arriving at the hospital, however, my daughter was sent back home. We theorized later about why this occurred. Ostensibly, it was because her labour had not progressed far enough; that she would be better off at home during early labour. However, the hospital was unusually busy with births that day, and rooms were being filled as quickly as they were vacated. The doctor suggested a 5:00 p.m. return would probably be appropriate, so we packed up all her items and returned home to rest and wait.

I took advantage of the break to visit with my other daughters and my granddaughter. I finally headed home at around 2:00 p.m., hoping for a short nap to energize me for the expected long night ahead. I had barely walked in the door when the phone rang. My daughter was in hard labour. I could tell from her voice that we needed to waste no time in returning to the hospital. A little over three hours later, at about 5:45 p.m., she gave birth to a healthy, beautiful little boy.

He was silent and unmoving in the first moments after birth. It was only when the doctor said, “we must wake him up,” and cut the cord, that he finally took in the breath of life and greeted us with a lusty cry. In the first hour after the birth, mother and son bonded. I was amazed at how intently he gazed into her face. Her sisters arrived, and as we surrounded the bed to admire him, she commented, “he looks like great grandpa.” We all agreed that he did, indeed, bear a strong likeness to his great great grandfather.

After a few hours, we left the hospital exhausted. My intention was to go straight to sleep, but something motivated me to email a few pictures of the baby to my father before I went to bed. It seems like, once again, that sixth sense was in operation. When I spoke with my father later the next day, he told me how much it had meant to receive the pictures in his in-box first thing in the morning, after he had spent much of the night mourning the loss of his own father.

An early morning phone call awakened me with the news that my grandfather had died. I was still disoriented and on a high from the birth, so it took me a few moments to absorb the news. My grandfather had been in the hospital with pneumonia, but had been doing well. Some part of me really believed he would pull through it, like he had done so many times before. Some part of me really expected that he would still be with us for a while longer. I hadn’t rushed to the hospital to visit, because some part of me thought he would pull through. He was healthy, able to get around on his own, and still mentally sharp. Some part of me thought, irrationally, that he would live forever. But his 100-year-old heart finally gave out.

Throughout the day, family members discussed things and examined the circumstances around my grandfather’s death. We all agreed that after his 100th birthday party, he seemed to have turned a corner. It was as if he had decided that 100 years was enough; it was time to go.

Our conversation turned to those moments shortly after my little grandson was born and the pronouncement in that first hour that he bore a resemblance to his great great grandfather. It was surreal and difficult to actually comprehend. Many cultures believe that death is always accompanied by new life, but I’ve never before experienced that phenomenon so directly.

Sunday was a very difficult day. My daughters and I spent the day together as a family, processing the profound emotions that these two events had engendered. After visiting with the new baby, we stopped and had dinner with my parents. My father is a stoic man who does not show emotion easily, but I knew how deeply he was hurting. For my mother, this death brought back memories of the passing of her sister (my aunt) earlier in the summer. Although we all tried to remain upbeat and positive, focusing on the beautiful new addition to our family, we could not shake the deep underlying sadness that clung to every thought and word.

Finally, I arrived home Sunday evening, exhausted from too many tears — tears of joy and tears of sadness. Suddenly my doorbell rang. I was surprised, wondering who might be calling at 8:00 p.m. on a Sunday. As I made my way to the door and switched the porch light on, I heard singing. Puzzled, I wondered whether some of my younger daughter’s friends had perhaps imbibed one too many at the bar down the street and were visiting my house in hopes of continuing the party. As I opened the door wide, the words and the tune came clear, “…the stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay…the little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay.” To my amazement, eight young carollers stood on my doorstep in the chilly night air, singing “Away in a Manger.” Their smiling faces beamed with joy as they continued serenading me, verse after verse, while I stood, mouth agape in astonishment. I had never before been visited by carollers. The coincidence of their presence and the song they were singing was extraordinary. It brought back long-forgotten memories of standing around the piano with my grandfather and my grandmother singing carols.

