 
# Bipolar Manic Dash to Accomplishment-A Challenge

# Jon Van Loon

# Copyright 2013 Jon Van Loon

# Smashwords Edition

# Dedication

Anyone who has had the misfortune to live through the antics of a seriously bipolar family member will understand the misery involved, so this book is dedicated with love and apologies to my loving wife Maureen of 52 years who bore the brunt and provided help and of course to my children Lisa Melissa and Jon Jr. who were also forced along for the bumpy ride. It is also dedicated to others with Bipolarity who might find this volume to be helpful.

# Preface

A "dash" is a strong term implying vigorous action. In the context of this book the dash to accomplishment is to convince those, who like myself, are somehow severely handicapped that their problem is a challenge as opposed to an impediment. Many stories exist where handicapped people have excelled in life and I salute these, but I believe that many more could. In fact it is my view that a handicap can actually be a stimulant to encourage a performance in life that will be well above average. When a person is presented with the realization that they have a built in, intellectual, physical or mental impediment one of two things can occur, either resignation to some supposed limitations will be made, or a toughness and strength of determination to succeed can by activated. My strong conviction is that the latter could be more commonly the case.

By telling my own sometimes, bittersweet, mostly driven, often amusing, (The manuscript is peppered with amusing stories from my bipolar life), nonlinear, story and views, I want to demonstrate that even the most seemingly unachievable goals are not only achievable but can be exceeded. That is not by any means to belittle a disability or to suggest that the handicap won't lead to dismay. That was why I used the term "nonlinear" to describe aspects of my own promised tale. Why should I dare to compose such a compendium considering the thousands of other successful disabled people in this world? Perhaps it is because I feel a little unique in that I have more writing experience than most. As will be seen, the mere fact that I am able to write is the attaining of a goal which many, who have been sideswiped by life like I was, could not do.

In attempting such a presentation it is important to dispose of the facts of my disability in a fast, efficient, manner in order to achieve a quick run to the convictions, goals and stories. Thusly the facts of my problems will appear in the "Introduction" and the following "Chapters" will contain tales of emanating from my life in Canada and while working and living in areas encompassing all the Continents except Antarctica. I missed out on the latter Continent because the Penguins expressed no interest in my scientific capabilities!

This volume should also be of interest to anyone who enjoys hearing of a good struggle with life and the laughs and stories thus entailed. There is also plenty of interest for people who have a curiosity about the type of world we inhabit both relating to its citizens, the environment and the biosphere as it exists now, during the periods of my visits and my "experienced" views on our future.

Please note that the structure of this volume is unusual. I have inserted material and that may to seem extreme and to some degree unrelated to Bipolarity but this is done because it illustrates how a bipolar mind particularly in the manic phases works. I have chosen among the many digressions in my thinking trying to extract those of a more amusing nature.

It is probably important to admit from the beginning that I am a Scientist, but one who enjoyed as much of the other aspects of life as he could. Thus my mind was not only centered on theories and their application as they pertained to the world's betterment but also on the fascinating peoples, events and nature as this kaleidoscopic scenery moved from position to position. As I write I am 76 years of age and have many of the problems that aging entails, none of which is too serious to enumerate in detail. Suffice it to say that I think that my appearance and abilities are much as they were in my 50's until I have the misfortune to look at a recent photo, catch sight of myself in the mirror or try to climb a few flights of stairs.

# Introduction

It became ritualistic that one of the first things I would do was to break up a disposable razor giving me ready access to 3 stainless steel blades in case I decided to cut my wrists (to be fatal you must cut length wise never across the wrist blood vessels, otherwise slashing wrists is just an attention getting ploy) and remove the screens on the hotel windows in case I might prefer to jump to my death.

Being a research scientist manically driven to near the top of my field I was an Invited or Plenary speaker at International Conferences over a 20 year period in the late 1970's to 90's (hence hotels with screens on the windows). No one of course knew of my parallel suicidal proclivity that invariably walloped on and off during these events. The fact that I am writing this account is proof that I survived these episodes but non-the-less not without incidents.

For years I had manic depression and then suddenly I became bipolar. Adopting a term in already such common use for example in the basic physics of transistors and in biology relating to bipolar neurons to replace the phrase manic depression seems like a desperate attempt mask the real nature of such a disease. I suppose the term bipolar sounds rather more favourable to medical experts, but to those of us with the affliction manic depression describes what we suffer.

About 1% of the world's adult population has this affliction. Have you never wondered that if 1% is Bipolar, 10% are learning Disabled, 3-5% of children have Attention Deficit Hypertensive disorder, 2% of adults have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and so on through a myriad of other mental and emotional disorders with new varieties continuously being discovered can there be any normal people in this world? Out of curiosity I asked Google for the "percentage of people having normal behavior" and also used other related wording. No percentages were found to estimate this condition. So is nobody normal? It would appear that the word normal is redundant in describing behavior, it having many slightly varying connotations.

Fifty years ago few of these maladies had been described as such. Does this mean that most did not exist until modern times and this possible onset is a result of human ingestion of complex pollutants, genetic mutations in human cells or as in the spate of new food allergies perhaps from genetically modified foods? The majority of Health Scientists would have us believe that most existed in the deep dark past and their recent discovery is the result of ground breaking research by specialists. I believe that many of these problems have existed undetected for years with many of our forefathers having suffered horrendously without treatment and without knowing the reason.

I spent time in what in the recent past was called a Lunatic Asylum but in the 1970's was a locked mental ward of a large city hospital. Being 76 years old and having 2 mental/emotional problems which went undetected for years, a learning disability and manic depression I provide an excellent example first of lack of treatment, bungled treatment and ongoing frustration with Medical Science ineffectualness and probably incompetence. That's where I come in. As the person with the problem and medical miracles ruled out; then am I not the "expert" to discuss this predicament?

All well and good, but with all the above problems but where is my claimed "dash to accomplishment"?

Yes I have not mentioned my Full Professorship, my PhD in Chemistry and the reason I was in the position to give Plenary and Invited Lectures.

Well if you manic depressives, relatives thereof, Health Professionals and any others want to discover my secrets for success together with the other flotsam and jetsam typical of my plight under what seem to be dire circumstances then you will just have to read this book.

# Before the official Discovery

Let me introduce myself: I am Jon Clement Van Loon. Clement, my middle name is the last name of, treasured, maternal, grandparents. How my parents were so astute with this choice will never be known. My parents were Ruth and Jack (John) Van Loon, my mother a teacher then becoming homemaker and my father a Director of Public School Education. I was born in Hamilton Ontario and struggled through public and secondary school and then undergraduate university (McMaster).

My close family consisted of a mother and father, siblings consisting of a younger brother and sister and dotting maternal grandparents (Granddad and Gommy-my pet name for this grandmother) who lived for much of my tenure in Hamilton on the third floor of our house. My siblings and I were not close (though we respected and loved one another) because of vast dissimilarities in interests, attitudes, emotional difficulties on my part, outlooks on life, learning abilities and a nearly 4 year gap between each of our ages. Learning disabilities were not diagnosed as such in school systems until the 60's and thus my learning problems were a verdict waiting to be made. Unlike my supportive mother I and many of my classmates put my tribulations down to stupidity. My views of this being the truth were exacerbated by my brother who had something resembling a photographic memory. ( One evening while I arduously tried to retrieve to the permanent precincts of my memory a section of the Chemical Periodic Table of the Elements, my brother grabbed the page and asked what I was attempting so laboriously to do. Following my answer he looked for a short time at the section and then wrote it from memory without hesitation or error. The surreal aspect of this incident was that being 3 years behind me in school, he knew nothing of chemistry!) He learned and obtained high marks throughout his whole formal education to the Full Professor (Phd) level and I admire him for his fine work at that time and in his teaching and research. In the case of the latter I tried to read one of his recent publications and was unable to follow his good science My sister is 8 years my junior. She is intelligent, did well in school and had her own set of friends. Both my brother and sister remained close to the Protestant Christian Church and have done and continue to do fine works within the church and in various important charities. It is only yours truly (and perhaps my favorite-granddad) who strayed far from the family religion and any traditional view of God but tried and am still trying, within my own terms of reference, to contribute to what is "good".

Steam trains were the fact in my preteen years and these I loved with a passion. My fondest early memories were always with my granddad. On Friday evenings, despite a severe heart condition, he used to walk with me riding my tricycle the 4 km from his house to the railway yard to watch the shunting process. He would sit chain smoking on an unconformable railing and stay without complaint until I tired, then he would have to carry both me and my conveyance home. He must have had the family learning disability because around my father he would pick up the newspaper in a show of reading but in private I used to have to try to read it to him. I doubt if either of us remember much of the news columns. I never really knew much about his employment situations. He drilled oil wells in SW Ontario and later worked in a print shop. It was my guess that he had little formal education. They frequently made children in his day, showing a hint of mental slowness, drop out to work. (He was anything but stupid, as even I could detect his quick mind in many endeavors). My father spent a sabbatical at Columbia University in New York City and we had an apartment at 122 St and Broadway, now a slum. Granddad and Gommy came also. Granddad used to take me to the open cut of the B'Way subway line. During the years gommy and granddad lived with us my mother was confined to bed a great deal with what was eventually terminal breast cancer. I remember my mother telling me that the day my granddad paid for my fourth years text books was the proudest one of his life. The idea of helping me in my higher education, when he had none, was overwhelming to us both.

My father spent his evenings at Service Clubs, Lodge and woodworking in the basement. My grandparents bought a TV at an early stage in this technology in Canada and I would spend any free time with granddad as he chain smoked watching sports. He particularly liked wrestling. (These were the days before this activity became so much of a theatrical presentation). I smoked myself after that time, 1.5 packs per day, so it is amazing that I don't yet have lung cancer to add to my adverse medical medley.

Thick, hand cut, slabs of bacon dripping onto our plates and 2 strong tasting eggs from barnyard run chickens, graced our plates every time Gommy cooked breakfast in the third floor kitchen. There was nothing from health experts at that time linking saturated or trans-fats with heart disease. Cholesterol was a term we had never encountered. Thus such a breakfast was considered "hearty" and "wholesome" and a necessary start to a healthy day's eating. Bread or toast, slathered in butter was also a necessity. (None of this whole grain nonsense either, just the bleached white flour variety, if you please). Providing bulk to the system was also not considered a necessity either. Although I have no statistics I don't remember a more serious spate of heart trouble than is common today.

My gommy was a fabulous cook in her own style and her desire to please granddad and me knew no bounds. Her main mantra in life was to give pleasure and good care to others, which in turn was her satisfaction. I can't once remember her thinking of herself. Upon my graduation from Mc Master University she gave me a gold ring with the University crest and the year of graduation 1959. Today the graduation year has worn completely away but the eroded crest remains. She bought the ring from her own little savings. To the day she died I was the apple of her eye.

My mother was my strongest fan club, a role taken over by Maureen when we married. Many a night at the foot of mother,s sick bed I would try to persuade her how dumb I really was, but she was having none of such "nonsense". Yet she felt she had to be the disciplinarian in the nightly absence of my father. She was always afraid I would do something that would disgust my puritanical and hard driving father. This role I later (after her death) much appreciated, however kept us from forming the loving type of relationship I desired. Hugging and kissing was typically not practiced between parents and children in those days. There was, none-the-less, a strong bond between her and me. Her very painful and extended illness should have exuded a greater thoughtfulness from me. For example I regret that I missed recognition of her 25 fifth wedding anniversary with other than a gift. As the eldest sibling I should have at least organized a party!

I acquired a love for nature from my father while he put me through my paces in required gardening duty. Other times he took me on a walk in the woods and identified wild flowers that I loved. He hated it if I disturbed him about school work or problems and refused to be of assistance. Perhaps his high level vocation in the school system kept him from wishing to participate in this area within the family. I remember the day much later in his life, I told him I was learning disabled and handed him a copy of my book entitled-My Learning Disability Advantage-his eyes welled up full of tears, as he proclaimed how sorry he was, "but such problems escaped identity in his day". This was a very true statement and as I have indicated, this discovery about me did not occur until my 40's. In his later years he had bypass surgery for a heart condition. As he lay in early recovery I bent over and kissed his lips. It was my stepmother at the time that had to tell me how much this action meant to him. Perhaps from then on a new bond had formed, not extremely close, but something new none-the-less.

Chickens became my best friends at recess at George R, Allen Public School! How could it be chickens? I had lots of classmates but they made fun of my stupidity, emotional problems and that I walked with a dominant toed in shambling. This latter I was able to cure over long time by practice until it became natural to walk properly. The afore mentioned chickens were in a small farm enclosure adjacent to the school. Out the door I flew at recess and over to the farm where I fed the fowl from pocket scraps. I had a group of a few friends in my neighborhood. These included one with whom I engaged in electronic and phone tapping projects. With a few others I played football, hockey and baseball in season. I remember vividly how frequently Mrs. Jes used to run across the park to reprimand our loud and colorful but vulgar swearing. The comfort level among these few was high even with me.

A shambles might be a polite way to describe the methodology of my education in the Hamilton Primary and secondary schools. This had nothing to do with the system itself, which was as fine as existed anywhere in North America. Disorganization through a complete lack of this skill on my part was my hallmark. Poor concentration, typical of the learning disabled prevented a smooth flow of learning. Perhaps worst of all, my reading/retention skills were lacking. If I read a page I had forgotten the content at the beginning of the page when I came to the end. Thus my comprehension of what I read approached zero. Emotionally these "inadequacies" were triggers for an overwhelming drive to find a different pathway for success.

Images of teachers, in threatening stances hovering over my desk as I tried to organize projects, haunt my memory. Frequently I misspelled words and as a result was sent to the blackboard in front of the class to write these items repetitively and of course also managing to misspell the offending term at that location. These episodes often made me lose my cool and express myself inappropriately. My "favorite" instructor once threw a blackboard brush at me from the front of the class which bounced off the top of my head. He also tore the title page off a submitted project because I had failed to distribute the material in an orderly and neat manner, something that was unattainable for me with my visual memory problems.

Languages were my particular nemesis. The obligatory French courses troubled me particularly. Because of my visual memory travails, I spelled phonetically and this was a particularly serious problem in my French. Also remembering verb declensions provided a hopeless challenge. My parents at my mother's insistence provided private tutoring in this discipline. It is with dread but some fondness I remember these sessions. The dread was for the continued ineptitude and associated emotional outbursts I knew I would display in front of the frustrated instructor. But I had to have affection for this elderly misshapen spinster and her 19th century house. The elderly teacher wore a long skirted, woolen suit, thick stockings heavy shoes, and a blouse with a nondescript scarf bunched up at the bodice. Her edifice was entered through stained glass, walnut, double doors from whence one drifted over dingy scatter rugs, through mysterious, musty, almost ghostly rooms to a tiny study nook at one side. Here a small dark, desk and 2 chairs provided the means for taking lessons. In this era no means existed for a private person to obtain pages of copy to work from, necessitating the procurement of a text dissimilar to my course text, to work with. The drill proceeded with an assignment and my completion of the labor thus entailed. Occasionally I found myself dosing off to the twitter of sparrows nesting in the Ivy outside the window. Then while shaking her head in a frustrated fashion she would draw a multitude of red lines through the errors. This was followed by some repetition of the corrected errors on my part, followed by an assignment of some homework. This was usually accomplished in the following week without "trouble".

