Ramblings of an Old Flower Child

I have diabetes. It’s the type that statistics show to be the second highest cause of death (the first being accidents) in Canada. This condition (they don’t call it a disease) is the result of the body not producing enough insulin to break down the food that we ingest into small enough particles for the body to absorb. The various complications that can result over time include kidney, heart and brain diseases, plus nerve damage and/or blindness. In other words, it’s serious. In order to continue living, I have taken approximately 36,500 injections (one of life’s cruel jokes since I abhor needles) of insulin over the last forty years while manifesting, to various degrees, the typical long-term complications.

From the time that I discovered the ‘insulin pump’ (a pager-size gizmo one wears that emulates the work of the pancreas) as a treatment for diabetes, my world opened up in both freedom in lifestyle and hope for survival.

After 5 years of ‘pumping,’ this life-line broke. In a panic, I called the company, friends and family, past associates, advocates, service clubs, my MLA and MP, and everyone who I could think of for ideas on how to replace the $6,000 device. This initial search included the Ministry of Employment and Income Assistance, People With Disabilities (PWD) office wherefrom, as a client, I receive life giving medication.

After a number of weeks with little definitive or tenable progress (a few dear ones talked about a community fundraiser while my mother and one other angel were prepared to take on the debt – bless them), I learned that my MLA’s assistant had made inquiries on my behalf with the Ministry. She was able to connect with the supervisor at the PWD office who was intimately aware of the necessity for this life-giving pump. (Her personal support throughout my quest brought much needed hope and light to an otherwise very dim situation.)

Throughout the process, everyone cautioned me that the relevant provincial legislation did not support my circumstances. So our approach (over a period of months) with the Ministry was to apply and then probably be denied by the ruling authorities. From this platform we were to launch an appeal.

At this point, I have to mention how difficult it is, as a recipient, to deal with the hopelessly overloaded infrastructure. Normally, a client does not have access to a particular office, let alone a human being at any particular location. Instead, one calls the toll free number, with a disembodied voice deciding on your fate.

But I was fortunate in connecting with a sympathetic worker when I called in the first place. The application form that I received from him had his portion (as a representative of the Ministry) filled out, thereby completing step one of my journey. To complete the form, I was to get a quote from the pump manufacturer and a testament from my doctor that the pump was, in fact, vital as a treatment for my medical condition. With the precious, completed documentation in hand (it took another couple of weeks to line up what I needed), I excitedly went to the PWD office where I knew that the supervisor would be waiting.

Instead of a smooth ‘hand-off’ to the worker behind the formidable counter, I was tersely told that I should never have received the form in the first place (as it was contrary to the legislation) and the application was confiscated! After a few heart stopping minutes and a fair amount of explanation, the clerk acquiesced and helped the process along.

In the moment, I silently reflected on how blessed I was to have the education, perspective and resourcefulness to take on the challenge. At the same time, I sadly thought about how many people much like me, in their need for support, are inevitably lost in the trenches of poverty and hopelessness.

After three months of telephone calls, meetings, appointments, paperwork and emails, I was surprisingly granted (as a one time only – ever, exception to the rule) the funding for the life-giving medical device which I wear today.

This miracle definitely lies at the feet of the dear ones who embraced me, in my time of dire need. Yet, I like to think that my unswerving focus and conviction, that I would somehow receive what I needed, constituted my part in co-creating the pump. Of course, partnered with this certainty was my taking action. The rest was Source, pure and simple.

Ultimately, my platform and formula for manifesting is grounded in my belief that I am divinely guided and protected. I am (and will always be) immensely grateful to the individuals who personally backed my quest. It’s uplifting and just plain fun to lavish special people with love and appreciation. Plus, I believe that my thankfulness is a positive dynamic in receiving blessings daily. It’s all good.