One of the things that really pisses me the fuck off about the internet is how quickly lies and bullshit spread and just how fucking gullible people actually are.
“Bobbie, MAiD feels like drowning!!!”
What the absolute fuck was this horseshit?
There is so much disinformation being spread on the Internet that it makes me want to rip my hair out.
There are three drugs used in the Medical Assistance in Dying procedure.
Midazolam
Propofol
Rocuronium
Sometimes Bupivacaine is used, but not always.
Midazolam, Propofol, and Rocuronium are used everyday in surgical procedures across the world.
Midazolam is a sedative. In surgery its primary goal is to relax the patient and put the patient to sleep. During M.A.i.D. Midazolam is used “off label” in order to put the patient into a very deep sleep.
Propofol is used to induce anesthesia during surgery. Propofol has the least amount of side effects of all anaesthetics. If propofol caused a “drowning sensation” it would be very well documented. Propofol is well known to prevent the formation of memories, which is why people undergoing surgery in which propofol is used are the least likely to have remembered sensations of the surgery. During M.A.i.D., Propofol is used “off label” and is given at a much higher dosage in order to ensure that the patient undergoing M.A.i.D. is placed into a very deep coma and that they will not be aware of the procedure or any other sensation.
Rocuronium is used to stop the breathing of the patient. It is used as a muscle relaxant and is often administered prior to intubation. During the M.A.i.D. procedure Rocuronium is used “off label” and is given in much higher dosages than what would be typically used. At this time though the patient is in a very deep coma and brain activity, if any, will be extremely minimal. The patient’s brain will have undergone brain death from oxygen deprivation long before the effects of the Midazolam and Propofol have begun to wear off.
Bupivacaine is often used as a local anesthetic and is frequently used during labour as an epidural. Sometimes, but not always, Bupivacaine is given as the last drug during the M.A.i.D. procedure in order to ensure that the heart stops. Again, with the previous drugs having been administered at such high “off label” levels there will basically be no brain function left once the Bupivacaine has been administered.
So where the fuck this “drowning sensation” comes from is a complete fucking mystery.
Has someone had a séance with someone who recently underwent M.A.i.D.?
Has someone made contact with a M.A.i.D. patient via a Ouija board?
Has someone has conflated Medical Assistance in Dying with the death penalty procedure as practiced in the USofA where suffering is the name of the game?
Has someone placed too much faith in their faith leaders?
Does someone have their alt-right tinfoil cap on too tight?
Death is a very funny thing.
For me to want to be put to death is a major travesty and is not a choice that I should be allowed to make.
For cars to be equipped with mandatory speed limiters to reduce the likelihood of me being killed by some out-of-control car driver is “overreach” and “communism”.
Fighting and dying for land based upon 3,000 year old fables as told by illiterate goat herding barbarians is quite okay because this pleases the one true sky friend out of 3,000 other sky friends.
Requesting one’s own death to escape the depression, anxiety, CPTSD, and other mental health issues that no one has given a single fuck about is evil…….
When your adolescence and early adult years are spent trying to figure out the best way to kill yourself without looking like a loser, planning for a long life or planning for retirement aren’t really priority number one.
I still have no retirement plans.
As I’ve said before, I don’t exist outside of work.
The childhood I had didn’t lead me towards finding meaning for life within myself. The meaning for my existence has always come from working.
And to anyone who thinks of coming at me with “well, we’ve all had tough childhoods”……… you can go fuck yourself.
I’m tired.
Even more so since I got involved with the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service in 2011.
You can only be called a liar so many times by the Canadian Armed Forces before it really takes a toll on your mental health.
And let’s face it, my mental health wasn’t all that great to begin with before I sent that fateful email off to the Edmonton Police Service in March of 2011.
And believe me, getting called a scam artist by Harjit Sajjan didn’t help my depression or anxiety much either.
The only reason that Sajjan allowed the release of the courts martial transcripts and the CFSIU investigation paperwork in 2020 is he realized that somehow I had become aware of the existence of the documents and he calculated the risk that I would somehow find out the contents of those documents and he didn’t want to have the public find out that I had been telling the truth about CFB Namao while he called me a scam artist to my face.
And my brother’s death has really reinforced for me the fact that no one really gives a shit.
So yeah, I have no intention of sticking around past 2027.