My years of "stupidity" went on defying any rationale for more than half of my life. The fact that I earned a Phd and officiated on the Committees of Conferences in my research field combined with being a plenary lecturer at several major conferences certainly should have persuaded a reasonable person that he was not stupid. On the contrary I felt I had "tricked" my way to this stage and believed that something would suddenly happen to drag me down in public resulting in periods of severe depression At the age of about 45 I began to see learning problems similar to mine being identified in one of my children and these were labeled a learning disability. Upon further research and from the knowledge of my daughter's high intelligence I had myself tested. Wonders of all wonders, I had a bad learning disability! Still it took me years to come to grips with my status. Suffering also from bipolar problems it was lucky I didn't' end up permanently in a mental ward-I had been there confined for short periods as will be detailed later. Most of my life was spent either depressed with depression related to learning problems or manic, doing much more than I should properly handle. ( In manic states I bought multi items such as coats, cameras, electronics-tape players and TVs for every room I had always been one to accept, even seek out, challenges, within and outside my university duties beyond what the available time would allow. I always did these without fault. Shedding some of these in the light of my new status was a problem of quite a different stripe. Never show that you are doing a capable job in a position that you might need to relinquish. It seems you can never concoct a reasonable enough motive Somehow I found myself with 3 teaching/research appointments, almost unheard of elsewhere aditionally another chairperson was trying to purloin my services as well. The University knew I had accepted positions with UNESCO and the World Bank and allowed my participation. I will never regret my decisions to do the above outside consultancies as they were my joy, my way to see the real world and provided me with endless story fodder.

I was fortunate to be loved by and marry the beautiful, talented, delightful and ethical Maureen Kern, an institution that has in our case has lasted 51 years. I must confess that she stuck with me through some extremely trying times, some noted above, mostly of my making most related to my bipolar vicissitudes. For example she bore the brunt of child rearing. Strangely I had no interest in travel, until Maureen unwittingly convinced me of the desirability of this activity. Little did she suspect that after overcoming my fear of flying I, in my typical manic way, to further my career, would adopt the activity at such a frenzied pace. Although Maureen loved travel as much as or perhaps more than I; too often she was left for extended periods to tend the "nest". Despite her dedication to the family she has managed to travel to many of the more interesting areas of my work.

I moved to Toronto for graduate school education (University of Toronto) and to follow my fiancée Maureen Kern when she came here to teach. Toronto and Markham (a suburb) have been my homes with my family for nearly 50 years. How Maureen has put up with the vagaries of my existence for 51 years boggles the mind. This seeming aberration, to not put too fine a point on it as yet, that will become obvious throughout.

Three children and to date, up to 9 grand children-2 being step grand children, have graced our lives, providing us with pride and sometimes intriguing challenges throughout. Our children listed from oldest to youngest are Lisa, Melissa and Jon Jr. Grand children enumerated by the same criteria are Megan, Landon-Brittany, Alex, Stephanie-Jaime, Jenah, Jordene-Maya.

Challenges

My challenges are multitudinous. Although most were lifelong their identities awaited discoveries gained through advances in 20th Century Mental and Emotional "Sciences". The quotation marks around- Sciences-are not meant to slight or demean these crucial fields. They only serve to indicate that, at least in my estimation, these disciplines have an element of subjectivity not as obviously present in the traditional experimental sciences.

First and foremost, at the age of 44, I discovered that my well documented leaning problems had a name sometimes and very commonly called, Dyslexia (reading blindness), but better termed a Learning Disability. This latter terminology allows the inclusion of other learning deficiencies, just as important as reading difficulties. In my own case but after I had "compelled" myself to achieve a PhD. and Tenured Professorial position At the University of Toronto, I was tested and found to have a 40th percentile visual memory and a 60th percentile auditory memory. The result was/is that I cannot remember material read in the normal way and my spelling, grammar and syntax are all at a Grade 9 level. Computers have become the accepted and virtually the only means of realizing written communication but I resisted these for many years before becoming a compulsive practitioner.

I am able only to type with one finger. Even then I often spend several second intervals trying to locate a letter. Additionally I spell phonetically and can't tell many times when a letter should be double or single. Strangely I find a letter and then frequently hit the one beside or leave out a letter entirely. A particular frustrating and sometimes fatal (in math calculations) ramification is my preponderance to letter and number reversal. When I look at my work and see the ubiquitous misspellings, boldly defined by a red underscore, I employ Spell Check. Sometimes this tool is unable to provide any assistance because of my weird phonetic conception of word notations A good example of this is when I tried to spell "seizures" as I did, phonetically, in a section bellow and I typed "caesures". Spell Check was of no assistance. ("Hey Maureen, how do you spell caesures", then rings down the hall). Always undiscovered by the digital aids is my frequent, uncalled for, use of capital letters at the beginning of a word in the middle of a sentence. The Mind is a strange entity because I have achieved a reasonable vocabulary (memory phenomenon) but augmented frequently, I must admit, by the indispensible and highly recommended word processor Thesaurus Cleverkeys.

As well as being learning disabled I am Bipolar, (Manic Depressive- as I indicated above, it once was more descriptively termed). Again this was not definitively discovered until later 40's. Prior to that these undefined symptoms were treated with high doses of the drug, Valium. Sometimes even injection doses were administered when I was admitted to Mental Wards. (From time to time Suicidal tendencies erupted in my manic stages of achievement frustration). The Bipolar discovery, of course, came with changed medication strategies. As detailed in more detail below Lithium, a drug discovered to treat this problem, accidentally, I soon discovered I could not tolerate this drug. This begat the end of lithium and initiated trials of a medley of other medications resulting in twice daily ingestion of a whole pharmacy like amount of different prescription drugs. Such a procedure helped for many years but has finally resulted in irreparable damage related to body balance. Hence I now am fated to wonder the streets of Markham's Swan Lake community imitating a village drunk! There has been one possible redeeming factor to my bipolar condition and that is that I have lived in the manic state much of the time which may account for my incessant drive to achieve all of which is described in detail below. Side effects of this, of course have been poor judgment in many areas and buying sprees. I am a bird fanatic and also, for a time, had 50 aviary and caged birds in the house at one time. My bird book collection including many identical duplicate titles covers 5 shelves. Needles to say I am limited to only one low limit credit card and Maureen owns the house and car.

# My Success and Work Compulsion

This segment outlines my success compulsion before my manic depression was diagnosed

I believe there are many undiagnosed adults with bipolar problems who have also become highly successful in their own careers. Unfortunately many of these individuals have not had the treatments that would have made their lives less baffling considering the accompanying depressive side of the problem. Additionally I can imagine this wildly swinging duo of moods would have made many such successful individuals difficult for co-workers to comprehend.

Theodore Simon devised what was then a test said to measure the mental age as opposed to the chronological age of the student. Called the Binet Simon Test it evolved into the IQ test. At the time IQ Tests were mainly memory oriented, certainly not my strong modality. The committee who administered the test at my high school would have the standard Table which grouped scores into Educability rankings. Eighty-nine to 100 IQ is for students (my score was 95) capable of Grade 8 to 1-2 years of college achievement. (Even today's-2008- IQ tests on the internet rate me 120 or less, still not high enough to explain my PhD).

Thus I was low average. Following discovering this low value as my grade, a meeting was convened between 4 individuals consisting of me, Mr. Raun (my home form teacher), a guidance specialist, and a vice-principal. During the meeting the vice-principal advised me not to attempt Grade 13. I would, in his words, " ... simply clutter up the class and the subject matter would be only a source of frustration." Without waiting for dismissal I immediately walked out shouting that I would, indeed, be going on to Grade 13 and they could count on that.

A moment later, Mr. Raun rushed out to catch me. Expecting a dressing down, I felt badly. Instead he put his arm around my shoulders and said, "I would have done just exactly that."

I just knew I had to pass Grade 12 French. Despite the seemingly insular nature of my brain, by the end of Grade 12 I had obtained a passing mark in Grade 11 French, which, as mentioned earlier, I had to take for a second time. Mr. Raun, my kindly and concerned home form teacher, was also a Grade 12 French teacher. He arranged an end of term meeting with me, at which time he stated the obvious. "You are now lacking Grade 12 French. That means you will be unable to get through the university entrance year, Grade 13, in one year," (something that was necessary to have a good chance at being accepted by a university at that time). Then came the surprise. He went on, "I would like to do something for you. I will teach you Grade 12 French between now and the supplemental exam in July. As well you must double up on your tutoring."

I was skeptical about my chances, but then he asked me what I had to lose and of course, there was nothing to lose. After six weeks of total drudgery (for both of us), I took the supplemental exam. Upon leaving the classroom, I was sure I had failed. Imagine my surprise a few weeks later, when a card came in the mail saying - "Van Loon \- Grade 12 French - Passed 50%." I was ecstatic.

Unfortunately, late that summer Mr. Raun died. What a pity, because he was obviously the kind of teacher students usually only dream about having.

Unexpectedly, in October of that year, the vice-principal came to see me. The administration had been going through Raun's books tying up loose ends, when they found the following entry: "Jon Van Loon, Gr. 12 French 29%" crossed out and changed to 50%. Luckily, I was already two months into Grade 13 French so nothing could be done to remove me from the class and remarkably I passed the course..

Troubles Getting Into University

The vice-principal and his committee had been almost prophetic. There were many "down times" when even I felt sure my performance would be a disaster. Grade 13 was a harrowing experience. I had to give up all sports and most other favoured activities that were not related to passing my year. But when the final marks were all in, I had passed every subject. Unfortunately, my overall average was only about 61%, insufficient to get me into Engineering at Queen's University. Although Queen's was my first choice, I also applied to Engineering at Toronto, second, and Science at Western, third. I was refused entry at both these institutions as well. In a moment of despair, I sent my records to McMaster and was unexpectedly accepted in Mathematics, Physics and Chemistry, the first year science stream. Apparently my father had spoken to the Dean of Science, a personal friend who agreed to my acceptance. In a half joking manner Dad told me, "I got you in, you will have to get yourself through".

Looking back now, I realize how lucky these events were. Engineering required a relatively high level of math, but many sciences didn't. At McMaster in first year I failed one of the less rigorous math courses, so you can imagine what my fate would have been in Engineering. Amazingly, by the end of fourth year university, I had obtained four A's and one B in my core science courses.

It is essential to keep stressing that in my case I was in a highly obsessive state most of my life (manic mood it would be termed after the discovery I was manic depressive) during which I had little control over the intensity with which I strove to reach the next rung on my professional career ladder. This not only propelled me with great momentum but imparted personal characteristics that were often offensive. For example I answered my office phone with an unpleasant high volume single word "Van Loon". Should it be someone like a salesperson that I presumed would waste my precious time I often rudely hung up mid conversation. Yet I could suddenly without understanding the reason switch into becoming a very pleasant respondent. Again using the telephone as an example I found it difficult to initiate calls to professionals in my field without having an extra dose of valium. Such behaviour was unacceptable but I could act in this manner with impunity because I had achieved a level of success in my field that made it essential for colleagues to keep abreast of my work. Thus in periods such as this I demonstrated an unpleasant degree of arrogance.

Surprisingly I had just the opposite demeanor with students and close colleagues. Most individuals in these categories found me friendly sympathetic helpful and still talk of me in a pleasant manner.

Somehow for the most part I had the good sense not to waste my time in conventional University Administration and concentrate on life related to Research and Teaching. Things that I did have a fervor about like Pollution, now more broadly, environmental concerns, I threw myself into and did accept responsibilities in greater numbers than was healthy considering the unnecessary pressures. The result was a stroke at a relatively early age which was visible in a slight paralysis on the right side, but more seriously preventing me from doing many of the requirements of my Teaching And Research. No significant external physical impairment now remains, except in my mouth area. Thus I am prone to slobber from the right side. There are 2 aftereffects which include brain infracture and seizures. The latter have occurred from time to time but only once in a serious enough manner for a hospital visit. Late side effects of the stroke may also be contributing to my present balance difficulties.

The reality being that I had special challenge(s). What then was my response in deeds? What indeed, were my reactions and insights over the years when it came to establishing and then reaching my goals? What about educational and career aspirations and accomplishments? How was I able to overcome what really are serious problems, but at this point may appear to be to the reader, insoluble impediments in having reached my present achievement level? A question you may well ask and indeed I sometimes even ask myself is why did I push so hard and attempt (as it turns out successfully) to obtain a PhD. and then become a Professor and finally and most surprising of all write books. In the case of the latter outlined in detail in a section below I asked myself; what would be the most difficult challenge for a person with my Learning Disability and the answer was write a critically, well accepted, book. The last sentence being my typical approach to life leads me to propose that my manic stages, which predominated my bipolar condition, were the catalyst.

Valium and alcohol was the combination that brought me out of the depressions. As a matter of fact this combination worked well for many years until I almost ended life as a drunk wandering the streets.

My guess in my case is that the manic depression may have really reached full blossom somewhere in my teens. From there on I was on an emotional roller coaster. Unlike many I could thump from full blown manic to deep depression in very short intervals measures in I or 2 hours. More commonly I had longer intervals in both states.

Prior to diagnosis I was much more affected by depression and my history with Psychiatry began focused on only this part of the duality. The fact that despite my academic successes none of the Psychiatrists in many years of therapy questioned how such a depressed person could have accomplished such an achievement is a factor that boggles my mind. Since these early times my manic episodes predominated and defined in my mind, my basic life's parameter. It never struck me strange for example that purchasing many cameras was the least bit strange. My energy level and proclivity for extended intensive work periods were essential to my success. Mind you I had to break these periods into shorter intervals due to concentration problems caused by my learning disability. Non-the-less I could move from one interval to the next with intensive smoothness and hence these patterns which would be disruptive for most were an ingrained pattern in my working style. In these long manic stages my capability for highly interval patterned productive learning and working knew few bounds. I could work with little sleep and never seem tired. Manic living seemed my normal life style.

Depression therefore stood starkly out against this intensive high paced "normal" lifestyle. During these intervals I was in a narrow hole whose walls I could not surmount. Depression was the life style contrast that I could not fathom and hence complained most about. It left me in a motionless state both physically and emotionally. This then appeared an abnormality in which I often struggled. Thus I sought professional help only for this the impediment to my "normal" bombastic work ethic. Until diagnosis I never identified manic phases as being abnormal and these, which spanned the majority of my days, were never mentioned. Weren't achievers always high octane workers? Was it not only the unproductive, self hating depressive periods that required treatment?

An explanation as to my level of academic stature is necessary. It is important to point out that we were not doing earth shattering or very fundamental research. Thus I cannot even claim to have treaded in the shadows of great scientists. One of the furthermost, whose name we all recognize, is Einstein. Quoting from him we see how high such great individuals aim. In conversing with a female colleague in Berlin, he stated _, "I want to know how God created this world. I am not interested in this or that phenomenon, in the spectrum of this or that element. I want to know His thoughts, the rest are details."_ On the other hand I spent my lif mainly doing research on the "details".

