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There is a couple in B.C. who want to use a procedure called pre-implantation genetic diagnosis as part of an IVF attempt to produce a sibling match for their eight year old son in need of a bone marrow transplant. The procedure itself is more commonly used by couples who carry genetic markers for a variety of genetic illnesses. Many of which are fatal. The hospital in B.C. turned the couple down for IVF citing ethical concerns, but they also added that the mother, at 47, was far too old to produce viable eggs for the procedure anyway.

Having been through two cycles of IVF myself at age 37, I know that once a woman hits her mid-forties most reputable IVF clinics will not do IVF unless the couple consents to using donor eggs. All those mid – 40’s and older movie stars who turn up PG without copping to IVF via donor egg are not doing the general public a favor by perpetuating the myth that women at mid-life can easily achieve pregnancy. The women who do get pregnant – “naturally” or through IVF with their own eggs – are freaks of nature, so to speak, because we really weren’t meant to do this. We are designed to wind down and stop producing viable eggs and therefore ceasing to be able to have babies. Not fair? Sure. Men can still impregnate after all, but don’t think that they are still sending their best guys into action. The older the father is the more likely there are to be genetic problems with any embryos created. Older men tend to father children with much younger women whose eggs are still primo. It’s not him. It’s her.

I can’t imagine the pain of this poor couple, but I wonder at the clinic that is essentially bilking them of $30,000.


Well this is starting to be a running theme. The Pike’s Peak Flash Fiction Contest I entered back in January got back to me with very nice comments on the two pieces I entered but basically – I didn’t win or place or even show. That leaves, I think, only two other writing contests I am currently still waiting on. One should be decided soon but the other is part of the CanWrite workshops that take place in July at the University of Alberta. Since we are going to be here now that we’ve passed on the Texas, I am thinking I will try to attend. I have to check the dates again because Katy and I are going to be in Iowa for a while after her school gets out. My mom is overburdened with care-taking and I am going to help out for a bit. Not anxious to jump back into that mode. Every time I have visited since my late husband’s death little things have brought back the memories of taking care of Will at home for those first 15 months of his illness. Oddly the biggest reminder is the towel my Mom keeps wrapped around the base of the toilet to catch the “dribbles”. Between his unsteadiness and dimming eyesight, Will couldn’t hit water standing up and wouldn’t sit down. I was always mopping up pee when I wasn’t stepping in it. Dad is the same way and when I see the towel I remember to check for wet spots to avoid sopping up anything with my socks. Urine soaked socks. Now there is a memory.

I sent out another two pieces last night and today. One a reworking of the tooth-tooth blog for the Globe and another on how Rob and I met for Ladies Home Journal. I really hate entering contests when I can submit for free to publications, but it’s not easy finding opportunities for basically unpublished writers. Magazines are asking asking for clips (of previously published work) with queries and submissions. The big Catch-22. 

The flash pieces are going to be resubmitted to a web-based site called Quick Fiction which specializes in the mini-genre of fiction 500 words or less. Mine had to be 100 or less for the contest and so are on the ultra short end of Flash, but it is a fun and exacting exercise in creativity. 

So all in all that will be seven pieces out for consideration between contests and magazines (still waiting to here on my sci-fi and should probably send an e-mail soon.) Oh no, wait – I resubmitted The White Boots at FailBetter. Eight of my babies are out on the street corner trying to make mama a name. 


I recently wrote about Rob calling the “Mounties” down on our guitar hero whitetrash renter neighbor. In the course of telling the story I mentioned that my late father-in-law spent time in the RCMP aka Mounties pulling ceremonial duty in Ottawa in front of the Parliament building where he was often improperly propositioned by American girls with uniform fetishes. One of my most prolific commenters seized the opportunity to make a punny joke (good on her) after I mentioned that Mounties are not “mounted” anymore. Well, the Sunday Edmonton Journal just so happened to carry this article on Mounties using their uniforms to secure, uh, dates. 

Two officers were disciplined for appearing on dating sites wearing the red serge/traditional uniform. The first was seeking a LTR with a transexual or transgendered person, preferrably Thai. The second put ads on, among other places, Plenty of Fish and was simply looking for nookie during his shift with anyone up for it. The RCMP maintains that it is wrong for officers to appear on dating sights for whatever purpose wearing the serge. The first man is still on the job while the second was forced to resign.

So there you have it. Mounties do it in their red serge. Rob’s dad was not exaggerating its power.