I have no intention of retiring and spending more time with my constant companions of betrayal, depression, anxiety, and CPTSD.
It was on June 17th back in 2021 that my class action was announced to the media.
What’s happened in the meantime?
Not much.
I wasn’t kidding when I said that the Department of Justice was going to do everything possible to run the clock out on this matter. The DOJ always does this. And it’s not in just my matter. The DOJ makes a habit of doing this in almost matters in which the Government of Canada or its minions have caused a major fuckup.
The DOJ isn’t about holding the government accountable for its misdeeds. The DOJ is about shielding the government from responsibility for the misdeeds of its minions.
Apparently there is a court session coming up in January of 2026 that I will have to attend in Calgary. Don’t get too excited. This hearing is still trying to decide if I can be the representative plaintiff in this matter.
Yep, January 2026 will be heading into the 5th year anniversary and there still hasn’t been any discussion as to the merits of this case. We’re still stuck at the stage of seeing if I can represent the class.
I don’t know how many hearings after the 2026 hearing there will be, but you can bet your bottom dollar that the DOJ will milk this out for as long as possible.
The goal of the DOJ will be to drag this matter out for so long that all of the former brats from CFB Namao that were abused by McRae and his underlings will be dying off from old age.
I have no intention of existing past 2027.
I’ll be gone in 2027 either by M.A.i.D. in 2027 or by other arrangements. But I’m not sticking around for this shit.
No that my brother is gone I’ve got even less reasons to stick around. It’s not so much that I miss him, Richard didn’t raise us like that. It’s that I’ll never get to see the acknowledgement in his eyes that I wasn’t the bad guy in all of this.
My father, Richard, died back in 2017. Didn’t give a fuck in 2019 when Scott told me about his death, and I still don’t give a fuck to this day. But what pisses me off is he got to the finish line wearing all of the respect that being a former member of the Canadian Forces bestowed upon him no matter the truth that he was a waste of oxygen who blamed everyone else for his problems and his lack of parenting skills.
And not to toot my own horn, but without me this case goes nowhere.
It took an intense amount of reading and learning to understand the military justice system as it was prior to 1998 and the flaws that impacted the military justice system prior to 1998. This is why the DOJ doesn’t want me as the representative plaintiff.
The DOJ would much prefer having someone that believes that the military police functioned just like the civilian police at a local civilian police department.
My whole life has been nothing but a non-stop battle fighting with the negators.
A negator is someone who strives to do what they can to downplay or negate the contributions of someone, especially when that person is vulnerable to attacks due to circumstances beyond their control.
And in a first, I actually tried out ChatGPT and this is what it had to say when I asked it if the word “negator” could be applied to a person:
“He was a negator in the cruelest sense — untouched by hardship, yet quick to dismiss those who bore the weight of the world. He didn’t just lack empathy; he negated pain itself, as if it was a fiction made up by the weak.”
Yep, this describes three people in particular.
I find myself in a really odd position where I work. And it’s not just at my current position, it’s been at each and every position that I’ve ever held.
As I’ve mentioned before, I find myself employed in positions far below my skill levels. I grew up in a household that was dysfunctional. I grew up in isolated military communities that would do whatever was required to hide the dysfunction and the abuse within the PMQs from the public eye.
My father joined the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963 with a grade 8 education. The military taught him everything he needed to know, like avionics, electronics, mechanics, etc.
Do you honestly think that a piss tank alcoholic with rage issues that lucked out when he was able to join the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963 honestly gave a flying fuck about school, or college, or trade school, or university?
Nope.
As I said before, Richard hated my teachers.
To Richard, school was nothing more than a babysitting service that was just supposed to be teaching the kids the basics. Anything beyond that was a fucking waste of his time.
Just after I left home when I was 16 I was working for a company where one of the owners was putting his son through trade school for carpentry. Kid needed tools for his apprenticeship, his father got him tools for his apprenticeship. His father helped him with the cost of living.
I worked for another business where the mother sent her son to an upper class private school in the States.
Even at work, the other guys in my department are always gushing about how far their kids are going, and what trades or business sector they’re getting into.
But I get to enjoy the negators.
And the negators are a miserable lot. At least they come off as miserable to me. I know that they enjoy negating me. You can see the joy in their smugness.