How would you feel if you were a bipolar Professor with a learn disability? Proud, confident, that if you could achieve this position you could conquer many others? Just the opposite resided within me. In fact I should admit that despite comments above that may indicate the contrary I possessed a good deal of self doubt much of the time. Surprisingly a subservient attitude of feeling simple minded turned out to be a big help to me.

It was imperative to accomplish quality research that could pass peer review and hence be publishable in the premier journals in your field. Thus I assessed the situation as I perceived it in my situation. Let's assume that I need the simple but non-the-less elegant approach. Thus I set myself and those in my laboratory the task to develop less complicated, less complex and less expensive tools to do important tasks,

Medical and environmental fields stood out vividly against the back ground of fields where my group could make a contribution. The latter was particularly visible and important and some vital aspects meshed well with the expertise of me and my group. Our expertise was in trace element analysis using mainly a simple but terrible sounding name, atomic absorption spectroscopy. It is interesting to note that in 1965 when I first had the opportunity the environmental problems were poorly defined and little research was occurring in this area. Much that was of this paucity was being covered at the University of Toronto.

Because of my appointment in the Department of Geology my first research with atomic absorption had to be in the area of rock analysis. But it was not long until during prolonged manic periods I defied my orders and slipped over to work relating to the environment. This occasioned no end of adversity and my Chairperson tried to have me fired. The Dean was sympathetic to environmental initiative overtures and happily for me, refused the request. I immediately joined a group at the University, a committee that eventually founded "The Institute for "Environmental Science and Engineering" later "The Institute for Environmental Studies". It was my hope and that of the others at that time that the Institute would a fellowship of experts from the specialized disciplines. Upon its formation I obtained a cross appointment thus legitimizing my research. Additionally I had published a few papers at that early time, which was unusual for new faculty. This was the beginning of a career full of troublesome sometimes threatening controversy!

I professed, above, periods of self doubt and thus after every manuscript submission during the review process I often expected negative reviews, upon giving a scientific presentation I expected questions that I would not be able to answer. In fact I was often expecting to fall from any pedestal and be totally discredited in the minds of my peers. Despite this I expected high standards from myself and my students. Depression was a constant visitor and together with doubts fathered by my learning disability these invoked plenty of difficulties.

Thus imagine my surprise and delight when against all odds, in my mind at least, I received an invitation to spend a sabbatical working with Sir Alan Walsh at the CSIRO Division of Chemical Physics in Melbourne Australia. Sir Alan, the Inventor of Atomic Absorption Spectroscopy, the technique that was most prevalent in my lab had apparently been interested in the way we were using his technique in a simple way to solve environmental problems. (It might have also helped that the division had also received a request from someone else they didn't particularly like for the same position.)

Far from working with the great man I found myself working under the Senior Scientists in his group. This was the most fruitful interval in my life as I learned hands on and through lectures so much that my ignorance and self doubt lower to the point I was actually building a degree of confidence.

The Volunteer Debacle

To provide a break from the story of all this scientifically related compulsively obtained success I offer the following amusing contrast. I have documented incidents in my daily life were my manic related approach has had unexpected results. The following is a story the reader may enjoy that illustrates my manic approach to work, even volunteer work and in this case how this got me fired.

After my stroke, my brain in a stunned condition I spent a very extended period just lying around the house doing nothing useful. Maureen, my wife, was still working full time and so I was not under foot, or the whole episode wouldn't have lasted for such a protracted period. But in any case, she finally became fed up of returning home to find me in the identical position, sitting on the sofa, as when she had left. There was no evidence that I had even moved since the lawn was uncut, the garden full of weeds and no supper was on the BBQ. I lacked the motivation to even clean the BBQ, so on this point, she was probably glad that I had not ruined some meat by attempting its use. My usual manic behavior was still manifest, but only in that I was unable to sleep more than 2 to 3 hours per night and was reading through the complete stories of Dickens for the second time. Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky had also been completed and I was beginning on Gogol and other Russian authors, whose names have drifted from my poor memory over the passage of time. All this reading activity was actually a bit of a feat considering my learning disability reading limitation.

One morning out of the blue, after getting ready for work Maureen commanded me to get into the car. She drove without any explanation to the Donner Lodge parking lot and commanded me to get out and go in and ask for a volunteer's job. Then she reversed quickly back onto the street and drove away. Donner Lodge, a rather pedestrian quality retirement home, did not rank on my list of good career choices. As I stood there feeling like a typical homeless waif in a Dickens novel, I was comforted by the thought that I would most certainly be refused. In fact it came to mind just to turn on my heels and walk back home without even entering, and lying that I had been turned down. This latter thought took flight however, when I remembered that Maureen always seemed capable of seeing through me and extracting the truth. Thus I was horrified, bewildered and in many other ways in discomfiture, when the friendly woman in charge said she was thrilled to have acquired another volunteer.

My work was scheduled for two days per week, including free lunch and as time moved along my old enthusiasm returned and I began to even look forward to my work. Such could not be said though for the free lunches, which lived up to the reputation of institutional food in every insipid regard. When I happened to comment on this to my boss, the Physiotherapist, she kindly began driving us to the local restaurant, where I enjoyed excellent fare. She also enjoyed the lunches, although she was on a diet, the type in which food portions had to be pre-purchased as part of the plan. These dietary allotments were not only diminutive, but unappetizing and amusingly after consuming one of these offerings, she regularly could not resist the temptation to purchase a desert, or a plate of fries and yet was continuously complaining that her diet plan was not providing the desired result.

The patient base at Donner Lodge consisted of 70% Dementia patients, mostly Alzheimer in nature. As a large city run organization with full medical facilities, all stages of severity of these problems were represented, providing a wide range of challenges. Typically, family interest in the affected family member, varied from daily visits to total disregard. As Dementia proceeds the patient becomes less and less aware of every facet of daily life, while even losing control of bodily functions. Towards the end, the family members suffer much more severely than the afflicted person. Sad cases of the patient declining to the point of not even recognizing a close family member, often produced very emotional responses from their family. Worse still, patient cognitive abilities varied daily. Family members might arrive and suddenly become very excited, thinking a vastly improved recognition of family and surroundings was a sign of permanent improvement. In fact these temporary high points were just a blip on a decline curve. Part of a volunteer's purpose was to attempt to explain, but in a kindly way, this typical behavioral pattern, without totally dousing the flames of enthusiasm. In my case, while finding this initially severely challenging, I became more polished with time.

As the assistant to the Physiotherapist, my main job was to aid patients that were requiring therapeutic exercise. I had a fairly hard and fast routine that I was supposed to enact and this involved the following. First I was to chase down wheelchair patients and bring them to the physiotherapy room. This "chase down" phrase was a slight exaggeration in the majority of cases, as the requisite patient could usually be found asleep in the TV lounge. As many of them were nearly deaf they usually had the electronics at ear splitting volume. Waking them was always a potentially dangerous act, depending on their current demeanor. I then wheeled them into the Physio room and strapped their feet into a stationary bike. This unit when activated revolved their feet and legs at a prescribed rate and for a fixed time interval and was strangely termed exercise, despite no effort on the patient's part. After this "strenuous" activity, I unstrapped their feet and wheeled them back to repose again in the TV lounge. And so it went, one after the other, until the entire group had been exercised. If I was lucky a patient or so would require the application of heat for strains and pains and I might be required to perform this treatment, with a careful choice and application from the abundant heating pads available.

Now it may have entered the reader's mind that my pursuits so far described, might be a bit mundane and lacking in challenge and perhaps even utterly boring and if so this has been very perceptive. I never could handle boring work willingly and as a result, I looked for alternative tasks. These tasks, which I could easily perform, were supposedly the purview of the regular staff, but in my view were going begging. Strangely such initiative was not appreciated and as a result my position at Donner Lodge was becoming more and more tenuous.

Increasingly horrified by the needlessly slow pace of many of the Nurses and particularly the Ward Aids, I continually overstepped my volunteering boundaries. Even the Doctor seemed to me to be incompetent, although there were some Nurses and Aids who were excellent. The majority of incompetent staff were mistreating patients more by errors of omission, than by any physical abuse. Unfortunately, all regular workers on the wards belonged to a strong union, which protected their lazy offensive behavior.

I did a number of things which incensed the unions. One involved my favorite patient, James, who I came early to visit for a half hour or so each day before my work began. James suffered severely from angina attacks and as a result had been prescribed the habit forming painkiller Percocet and became quite contrary if its administration should be delayed. When this occurred he would beg me to hunt down the medication cart and the Nurse in charge and procure his medication. Although I usually persuaded them to give it to me, such an act was of course highly irregular.

Other acts which put me at odds with the union were items like finding a male patient who was left in a dirty diaper for hours on end and then either raising hell about this situation or in a few cases performing the job myself. These latter actually involved two volunteer infractions against the union members; 1. Purloining a clean diaper from carefully tended supplies while the attendant was on coffee. 2. Actually then performing the task. Well you can probably get the drift of how I was now mounting up union infractions on a regular basis, some of which were coming to the attention of senior management.

Perhaps the coup de gras was when I was discovered closing the eyes of a deceased patient who had been left unattended for several hours in his bed. Or it might have been when the physio had taken sick and retired home for the afternoon and I decided to finish the session on my own. The union did the usual posturing which ended with the threat of strike action if I did not desist. When this in my case proved ineffective, I received the fateful summons to the Director's office. Apparently my actions were threatening a precipitation of a serious problem and unfortunately were grounds for dismissal, after 5 years as a volunteer at Donner lodge. It wasn't much consolation when she added that I was the best volunteer amongst the bunch.

Aside

(For 3 days now despite being heavily medicated now, I have been unable to mount an effort to continue writing this manuscript. In fact I have been unable to elevate my mood to a level to accomplish anything creative. Although 3 days is a longer period than usual I have these depressive intervals in which nothing can be accomplished. Then this morning I woke up with plenty of momentum and ready to plunge ahead.)

# My Jogging Compulsion

Looking back over my life and the many phases of mania that resulted in unusual behavior, my compulsion for jogging is one of the most persistent. I began jogging relatively short distances each day before this activity gained real popularity. The urge seemed natural and instead of walking even under normal circumstances I would find myself jogging from place to place in the course of a normal day. This of course must have been offensive to those at my destination because in spite of using deodorant I must have carried around an odour. I ran in races for example several marathons and 5, 10, and 20 km runs.

This is how it all began.

Some years ago during my late thirties I was in hospital recovering from depression. The doctor decided to do a series of biochemical tests. When the results came back he told me I was a prime candidate for heart trouble. I weighed 198 pounds and looked something like a plump Christmas turkey. My heart raced after even the least expenditure of physical activity (probably due mainly to the long convalescence). I had high blood pressure. The triglyceride levels in my blood were so high that fatty deposits filling one-quarter of the blood vial settled out in a short period. It was frightening!

Ten or twenty years ago, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I suffered periods of deep depression during which thoughts of suicide pervaded my mind. These feelings had become as common as putting on clothes in the morning. Strangely, however, I found myself to be truly frightened of dying when brought face to face with the sudden death possibility described by the doctor. In retrospect, I think I used thoughts of suicide only as a safety valve when times got toughest. Never intending to really do the job, I felt better in the knowledge that there was an ultimate solution, a final peace. Moreover, this sense of relative well-being could be magnified by the development of elaborate and skillful plans for accomplishing the feat. In this regard, as a research chemist, I brought to the contemplation of suicide a new dimension of ingenious scheming. Most importantly, I had ultimate control. Death would occur only if and when I decided.

Faced now, however, with a real possibility, even probability, of a death beyond my control, I panicked. For this reason I resolved to regain control. The doctor and I sat down and discussed what could be done. Three avenues for improvement were suggested: medication, special diet and exercise. As exercise, he prescribed walking with intermittent jogging for distances increasing gradually to one mile. Over the years I had engaged in periods of jogging, but these were followed by long intervals of inactivity. My strong capabilities for self-discipline drove me into a regime of strict adherence to the doctor's orders, at least in two of the three categories. I reasoned that heart related medication and physical fitness, coupled with a reasoned approach to eating, would see me through. Indeed, after only one-and-a-half years I had lost thirty pounds and felt much better, not only physically but mentally as well.

Herein, however, lay a weakness. Even though I was making excellent progress I was far from satisfied. It seemed probable to me that if one mile of jogging and walking was helping, one mile of total jogging would mean an even greater improvement. After achieving this plateau and feeling great, I reasoned that two and then three and then more miles of jogging would take me to much loftier heights. With this reasoning and at the end of a six-year span I found myself routinely running up to 15 km a day and entering races. I weighed 153 pounds, a loss of 45 pounds! I felt great! (My family said I looked anorectic).

Most importantly, I approached life and its daily problems in a vastly more positive frame of mind. My energy level is many times what it was before. I bound in to work each day. Although I still sometimes wonder how I will face what normal's consider simple tasks, I usually complete the required work.

It is always wise to consult a doctor before undertaking new programs of medication, diet and physical exercise.

This compulsion really got out of hand when I began to jog to my work each and every day rain snow or shine 12 months of the year to my lab at the university. This was an 18.1 km distance that I ran every weekday morning for over 15 years. I ran in normal street cloths carrying my books and other item in a grocery store shopping bag slung by hand at my side (before the advent of commercial backpacks). Occasionally in the summer I jogged this same distance home.

There were no conventional showering facilities in my building at the university but because my laboratory was heavily involved with chemicals one of the safety features consisted of shower stations. These were available in case a worker should have a spill of something such as an acid that contaminated their clothing and bare skin. I used one of these each morning upon arrival after the jog that was located behind lockable doors in the chemical preparation room.

This jogging was something that I HAD to complete each day. If I failed to do suitably long jogs on such a regular basis I was angry at myself often berating myself loudly even in public. What a Hell of a compulsion! The fact that today at 76 despite suffering severe dizzy spells and lightheaded unbalance in danger of falling I still force myself to walk usually 3 km shows that this compulsion is so strong that I continue in spite of risking a fall. Several specialists insist I use a walker; but even the thought makes me angry.

A variety of amusing stories are associated with my jogging and one of my favourites occurred while out jogging with my black Labrador retriever Smudge. Only the first 2 paragraphs relate to the jogging compulsion, but I have included the remainder of the story which identifies at least one other of my manic induced behaviours.

Many years back when the family was young we were the proud owners of a sequence of Labrador Retrievers, first a black called Smudge followed by two yellows. Despite any external variations such as size and colours, they all shared a penchant for chronic disobedience, hyperactivity and excessive strength. I took particular pride in having large active dogs and detested toy dogs such as poodles. Consistently our dogs partook in obedience training at the best doggie schools and easily passed these courses. For whatever reason though, they also consistently dismissed this accomplished skill in favour of their former unruly behaviour. There were many recriminations among family members as to the reason for this result, but the only logical conclusion that seemed to hold up was that I was the culprit for persistent lack of enforcement. So-be-it, these lovable canines always seemed to be more intelligent or perhaps more crafty than I. The family accused me of being too lazy to enforce their hard won skills, but I think I was just too easily shammed. Of all these dogs Smudge was the biggest offender. With the benefit of hind sight I often wonder if some of this malefaction could be off loaded as Smudge's revenge for always being called Sludge by a partially deaf, elderly member, of our family.