The carollers finished their song with a loud, “Merry Christmas!” and retreated down my steps. Tears filled my eyes and I could barely get out the words to thank them, to tell them just how much their beautiful and selfless gift of song had meant to me on this particular evening. They responded by offering to sing me another song! Although tempted, I refused, afraid I would be unable to maintain any semblance of control if they continued singing. As I closed the door, I finally broke down and wept uncontrollably, all the strange, surreal events of the weekend taking their toll. I don’t know who these wonderful young people were, nor how they happened to choose my door, but I felt in that moment that I had been visited by a choir of angels.

Although I don’t hold a particular belief about death and the afterlife, I don’t believe death is the end. I am confident that my grandfather has moved on to the next phase of his existence, reunited at last with my grandmother. But he lives on in so many other ways. He lives on in the faces of his grandchildren and great grandchildren and in their personalities. His philosophy of life lives on through the lessons he has taught my children and me by the way he chose to live his life. He lives on in our memories of him, the precious times we spent together. Most of all, though, he will live on through the birth of a new child — his great great grandson. A child who has forged a powerful connection to his great great grandfather across the span of one hundred years — one soul entering the world and embracing life…one soul leaving it.

No mandatory retirement in Ontario

Many Athabasca University students are entering the workforce or changing careers later in life. Those living in Ontario, therefore, may welcome the news that Ontario has formally banned mandatory retirement, joining Manitoba, Quebec, Alberta, PEI, the Yukon and NWT. The legislation, to come into effect one year after receiving Royal Assent, has been applauded by many workers as an opportunity for workers past the age of 65 to continue to develop their careers and financially contribute to supporting their families.

The law amends the province’s Human Rights Code, thereby extending protection against discrimination on the basis of age to individuals over 65. Under the amended legislation, employers can decide whether to continue offering benefits to older employees.

Critics of the move argue that future generations may soon be expected to work well into their late sixties before becoming eligible for pensions. Critics point to the U.S. where access to government benefits has been increased to age 67. Proponents argue that the benefits continue to outweigh any such perceived disadvantages.

Reference

Canadian Press (2005, December 9). “Historic day” as Ontario bans mandatory retirement: Some fear next step is raising age for benefits. Edmonton Journal. Retrieved from http://www.canada.com/edmontonjournal/news/story.html?id=1a14fde9-0b22-4306-b335-092b21b8ce13

This past year I’ve had the wonderful privilege to experience 100 years in a very special way. My grandfather has celebrated his 100th birthday! He is in excellent health, and seems like he could easily live another 100 years. But it’s really difficult to comprehend what exactly it means to live that long.

When I asked him, at his birthday celebration, just how it felt to turn 100, he said, “the same as it did when I turned 80…and 60…and 40…” by then I was chiming in, because I knew exactly what he meant. It really doesn’t change much. You feel the same inside. It’s only the outside that shows the change.

As befitting this very special occasion, my grandfather had two birthday celebrations. The first was sponsored by the senior’s residence where my grandfather lives, in conjunction with the Alberta government’s centennial celebration. The local MLA was in attendance, as were virtually all the staff at the home, and almost all the building residents. Family members were few, however, just including my father, aunt and uncle, and my daughters and I. This was partly because the celebration was held during a weekday when others were at work, but also because my father’s family is notoriously bad at communicating, and many of the family didn’t even know the first celebration had occurred!

The second was geared toward family, and my uncle made a real effort to locate as many of our scattered family members as possible to attend. Sadly, however, there is a certain degree of estrangement, and even at the second celebration many of the family were conspicuous by their absence. I know our family is not alone in this estrangement, but it’s sad, nonetheless. This was really brought home to me during the family party. When you live to be 100, you outlive several generations of family. My grandfather’s siblings are all gone, as are most of his peers, and several have passed away of his children’s generation. His first wife died long ago and even though he remarried (at the youthful age of 80 to his childhood sweetheart), his second wife has also passed. Of those who survive, children and grandchildren tend to scatter as they marry and create new and complex lives of their own. By the time it trickles down to the fourth and firth generation, we have lost many connections.

