Friday, April 28, 2006
OF MATES AND ROOMMATES
I haven’t mentioned how grateful I am to everyone who’s visited or rang up since my enforced hibernation began.
It really meant a lot to me especially at the beginning when I was trying to adjust to my new state of being.
Thanks to Adam & Kerry for looking after my ex-motorbike.
And big thanks go out to everyone who brought / sent gifts like food from Mum, Brenton & Geoff ( it meant I didn’t have to rely on hospital fodder all the time ), my favourite beer from tassie flown expressly from overseas by Dad, music from Ireland (thanks Gosia & Glenn ), the cards from all my tassie mates ( Lumpy & Nev ), audio books ( Jade & Rai ), cookies to help me sleep when my allotted painkillers weren’t up to the job ( Timma! ), everyone who brought beer! and everyone else who brought in reading material and DVD’s (which I will be able to watch as of today because I’m getting my new laptop!) Thanks also to Barbara & Brian for taking the photos in hospital.
Finally a really big thank you must go to my ex-housemate Geoff who did a bit of a whip around and collected a substantial amount, which has enabled me to purchase my new laptop.
I was not only surprised by the amount raised, but more so by the generosity of my mates who contributed. It was totally unexpected and incredibly touching.
I must mention the importance of having good roommates when in hospital.
These particular people are with you essentially 24 hours a day.
The compatibility of the two ( in my case ) personalities makes a huge difference to your stay in hospital.
I am currently blessed to have a pretty good one at the moment. His name is Angelo and he had a street sweeper truck pull out in front of him as his was driving home. Impact speed approximately 80km/h. His got some lovely scaffolding built around his ankle and a fracture in his forearm / elbow due to the air bags failure to deploy.
My previous one at the Alfred was an unfortunate 72 year old chap whom a motorcyclist knocked off his bicycle, around 12 hours prior to my little altercation with the truck.
He had a very strong Yorkshire accent and a stutter. I suspect he was also a bit hard of hearing or maybe just not particularly interested in hearing anyone else speak.
I feel a bit bad because he was a nice old bloke, but had some idiosyncrasies that just drove me nuts.
Now, when you’re all busted up and bed bound, you just gotta use a pan. That’s all fine, I can live with the smell, it’s unavoidable.
I draw the line at receiving a running commentary though.
I was caught out at one point. Having just started to force myself into consuming some rather unappetising and barely identifiable lunch, I failed to realise that he was put on a pan. Halfway through the lunch he exclaimed proudly, like some sort of major achievement:
“I I I I’ve just had a shit!”
Not long afterwards my, the rather unpleasant taste of lunch was joined by an assault on my sense of smell, which I imagine those poor bastards in the WWI trenches would have recoiled in horror at.
Being that the senses of taste and smell are so closely related I need not explain what it felt like I was eating.
Having put away the cutlery and begun an exercise in body function control ( trying to prevent my very recently forced down lunch from forcing its way back up and taking flight ), he added:
“Ooh ooh, I’ve just done a bit more!”
Followed by:
“I feel a lot bet bet better now you know!”
Gee, thanks. I really needed to know that. My day is now complete in knowing that.
But just in case I’d forgotten later in the day:
“I had had had. I had a good shit before.”
Now I’ve mentioned his incredible snoring before, but he was also one of the noisiest eaters. Every meal was accompanied by a series of grunts, sighs, burps, moans and sometimes combinations of them all.
I did get some relief when he had to fast due to upcoming surgery, but that was then replaced by constant reminders that he’s
“…not allowed to to toot to eat anything, because I I’m I I I’m going to have an operation.”
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who uses as many clichés either. This fellow seemed to have an incredibly annoying way of answering and generally stating the obvious in all the best known clichés.
“J j jj just got to remember, every day wer wer we’re getting better.” is just one example. You can imagine how infuriating that was.
As sorry as I felt for the old coot, I was glad to be moved to the rehab hospital.
My moving to Epworth meant a lot of changes. No more drips in the arm ( had about 9 ), better food, quieter room with a view ( of a pub I can’t get to amongst other things ), my first shower after two and a half weeks and a much more compatible roommate.
After a while, I even managed to convince the doctor to add beer to my drug chart. How good did that taste!!!!
Tomorrow will be six weeks since I was violated by the semi trailer.
It really meant a lot to me especially at the beginning when I was trying to adjust to my new state of being.
Thanks to Adam & Kerry for looking after my ex-motorbike.
And big thanks go out to everyone who brought / sent gifts like food from Mum, Brenton & Geoff ( it meant I didn’t have to rely on hospital fodder all the time ), my favourite beer from tassie flown expressly from overseas by Dad, music from Ireland (thanks Gosia & Glenn ), the cards from all my tassie mates ( Lumpy & Nev ), audio books ( Jade & Rai ), cookies to help me sleep when my allotted painkillers weren’t up to the job ( Timma! ), everyone who brought beer! and everyone else who brought in reading material and DVD’s (which I will be able to watch as of today because I’m getting my new laptop!) Thanks also to Barbara & Brian for taking the photos in hospital.
Finally a really big thank you must go to my ex-housemate Geoff who did a bit of a whip around and collected a substantial amount, which has enabled me to purchase my new laptop.
I was not only surprised by the amount raised, but more so by the generosity of my mates who contributed. It was totally unexpected and incredibly touching.
I must mention the importance of having good roommates when in hospital.
These particular people are with you essentially 24 hours a day.
The compatibility of the two ( in my case ) personalities makes a huge difference to your stay in hospital.
I am currently blessed to have a pretty good one at the moment. His name is Angelo and he had a street sweeper truck pull out in front of him as his was driving home. Impact speed approximately 80km/h. His got some lovely scaffolding built around his ankle and a fracture in his forearm / elbow due to the air bags failure to deploy.