Some of the work that I’ve done recently involves adding Modbus gateways, Bacnet routers, NAT devices, and even ethernet to fibre media converters.
No doubt that if the negators found out what I’ve done that they’d make noise with IMIT and senior leadership and get all of the devices that I’ve installed yanked off the network.
List of devices that I’ve installed / Internal IP addresses cut off.
The first device that I connected to the hospital IT network was the Franklin Fuel Monitor. I did this about 2019. This had to be done. The Franklin Fuel Monitor came from the factory with a full blown webserver built in and the ability to send email messages.
For some reason when this device was installed as part of the generator upgrades someone made the decision to have the existing building automation system just monitor the status relay outputs and the 4-20mA outputs of this panel.
Having the building automation system monitor the Franklin monitor was a joke. Our two Diesel tanks are cylinders with hemispheres for ends. The 4-20 mA signal represents the fuel level in centimetres. The Franklin monitor had the built in correction tables to convert the height of fuel to actual volume. The building automation system treated the fuel tanks like they were cubes. The fuel level displayed by the building automation system was a joke. It never matched what was actually in the tanks.
Once I got the Franklin on the hospital network we were able to see the exact fuel levels, which helps the shift engineers greatly when the tanks are being filled. The system can now send out email reports once a week to our fuel supplier so that they can keep our tanks filled up. And the system can send out emergency requests to the fuel supplier in the instances where the generators have been run for an extended period of time and have dropped the tanks below 3,000 litres of ullage.
Then next came the four Amico medical gas alarm panels. Then the Dixell webservers. Then the Modbus gateways. Then the BACnet routers. Then the NATs.
Not bad for a grade 8 drop out, eh?
Not bad for someone who suffered not only gross child sexual abuse on a Canadian Armed Forces base, but also had to live through the ham fisted manner in which the Canadian Armed Forces chose to deal with it.
Not bad for someone who grew up with a piss tank alcoholic father in the Canadian Armed Forces who stood by and did sweet bugger fuck all.
The negators don’t like this.
They hate this
They despise this.
People like me are fuckups.
We’re not supposed to amount to anything.
People like me are supposed to stay in our lane.
There are three primary negators where I work. Luckily they’re all over at the new site, so I don’t have to deal with them. Unfortunately they still make their presence known. And once you’ve had an encounter with a negator, you don’t recover from this.
One of the first automation systems that I installed in the hospital was the Dixell webserver for the kitchen refrigeration.
This wasn’t supposed to involve networking or webservers or modbus gateways, it just evolved into that.
Originally electromechanical thermostats with separate thermostats for over temperature alarms controlled and monitored the refrigeration systems for the walk-in coolers and freezers in the 1st floor and 4th floor kitchen. The freezers had time clocks to run defrost cycles whether or not the coils needed it, and the time cycle was arbitrary and ended whether or not the coils were cleared of ice. The evaporator fans would stay running when the doors were open.
Because of the crappy alarm monitoring the engineers would get hit with at least two dozen false alarms every shift. And at three shifts per day, that’s a lot of false alarms.
So I hunted around for a solution and that’s when I came across the Dixell XW60K walk in refrigeration controller. Got some pricing from our local refrigeration wholesaler for 20 of these units. Put in the budget request with the required justifications and the request was approved.
When the devices arrived on site I was going over the wiring diagrams and programming instructions and making plans for the swap out without shutting down the refrigeration for any excessive length of time. I was going over the wiring requirements for these devices when a port on the back of the case piqued my interest. All it said was Hotkey/TTL-RS-485. I knew what the hotkey was, it was a tool that you could use to transfer the basic programming from one controller to another. And I knew that TTL stood for transistor-transistor logic. And I knew that RS-485 was a two wire serial network. So I fired off an email to Dixell asking what this was for. Dixell replied that it was their Modbus interface adapter that would allow these controllers to be networked for a monitoring system. The tech rep with Dixell also mentioned that Dixell offered a webserver that was easy to program and interface so that the refrigeration units could be viewed on graphical pages as well as having the alarms sent out based upon a call out list.
Long story short, the Dixell system was an instant hit in the kitchen.