Our Labs were always great walkers and I of course was a rabid jogger. Problematically though Smudge, used to pull me almost to severe injury. It made me mad that no matter how fast I jogged she could keep up just by walking slightly faster. One day she was so energetic that I thought I would speed the outing by taking her on a long downhill stretch until she was actually running. I was so successful that she had me up to my top speed and a little out of control. I had forgotten that at the bottom of the hill there was a sharp right angle turn. By the time this problem came into view I could not slow her down sufficiently and she made a perfect turn and continued racing up the street. Meanwhile I failed to negotiate the turn and crashed flailing through someone's hedge. I was in a mess of bleeding scratches and was crawling along on all fours. The hedge owner came running out and I thought was looking to help me. But no, he began giving me hell for buggering up his prize hedge. Meanwhile Smudge had returned dragging her leash and I am certain was actually smiling at my predicament!

The Christmas season was a particular stimulant for all of our Labs and their enjoyment always seemed to involve problems of one type or another. Not unlike the majority of dogs, taste and smell were the senses that came to the fore. Of particular note is the year that our children reached an appropriate age to decorate gingerbread men to enhance the Christmas tree. This process was pursued with an abundance of enthusiasm by Maureen and the children and involved the baking of gingerbread men and production of cones filled with many different colours of homemade icings. The cleanup thereafter wasn't as much of a group activity though and involved mainly only Maureen. The colourful appetizing finished products were attached to the tree in our basement family room and made a princely display indeed. Care had been exercised to place these at a level on the tree unreachable even by a dog's tongue. Some hours later while preparing for bed, a loud thump emanated from below. Imagine our chagrin to find the tree on its side with Smudge posed there-on, ravishingly licking the gingerbread men's delicately administered icing décor and then consuming the remains.

Another particular issue with Labs is trying to restrain them from any sizable body of water as is described in this next paragraph. Are Dogs compulsive or what? (The thought of me having an emotional state identical to a dog was something to fret).

Periods of attendance at our winterised lake front cottage was one of the pinnacles on the Labs enjoyment curve. Travel with animals is always problematic and the old style spacious station wagons of our cottage days were the ideal solution. Two adults, three children and the dog, together with our luggage fit neatly here-in. Even a friend or two could be shoehorned in when necessary. During the trips, I was often accused of a multitude of misdemeanours, like driving the car great distances with the gas gauge reading empty. However apart from this being a compulsion, there were always seemingly good excuses for thus doing and one involved inevitable problems related to son Jon and also most of our Labs. Frequently having failed to gas up before setting out, well before the half way point the gas gauge would be registering empty, which had the family setting up relentless pleas to stop at the nearest fuelling point. Without exception, my compulsion was to reach a gas station/ice cream store half way to our destination. Jon and the Labs always resided in the rear in a small set of seats that faced backwards. There were several reasons for this seating. The first was that both were car sickness candidates and upon reaching this location there was sure to be a cleanup required, particularly due to the Lab. Next, the price of gasoline at this particular location was a few cents a litre less expensive than average. Most importantly they dispensed the most delicious ice cream including of course one for the dog. Providing an ice cream treat for the dog was not always wise though, as it would generally ensure another stop for a cleanup.

Inexplicably Smudge could sense the oncoming large body of water, frozen over or not, at least 18 km from our destination. This always occasioned an onset of excitement that caused her to leap over seats, upset luggage and precipitate other unwelcome repercussions. Surprisingly the point of this reaction was always as we turned off the main paved highway onto a rough gravel road. By the time we turned into our cottage laneway, pandemonium would be in full swing. Upon opening the car door a wire roped tractor winch would not have been sufficient to restrain the dog. A 10m run separated the car from the lake. It had no bearing whether winter or summer on the speed and joy with which she splashed in one giant leap into the water. If she found a thick layer of ice had formed over the entire surface her disappointment was palpable, until she discovered a consolation activity involving jumping back and forth from the giant 4m high snow drift that was usually present at such times, onto the cottage roof.

Smudge had one waterborne recreation that exceeded her thrill of swimming and which became a constant source of frustration. She loved boating and would not be left behind if a boat ride was involved. Besides locking her in the house or tying her up outside, nothing we could devise would prevent her ultimate presence as an essential member of her family in the boat. Over the years we devised a number of distractions that permitted us to leave the dock sans Smudge, but all ultimately ended in failure. As soon as she discovered the boat missing, she was smart enough to head for the water. When we would look back towards the shore, no matter how far we had managed to travel, there she would be swimming in our direction. It often came to my mind that if I kept on going she would give up and return shoreward. But armed with knowledge of the well-known swimming proficiency of Labs I always gave in and returned to pick her up from the water. With a 50 kg bundle of thrashing legs to contend with there was no humane method to reach over the side and pluck her from the water without tipping the boat. This meant consigning someone to the water and that patsy most frequently was me. Smudge always perceived me as some kind of slippery climbing device and she would scrabble, scratching her paws all over my upper body, in her endeavour to get into the boat. By the time I had succeeded in pushing her bum over the gunwale, my skin would be in shreds and felt akin to third degree burns. The end result was that I would end up covered with an ugly, pervasive and persistent looking red rash, ensuring most people would give me a wide berth until it healed.

Our cottage was located halfway along a 1km stretch of paved road. Few drivers could enter this segment without the pedal to the medal stance so speeding vehicles were the norm for us. This provided a good deal of concern for the safety of our dogs (we had several) over the years, as being Labs they had little sense of fear or even recognition of any type of hazard. They wandered uninhibitedly back and forth and sometimes even stood for appreciable periods, like strange fearless vehicular voyeurs, in the centre of the roadway. Frequently we would here the screeching of brakes as some startled driver swerved to miss one of these miscreants. In all the years we occupied this cottage though, only once were any of the Labs hit by a car and of course, it was Smudge. In this case a local, Bob, in his usual inebriated state, managed a direct hit still at full throttle. Maureen in describing what she witnessed stated that the dog rumbled along under the car for a meter or so and then squirted free out the far side. Maureen dashed over the road expecting to find an unrecognizable mass of bleeding dead body in the ditch. Instead nothing living or dead could be located. For a few hours several of us, mostly in tears, made a frantic search of the roadside woods for her. No sign of Smudge or even a bloodied residue could be located. Even Bob, who had returned full of apologies and in morbid fear that we might call the police, was stumbling here and there attempting to "help". He left his car running by the roadside repeatedly offering to drive us to the vet; a thought that provided almost the same degree of angst as not finding the dog. We had to call off our effort when it got too dark to be able to see anymore and retreated tearfully back to the cottage. As if nothing had happened and no doubt wondering about all the fuss, there lay Smudge, very slightly ruffled, on the front step. She had been patiently awaiting our return and no doubt bemoaning our negligence in the delay of her dinner.

Yes dinner and in fact any food was important to all of our dogs. Meals provided on time and in sufficient quantity, were an essential not to be questioned. Yet it was the unscheduled and often opportunistically acquired fodder that seemed most satisfying. Carelessly unguarded baking ingredients such as chocolate chips were particularly high on the list. But one thanksgiving evening Smudge really landed the jackpot. Our neighbours, two cottages to the south, had been in the celebratory mode since early afternoon and were fine tuning the roasting of a particularly sumptuous ham. Unfortunately several factors conspired to cause the culinary calamity that follows. The ham had to be basted and while performing this duty with the ham poised precariously on the open oven door, someone shouted impatiently for another drink. The kitchen door had been propped open to provide cool fresh air. While the hostess went to pour a fresh drink and was making the delivery to the lounge room: Smudge having been attracted to the kitchen door by the aromas, made a dash to the open oven and purloined the unprotected ham. Attracted to our front lawn by a distant volley of shouted obscenities, I noted in horror our dog running towards our cottage with an 8 kg steaming hot ham held high and clutched firmly in her jaws. Meanwhile in distant pursuit was the obviously inebriated housewife, falling down here and there over "obstructions" that were invisible to me but still maintaining her cannonade of obscenities, some of which now included frightening adjectives modifying my name. By the time my neighbour reached me, Smudge was well into her victual. As a dismal end to this fiasco, we were now faced with inviting our former friends out to Thanksgiving dinner at one of the shabby local restaurants.

Large dogs have a life expectancy of in the 12 to 14 year range and at 12 Smudge seemed to be likely to come up on the short end of this range. A trip to the Vet for a routine check up in her 12th year brought the frightening news that Smudge was suffering from an advanced form of liver disease destined soon to be fatal. In our sorrow we thought we might purchase a new pup to ease the transition. Topaz, a yellow lab was soon purchased. Instantly Smudge began to perk up. There was a clear indication that she resented this intrusion most vehemently. To make her point more strongly Smudge's "fatal" liver disease cleared up in about 2 weeks and she lived in excellent health for 6 more years. As an indication of the strength of Smudge's domination within our household poor little Topaz remained barkless until the date of Smudge's death at which time she more than adequately took over this presumed new responsibility.

Now, thirty years later and at the age of 75, with all the Labs only a fond distant memory, I shuffle around a small condominium with an adorable 4 year old miniature cinnamon coloured poodle under foot. Her name is Synammon.

# Strange Obsessions Relating to Purchases and Collecting Valuables from Peoples Garbage

Over the period of several decades I have gone through obsessive phases relating to purchasing that the many of you who are also Bipolar will relate strongly with. I pick 2 typical ones to outline here and will discuss in a special section for reasons that will become apparent my computer obsession.

Fortunately I never had much interest in expensive items like cars. Concerning cars I was quite parsimonious and delighted in racking up 3 or 4 hundred Km often driving one until the police took it off the road for some infraction. In fact my purchase obsession related to obtaining bargains but focussed within narrow limits and always ridiculous numbers of each.

Camera Obsession

I was not quite forthright in stating that my obsessions were limited to obtaining bargains. I had an obsession for cameras and with one exception these fit into the bargain category. However prior to a cruise my wife and I took around Cape Horn I decide I had to have a digital camera. This was in early days of digital photography and a good Nikon Single Lens Reflex that would accommodate my large selection of lenses was costly by today's standards. Just before the trip departure date I strolled into one of Toronto's finest Camera Shops and bought a $3000.00 model! A better camera having up to date components would cost about $500.00 today in the same store.

At the time I lost interest in photography I had accumulated 25 or so cameras and had purchased and resold many others, mostly from the film era. My modus operandi was to troll the pawn shops for cameras. A hobbyist photographer today would have a good digital Single Lens Reflex Camera with a plethora of lenses. Portrait Photographers would have what we called in my day a 2x2 inch film camera, probably a Hasselblad. Today they have a similar device but with a digital back. Back in the film era I had to have a 2x2 inch camera and found that for about 1/10th the price a Russian model could be obtained and even at a cheaper price from a Pawn Broker; so I had several of these. Like many of my cameras they were never used. I was fascinated by all camera formats and at one Pawn Broker I found 2 small format identical cartridge film, pocket cameras and snapped up both. Well you get the drift. Soon I had a large collection of mostly cheap cameras that were mostly never used. A couple of variants on this obsession are worth mentioning. I liked to do experiments with the equipment. Close-up lenses cost a packet so I fashioned one from a $5 peep hole lens that are common in hotel doors so the resident can peer through one and see an enlarged distorted view of the face of the person on the other side. I also experimented with infrared photography.

Coats and Sweaters Obsession

Just yesterday I opened the hall closet on my side hung so many coats that the one I was wearing when I tried to hang it up fell to the floor. The problem was it got knocked off the hanger because there was no space left. In contrast on Maureen's side you could have fired a shot gun blast and not hit a thing. This is strange because my coat and sweater obsession was long past. The residual, despite many donations to the Thrift Stores is still ridiculously large.

My residual sweater collection is even worse. If you can open my clothes closet, which is a feat in itself due to interference from my present computer collection obsession, sweaters, now mostly cheap fleece are stuffed so tightly on the bulging shelves that the attempted removal of one precipitates an avalanche. The problem is so great that I end up wearing a small collection of my mountainous selection and instead I wash and rewash to prevent having to go to my bulging closet.

Collecting Valuable Garbage Compulsion

Our Garage had long been jammed with "valuable junk" although I was more inclined to think of these objects as treasured objects and other kinder sounding names. Items that graced the garage ranged from 3 kitchen sinks to a large set of bifold doors salvaged from a school waste dump.

When we lived with a basement in our house in Toronto, my wife avoided any excursions into this abyss. This was not surprising considering my management tactics of this area. Used as a repository for "valuable junk", these items came to rest either by a toss from the top stair, or by being slid or rolled down into the agglomeration at the bottom. From time to time, perhaps to fix the furnace, repair a minor leak in the basement wall, or just to relieve the congestion, it would be necessary to drag the mounting aggregation to some random location further from the target area. Even our double car garage was reduced to a single car space and negotiating one car into this narrowing space amongst my collectables, became a challenge. As we became empty nesters, a vacated large bedroom provided an even more convenient area to deposit my most treasured objects.

Apparently some family members felt I was using the terms collectables and treasured objects loosely, since most of these items had been retrieved from the neighborhood garbage. It was always a curiosity to me how someone might discard an item like a kitchen sink, which obviously was of some appreciable monetary value. Subsequently I had accumulated four of these. Likewise a ten year old lawnmower with rusted out wheel wells and a missing wheel, but otherwise in perfect running condition, upon being repaired could easily fulfill a future need.

Electronics were a particular favorite and included a variety of televisions. I had three non working varieties, four if you count the one that dated from the black and white era. Well you could never be sure that black and white TV might not make a comeback, n'est-ce pas? Desktop computers also made an appearance with an assortment of blown power supplies and moldering motherboards full of valuable electronic components. I even had a decal and part of a case of the Lisa Computer. This was the brilliant, unaffordable and fateful model that had resulted in Steve Jobs untoward early dismissal from Apple. It had been carefully cobbled and stored under a bed. Unfortunately I was a much better collector than fixer or salesman and this treasure-trove of potential valuables continued to accumulate unabated.

Then alarmingly, while my wife and I had gone on a two week holiday to Europe, several of our children struck without warning. Over a several day period they cleared all areas except the garage, of every item so painstakingly collected and trucked it all to the dump. Upon arriving home there were red ribbons tied to the basement and spare room door handles, as though some gift lurked inside. Instead only empty space greeted our eyes. My wife was ecstatic, whereas I was wishing I had perceived the need to have posted a guard with a gun. Robbed blind by my own children!

Several years later my treasure trove partially restored, and thankfully augmented by the contents of a cottage we sold and my now deceased mother-in-law's house, the basement was so full it was a challenge to locate any empty space at all. A contemplated move to a newly purchased condominium, which was sized much more appropriately for what had become only two of us, had unaccountably set my wife to tears. Apparently how to dispose of the contents of the bloated basement was causing this unexpected reaction.