Of the family members who did arrive, it was a bittersweet experience to re-connect with cousins I hadn’t seen in over 30 years. On the one hand it was remarkable to realize how much we have in common, that familial thread of heredity that continues to connect us. My aunt, cousin and I all laughed when we realized that we all shared a particular trait of my grandmother’s — a tendency to bump into things and be covered with bruises without knowing how or where it had occurred! On the other hand, it was sad to realize how completely we’ve lost touch. Even though we all left the celebration with promises that we would call or write, we all knew that it was unlikely that this would occur.

An unusual family re-connect occurred quite unexpectedly at the first birthday celebration. The government MLA had arrived with two escorts. One of these, a middle-aged man, was in charge of taking pictures, and as he completed several family shots near our table, one of my daughters grabbed my arm. “Did you see his name tag?” she whispered, “I think he’s related to us!” I made my way over to where he was standing and confirmed the name on the tag. After a few moments of conversation, I confirmed that he was, indeed, a second cousin of mine on my mother’s side! Although we had never met, at least one member of our family had been in touch with him recently, a young cousin and contemporary of my daughters who is working on family genealogy. We exchanged email addresses, both somewhat bemused at the unusual circumstance of this meeting.

The first celebration was impressive. The banquet room was packed with residents & residence directors, who clearly had great affection and respect for my grandfather. They had prepared an elaborate celebration, complete with song. Tears came to my eyes as an elderly choir of wrinkled, white-haired ladies encircled my grandfather and began to sing “Let me Call you Sweetheart” in their aged, trembling voices. It was a touching moment, as the tune was one I had chosen to play for my grandmother at her funeral some 25 years ago. I don’t know why I chose it; some cellular memory must have identified it as a song that held special meaning for my grandparents. I remember sitting at the keyboard, my heart heavy with loss, unshed tears blurring the notes, yet determined to perform this final act of love for my grandmother. Then, as I began to play, I heard my grandfather’s voice behind me in the chapel, whispering to my father, “where did she find that? How can I feel sad when hearing that song!” His words comforted me then, and brought a smile to my heart. As the ancient choir’s voices quavered, I quietly sang along, and thought of my grandmother and the many wonderful years they had together. It is so rare that a married couple lives long enough to share many mutual anniversaries — and far more common that one partner, like my grandfather, ends up alone in the twilight years of life. I saw tears twinkle in my grandfather’s eyes as they sang, and I knew he was thinking of his beloved wife, gone these many years.

It seemed like “alone” became the theme of the day at both his birthday celebrations. My grandfather is so alone, even when surrounded by family and friends. Every so often he would go over to the gift table, perusing the few carefully-chosen gifts he had received (what do you buy a man on his 100th birthday, after all?), and I would notice him, seemingly lost in thought.

At one point my youngest daughter came up to me and we watched him, together. She commented, “that’s so sad”. And it was, strangely. We were celebrating the fact that he was a healthy centenarian, our beloved grandfather, great grandfather and great great grandfather. Yet it was so sad that he was alone, the only one left of his generation. In reality, living to be 100 is an amazing accomplishment. But it is a very lonely one.

My grandfather took the opportunity to share some words of wisdom at both celebrations. He said, “many people have asked me how it is that I’ve managed to live so long. I can answer that in one word: smile.” He went on, “Smile when you wake up in the morning. If you look out the window and its raining, smile–farmers somewhere will be happy! When you have a good day, smile. When you have a bad day, smile and look forward to tomorrow. Smile at people you love. Smile at strangers. If people upset you, smile. Smile all the time. Smile every day and you will live a long time.”

I believe my grandfather is right, and the scientists agree. A happy outlook on life is the key to longevity. It has worked for him. His positive attitude has kept him going through an incredible set of life circumstances, and it seems he’s set to go for a while yet. In spite of any loneliness in his life, or the aches and pains of a body that is no longer the same age as his mind, he continues to smile every day.

It’s a lesson I try to keep close to my heart. When things become too hard or discouraging, or when I feel like I can’t cope with one more problem or endure one more heartache , I remember my grandfather’s smile, the smile that has sustained him and empowered him to live 100 years!