The number of false alarms plummeted. As the controller was initiating the defrost cycle in the freezer it would ignore the rise in cabinet temperature until 10 minutes after the defrost cycle ended. The cooler and freezer fans now turn off when the doors are open. There is an alarm delay for after the door has been opened and then closed to allow for the unit to get back to setpoint after the unit has been loaded up with new product. And if the kitchen staff leave the cooler or freezer doors open for too long, the kitchen managers get an alarm page.
Here’s where things get even more interesting. As I said we have a kitchen on the 1st floor and a kitchen on the 4th floor. To monitor the upstairs kitchen I had three options. Install a second webserver upstairs. Run some RS-485 network wiring up to the 4th from the 1st. Or install a IP to Modbus gateway on the 4th and have the webserver use the existing hospital network to poll the 4th floor refrigeration.
This was my first experience with MOXA networking interfaces.
As I said, this system has been in and running since 2019 without a hitch.
The Dixell system ended up expanding through the hospital.
There’s a Dixell system in the pharmacy that not only monitors the refrigeration in the pharmacy on site, but also a pharmacy at another hospital about 4km away.
There’s a Dixell system in Transfusion Medicine that not only monitors the refrigeration on site, it also monitors refrigeration at a different hospital as well.
Yep, the Dixell system even monitors the morgue and some specimen freezers for the pathology / histology department.
All of the black blobs above are covering the hospital’s internal IP addresses. The hospital’s network is behind a massive firewall and there is no direct connection from the intranet to the internet. Everything coming in and going out passes through servers. But, once the negators catch wind that I published Class B non-routable private IP addressed on the internet, the howling would be intense.
Believe me, if my life had allowed me to take certification courses and trade qualification, do you think I would have passed on this?
Do you honestly think that if I didn’t have my father and Captain Totzke screaming in my head non-stop that I’m an imposter, that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, that I’d be anywhere near where I am now?
You don’t think that each and every day of my fucking life is a non-stop review of what could have been.
See, the negators will always come up with arguments to explain why what I’ve done isn’t really anything special.
I didn’t create copper wire, so how can I say that I can do network wiring?
I didn’t write the RS-485 MS/TP standard, so I’m lying when I say that I’ve installed MS/TP network.
I didn’t actually build the Dixell controllers or write the programming contained within, so I’m just a desperate asshole trying to take credit where no credit is due.
But, such is my life.
Especially when the negators smell the stench of a dysfunctional childhood and come out for the attack.
They sent me here to rest to get the weight off of my chest while they work 9 to 5 cheat on husbands and wives and tell me I’m the one who’s depressed
And I’m left to define what’s insane to the same folks who jailed Galileo and explain him away
They who are we who are wondering which one of us is free
free
free
free
I went places you just don’t go I saw things you can’t tell them you know And if they’re smiling stark naked sometimes is just wiser to compliment the cut of their clothes And know they define what’s insane based upon what makes them look good at the end of the day
They who are we who are wondering which one of us is free
free
free
free
But I’m the one chained to the bed That’s just proof I got into their heads And I witnessed their colourless landscapes Saw the lovers who were too bored to stay And walked the grey roads of their memories that just stop at the end of the page They’re a little too sad to hate They’re just children who ran out of paint
I’m up for review in a month and I’ll watch them drink water from crystalline glasses They’ll sit and stare like smoke damaged chairs around a smouldering pile of ashes And I’ll try to define what’s insane to the same folks who consistently kill those with something to say
They who are we who are wondering which one of us is free.
It was back in the winter of 1987 when I had learnt that Scott had impersonated me for the first time.
I had been a member of the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets at the Dennison Armouries on Dufferin and Wilson since the fall of 1984. I had achieved the rank of leading cadet, and with the exception of the ongoing issues involving Mr. Stevens, everything was looking up.
This was a Wednesday night parade night when the executive officer A/Slt John Potter pulled me aside and told me that my father wanted my brother Scott to join my corp. Mr. Potter said that he didn’t want my brother anywhere near the cadet corp.
I told Mr. Potter that there wasn’t anything that I would be able to do. If Richard wanted Scott in cadets, then Scott was going to be in cadets. And I knew better than to ask Richard to not let Scott join my corp. If Richard thought that I wasn’t sticking up for Scott then I was in for one fuck of a beating when I got back on base.
Don’t forget, in the fall of 1983, the North York Board of Education had to separate my brother and I and send us to separate schools due to “intense sibling rivalry”.