Then it happened again. Later that night the storm of the century caused a back up of the neighborhood sewage and formed a two foot deep stinking refuse pond in our basement. Inexplicably tears became smiles, as my wife was informed that the basement and its contents, due to city bylaws, would have to be removed and deposited in the dump. All that would remain would be the cinder block basement walls. We were also told that all this would be done for free. Additionally, our insurance would cover a complete remodel of the rooms, including a brand new furnace and water heater. Robbed again of so much of potential value and not even a red bow to mark the occasion. I had sneaky thoughts of rescuing some of the best contents, but was foiled by a promise of a huge fine, should any such attempt occur.

A dumpster that approximated the volume of a large living room arrived. Its unusually large size required Toronto Hydro to disconnect power lines, to accommodate its move into the driveway. It required two trips of this monster to remove the dismantled basement and its contents, from our precincts. Things seemed to be happening smoothly and according to the letter of the law, until I spied our large nearly full freezer still sitting on the lawn. Surreptitiously the contents disappeared, divided evenly among the workers. Even I, the defender King of Useful Junk, had a queasy feeling at the thought of the consumption of potential sewage exposed food.

Only the garage remained to be cleared and my son kindly brought his truck and together we removed my collection. At the entrance of the disposal yard, my son had to drive the truck through a narrow lane next to the yard office. Upon approaching the reception window, lights started flashing and loud sirens screamed, making us vault out of the truck. The attendant motioned us to reverse the truck and shouted that we could not bring this load into the yard due to its radioactive content. I was astounded since I had not collected anything that could possibly have been radioactive. Upon hearing this assurance, the attendant asked if either of us had any medical tests done recently. I said that two days ago I had a heart test. I was then commanded to stay back while my son again drove the truck towards the window. This time there were no lights and no sirens. Luckily I was not part of the load to be left. Their detector was so sensitive or alternatively I was so radioactive, that I had set off the alarms. Part of my heart test involved the injection of radioactive technetium for a scanning procedure and its many hours long ½ life, meant that the decay (to neutral iodine) had not proceeded far enough to escape the detectors. Triggering the detector had left me disconcerted and with a lingering concern about the safety of the whole procedure. Might I even have been glowing in the dark!

# Psychiatric, Neurological and other Medical Nonsense

WARNING-- Despite what I say in this section Medical assistance must be sought for bipolar and the advice followed. Most importantly recommended bipolar medication 000.must be taken faithfully and not stopped without the doctor's consent. It is the only assistance available.

"There's nothing much I can do for you without having an MRI scan of your brain". This was the gist of comments I received from 3 different neurologists I was referred to relating to balance and dizzy spells that arose later on in my life that exacerbated my bipolar problems. Okay but why not? Neurologists must have provided help for people like me before MRI's became available several decades ago! Anyway it wasn't that I refused to have this procedure. I was quite willing. However I had required installation of a pacemaker to help regulate my heart beat and the metal electrodes associated with this device have become over time incorporated in my heart tissue. Using current MRI procedures which consist of applying a strong magnetic field modulated by a radiofrequency signal; the latter would cause the electrodes in my heart to heat up to a level that would fry my heart. There are all-be-it experimental procedures that use reduced magnetic fields which have successfully been used on patients like me with pacemakers but nobody I could find in Toronto would give me such a treatment even though I am very willing and would gladly sign waivers to absent them of any blame if this test caused me injury or death. The reason I am willing to take this chance is that my problems stated above that are complicating my bipolar conditions are making my life very unpleasant. The added problems have made me manically negative in dealing with life's normal problems and therefore much harder to live with.

Brain scans involving X-rays called CT scans are commonly available and I have had at least 10 over the years. Why then are these not useful enough for neurological diagnosis in my case? With this brain scan tool available why does the neurologist still make the statement that he cannot be much help in my case without an MRI? X-ray scans are poor for outlining anything relating to organic tissue and a normal brain is almost totally organic tissue. Not to put too fine a point on it unless let's say a large tumor, calcified abnormalities or a scull abnormality occurs such scans are pretty useless.

Why bother the reader with this personal difficulty that very few bipolar individuals in my position would have? It is because this exemplifies the unacceptably poor, some might even say primitive, treatment for some conditions still proffered in 2013 despite continuously vomited media hoopla announcing almost weekly about radically new developments in most fields of medical science. In fact many large Toronto hospitals have special areas called "Media Rooms" set aside just to attract cameras and reporters to partake of these big new developments that occur in their precincts. This leads me to the following rant that those of us hoping for a sudden and radical development in the treatment of be it bipolarity or any other condition must be very skeptical in our response to such announcements. I call this:

Mousey Medicine

Presently there is a wide spread use of animals for testing purposes in medical research. This practice, embracing a wide range of nonhuman species, is however largely centered on rodents. Of these by far and away the greatest number are mice. An important reason for this choice is that mice have a genetic composition that is about 90% identical to humans. For this reason many researchers expect results obtained on mice to closely approximate those that might be expected to be obtained with humans. However, close genetic similarities of species are just one factor to be considered when choosing a species for this experimental work. Many other important factors for example adsorption and elimination of test substances in mice and humans can still be quite dissimilar. These other important factors greatly affect the use of such experimental results in predicting their implications for human treatments.

In perhaps the best historically documented case of this type the drug Thalidomide, a supposedly harmless sedative and nausea suppressing drug, was prescribed for expectant mothers based on excellent results obtained with mice. This substance occasioned a disastrous outbreak of widespread human birth defects, up to 10,000 before the problem was discovered and thalidomide use discontinued. In this instance a follow-up study found that mice could actually tolerate about 8000 times, on a relative basis, the dose compared to humans without ill effects of any type. The thalidomide disaster beginning in 1961 caused dramatic changes to occur in procedures and permissions for human testing using substances flagged as possibly useful based on results obtained with experimental animals.

It would appear however that many medical researchers show little concern for reporting results as possibly having favourable implications for treatment of human disease from research still at the mouse stage that is before enacting any testing directly on humans. Since rules for human testing of such substances are now so stringent and time consuming the temptation for reporting of new potential human disease treatments at the mouse stage is high. Those of us who have reached middle age or greater are very familiar with this practice and the common disappointments that result when mouse study predictions for favourable human treatments are never realised. In fact less than 10% of successful treatments on mice translate into successful treatments for humans. Being learning disabled I have a great interest in possible medical treatments for this problem. At the age of 74 I have seen several dozen predictions for successful drug treatments of this problem doomed for failure. As of this writing no properly documented cure for learning disabilities exists.

Due to revolutionary advances in analytical biochemistry the genetic composition of a large number of organisms including humans has become known. Researchers can now identify defective and marker genes related to a variety of problems and using this information can predict the likelihood of certain diseases being developed through individual testing. For example this can result in women opting to have mastectomies despite the absence of any actual physical symptoms of breast cancer. Should individuals results fall into the public domain genetic testing could be utilized in whether to grant life insurance and in making hiring decisions.

Although a few successful genetically based treatments for human disease actually exist today, I have particular concern relating to the following growing poorly regulated practice. Here non human laboratory research studies show that a genetic procedure has cured a disease or drastically improved the treatment of that disease, in a test population of mammals such as mice. These results are then used as the usual springboard for predicting the likelihood of developing medications or favourable clinical procedures and even cures, when used with humans in the future. Results are still often being reported without any vestige of human testing having been done. The problem today is the much wider ranging, still weakly based, but much more aggressive nature of this type of prediction, something the science of my day would strongly have disavowed. Many medical research facilities actually maintain Media Rooms for release of such material.

Charitable organizations and research groups in the medical domain depend on favourable research results for improvement in monetary support. Many of us donate to charity and would be predisposed to be more generous if favourable predictive medical results applied to diseases affecting our progeny and other loved ones. It is worrisome to me, as a scientist who believes that some research indication of human benefit should be accomplished, which is publishable in peer reviewed journal, before probability of any human success is announced. Otherwise, less rigorous press released material; totally non human based may wrongly influence the charitable actions of generous citizens.

Non-the- less carefully validated genetically based medicine does hold tremendous and wide ranging promise for treatment now and in the future.

# Psychiatrists and My Highly Medicated Life

Medication has dominated my life even before diagnosis. Bipolarity, still known when I was diagnosed as Manic Depression, went unidentified in my early years until age 45. When unchecked, this problem is typified by emotional oscillations from deep depression to manic excesses. The oscillation frequency in my case varied from minutes to weeks.

Perhaps it is incorrect to label cigarettes, or more correctly the addictive chemical nicotine, as a medication. But for 15 or so years following my teens, I felt smoking was a useful component that in some manner helped mollify my manic and depressive stages.

Enter Psychiatrists beginning in my 20s, as a dominant monthly feature for the rest of my life. But even for 20 years under their tutelage my bipolarity continued undiagnosed. The early practitioners in my case filled me with valium. This medication coupled with alcohol became the perfect camouflage, by repressing my emotional extremes. I encountered an unusual variety of Psychiatrists that could be grouped according to their treatment preferences. A few worked without emphasis on medications. My favorite amongst these used biofeedback as his weapon of choice. With the device being attached to the patient he taught relaxation procedures and their effectiveness was judged by evaluating squiggly signals on a monitor,. When the baseline of the signal travelled lower on the screen, it meant the patient was becoming more relaxed. The effectiveness of this approach became abundantly clear in one session, where my baseline signal indicated severe agitation, but when I looked over at the doctor I discovered that he had fallen asleep.

Of course the most effective practitioner was the one that finally diagnosed my bipolarity. Surprisingly this gentleman had also previously employed the heaviest doses of valium, which had most effectively hidden my bipolar mood swings. To say he diagnosed this problem would perhaps be an error in semantics. During one session after a hurried consultation with a colleague he returned with the question, "Do you think you might be manic depressive"? How the Hell would I know? I stated "perhaps". This really marked the onslaught of medications. Valium disappeared only to be replaced by an arsenal of up to twelve different drugs, all being consumed simultaneously on a daily basis.

The first major new drug introduction was the substance lithium carbonate. This is the most common staple used in the treatment of bipolar disease. In another form lithium will be recognized by most readers as the major constituent of rechargeable batteries, in electronic gadgets and electric cars. Although the previous comment on lithium batteries would appear to bear no relevance to my problem, lithium carbonate, while effectively performing its magic on the emotional swings, it had the not uncommon side effect of causing me to shuffle and shake as though I was a malfunctioning battery powered toy. The only alternative consisted of a medley of three drugs. The main one, an anti seizure compound with the unpredicted side effect of being useful for treating bipolar problems, had to be administered in massive 1.5 gm doses. There is a more detailed discussion on these drugs and their side effects in a section below

To understand the treatment of bipolar disease one can imagine playing the violin. The musician practices until the melody contains the correct combination of notes and cords. These must then be played with satisfying emphasis and tonal quality. Likewise effective drug treatment for my emotional problem is a matter of practicing in many cases trial and error. The combinations of medications and the amount of each are varied by the practitioner at each appointment, until the types and amounts of those that control the manic highs and the species and level of those that prevent depression, have resulted in as close to a stable emotional state as possible. Imagine then the wear and tear that this chemical assault must levy on bodily organs.

Although having been subjected to a chemical smorgasbord of drugs my entire adult life, I have also been fortunate enough to witness an entirely different and extremely effective type of "medication" in the case of a cardiac patient. Animals have long been known to be useful for improving the emotional well being of those in health care institutions and homes for the aged. As mentioned in another chapter, I spent five years volunteering at a local nursing home and subsequently came to befriend one of the patients named Ben. On many weekends over this five year period I would take Smudge, our black Labrador, in to visit with me and here-in developed an unusual story.

Ben was a remarkable person in several ways, including being a much decorated WW 2 veteran. Hence this man was no stranger to bravery. As Smudge and I entered the picture, Ben had severe heart and emotional difficulties. As the relationship developed I became aware of the intensity of pain that was involved daily in Ben's life, particularly related to periods of angina. Concurrent with this, I also realized just how important a dog can be in deflecting a patient's outward awareness of pain. Ben and Smudge shared an intense relationship, where-by Smudge's presence seemed to become as effective as pain killers. Smudge weighed 45 kg so I was always hesitant as Ben would motion her to jump onto the bed and lie beside him with her head in his face. Thus I always very cautiously guided the dog up and made certain that the rest of her body was not resting against any of Ben's body area.

One Sunday morning Smudge and I arrived in the hallway to hear loud moaning sounds of painful angina emanating from Ben's room. For a second this anguish precipitated a loss in my concentration. At this point Smudge also became aware of her friend's predicament and bolted from my tenuous grasp. In horror I watched her tail disappear around the corner into his room, followed closely by the sound of a large object crashing onto the bed. Then total silence resulted. As I dashed to the bedside with fearful visions of what might have occurred, I half expected to find Ben dead from a heart attack. When I rounded the corner, I was dumbfounded. As I feared the dog had indeed impacted on the center on Ben's chest. But instead of a dead body, I found Ben breathing peacefully, a mammoth smile enveloping his face and a big pink tongue licking his smiling lips. About to utter a litany of apologies, my throat choked up and no sound came out, which turned out fortunately to be much more appropriate.

The Very Pompous Neurologist

I got a referral to the "Best Neurologist in Toronto". This man now heads neurology at the most up-scale clinic in the city. He is well-known and respected for his research program. Thus what I am about to say in a negative vein about his mode of practice is obviously not the view of most. It beats me how so called talented doctors can be insensitive especially in dealing with high strung (not yet officially diagnosed as bipolar) individuals like myself who because of the nature of this problem are easily upset. In a word I think he might have been a gifted researcher but his manner with me left much to be desired. In fact I got the opinion I was wasting his precious time. He said as much when he stated his conclusion as to the cause of my problems followed by the appeal for my not to consult any further neurologists. He claimed to have seen CT scans that were done on me in recent time to the appointment but when I asked to have a look at these he refused. Bear in mind that in Ontario it is the right of all patients to have a copy of any medical report done on his person.

I must say he was different than most previous neurologists in that he was very detailed in his observations and questioning. Also he did not request any further testing. He gave me his conclusion that heavy doses of medication that I had taken for long periods of time were killing white brain cells in my frontal lobe and my problems would only get worse. He judged me as a hypochondriac and thus his statement that it would be a waste of time to see further neurologists.

As I always do after an appropriate interval I asked for a copy of the doctor's report but was unable to obtain anything from his office. Fortunately my family doctor had received a copy from which I got mine. When I looked at the data he had written down in answer to my questions I could see his mind must have otherwise been preoccupied since there were so many statements on the report that differed from my replies. The situation of erroneous material was so bad plus his statement that I was obvious a hypochondriac that I wrote a detailed letter correcting the forms to this neurologist with a copy to my family doctor. Most certainly I had sought help from a number of psychiatrists and neurologists but since no suitable results were being obtained who would not have attempted to find a doctor who could provide some relief? I received no reply from the neurologist but my family doctor was disgusted especially that he should accuse me of hypochondria which she knew to be false. Considering his error filled report what a pompous attitude he purveyed in telling me not to bother any other neurologists.