All Alberta children to receive educational grants

The Alberta government has just passed an amendment to previous legislation, making all Alberta students eligible for $100 Alberta Centennial Education Savings Plan grants. This grant was originally intended as a centennial gift to all babies born in 2005 and beyond, with each receiving an initial $500, then $100 grants in their RESP’s at age 8, 11, and 14. Now all Alberta children will be eligible for the grants when they reach those age groups, although it appears that only babies born in 2005 and beyond will receive the initial $500 grant.

To access the funds, parents must apply for a Social Insurance Number for their child and open an RESP, depositing at least $100 before applying for the grant. The program is expected to begin April 1 of 2006, with no end date. More information is available to parents at: www.advancededucation.gov.ab.ca/aces.

Although this initiative does not help current university students, the government hopes it will help to promote a culture of “saving for education” among parents and improve advantages for young Albertans.

All Alberta students now eligible for centennial education plan grants: Edmonton Journal, December 6, 2005, Canada.com: http://www.canada.com/edmontonjournal/news/story.html?id=09e33b47-b813-4f4f-8900-cf7de92eea37

Alberta Government Centennial RESP information: http://www.advancededucation.gov.ab.ca/aces/

FEDERAL GRANT MONEY FOR EDUCATION

Good news out of Ottawa for students this week, as the government announced increases in study grants and investments in post-secondary institutions. The Liberal government has promised to invest $7.6 billion in post-secondary education over the next five years. As well, there is an increase in financial aid to low-income families, including grants of up to $3,000 available for up to four years of undergraduate study (currently only available for first year students).

Human Resources Minister Belinda Stronach calls this move a way to “instil a culture of lifelong learning in this country” and a way to increase access to post-secondary programs. Post-secondary institutions will also receive $1 billion in 2005-2006 to invest in urgent needs, such as libraries, new technology, improved access for individuals with disabilities, and improvements in aboriginal institutions. The money will be distributed through the provinces and territories on a per capita basis. Although the Canadian Federation of Students calls this a “step in the right direction,” they note that rising tuition and student debt are out of control, a situation that will continue to undermine grant money. The federal government states that tuition is a provincial matter and something they will not take leadership on.

Reference
Weeks, C. (2005, November 15). 7.6B to post-secondary education: $110M a year for grants to students from low-income families. Edmonton Journal, A3.

Over the years I’ve met and interacted with many Internet “buddies” who were more than willing to help me out, not just for tech support, but with whatever the problem might be. I’ve also met several buddies who were pretty horrible, and I’ve had two experiences that cost me dearly. I had a very creepy nightmare last night that reminded me of one of these individuals, who I’ll call Mr. X. In my dream, I was forced to administer a deadly poison to others (including myself and innocent children), at the behest of Mr. X, reporting back to him each time my mission was complete. After involving a child who looked, disturbingly, like my grandson, I woke up, shivering in horror at what my unconscious mind had concocted for me while asleep. I was haunted by the dream throughout the day, thinking about what it could possibly mean. Last week, I watched an eye-opening program on Dateline about Internet predators. This no doubt formed the basis for my dream (according to research, dreams often process events that occurred up to a week previously). Recent events have also caused certain thoughts to be uppermost in my mind, thoughts about the negative things I’ve done in my life and the impact on my children.

These thoughts have been very distressing, of course, and I continually ask myself how I could have been so foolish as to trust Internet predators, not once but twice. I try to tell myself that I was vulnerable, inexperienced, and at an extremely low point in my life — all these things are true. But looking back, it’s still hard to comprehend how easily I was sucked in to the web these individuals weaved. I’m intelligent, world-wise, and not a fool. I love my children more than anything else in the world and want to protect them and keep them safe. Yet I was taken in, and most reprehensible of all — I exposed my innocent children to monsters.

Through my university studies, I have come to embrace existential philosophy. It is the search for meaning in life; the process of turning human suffering into human achievement. Friedrich Nietzsche is foremost among those I admire. His quote, “that which does not kill us, makes us stronger” has become my lifeline, helping me re-frame many of my life experiences (even the most horrible) as having contributed to making me a stronger, better person. As a counsellor, I’m now able to take these experiences and use them to help others, providing proof that humans can overcome anything and survive.