By the time 1987 rolled around, that “rivalry” only got much worse. Both Richard and Sue had washed their hands of any responsibility for Scott, and anytime that Scott got in trouble with the Toronto Police Service it was my fault for not looking after him.
Mr. Potter took me outside of the armouries and let me have a smoke.
“Bob, do you understand the trouble that your brother gets in to?”
All I could do is sigh. Nobody knew about CFB Namao. All I needed was for Mr. Potter to find out the truth about CFB Namao and myself, that I was some crazed homosexual that made the babysitter abuse his younger brother. And to make matters even worse were the ongoing events with Mr. Stevens, which would have surely cemented my status as a perverted homosexual.
“Bob, you know that I work with troubled youth, right?”
I didn’t pay much attention other than I was trying to hold back the tears. I loved cadets, but here was Richard trying to fuck me over. I was envisioning Scott joining cadets and fucking up and getting into trouble and then Richard blaming me for not looking after Scott.
“Bob, two weeks ago I was dealing with a couple of teens from a group home that had been arrested for B&Es when I overheard that my star cadet had been arrested for theft of a car.”
You think that I stole a car?
“No Bob. It was your brother. When I heard that ‘you’ had stolen a car I had to go see this for myself. I didn’t recognize the kid in the interview room. So I asked the officer what the kid’s name was. The officer gave me your full name, your social insurance number, and your date of birth”
Oh, don’t worry, my father will say that it was my fault that he stole the car.
“Your brother wasn’t too happy with me when I told the investigator that I knew who that name and D.O.B. belonged to”
How did you find out that it was Scott. I know at least 3 of his friends that would give false names if they were arrested.
“When your father came to pick him up. Your father seemed very reluctant to give the police your brother’s name. Your father didn’t seem too concerned about what Scott had done in either stealing the car or using your name”
I lit up a second smoke. And you think that I can tell my father to not let Scott join my corp. Scott’s the little angel that can’t do anything wrong. No matter what the fuck he does, Richard and Sue blame me.
“I don’t mind working with kids that get into trouble Bob. Kids fuck up. Kids need help. But, your brother is different. He won’t admit that he’s done wrong”
Welcome to my life Mr. Potter. Anything that he’s done is my fault. Richard said that it’s my fault for not looking after him.
“Then it’s settled, just tell your father that you don’t feel comfortable with your brother in the corp. Ask your father to send your brother to another cadet corp. Preferably at a different location.”
He wasn’t listening. Just alike all of the other adults in my life up to that point in time. Just in one ear and out the other.
I went back in to the armouries, got my stuff, and left even through classes were about to begin.
I showed up the next week and got a demerit for leaving without permission the week before.
And the following week my brother showed up as a new entry.
Not too long later the CFB Borden event occurred.
And then between home life on Canadian Forces Base Downsview, the ongoing matter with Mr. Stevens, and Mr. Potter’s misdirected displeasure for not dissuading my father from making Scott join my corp., I quit cadets.
How many other times in my life did Scott impersonate me? I don’t know. Sure, finger printing should have easily cleared up any criminal investigation. But there are many types of investigations that wouldn’t necessarily result in finger prints being taken but that would tag my name and D.O.B. in these investigations.
I know that on New Year’s Eve 2000 in Vancouver, my brother gave my name and my D.O.B. when he was found riding without a fare on the Skytrain.
I only know this because the fine for this went to collections in 2006.
I get a call from a collections agency asking when I wanted to resolve the $40 fine.
I asked them for a copy of the ticket, so they sent me a copy of the ticket that was issued
It was my D.O.B. and my full complete name. The address was fake, but the postal code for the area of the address had the address actually existed was correct. The box on the ticket that said “ID Produced” was checked “N” meaning that the person giving my name didn’t produce any ID. There was a second piece of paper signed by another fare inspector stating that they witnessed the person using my name refuse to sign the fare evasion ticket.
As ICBC was responsible for the ticket in the first place, I had to go through their dispute process. They asked me why they should believe me that this wasn’t my fare evasion ticket.
Simple.
I was working from 22:00 on December 31st, 1999 until 06:00 January 1st, 2000 for a property management company downtown Vancouver as we had to be on standby for the much overblown “Y2K” bug that was expected to plunge the world into chaos. We had to be in the buildings to ensure that the automation systems didn’t crash.