# After the Discovery

My many often frustrating, sometimes amusing psychiatric appointments spanning many years with the variety of specialists noted in the section above seemed to be meandering nowhere. Then came the afore mentioned out of the blue question; "do you think you could be manic depressive"? His answer that I believed I did have this problem was made with what at the time seemed a surprisingly high degree of certainty. I had been unaware that after a session of new tests this psychiatrist had been in discussion for several months with some of his colleagues and the consensus was unanimous. Thus without any preparation or warning at the beginning of what I suspected would just be another normal appointment I was provided with that startling dianosis

I was weaned off my valium and then placed on the usual drug employed for treatment of Manic depression that being lithium.

Lithium salts

Lithium Pharmacology

The use of lithium salts as a treatment of bipolar disorder was first discovered by Dr. John Cade, an Australian psychiatrist who published a paper on the use of lithium in 1949.

Lithium salts had long been used as a first-line treatment for bipolar disorder. In ancient times, doctors would send their mentally ill patients to drink from "alkali springs" as a treatment. They did not know it, but they were really prescribing lithium, which was present in relatively high concentration in the waters. The therapeutic effect of lithium salts appears to be entirely due to the lithium ion, Li+.

The two lithium salts used for bipolar therapy are lithium carbonate (mostly) and lithium citrate (sometimes). Approved for the treatment of acute mania in 1970 by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), lithium has been an effective mood-stabilizing medication for many people with bipolar disorder. Lithium is also noted for reducing the risk of suicide. Although lithium is among the most effective mood stabilizers, persons taking it may experience side effects similar to the effects of ingesting too much table salt, such as high blood pressure, water retention, and constipation. Regular blood testing is required when taking lithium to determine the correct lithium levels since the therapeutic dose is close to the toxic dose.

The mechanism of lithium salt treatment is believed to work as follows: some symptoms of bipolar disorder appear to be caused by the enzyme inositol monophosphatase (IMPase), an enzyme that splits inositol monophosphate into free inositol and phosphate. It is involved in signal transduction and is believed to create an imbalance in neurotransmitters in bipolar patients. The lithium ion is believed to produce a mood stabilizing effect by inhibiting IMPase by substituting for one of two magnesium ions in IMPase's active site, slowing down this enzyme.

Lithium orotate is used as an alternative treatment to lithium carbonate by some individuals with bipolar disorder, mainly because it is available without a doctor's prescription. It is sometimes sold as "organic lithium" by nutritionists, as well as under a wide variety of brand names. There seems to be little evidence for its use in clinical treatment in preference to lithium carbonate. Individuals with bipolar disorder have complained that it is much weaker than lithium carbonate and, therefore, less effective.

(The above 2 sections are reproduced from the Wikipedia article "Treatment of bipolar disorder" under the agreement in this URL. <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>)

Lithium has problems with its side effects, including hand trembling and intolerance of hot weather. Benztropine is sometimes used to control the trembling, but itself causes sedation. Lithium has a very narrow window of effectiveness. Below that level it has no effect, and above it is toxic. For that reason blood must be sampled frequently to determine if the proper blood level is currently present.

Anticonvulsants

Anticonvulsant medications, particularly valproate and carbamazepine, are often used instead of, or along with, lithium. Valproate (Depakote, Epival) was FDA approved for the treatment of acute mania in 1995, and is now considered by some doctors to be the first line of therapy for bipolar disorder. A similar medication, valproic acid (Depakene) is also used. For some, it is preferable to lithium because its side effect profile seems to be less severe, compliance with the medication is better, and fewer breakthrough manic episodes occur. However, valproate is not as effective as lithium in preventing or managing depressive episodes, so patients taking valproate may also need an antidepressant as an adjunct medicinal therapy.

New research suggests that different combinations of lithium and anticonvulsants may be helpful. Anticonvulsants are also used in combination with antipsychotics. Newer anticonvulsant medications, including Valproate, lamotrigine and oxcarbazepine, are also effective as mood stabilizers in bipolar disorder. Two studies found Lamotrigine helpful in preventing bipolar depression, with some benefit in preventing further episodes, however the relevant studies have serious methodological weaknesses with a very limited evidence that lamotrigine is beneficial. Lamotrigine is of no benefit for controlling rapid cycling nor acute mania.

The above 2 sections on treatment for bipolar apply to my case and are from Wikipedia used under the license described in this URL; http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/.

As mentioned above, at a relatively early stage it became apparent that lithium treatment was not to be permissible in my case. In a typical side effect I had tremors that culminated due to this problem, for example in the contents of a food court tray I was carrying at a local plaza landing upside down on the floor.

Apart from having a variety of characteristics that that made each of my psychiatrists unique this group of specialists come in at least 2 "flavours" or on a sliding scale mixture of the two. There are those that preferentially lean toward drugs and others who prefer a minimum of these while stressing verbal psychotherapy. I have experienced a wide range on each side.

When the change from lithium salt treatment to anticonvulsants became necessary my treatment started with just valproic acid and carbamazipine. From there I was escalated with the addition of many additional drugs including the other anticonvulsants mentioned in the section above. Add to this mix drugs for high blood pressure, elevated cholesterol, a sleeping pill and chlonaszepam and I feel like a drug addict.

A patient with a relatively common long studied complain like bipolarity and hence requireing a psychiatrist would expect a degree of scientific approach would dictate a fairly standard continuously updated approach. This is far from the case. On the whole but with a couple of outstanding exceptions I found psychiatrists to be relatively pompous, self assured and detached. This may be part of their training. The approach of most of those who treated me was to make slight variations to my medications, asked me how I felt while seeming to resist expected probing questions and provided little useful verbal advice. One of these specialists, who had the greatest impact on my problem, would ask me as I came through the door; "Where is your mood between 1 and 10? He used the answer to initiate a very intensive verbal treatment balanced equally on both sides. This very effective practitioner died after my 5th appointment. On the other side of the coin was a gentleman who commonly started our session by suggesting a new drug he had just read about. I had to quit to get rid of him. Then I had an older woman who had a hard and fast procedure which I found difficult to understand because it seemed revolve mostly around medical ethics having little to do with my own case.

The most annoying eventualities in common with most all these psychiatrists were 2 fold. First most acted like we were on a timer whence the doctor had one eye on the clock. One in this category even got telephone reminders when his next patient had arrived at which point his pace quickened immensely and relevance decreased lockstep. Secondly after a few sessions the majority of the practitioners turned the table on me and started to try to understand how someone with my problems could possibly have acquired a PhD and become a Full Professor. This was my signal that my time with this particular person was finished. I also decided to write 2 eBooks on my learning disability which were published by Smashwords that explained my technique for academic success.

On many occasions I went through intervals without any psychiatric help. Usually these ended when my GP got fed up with my mood swings and insisted I be referred to another psychiatrist.

Despite the best efforts over 50 years attending to my bipolarity in the many ways as indicated above including being dosed up in all this medication I continue living my life mostly in the manic mode. All my reactions to what for most are normal "crisis" I enter into solutions in a uncalled for aggressive manner.

The following is an amusing story about medication that happened to me in China although unrelated to bipolar is a break for the reader from my conventional boring experiences with prescription medications.

Mystification was the name of the game in many routine seeming situations in China of the 1980's. Whilst situated in Canton for a chemical research assignment for the World Bank I had a most unusual flu dilemma.

At the time, a variety of accommodation was available in the big Chinese cities, which ranged from American and Chinese style Hotels to University residences. I opted for the University residence, however a couple of weeks cooking on a single gas ring using leaky pots, having an air conditioner which regularly caught on fire, and enduring a meagre 1 hour per day of hot water, soon propelled me to relocate in a nearby Chinese Hotel. As I had always endeavoured to live as much as possible amongst the citizens of the country in which I was working, I was somewhat dismayed with myself at this move.

In those days each floor of the Chinese hotels had a reception type desk manned by English speaking male and female attendants, at which the resident was required to report and be escorted to his room. The door was duly unlocked and the room inspected before the hotel official handed over the key. Upon leaving each day the patron was required to hand the key in at this same desk before being allowed to leave the floor.

I had already become something of an enigma because I took my daily exercise by running in the stairwells between floors each morning, rather than trying to run on the crowded sidewalks outside. As might be expected this always drew an audience of bewildered hotel workers who clustered to watch from the entrances to each floor.

One morning I seemed to have developed mild flu like symptoms and felt the need for a pain killer for my headache. Attired still in my pyjamas I went to the reception desk on my floor and thinking that Aspirin must be a known brand even in China, I asked for 2 tablets. Without producing any pain killers the gentleman on duty mysteriously escorted me back to my room, although it was still unlocked and to my bed and then remained with me. In what seemed like only a few moments later 3 persons appeared in my room. I was then told that 2 were doctors, a man and a woman, both of whom conducted a cursory examination. The other a Government Official was in charge and he stated that I could choose to be treated using Western or Traditional Chinese Medicine. By then my headache had disappeared; consumed no doubt by the over dramatic incident that was unfolding in relation to my possible touch of flu. Surprisingly I heard myself say that I would try Chinese Medicine. What did I have to lose; it wasn't as though I was facing a fatal disease and after all my mantra had always been to gain as much experience with local traditions wherever in the world my work was to sequester me.

The woman doctor then stepped to my bed side and extracted 5 bottles from her satchel each containing what appeared to be 150 or more red coloured BB sized pills and deposited these on the bed side table. She then directed me to take one. Thus I dutifully removed the lid from 1 bottle, spilled out a few into my hand and then carefully choose one pill. I was about to swallow this acrid tasting orb with the aid of some water, when she interrupted and stridently stated not one pill, the complete contents of the bottle! It was at this point I wished I had remained in residence and was only having to extinguish another air conditioner fire.

Back at the University my Chinese colleagues carefully explained this dilemma. Apparently I was classified officially (they were always big during that period on fancy sounding categorizations) by the Chinese Government as a "Distinguished Visiting Expert" and as such it would be a horribly awkward international incident in their view if I were to perish while in Chinese precincts. To this end, as a precaution and no matter how minor seemed the complaint, I was to receive their ultimate diagnosis and treatment.

Upon returning home it came to my mind, whether by divulging this grandiose sounding foreign status to my family doctor in Toronto I might gain some advantage? Sadly, I dismissed this idea on the grounds that he being of Chinese background himself, he would probably see through this nonsense and instead penalize me by extending my already aggravating 1 hour office wait times.

# Computer Obsession

There was no way I was going to be involved with computers. Due to my learning disability I felt the learning curve would be impossibly steep. I retired at a time PC's were still working basically in DOS with windows operating software a thing of the future. Instrumentation in my laboratory had advanced to the microprocessor stage but was still pretty manual in its operation mode. A few of my PhD students and Post Doctoral fellows had got into computers and were busily computerizing their developed equipment. But with 1 MB of RAM tops (actually IBM publically made it known that the bulk of customers would not want more than 10 MB RAM and decided against continuing in the PC market) the equipment that was computerized was not particularly impressive compared to the conventional model.

Another incident (described in detail in a story below) that drew my anti computer ire was the new type of mass spectrometer-plasma source- that as a consultant I had been hired to install in a prestigious lab in Australia that kept breaking down due to the computer that would crash 5 or 6 times in a 3 hour period. This British designed instrument had a primitive deficient operating system in the computer. It was only due to my manic propelled insistence that we were about to make them take the equipment back that prompted new but barely satisfactory software design.

Fast forward to 2013 and I am sitting in my 4 m by 3.5 m bedroom enclosed on 3 sides with 18 home built computers all with 6 or 8 core processors.

It was only 8 years ago when my wife Maureen reacting to the volley of requests I kept giving her to look items up on the internet, stated that she was going to teach me how to use computers. She did a remarkable job of teaching me the principles of Windows XP and how to do important manipulations using this software. After a few months time I purchased a very basic Desktop Dell Pentium 4 computer.

This equipment though praiseworthy in its reliability compared with many competitive computers had its troubles. As elementary as these difficulties were they were beyond my meager capability and I was in frequent communication with my Son-In-Law asking him to come over to help me get back up and running. Of course he came willingly but I could tell it was a burden he did not need or deserve. This was the impetus that launched me into the exponential mania driven learning curve of principles of computer hardware and software intricacies.

As those of you with long periods of manic emotions will know it's often difficult to define when my behaviour in working with computers got out of hand. At times I was so consumed by this subject that I began working 20 hour days. The other side of the coin was the original Dell Pentium 4 computer was long gone and I was into a phase of buying broken computers on eBay and fixing these. I got into repairing both laptop and desktop computers. In fact besides having more than 40 desktops of different complexity on the go at one time or another I was fixing eBay obtained laptops and giving these as presents to my Grandchildren. BTW over the entire time I never paid more than $100 for any broken computer and averaged about $60. After fixing which depending on the parts required might be $50 or so, I had a computer with the capability of a new 500 to $800 model.

The next stimulus in this manic ride to computer heaven was when I discovered The World Community Grid. This is the world's largest quasi super computer and consists of a couple of million individual computers belonging to persons like myself in many counties worldwide. These had been network together supplying processor time for prestigious research groups working in areas such as the medical and environmental to process algorithms of data relating to the results of their experimentation. The Word Community Grid is from a technical perspective operated and hosted by IBM in association with University of California at Berkeley. An article follows this section on the importance this most worthy organization.

Joining the World Community Grid tossed me into a new environment of computer activity that involved upgrading all my existing equipment. It is important to stress that joining this group carries no requirement for altering ones computer in any way. But in my case running in these manic highs and requiring little to set off another phase of my compulsion sparked me to decide to get into this work in a big time manner. Thus to maximize my contribution I began to purchase broken computers again from eBay that had the capability to run multiple core processors. At one point I purchased and fixed 24, 4 core computers and put each to work on the Grid. This dictated that each computer could process 4 separate research programs at one time meaning that by running 12 all day and 12 all night I was in effect doing 48 projects 24/7.

The downside of running all these computers as stated was the heat generated which in the summertime had the room temperature near the maximum of 35 C for computer operation and power consumption was high. My compulsion for working at the high end for all contributors dictated that I should work shirtless, pouring in perspiration in this room with all the computers running at this high temperature throughout the summer. Further I decided to convert to higher capacity processors. This meant incurring a charge of $1,600 to install 2 new basic power lines into my bedroom/computer room.

We arrive at the present March 20, 2013 with my computer compulsion still in the ascending stage despite psychiatric counseling and further doses of my bipolar medication. I am now constructing 6 and 8 core computers. In the case of the 8 core variety I am buying the parts new and constructing each computer from scratch. I can presently run 68 separate research projects 24/7.

Each day that I awake in the manic mode, which is most common, I have this strong compulsion to buy more computing hardware and uncover ways to increase my contribution to the Grid. I believe that none of this useful work would have happened had I not been Bipolar and if I was not propelled forward most of the time due to my mainly manic propensity

This Important Program through Which Individuals can Make a Direct Contributions the Welfare of Mankind

Below I will discuss my compulsion for writing and in one of my recent Smashwoeds eBooks I provide warnings therein and in related writings concerning my prediction of humankind's relatively rapid destruction of conditions that allow biosphere sustainability on our planet. Happily none of you need remain disenfranchised in making a substantial contribution to helping to find solutions to major health and environmental long term bio-sustainability problems.