What have I learned from Internet predators that makes me stronger? In thinking about why I was vulnerable in the first place, two things seem clear. I was very isolated emotionally, and Internet relationships offered an easy option. Emotional isolation can lead to risky behaviours in anyone. I know that I would not have made the mistakes I did had I not been in emotional turmoil. Coming out of a second abusive marriage, abandoned and struggling to provide for my daughters, unable to rely on friends and family, self-esteem in tatters, depressed and miserable — I was a walking time bomb and ripe for exploitation. A state of such vulnerability is highly dangerous, and I’m not alone in my experience. Many women (and men) have made foolish decisions while in a similar state, both on the Internet and in-person. But the Internet makes it so much easier. When it is 2:00 a.m. and you can’t sleep, that comforting buddy on some remote computer connection is always there for you, helping you through.
There are good friends out there, of course, and I met many of those during my down time; wonderful, supportive people to whom I am forever grateful. Never underestimate the importance of having a good, trusted friend who can provide feedback. Now I’m better able to distinguish between the two, to recognize which relationships are healthy, and which are potentially damaging. I’d like to think that I’m smarter and wiser, and would never again fall victim to an Internet predator. But it would be foolish to make that assumption. This past summer I took a course in risk assessment as part of my Master of Counselling program. The professor told us a frightening tale about professionals working within the prison population. In helping us learn to assess psychopathic personalities (of which there are a high percentage in prison), she related a story about how several colleagues, experienced psychologists, had become involved romantically with the prisoners they were supposedly assessing and counselling. As part of the course, we were given details from Hare’s Psychopathy Checklist (http://www.hare.org/home/index.html). I felt a chill run down my spine as I went through the items on the list, clearly recognizing my two Internet buddies.

So how can you protect yourself? First and foremost I think, is to know yourself and recognize your state of mind. If you are in a vulnerable condition, don’t rush into any relationship. Don’t be too quick to find comfort in words of support and encouragement from a stranger. This is easier said than done, of course. When you have been abused or hurt, it is natural to bond with those who provide succour. If at all possible, try to get the needed support and encouragement from other sources, such as friends, family and professionals. This can have a protective effect and provide a healthy balance so that your focus is not on a single individual. Don’t isolate yourself. It was in my complete and utter isolation that I became particularly vulnerable. Diversify your friendships. Try to make friends in real life to balance the ones online. Try to get involved in other activities, spend time with your children, and don’t neglect hobbies and things you enjoy.

Knowing yourself is particularly important if you are a compassionate caregiver type. Many women in abusive relationships are accustomed to putting the needs of others ahead of their own, making them very susceptible to an Internet buddy who is needy and makes her feel useful and wanted. It is not really surprising that the above-mentioned prison psychologists would fall victim to their clients, likely having personalities that drew them to men who appear to need rescuing. Everyone who is in a care-giving profession must learn to differentiate between the truly needy and the manipulators, and even the most experienced can be fooled. When I wonder how I could possibly have been sucked in a second time, I realize that it was my care-giving impulses that did me in. At the height of Mr. X’s con he called me from the hospital, his mother at his side, telling me how much he needed me.

Know the warning signs of a potential predator (or psychopath) and listen to red flags that arise. Check things out. Psychopaths are accomplished liars who often make grandiose claims. Try to verify things if you can. This does not always protect you, however. My first Internet buddy’s father was a respected and well-known artist, a nice man. He was a nice man with a dangerous psychopath for a son. Mr. X lived with his parents, also nice people, who seemed quite oblivious to the havoc wreaked online by their con-man son.

Most importantly, I think, is to ensure that you have a healthy life outside of the Internet. A life that is balanced, in which you spend good, quality time with your children and other loved ones. A life where you take care of yourself physically and emotionally will reduce your potential vulnerability. No doubt, there are many other ideas and suggestions that can be added to this list.

In contrast, I do have many wonderful Internet relationships. I belong to several forums where I have met interesting and supportive people. I still maintain a few long-time friendships from when I was going through my difficult times. I’m older and wiser, and as Nietzsche says, stronger. I’ve learned to exercise great care with Internet relationships. I try to take the best from these relationships. Although, I might wish it were otherwise, perhaps I needed to experience the worst to be able to truly value the best.