And I lived in the West End of Vancouver, so being on the Skytrain heading out to Surrey at 00:30 made no sense.
“That might work for your name, but how did they get your social insurance number?”
I had been mugged in Vancouver in July of 1995. My wallet was stolen. Maybe whoever stole it used my SIN?
The collections was cancelled. But I get the sense that ICBC and Translink have a folder on hand with my name in it waiting for me to pull another fare evasion so they can jump up and down screaming “We knew you lied!!!!”.
Prior to September 11th, 2001 I had frequently crossed into the United States. I’d driven down from Vancouver. I’d taken the bus down from Vancouver. I’d even walked across land crossings numerous times.
But after 9/11 when crossing the border placed one under extreme scrutiny I didn’t dare cross. Even though I knew in 2006 that it was probably Scott that had used my name, I couldn’t prove it so I didn’t push it. But outside of Mr. Potter, other people had told me at various times that Scott had claimed to be me.
And no matter how much I wanted to drop down to Portland or Seattle for a weekend, I didn’t want to run the risk that Scott had used my name and got into some sort of trouble that would have made crossing the border impossible at the least or a criminal affair at the most.
I had my passport since 2010. But I still didn’t try to cross the border.
I wouldn’t cross the border until 2013 when I was in Ottawa Ontario to drop off a letter at National Defence Headquarters. A childhood friend of mine from CFB Shearwater lived in Ottawa at the time. She wanted to meet up while I was in Ottawa. She planned a day trip for us and her sister to go to Boldt Island in New York State. Fuck was I ever nervous at the border crossing.
Nothing strikes fear into me like “Have you ever been arrested”. This doesn’t mean arrested and charged, or arrested and convicted. This means just arrested. And this also includes “has there ever been an arrest warrant issued for you”, meaning has there ever been an arrest warrant issued in your name.
Border agents don’t often have hours to sit down and listen to 40 years of a fucked up life.
I have no fucking idea of where Scott used my name.
I know that he used my name back in 1987 related to car theft charges.
I know that he used my name on January 1st, 2000 for a fare evasion ticket.
Where the fuck else has he used my identity?
Do I blame Scott for using my identity?
Not really.
Richard and Sue taught Scott that he really wasn’t responsible for anything, that everything was all my fault. So it only follows that he would take the next step and not just blame me but transfer the trouble to me.
Hit me up with the Midazolam, propofol, rocuronium, and bupivacaine. It’s been an interesting life, but I’m tired of all of this horseshit.
Back around the end of June in ’82 my father had borrowed a pickup truck with a camper in the bed from one of his buddies at 447 Sqn. so that he and his new wife, my stepmother, could go to Banff for their honeymoon.
Slide-in camper / Demountable camper.
They had no intention of taking Scott and I with them. We got unceremoniously dropped of with out mother in Calgary, AB. Yeah, the same mother that he told Alberta Social Services that had abandoned the family and that the same mother that he had told Alberta Social Services that he had no idea of how to contact.
When Richard and Sue were finished with their honeymoon they swung back through Calgary to pick Scott and I up. We drove back up to CFB Griesbach in Edmonton.
The truck was parked on the street in front of the PMQ.
Richard had gone somewhere and it was just Sue at home.
Scott got on top of the camper and stuffed the vents with leaves.
Just before Richard was due home Scott found me and told me that Richard was going to be pissed off with me for “me” having put the leaves into the vent on the camper.
I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, so I went to check out the camper.
I looked at the camper from the outside and I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about, but once I opened the back door and climbed inside the camper I saw what he was talking about. The wind-up vent was plugged full of leaves. There was no way that Richard wasn’t going to notice this.
So, up on the roof I went.
Tim’s truck was a raised 4X4 with proper off road tires. With the camper on the back the roof had to be about 3 metres off the ground.
I got all of the leaves cleared out. It was spick and span.
I went to climb down the ladder and I lost my footing.
I landed on the ground flat on my back.
I had the wind knocked out of me and all I could see was stars.
It took so much effort to start to breathe again.
One of the locals came over and helped me up and walked me back to the PMQ where Sue was.
Sue sent me up to my room with the warning that Richard was not going to be happy when he got home.