Perhaps you want to help find cures for Childhood Cancers? Or would you rather participate in AIDS research. Then again your interest may lie in Solutions to Climate Change. Many may wish to participate in all these 3 and the numerous other similarly urgent dilemmas facing Mankind and the World today.

You might well ask how you would be able to contribute to such work considering that you probably have absolutely no expert knowledge of any of these scientifically complex issues. Almost certainly most of you have no idea how to perform high level scientific research. Despite having read of my manic approach using processors that total 68 cores all working on separate projects your participation as indicated below is crucial. If I can persuade just 35 of you with a dual core processor commonly the minimum standard of today's computers to join the work of this grid that will nicely exceed my own manic driven contribution.

All right you are willing and wish to begin on projects; a wide ranging listing of providers of worldwide research ventures can be found at (<http://boinc.berkeley.edu/projects.php>). One of the most popular choices and the network I largely utilize is "World Community Grid" consisting of humanitarian research on natural disasters, diseases and world thirst and hunger. Tabs and sidebar menus appear on the software's main page that answer many of your questions and allow you to fine-tune your contribution. Also the unofficial web site "BOINC wiki" has a wealth of information and manuals.

To participate with BOINC simply download and install World Community Grid software at (www.worldcommunitygrid.org/) on your computer(s). This in no way results in any loss of control that you have over your own computer. BOINC simply makes use of your computers spare processor time, a valuable asset that otherwise goes to waste. Through "Preferences" you set the maximum Processor time available to BOINC, my recommendation for the average computer user being 20 to 25%. A few MB of hard drive capacity is also used. Since computers typically have 100 GB or more hard drive capacity this BOINC usage amounts to less than a percent of your total compliment. As one impressive testament to BOINC's high regard, Sony will bundle the BOINC software with all its new computers.

Modern computers commonly contain processors with 2 to 4 cores (my own have 6 or 8 cores). Each core operates as a separate unit to expedite your capacity to do multiple tasks (multitasking) simultaneously without serious degradation of your computers performance. BOINC assigns a different project to each core. Thus with a dual (2) core computer 2 unique projects are being researched simultaneously.

One question that must come to mind in connecting your computer to such a widespread project is whether virus problems might come as an unwelcome side effect. The answer is that in 4 years of 24/7 operation on this grid with 16 (8 during the day and 8 at night) computers with 6 or 8 core processors and using freeware antivirus AVG software I have not experienced any difficulty traceable to this work.

A second concern that must be considered is overheating related to high percentage processor utilization. Laptops are more prone to problems in this regard. My desktops all run at the 50% processor usage level of designated BIONIC project commitment and again in the interval mentioned above I have had no processor or other overheating related problem. Although many computers have built in temperature limits at which automatic shut down occurs, there is a software add on to Bionic called TThrottle (efmer.eu/boinc/) that will monitor the processor and graphics sensor temperatures and prevent operation under overheated conditions.

On a daily basis your own contribution to the projects is carefully time monitored and a full page of your own statistics is provided for each project under the heading "My Grid". Medallions are awarded at the bronze, silver, gold and platinum and sapphire levels of contribution. These appear next to your project listing, automatically in icon like format at the appropriate moment. From time to time someone's computer on this vast grid will be responsible for a major discovery and in some disciplines these are made public with the participant's permission. As an example, last summer a couple belonging to an astronomy program in the grid received worldwide recognition for being responsible for being part of discovering the rare occurrence of a Supernova.

As stated above, to this date all my multitude of computers have run BIONIC problem free.

Disclaimer-Jon Van Loon takes no responsibility for damage to equipment incurred using any of the above or related software.

# Writing Compulsion (A Special Part of My Success/work Compulsion)

Oh how vividly I remember my first major writing project. My experimentation for my PhD was winding down and the writing up stage was underway. My PhD consisted of 3 basically separate loosely related sections and my research director suggested that I write the first section and bring it to him for his appraisal. I wrote with much blood sweat and tears due to the constraints of my learning disability; but having completed the assignment I was pleased and proud of myself. I then carried this 45 page prize into my director's office and in order not to interrupt his own work I placed it without a word on the corner of his desk. To my amazement about 10 minutes later I felt his presence beside me at my work station in the laboratory. When I looked up I could see a most disgusted look on his face and without regard for the other of my colleagues working in the lab at the time he loudly proclaimed that this item was without a doubt the worst piece of writing that he had been burdened with and was not prepared to struggle through more than the first few pages! I was so deflated, angry and embarrassed I could feel tears forming in my eyes.

On the surface this sounds an unnecessarily cruel approach to have taken. My research director was basically a kindly and helpful man. Actually this incident became a very positive turning point in my career and viewed from this perspective was neither unnecessary nor cruel. I ruminated for several days but there began to emerge a force to invoke drastic change in my technical writing.

I could see that writing strategies that I had developed to overcome difficulties with my learning disability used for everyday writing were not applicable in the technical venue. Thus I revised these and found that I could then produce technical documents in a very satisfactory manner. First in this regard I wrote my PhD Thesis and it was approved with only minor revisions.

A person with a severe learning disability such as mine is considered to possess limitations that would hamper him in the area of writing and I had already proved that I experienced that problem with the drastic rejection of the first draft of my thesis. Yet in re-jigging my learning disabled writing strategy, I also demonstrated that I could overcome this shortcoming.

As a faculty member at the University of Toronto it was expected that I would write peer reviewable research papers describing my experimentation in my laboratory. These I accomplished first with considerable help from the secretarial staff. In this regard in this era before word processing it must have been a struggle for these kindly women who had to correct pages off my work which contained spelling of often complicated words limited by my leaning disability to be no better than at a grade 9 level. My volume of research in the lab and the papers that I published regarding this work together with my teaching was satisfactory enough to obtain me a Full Professorship with cross appointment to 3 Departments. None of this I firmly believe would have been possible without my predominant existence most days in a highly manic state. My bipolar condition although having a variety of drawbacks was thus a great factor in my ultimate career success.

What probably startled me the most about my writing mania was that I decided to write a book. The fleshless thought seemed an unlikely reality until I came up with an unusual approach. The subject of the book was dead center of my scientific expertise and yet there were sections that I would have to face which were extremely difficult and probably would have cancelled the endeavour if I hadn't decided to write all the easier chapters first. Then I hoped that the thought of having wasted this valuable time usually used for my other tasks would provide the propulsion necessary to complete the job. Since my creative periods are limited by my problems I reasoned that I could never allow all that time to be wasted with nothing to show for my efforts and indeed this approach did the trick. In fact using much the same concept I managed to author and co-author 7 scientific books.

# A few Amusing Stories Resulting from and related to My Career Built on a Bipolar Compulsion to Succeed

The Bosses Holiday

My Sydney sabbatical in Australia was slated for a six month period from January to June 1981. The assignment was to install and fully commission a new and unique type of mass spectrometer. I arrived in the blistering heat and humidity that typified a Sydney midsummer. CSIRO Division of Fuel Technology was a tiny research team within the Lucas Heights CSIRO Complex. Incidentally a large and very publicly controversial part of this complex contained Australia's only Nuclear Reactor, which was used at the time for Physics and Health Research.

The installation and commissioning of this new mass spectrometer would provide the possibility of serving the special needs of research groups throughout the many divisions. Mass Spectrometers, devices for sorting ions of substances by their masses, had been around for years. Our project however was unique due to a novel source for the production of the ions. The new source was plasma, or more correctly an inductively coupled plasma. Plasmas are simply very hot gases containing electrically charged species called ions. The beauty of our device was that it was so hot that compounds were broken up into their constituent atoms leaving a relatively simple ionic "soup". When this mixture entered the Mass Spectrometer and was whirled around in the magnetic field to the detector, a very simple mass spectrum was produced, in marked contrast to that resulting from conventional ion sources.

This unique device was in its infancy at the time, with only four or five in existence worldwide. Commercial equipment for this new approach had just been developed by two competing companies. The hardware and software was in the usual state of disarray, typical of recently developed equipment. The first commercial offering worldwide, the one which I had helped prototype, was Canadian. Unfortunately the British model had been purchased. Thus I was in the uncomfortable position of facing, installing and commissioning the, as yet very much unproven, British equipment.

Upon delivering and after a fast disheartening run through, I had to explain this initial sad state of affairs to the head of the laboratory. He reacted by immediately going on holiday, thus leaving me and my talented but unfamiliar cohorts to sort out the mess. Thus followed four months of computer crashes, blood, sweat, tears and much overtime; the latter incurred because when the instrument was in working condition it became essential to continue the session until the inevitable break down. Finally, after many custom modifications by ourselves, we determined that only with new software could the instrument be made functional. This was promptly developed and the first useful results were obtained.

The laboratory boss then returned from his holiday and I happily left for home, leaving him with the kudos for all the great results that were to be forthcoming. Again it was made clear to me that with new techniques, it is within the initial struggles and not in their subsequent daily use that the real excitement of learning and contributing resides.

Walking on Water and Related Debacles

Several decades ago, an environmental pollution problem was brought to the attention of the wildlife division of the Canadian Government. The apparent culprit was a notoriously polluting lead and zinc mining and smelting operation in a low arctic location in Canada. A bio-scientist colleague working in this division and myself, were chosen to travel to the area and mount an investigation. As an analytical chemist, I had worked with this colleague before on similar issues, so we had a well grounded plan for such research studies.

Our investigation was concentrated on the many small lakes that dotted this area, with a view to do water chemistry and fish health studies. For this project we were provided with a modified large utility vehicle. This truck had been equipped with all the requirements for off and back road maneuverability and safety. Large heavily lugged tires provided high clearance above the ground and traction for muddy rock strewn terrain. Most importantly the vehicle possessed a winch often required if we skidded into ditches and found ourselves in positions impossible from which to drive back onto the road. Of equal importance was the cage like device of welded steel piping that surrounded the front of the truck, to prevent front end impacts from perforating vitals such as the radiator.

Our rented cabin for this mid May investigation was located about 50 km along a rough rural road in from the main highway that had brought us from Winnipeg. We drove with particular care on the recently thawed soft muddy local roads. After the trip we arrived as two very tired scientists, ready for bed. Unfortunately the temperature that night was below freezing, so we took the precaution of unloading any items that might be harmed by the severe cold. It was fortunate that we did, as morning broke to reveal that a 10 cm snowfall now blanketed the region. This not unusual for May, but still a debilitating occurrence, meaning a work delay for a couple of days until the hot spring sunshine could melt the snow.

At this pause in proceedings we made our first serious error in judgment by deciding, as a simple act of courtesy, we would walk over to the mine office to inform them of our mission. To our gratified surprise we were made welcome and were treated to hot coffee and stuffed with tasty sweet rolls. During our discussions we divulged our delay in investigations due to the snow. This revelation occasioned an even greater surprise, when the mine manager invited us to make use of the company Twin Otter float plane complete with pilot. The only constraint was that only one of us could be taken so that weight restrictions related to takeoff from small lakes could be met. We accepted with much enthusiasm knowing that 1 day of plane operations would equal 4 or 5 in the truck and best of all there would now be no delay. Having had plenty of prior light plane experience, I was chosen for the job and packed myself and our sampling gear onboard. Upon the pilot's arrival he was motioned over for a pre-flight conversation with our new friend the mine manager.

As we taxied away from the dock I thought I detected a bit of a smirk on the face of the pilot but thought little of this. I placed the regional map on my knee and in conversation after takeoff mentioned the name of the first lake on the list. Everything seemed normal as we proceeded in the direction on the plane's compass that I had predicted from the map. Strangely however, minutes later I was alarmed to discover that we were beginning to overfly the first lake. I quickly let the pilot know and in one fluid motion he thrust the stick forwards which caused us to rocket downward in a steep dive. We were both thrust forward towards the ground as far as tight seat belts would allow. Then at what seemed to be a few meters above the lakes surface and under a horrendous downward feeling thrust, the plane was maneuvered into a horizontal direction. A moment later we touched safely down on the lakes surface.

I was in a complete state of disarray, having regurgitated my sweet rolls and coffee, this gooey mixture now flowing freely into my lap and onto the floor. The fear of God was clearly stenciled in my features. Calmly sweeping his gaze over to me the pilot without as much as a by-your-leave said; "okay, you can now open your door and step out onto the float to scoop up your water sample".

We sat in the plane, the propeller rotating slowly. The pilot glanced absentmindedly over both his gloved hands, blew his nose and politely waited. After about 5 minutes had transpired and I still remained comatose, he matter-of-factly stated; "perhaps you would rather go back to the dock and we can do this again when you are feeling better". Thus ended our experiment with courtesy visits to companies we were about to investigate.

Despite my initial aviation disaster, we finished our first stint of sampling after the snow had melted using the truck for the job as originally envisaged. Samplings were scheduled for 3 times a year over a 2 year period. The next incident of interest in this research study occurred the following June.

The previous years experience suggested that May weather was too unpredictable and thus our next year's first season sampling session was scheduled for mid June. Typical weather then was hot days and cool nights. These were accompanied in the day time by a persistent attack of Black flies, followed by Mosquito filled evenings. To stay well clear of the mine and smelter property, we rented a cabin belonging to a Moose and Deer Hunt Club 30 km away, but still well within the area of investigation. Our cabin, replete with an interior covered in mouse poop, was on a beautiful lake that included a dock. Last season's work already having determined that the fish population had deteriorated disastrously due to acid and metal emissions from the smelter, the presence of a fishing dock was a bit of a conundrum.

After a long day's sampling in temperatures reaching the high 30's, we would return to the cabin hot and sweaty and covered with bug bites. We would then immediately crash near the icebox and slake our thirst with a few cold ones. Once we'd had a chance to recuperate, we'd flip beer bottle caps to ordain the fall guy to clean up the perpetually renewed mouse poop in the kitchen. One particularly oppressive evening when my erstwhile colleague fell to this task, I took the occasion to walk out on the dock.

The lake water was crystal clear and the water at the end of the dock was deep and unimpeded by dangerous rocks. Checking the temperature with my hand, I encountered refreshing water in the low 20's. The Mosquito onslaught was beginning to take hold, so without further cogitation I walked quickly to the shore end of the dock. Then with a run at top speed, I traversed to the end of the dock and still fully clothed, dove as far out from the dock as was possible heading straight towards the lake bottom.

Suddenly a shocking reality struck. The lake was thermally layered with the top 20cm having the 20 degrees C temperature. Within a fraction of a second I found myself knifing down through the layer below that was still at the winter temperature of 4 degrees C. My perception of this catastrophe set in somewhat gradually due to the waters slow permeation of my relatively heavy bush clothing. When full exposure to this thermal disaster occurred I managed to surface almost instantaneously. This was followed by what appeared to my colleague, now standing on the dock, the best imitation of walking on water that had been rendered since biblical times.