Although I don’t deceive myself into thinking I am no longer vulnerable to a bad Internet relationship, I think I’m in a far more powerful position now because I have come to know myself much better. Knowing yourself means having a relationship with yourself. Another existential philosophy states that we must be able to stand alone before we can stand beside another; “before we can have any solid relationship with another, we must have a relationship with ourselves” (Corey, 2001). Education, too, is key. I know that my life has been permanently changed for the better through my university education. I have become truly empowered in the process. Learning existential philosophy has given me a new outlook on life events, both positive and negative.

As humans we need relationships with others, but we must recognize the difference between one that is neurotic and overly dependent, and one that enhances life for both parties. Internet relationships, by their distance nature, can become one-sided and dysfunctional. It is far easier to accept a particular personality descriptor of an individual we meet online when we don’t have other criteria to balance the picture: the observed interactions with other people, the reactions of friends and family, the visual clues to behaviour, etc. All of those things that create a complete picture of the individual within his or her environment. So, an even greater degree of caution is needed.

Internet buddies can be wonderful. I continue to be astounded at the relationship-building possibilities of the world wide web. Although, I hope to never lose my inherent good faith in people, I will continue to approach these relationships with extreme caution. It is likely that my subconscious will continue to haunt me in my non-waking hours. I will always carry a burden of guilt for having allowed myself to be deceived, but I have no intention of providing any new material for the process!

Signs of a psychopath (taken from Hare’s Psychopathy Checklist):
“¢ Glibness, superficial charm. Smooth, engaging, charming, slick, never at a loss for words.
“¢ Grandiose sense of self-worth. Grossly inflated view of one’s abilities and self-worth, opinionated, cocky.
“¢ Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom. Excessive need for excitement and stimulation, taking chances, risky activities. Bore easily and fail to finish tasks to completion.
“¢ Pathological lying. Can be moderate or high, ranging from cunning, crafty, sly and clever to highly deceptive, unscrupulous, manipulative and dishonest.
“¢ Conning/manipulative. Deceit and deception used to cheat, con or defraud others, with a lack of concern for consequences to others.
“¢ Lack of remorse or guilt. No feelings of concern for the pain and suffering of victims, disdain for victims, unconcerned, coldhearted and unemphathic.
“¢ Shallow affect. Emotional poverty, limited depth of feelings (regardless of surface show).
“¢ Callous/lack of empathy. Lack of feelings towards people in general, cold, inconsiderate, tactless.
“¢ Parasitic lifestyle. Intentional manipulative and exploitative financial dependence on others. Lack of motivation and inability to take personal responsibility.
“¢ Poor behavioural control. Irritability, impatience, threats, aggression, verbal abuse, lack of temper control, acting hastily.
“¢ Promiscuous sexual behaviour. Brief, superficial relations, numerous affairs and indiscriminate sexual partners, great pride in discussing sexual exploits.
“¢ Early behaviour problems. Behaviours prior to age 13, including lying, theft, vandalism, bullying, running away from home, cheating.
“¢ Lack of realistic, long-term goals. Inability to develop and execute long-term plans and goals, aimless existence, lacking direction in life.
“¢ Impulsivity. Lack of reflection or planning, inability to resist temptation, foolhardy, rash, unpredictable, reckless, without considering the consequences.
“¢ Irresponsibility. Repeated failure to honour commitments and obligations.
“¢ Failure to accept responsibility for own actions. Denial of personal responsibility, absence of dutifulness, effort to manipulate others through denial.
“¢ Many short-term marital (or serious) relationships. Lack of commitment to a long-term relationship, undependable.
“¢ Juvenile delinquency. Early behaviour problems before age 13, aggression, crimes.
“¢ Revocation of conditional release. Violation of probation or parole (if arrested).
“¢ Criminal versatility. Able to commit a diversity of types of criminal offenses, taking great pride in getting away with crimes.