When Richard got home he was none too pleased to find what had happened. The fact that I did something stupid that could get him in trouble with his commanding officer showed that I didn’t care about his military career.
The fact that I allowed Scott out of my sight meant that Scott could have fallen off the roof of the camper.
The fact that I wasn’t responsible enough to look after my brother meant thatI should take this as a lesson and learn from this.
My left wrist was burning. My right hand was swollen, numb, and immovable. But neither were anything compared to the headache and vomiting.
My father gave me some of his 222s to help me sleep.
Two days went by and then he took me to the Charles Camsell hospital in Edmonton to get my wrists looked at.
That’s when it was discovered that I wasn’t faking anything.
A couple of the larger bones in my right wrist were fractured. My left wrist had hairline fractures and was sprained.
The headaches and the vomiting had stopped by this point so I don’t think that Richard had mentioned anything to the doctors.
I can’t remember what Richard told the doctors, but I know he didn’t mention anything about falling off campers.
My left wrist got wrapped in a tensor. My right arm was set in a cast.
For illustrative purposes only
Did you know that it’s almost impossible to wipe your own ass when your dominant hand is set in an arm cast? My left arm wasn’t much use either. Hairlines are really super sensitive to force.
I wasn’t Sue’s kid, so that was out of the question. After Richard and Sue got married Sue wasted no time in telling Scott and I that we were to address her as Sue only that we were never to call her “mom” or refer to her as our “mother”. So yeah, wiping my ass wasn’t on her list of agreed upon tasks.
Richard only kept my brother and I because “it was cheaper than paying child support”. Wiping my ass was not very high on his list of priorities.
And as much as I feared my grandmother, she had moved out of the PMQ back in the spring of 1981. Walking from the PMQ at 10215 – 138 Ave over to my grandmother’s apartment at 10611 – 111th St. to get my butt wiped wasn’t in the cards.
Many creative ways were tried and tested to wipe my ass that didn’t involve using my hands.
The cast was only supposed to stay on my right arm for six weeks, but it ended up staying on for the entire summer as Richard insisted that this was the best way to teach me to not fuck around.
I would have to say that my mental health is probably the single most significant sacrifice that I’ve made. Sure, this wasn’t a conscious sacrifice that I made, it was more of a sacrifice that was made for me, but sure.
Most of my “sacrifices” were predetermined for me.
But let’s roll with them being willing sacrifices.
Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?
Quotes, idioms, maxims and the like have never been my forte.
I’m not what you’d call “well read”. I’ve read books from John Irving, Clive Barker, Stephen King, John Grisham. I’ve even read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights.
I didn’t have much of an exposure to music as a kid.
To be honest my interest in novels and music didn’t pick up until after I left home when I was sixteen. But even at that I never really gleaned anything that I would consider to be a quote that I “live my life by or think of often”.
The closest that I would ever consider to be a quote that I think of often is a lyric from a song that was released in 2011
“As much as I’d like the past not to exist……. ……it still does” – Lost in Paradise – Evanescence.
I like this lyric because it sums up an issue that I have.
I’m stuck in the past.
And there is no moving forward.
What I went through as a kid on Canadian Forces Base Namao is not something that can simply be moved on from.
It’s not that no one knew about the abuse.
Everyone knew what was going on.
Various parents on Canadian Forces Base Namao knew what the babysitter was doing as they made complaints to the base military police.
The base military police knew as when they questioned the babysitter and asked him who had shown him how to do what he was doing, he named captain father Angus McRae.
The other parents knew who I was and that I had been found being buggered in the babysitter’s bedroom as I was no longer allowed to play with the other kids on base. I was “dirty”
Just months after the abuse ended I was diagnosed with major depression, severe anxiety, haphephobia, and a host of other issues that would become so severe that I was supposed to have been placed into a psychiatric hospital for children.
But for some reason my military social worker, captain Totzke, along with my father, master corporal Richard Gill, were functioning as road blocks to my receiving treatment.
Even when my father was posted to CFB Downsview in Ontario from CFB Greisbach in Alberta, he made a promise that he would have me placed into psychiatric care in Ontario.
Nothing ever came of this.