Having survived this potential disaster I assumed the remainder of our sampling project could be finished without any serious hitches and indeed this turned out to be the case. On the evening of the final day we packed our gear, gassed up the truck from the barrel on board, banged the door shut on our residential mouse warren and hit the road, seat belts firmly fastened. The roads being hard packed and dry, we were making speedy progress in the twilight, west toward the main north-south highway. We appeared the picture of success, men who had finished a tough job and could not travel quickly enough back to civilization and our families. I was at the wheel and we were joking and laughing, attentions diverted by this delightful palaver when the truck suddenly stuck what resembled an impact with a brick wall. An eerie silence ensued. Our vehicle was at a dead stop the wind screen had shattered, the engine ground to stillness and we were both stunned into speechlessness. Strange and unusual smells began assaulting our slowly recovering sensibilities. We were in the center of a clear road and we stepped from the truck onto the road stumbling to the front of the vehicle where a sorry sight began to emerge. The heavy protective pipe caging was missing; the trucks front end was in tatters with smelly antifreeze lying in puddles beneath. Worst of all blood and skin fragments were hanging here and there amongst the wreckage, but the object that had been hit was conspicuously absent. Suddenly I heard the ominous sound of retching as my colleague reached the victim first. Rounding to the passenger side of the truck I encountered a horrid sight. In the ditch illuminated by the light of a flashlight, were the mangled and torn body parts of an immense black bear.

We decided it would be suicide to remain in the truck until first light in case another negligent driver might crash into our wreck. This was before cell phones, so we opted to walk what we estimated to be about 8 km to the main road to obtain help. It seemed like the longest 8 km that we had ever traversed.

The short version of this experience was that I avoided being charged with a driving offense, but not without an embarrassing dressing down from the local constabulary. A kindly local prospector drove us to a town with a bus station and the truck was towed to the city with our samples that had been stored in the rear of the vehicle, fully recoverable and undamaged.

Revenge, although not a scientific emotion, was sweet. Based on our work, this mining and smelting company was charged with a variety of environmental offences. The main antecedent of the charges was their blatant nose thumbing at well established environmental edicts. Thus especially given the torturous fiascos implicit in achieving this goal, I was never happier with a scientifically presaged outcome!

A Slight Brush with Hell

Jail was just about the last place I considered I might ever land. But there it was, an ugly possibility unknowingly staring me in the face. I was a young, idealistic, fearless researcher. Publishing the truth, or what in this case I strongly believed to be rigorously accurate chemical results, dominated my priorities. It was therefore a total shock being legally challenged by one of Canada's Mining Industry giants and sent my fearless idealism into an unexpected spin.

They were cool but bright days in early May 1972. A colleague and I were studying the fish population and water quality of a suite of lakes near the Mining Capital of Central Ontario. Emanations from the nearby smelter stacks were sulphurous and metal bearing in nature. Nets had been set in the target lakes at strategic points to allow an estimation of the fish population. The acid levels were measured in situ and typical water samples were taken and stabilized for lab analysis.

We were surprised to note that he numbers of fish netted were few and mainly elderly, indicating that the fish, mostly trout, were unable to spawn in these waters. We were using scale rings (similar to counting tree rings) and also the calcium content of reproductive organs, to determine their age. However, being young and idealistic, I was engrossed in my work and enjoying the great outdoors. Our Camp Director, a trapper and hunter, made the most delicious fish stews from our catches. These eaten with sour dough bread slathered in butter were a delight. (The fish had been taken in gill nets and were not in a fit state for release). Life was grand; yet unknown to us shadowy images of high, razor wire topped walls and cold concrete floored cells were dogging our every move.

A Government report was compiled using our results. Our work was on behalf of the local indigenous peoples who depended on fishing for a large part of their livelihood. The story becomes hazy at this point. Whether the government sued the large industrial complex for contamination of the large suite of lakes that we found almost bereft of fish and highly contaminated with metals and acid I don't know. Our results had disappeared into a Government document stamped "Confidential". That said results that were undeniably ours were suddenly and mysteriously being quoted verbatim in the press. All I do know for sure is that soon we were being sued for circulating erroneous and slanderous data and jail had become a distinct possibility.

Having been one of the few laboratories in North America using standard reference samples to verify our results seemed like a slam dunk for vindication, but strangely the challenging industry were claiming results showing ours to be about 10 times too high! The situation was escalating daily and before we knew it a trial date was set. I was too panicked to attend (so much for the fearless, young researcher) and any way the lawyers had my co-worker and all the results. On the last day of the trial it was clear the judge had become seemingly ensnarled in legal diatribe woven by some of this country's most prestigious lawyers and in his asides to opposing council appeared to be hinting at conviction.

Just by chance, as the spectre of jail was closing in on us, an anonymous person from within the complainant's organisation, placed a smuggled document onto the prosecutors table. This document apparently showed that their results in fact did agree with ours. After a very short consultation amongst combatants the industry settled with the affected Indigenous people for the full amount!

Sometimes beads of perspiration still break out on my forehead when I think of this quandary. One question continues to haunts me though; how can I have taken every possible step to be certain of my results and then still be dragged into court and brought so close to being thought incompetent?

Someone suffering from my disabilities is particularly susceptible to being permanently damaged by such treatment. This points up the fact that disabilities or not we are also living in the real world and we must learn to accept all that this implies just as all the "normals" do.

# Serious Negative Factors Associated with my Bipolar Condition

Any person suffering from being seriously bipolar such as I am knows that the picture I am painting about my success in many cases directly attributable to my highly manic long lasting episodes knows I would be painting a very erroneous picture of my life if I did not honestly portray the accompanying downsides. Some of these have been mentioned in the sections above. I don't however intend on emphasizing much on these negative aspects. This book is to try to portray a positive side of bipolarity that became indispensible in my case and thus to encourage others to plumb their own potential in these regards.

I have already delved into the negatives that arose from my compulsive buying sprees. In this small section I wish to mention Bipolar related personality problems most of which adversely affect others.

Most striking of these were my occasional propensity for suicide attempts. At the very beginning of this book I mentioned breaking up a plastic razor and removing hotel screen windows as soon as arriving at location to give my Invited and Plenary Scientific lectures. For some reason I always had difficulty controlling the manic state that seemed consistent with most of these events. Fortunately I never seriously attempted suicide in these few instances but found myself unable to leave my room until the time for my speech arrived and then rushed back and locked myself away until time to leave for home. I did make several suicide type actions. Typical of these was when I cut my wrist and head areas heavily with a razor blade but my wife got me to the hospital where the injuries were treated and I was doped up and placed in the locked area of the hospital mental ward. There were 3 times lasting from a few weeks to a month's duration that I spent doped and locked away undergoing treatment in such an environment.

I am a person with very few friends and almost no social skills and no social contact outside my family. I am not a likeable person socially. I consider party types basically fools with little demonstrable interest in the serious issues of life. My absence from gatherings is probably fortunate because of my loudly repeated negative views on mankind in general. With the exception of family and friends I prefer animals to people and find stories of cruelty to animals much harder to bear then stories of such to humans.

Sometimes I display a disagreeable arrogance especially when I judge that I am being spoken to about a subject which I fancy myself to be an expert about. If I am on the phone and I presume for example a cable provider "expert" is answering my questions with a bunch of nonsense I will have no compunction in slamming down the phone with an expletive. The arrogance is however a very narrow line in the endless spectrum of subjects. So let me assure readers that basically I hold a poor view of myself on almost every account. Having a learning disability did not help my opinion of myself and having scored an IQ of 95 in grade 11 was another blow in this regard. However I think in trying to better this opinion helps to push me higher along with my manic moods.

To end this short collage of my problematic behavior it is important to note that I handle potential disastrous situations poorly. The following amusing story can serve to indicate this deficiency.

Brutus

A few years ago, I was asked to baby-sit my daughter Lisa's kids overnight. As I had retired but my wife was still working fulltime, the task was left solely to me. This assignment included Brutus, their very large Labradoodle, who stands higher than my waist. He is so big, he can put his head fully on the dining room table and loves to grab, not food, but paper serviettes, which he consumes instantly. If I've blown my nose on it, all the better!

All was going smoothly until, in the middle of the night, Brutus jumped up on my bed and tried to push me out. I finally got him off and I think to pay me back he threw up on the carpet a few minutes later. The mess was mainly watery, so I went to the bathroom and grabbed the nearest towel to clean it up. As is the custom in all good hotels, I threw the dirty towel on the bathroom floor so Lisa would put it into the wash.

Lisa and her husband Garth came home and when Lisa saw the towel carelessly thrown on the floor, she cursed her indolent father and hung it back on the towel rack. Obviously she was not acquainted with the finer points of hotel etiquette. The following weekend I happened to casually mention that I was sorry she'd had to wash the towel that I threw on the floor after the dog barf clean up. Both she and Garth went green in the face, as they realized they had been using this dirty towel head to toe all week!

Fast forward a couple of weeks and I was soon to be paid back for this error in judgement. During my next babysitting assignment (yes in sheer desperation they actually called me back), Brutus barked to go out to pee in the about 4 in the morning. Having been assured that the grandchildren would waken and get up, I waited for some time before finally rising to the task myself. As they had no fence I had to leash him. Unfortunately he was so desperate by this time that upon opening the door, he pulled me running flat out across the back deck and I flew off the edge, landed on a protruding sprinkler head, broke my ankle and dropped the leash. Suffice it to say the neighbours learned a whole new vulgar ear splitting vocabulary that night as I tried to retrieve Brutus on my broken ankle.

Fortunately at this juncture my three grandchildren had also been awakened by the obscene explosions emanating from the yard and they appeared in due course to achieve Brutus's capture. Apparently it was a well-known fact, but unfortunately not to me, that whenever he escaped from custody, he could always be found several doors down attempting to visit his girlfriend, a dog of similar ilk. When such a meeting proved unsuccessful, as was the case at this early morning hour, Brutus always left his calling card in the form of anal emanations, which he was in the process of discharging making him easy prey for the catch.

Summertime in Markham was characterized by early sunrise and hence with dawn now already breaking it was safe to leave the family alone to begin their daily ablutions.

Meanwhile I caught a cab to the nearest Hospital Emergency. Although my ankle was the size of a rugby ball, tears were rolling down my cheeks from the pain and I had to hop on my good appendage unaided to the desk, they gave me a number and just plopped me down in a wheelchair in the waiting area. My hearing being somewhat suspect due to aging and it being before the advent of signs for visual indication during this process, I missed hearing my number being "whispered". After about another dozen people had been called it hit me that I must have missed my turn and hence wheeled myself up to the desk to complain. They simply gave me another number. The waiting was agony, but nothing compared to the intense pain when they manipulated the ankle for the examination - twice! My only comfort was that at least being seated; the floor was not too far away if I fainted. With hospital processes and patient care received to date, I was positive that any resultant concussion would require a separate number for examination.

In total I spent the better part of eight hours at the Hospital. Brutus on the other hand, had been fed twice, watered, walked through the woods, chased squirrels and had consumed several table napkins. Not surprisingly, this was my final solo babysitting.

# Self Worth

"I'm me and what the Hell can I do about it"? Langley, towards the denouement of his seemingly irrational Fifth Ave New York existence, utters this frustratingly terse self appraisal in E. L. Doctorow's epic study of 2 eccentric brothers in "Homer and Langley". This succinct and cryptic message jolted me to the realization that as we zig zag along the corridors from birth to maturity this just about sums up our ultimate fate. The only question to be resolved really is how "I" became "Me". In our advancing years as I now reside, indeed there seems little one can do about the final outcome.

Real change will come to the world through the attitudes and deeds of individuals. As Ghandi stated, "You must be the change you want to see in the World". This is why a balanced view of self worth is so important as it is the driving factor for our attitudes and actions.

It is hard to imagine a humble Head-of-State; one important living example to my mind might be the Dali Lama. Of course in the recent past Ghandi and Nelson Mandela spring to mind. Humility unlike notoriety often results in persons of importance being enveloped in a shroud of obscurity. It is not uncommon to think of an important discovery but then be unable to remember the perpetrator.

On the other hand names such as Mao, Hitler and Stalin stand out not only due to their deeds but because of their self hype and demands for subservience. The desire to intrude into the limelight is a state much too common among the human race.

Spirituality, whether represented by a conventional religion or subjectively devolved, can be the most important component in self expression and in the treatment of others. On the other hand sudden changes in spirituality eg. becoming a born again Christian, can result in a lock step change in self worth perception.

The opinions of others received directly or from an intermediary or even just presupposed, affect our perceived stature. This latter category may be a false declaration by individual(s) that is deliberately demeaning based on a variety of factors such as jealousy.

There are those who deliberately purvey a false sense of positive self worth. Although frequently obvious to others over time this impression can superficially, publically clad their real vexatious feelings; the latter spilling through amongst family and close friends.

Success or lack thereof in a vocation whether as a homemaker and/or otherwise can have an extraordinary influence on self opinion. A confident individual can much more easily construct their opinion in this matter without undue influence being absorbed from attitudes of bosses or colleagues. Our perceived contributions to the betterment of mankind through vocation and related activities such as volunteerism can be an important component in this category.

An event of cataclysmic proportions at any point in our lives can suddenly change self perspective. A classic example for many would be the death or serious maiming of a child in a car collision in which they were involved as the driver. Strangely the effect on a person's psyche would often differ little whether the incident was their fault or not. The death of family member or close friend although not primarily related to self perception can become such through qualms over things left unsaid or incidents of their mistreatment.

Deserving of particular consideration in matters of self estimation is family life, friends and associates and upbringing. A crucial factor herein is the proximate external environment in which we evolved throughout our formative years. In this regard an individual friend or foe can dominate. In the extreme the nature of this influence on self worth can be to create sameness or indeed to result in the exact opposite characteristic. Particularly surprising is the frequent failure for an individual be it friend, family member or even medical professional, through logical reasoning to alter self worth appraisals.

Our opinion of ourselves is the engine that powers the tenor of our daily living and to some extent those who live around us. Development of self worth can be a complex progression of factors or it may be dominated in large part by a single circumstance.

Mental and emotional makeup and changes throughout life therein can be immense factors in influencing the sufferer's interpretation of wellbeing. Closely related is physical health, with serious childhood maladies and degenerative diseases particular challenges to self perception. Mental and physical challenges have both genetic and environmental components'.

Those of us burdened by mental/emotional adversity are in a constant lifelong negative trending assault in attempting a climb to a positive position regarding self worth. In this document I have tried to demonstrate that the manic side of bipolar disease although constantly problematic might be in a way harnessed to our benefit. Should the results be positive as in my own case this must surely improve my vision of my self worth and in an important way it has. Yet there are other aspects of this emotion and the compulsions dictated thereby that have also been negative. But without any hesitation I look back and view important accomplishments in my life, some still ongoing, that probably would not have happened without my manic compulsion.

Thus I offer this small book as an illustration of how such a particular approach that has worked for me could assist others with a bipolar disability. I hope it also provides some usefulness and understanding for parents and relatives and for Health professionals and the many "normal" citizens who must deal with bipolar individuals on a frequent basis.

In the end one must hope to have journeyed through life's astounding carnival of events and experiences with a positive self appraisal. After all the demeanor of others is strongly affected by the nature of our own feelings be they vexation or contentment.