Sources for additional information
The Friedrich Nietzsche Society — http://www.fns.org.uk/index.htm.
The Psychopathy Checklist —
http://www.swin.edu.au/victims/resources/assessment/personality/psychopathy_checklist.html
Antisocial Personality, Sociopathy, and Psychopathy — http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/narcissism/psychopathy_checklist.html

Reference
Corey, G. (2001). Theory and practice of counselling and psychotherapy. Belmont, CA: Brooks/Cole.

GOOGLE ENABLES RESEARCH

University students will soon have another welcome tool in their online research capabilities. Google and Amazon.com have announced that they are developing systems that will allow consumers to purchase online access to any page, section or chapter of a book. Portions of the book can be downloaded for use, at a suggested cost of about 5 cents a page. The development may clear up some lingering online copyright issues. Some publisher/author groups have charged that Google’a book-related search engine is violating copyrights by making digital copies of books available for use. A per-page download charge would allow consumer access to books while compensating publishers and authors.

For many students, Google is the search tool of choice. The Google Print feature already offers free online access to full content of books no longer under copyright, and Google scholar enables quick online journal searches. Expanding these features to offer digital copies of newer copyrighted publications adds to the unlimited potential of online research.

References
Google Print (Book Search): http://www.google.ca/help/features.html#book
Google Scholar: http://scholar.google.com/
Wyatt, E. (2005). Don’t want the whole book? No problem: Google, Amazon.com are developing systems to sell you words by the chapter and verse. New York Times News Service. The Edmonton Journal, November 5, F12.

My bravery comes from several sources. First, years ago my father taught me that to find out how things work you sometimes need to dismantle them — learn through trial and error and never be afraid to try. He’s the kind of person who can fix pretty much anything, and I would like to emulate that. Second, I’m so tired of trying to hire someone else to do the job. It costs money I don’t have, and all too often I’m not satisfied with the results. Third, I’m tired of feeling helpless and disadvantaged when it comes to technology. I want to know how things work and to take control.

Even so, my decision to dismantle the laptop was risky, given the most recent computer experience I had. The hard drive in my older desktop had blown up some months previous, and because I had been lax about doing backups, I lost a lot of important data (thus reinforcing the importance of having a CD burner and ensuring important files are backed up on CD at least once a month). I took the ruined drive to a computer repair guy for replacement, but once again, it became non-functional after I attempted to install my cable provider’s free virus protection program. I phoned the cable company’s *help-less* desk, but they informed me that they did not provide support for the software. Thanks for telling me this NOW, guys! Another lesson learned — if you have a functional virus protection program, don’t abandon it for a freebie. So, I uninstalled the program and tried to repair the damage, but to no avail. In desperation, after fighting with the computer for hours, I gave up. Knowing I had nothing to lose (since I’d already lost all my data!), I decided to take the plunge and format my hard drive. I’ve always known how to do this, but never had the courage to wipe out everything on the drive and start over from scratch.

The computer cooperated nicely, and was quite happy to delete everything on its hard drive. Too happy. After the drive was clean, feeling quite pleased with myself, I re-loaded Windows. So far so good. The system was actually stable again. I felt a surge of elation when my desktop icons actually appeared on the screen. Yes! I had done it right! My elation came too soon. When I plugged in my Internet cable, I received my first error message — no modem could be found. I figured it was probably just something I needed to set up correctly, and was not worried initially. But no matter what I tried, the modem remained invisible. Finally, having spent far more hours on the project than I could spare, I gave up for the time being. The next time I booted up, however, I discovered yet another problem — the computer was not recognizing the correct size of hard drive. So much for my feelings of pride. I had apparently deleted a little more memory than intended. Completely frustrated, I abandoned the computer. I’ve since had a conversation with my father, and he has suggested that physically disassembling the computer and re-installing the modem & hard drive might do the trick. So that is next on my project list.

In the meantime, however, I decided that my laptop needed some attention. I’ve not been able to use it much for some time now, as it has been running so poorly. So on Sunday I sat down and did some serious research to try to discover the problem.