Age 7 and 8 I was sexually abused by a very angry at the world 14 year old. This also included various visits to the chapel when the babysitter would escort me over. From age 8 until age 11 I was caught in a battle with my father and captain Totzke on one side and Alberta Social Services and various psychiatrists on the other side. One side wanted to help, one side wanted to hinder.
From age 11 until age 16 I lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview with my father who was still having issues with his alcoholism and his hair trigger temper.
And from age 16 until the present day I’ve been surviving.
It’s not that I like living in the past.
It’s that I was never allowed to move on from the past.
The past is all that I have ever known.
All I knew was my father’s anger for having “fucked” with his military career.
All I knew was that it was my fault the babysitter abused my brother.
According to captain Totzke, it was my “homosexuality” that made me go along with the babysitter.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to escape the past.
It was that I was never allowed to forget the past.
When I was about 14 my father beat the shit out of me when Scott stole our stepmother’s car and went for a joy ride. Richard was kicking me in the back as I was trying to crawl under my bed to get away from him. It was my fault that Scott was acting the way he was acting because I let the fucking babysitter touch him.
Again, it’s not that I want to be stuck in the past.
It’s that I was never allowed to even consider leaving the past.
And with the modern day Canadian Armed Forces being hellbent on ensuring that the truth never comes out about CFB Namao I never will be allowed to move on.
But, even if by some miracle the Canadian Armed Forces and the Department of National Defence were to admit that bad things happened to about 25 children on CFB Namao that should never have happened, this won’t change things for me as I’ve lived each and every day since May of 1980 wondering what the fuck I did that was wrong.
That’s 16,441 days or 45 years and 5 days since I was forced to live with this.
What gives me direction in life is cleaning my name before I die.
That’s it
That’s all
The only thing keeping me alive at the moment is knowing that if I do die then the Canadian Armed Forces win be default.
Other than that I have no direction in life.
It’s not an obsession.
It’s all that I have
Ever since colonel Daniel Edward Munro signed his name to captain McRae’s charge sheet in June of 1980 dominoes were being set up, one by one, day by day, year by year, until March of 2011.
In March of 2011, after reviewing the 1980 CFSIU investigation paperwork and the transcripts from captain McRae’s court martial, it was the Canadian Armed Forces itself that knocked the first domino over.
The Canadian Armed Forces had the ability to do the right thing in 1980.
They chose not to.
The Canadian Armed Forces had the ability to do the right thing in 2011.
They chose not to.
The RCMP urged the Canadian Armed Forces to do the right thing in 2015.
The Canadian Armed Forces still chose not to.
After the release of the courts martial transcripts and the CFSIU investigation paperwork in 2020 the Canadian Armed Forces could have done the right thing.
The Canadian Armed Forces still chose not to.
Is it my job to bring to light all of the pre-1998 subterfuge that the Canadian Armed Forces have been allowed hide due to the flaws that existed in the pre-1998 National Defence Act?
Not my circus, not my monkeys.
If a member of the Canadian public wants to stick their nose into criminal code offence events that occurred prior to November of 1997, knock yourself out. Have at it.
Is it my job to make sure that people understand that I didn’t want the abuse on CFB Namao, that I didn’t want the babysitter to abuse my brother, that I had nothing to do with the babysitter molesting the little six-year-old blond haired girl?
That’s my job.
Is it my job to make sure that people understand that the CFSIU knew in 1980 that Captain McRae had been running a kiddie diddling ring on the base right under the nose of the base military police and that the CFSIU and the chain of command knew that McRae had been molested a great number of children on the base but that parents were reluctant to let their children be interviewed due to the view of the military police that captain McRae had been committing “acts of homosexuality” with the children that he was molesting thus implying that their children had been participating in “acts of homosexuality”?
Yes, that’s my job.
Is it my job to point out to people in the civilian world that “lawful” commands by superiors also include superiors instructing subordinates to not talk to the military police?
That’s already public knowledge, so not really my job.
Is it my job to make sure that the public understands that an untold number of children living on the bases were “involved with” the military social workers and that these social workers had a very negative and detrimental effect on the mental health and wellbeing of these abused children?
Yes, that’s my job.
I can’t fix all of the fuck-ups that the Canadian Armed Forces were allowed to keep hidden from the public eye via the National Defence Act, the Official Secrets Act, and the Security of Information Act.
But, I can at least do what I can to clean my name before I die.
Beeshive 