It does help that the Internet has such a wealth of informative guidelines. Google has become my best friend when it comes to computer maintenance & repair. I can type in a phrase like, “how to format drive”, “computer (insert brand) runs slow” or “what is (insert name of file)”, and I’ll find all kinds of suggested possibilities. Through creative linking I often find excellent reference sites, and I’m careful to ensure that any information I follow is verified by several sources. The tech forums are often the best, and it was through one of these that I found detailed instructions, including step by step pictures, on how to dismantle and re-assemble my laptop.

According to many of the forums, the slow speed and tendency to suddenly black out is a problem endemic to my particular brand of laptop. Chalk up another lesson — I should have researched laptops more thoroughly before buying. There does not seem to be a remedy for this, but several forum posters suggested that cleaning the fan might help improve performance.

Having learned my lesson, I made sure I burned a copy of all my important files before I started. Then, armed with forum advice and the pictures, I found a tiny screwdriver and set to work. Yet another important lesson — it’s not a good idea to attempt to open computers unless you have the right tools. Fortunately my screwdriver did fit, but it could have been a problem getting things back together.

I carefully followed the order of the pictures and eventually had my laptop in pieces all over the floor. Something I learned long ago is to handle the tiny little screws very carefully (with a magnetized screwdriver) [ed: It’s not recommended to use anything magnetic near your computer as any magnetic force can damage your circuits and hard drive. Use this convenient device with great care. It’s also a good idea to be electrically grounded by touching a metal table leg or something similar and wearing clothes that don’t hold static], and place them in separate spots so you know which ones came from where. I lay down a large piece of newspaper underneath and used a damp paper towel so things would not roll off and get lost. Cleaning the fan was a little more complicated than I had expected, mostly because I chickened out and decided not to completely dismantle the unit. But it was pretty grimy, and eventually I felt I had done as much cleaning as possible. Working backwards, I re-assembled the pieces. With fearful glances at the now-defunct desktop computer still sitting idle in the corner, I replaced the final screw.

Fingers trembling, I pressed the “on” button. The familiar start-up sounds began. So far so good. The whine of the fan as it began seemed completely normal. Within a few minutes my desktop appeared, exactly as I had left it. Thank goodness! It was at least functional, I hadn’t destroyed it. But had I fixed the problem? I’m not sure. It seems to be running marginally better, but maybe its just wishful thinking on my part. Since Sunday I’ve asked a few more questions and done some more research. It looks like I may have to take it apart yet again. But at least I now know it can be done without serious harm.

Basic computer maintenance is something everyone should know how to do. It’s no different than vehicle upkeep — checking oil, fluids, regular washes. Given our reliance on computers, upkeep should be a priority. It’s not difficult to take the computer apart, and even if you aren’t brave enough to do a complete dismantle, its a good idea to periodically open it up and at least clean out the dust (very carefully, of course). My computer is an essential part of my life, so I need to know how to take care of it.

There are some great websites that detail how to do all the basics — hard drive cleanup, disc defrag, program installation/removal, error checking, back-up. There are also some excellent Internet resources to help you clean your computer of potential viruses, worms, adware and spyware. Something I’ve found helpful is to Google every item listed on my Windows Task manager (the window that comes up when you Ctrl Alt Del), to understand what each of these programs are and whether they are necessary to computer operations. That way I know what my computer is doing at all times and can monitor any new or unexplained activity that might indicate a virus. Don’t underestimate the power of a search engine, it can really guide you through the process and help explain things. I’ve started “Googleing” everything and anything I don’t understand, trying different variations of phrases, and doing searches within searches. With just a little research, you can go from a helpless technophobe to someone who actually knows what you are doing! And you will be amazed at the interesting facts you pick up along the way. Forums are also excellent tools, and if you post your tech questions, I’ve found that people are very willing to help — there is a wonderful tech community out there, and no question is too small or too dumb.

Of course, it’s also important to recognize limitations, and I know there are certain computer jobs that I’m better off leaving to a professional with more experience – at least for the moment anyway. But I feel proud that I’m now able to accomplish computer maintenance tasks that a few years ago I would have found completely daunting. With my new-found confidence, I plan to take another stab at my desktop repair next week, and who knows? Perhaps one day soon I’ll be building my own computer from scratch!