My previous one at the Alfred was an unfortunate 72 year old chap whom a motorcyclist knocked off his bicycle, around 12 hours prior to my little altercation with the truck.
He had a very strong Yorkshire accent and a stutter. I suspect he was also a bit hard of hearing or maybe just not particularly interested in hearing anyone else speak.
I feel a bit bad because he was a nice old bloke, but had some idiosyncrasies that just drove me nuts.
Now, when you’re all busted up and bed bound, you just gotta use a pan. That’s all fine, I can live with the smell, it’s unavoidable.
I draw the line at receiving a running commentary though.
I was caught out at one point. Having just started to force myself into consuming some rather unappetising and barely identifiable lunch, I failed to realise that he was put on a pan. Halfway through the lunch he exclaimed proudly, like some sort of major achievement:
“I I I I’ve just had a shit!”
Not long afterwards my, the rather unpleasant taste of lunch was joined by an assault on my sense of smell, which I imagine those poor bastards in the WWI trenches would have recoiled in horror at.
Being that the senses of taste and smell are so closely related I need not explain what it felt like I was eating.
Having put away the cutlery and begun an exercise in body function control ( trying to prevent my very recently forced down lunch from forcing its way back up and taking flight ), he added:
“Ooh ooh, I’ve just done a bit more!”
Followed by:
“I feel a lot bet bet better now you know!”
Gee, thanks. I really needed to know that. My day is now complete in knowing that.
But just in case I’d forgotten later in the day:
“I had had had. I had a good shit before.”
Now I’ve mentioned his incredible snoring before, but he was also one of the noisiest eaters. Every meal was accompanied by a series of grunts, sighs, burps, moans and sometimes combinations of them all.
I did get some relief when he had to fast due to upcoming surgery, but that was then replaced by constant reminders that he’s
“…not allowed to to toot to eat anything, because I I’m I I I’m going to have an operation.”
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who uses as many clichés either. This fellow seemed to have an incredibly annoying way of answering and generally stating the obvious in all the best known clichés.
“J j jj just got to remember, every day wer wer we’re getting better.” is just one example. You can imagine how infuriating that was.
As sorry as I felt for the old coot, I was glad to be moved to the rehab hospital.
My moving to Epworth meant a lot of changes. No more drips in the arm ( had about 9 ), better food, quieter room with a view ( of a pub I can’t get to amongst other things ), my first shower after two and a half weeks and a much more compatible roommate.
After a while, I even managed to convince the doctor to add beer to my drug chart. How good did that taste!!!!
Tomorrow will be six weeks since I was violated by the semi trailer.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
5 AND A HALF WEEKS IN REHAB
Here's me relaxing ( read: lying in bed for five and a half weeks ) in hospital.
You can just see the traction splint on my right hand.
Today is another first for me.
I sat on the edge of the bed for nearly ten minutes!
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
YOU GOTTA EAT, YOU GOTTA SLEEP, YOU GOTTA ..........
As you can imagine the first night’s sleep was heavily drug induced and full of interruptions.
This was to be the norm for my stay at the Alfred. Constant rolling over to have anti bedsore cream rubbed into my back, antibiotic injections, pills, etc.
All this was later accompanied by my room’s other occupant’s incredible snoring.
Now I know I can have a good snore, but this guy’s wet snore sounded like some savage jungle monster with emphysema. I figured it took him around a dozen snores to get to the point when his breathing stopped……….. and then it started all over again.
In the end I asked the nurses for some earplugs or to move me to another room. Seeing as they didn’t have any, I was moved for the rest of the night.
Thankfully, the next day mum brought in some earplugs.
The morning after was just an ongoing drug / sleep deprivation haze.
It was also another first for me………my first encounter with hospital food.
Now hospital food is very similar to aeroplane food. The main difference being that you have more room to attempt to consume it.
The hospital must employ some highly talented English chefs as the food was tasteless and overcooked………to the point that the veggies were just mushy and didn’t require chewing as such, more just squashing between the tongue and upper palate.
At one point my meal was served up and all I could do was to stare at it in disbelief and a hint of intrigue.
The ‘food’ was unidentifiable.
I sat there looking at it, more staring through it, and imagining I must look like someone who should be in the mentally defective ward.
I was almost expecting it to leap up and wrap itself around my face and try to mate with it, kind of like Alien movie style.
The longer I stared at it, the more it brought around a conflict of interests within my body.
My brain said, “Eat it! You need the energy!”
My tongue and stomach screamed “Don’t eat it! You don’t know what it is or where it’s been!”
I came to the conclusion that if I don’t kill it and eat it, it might do the same to me.
So survival instinct took over and the evil entity was disposed of ………in disgust.
I felt like a young child being forced to eat snails or something like that.
Luckily for me I had a steady stream of visitors to ferry edible food to me.
Mum was instrumental in this and I was overjoyed when my mates Brenton and Geoff brought in some Hungry Jacks.
Even though some would argue that Hungry Jacks is not really food, to me at the time it was like a sumptuous silver service dining experience compared to the soylent green being served daily.
I was also starting to build up a sizable and varied collection of chocolate.
I got to the point that I was giving the stuff away to visitors, nurses, anyone who’d take some away.
Not that I don’t like chocolate. Far from it, love the stuff, but by itself, and even more so when combined with morphine, it has the ability to block up your bowels tighter than a yuppie on the Easter Royal Children’s Hospital Appeal.
After nearly a week, I had my first bowel movement.
Never had I had to work so hard to deliver the goods! When I’d finished I was almost tempted to write to Little Johnny to apply for the government’s first child $3000 rebate.
Mind you, just getting onto the pan was bloody painful!
The nurses were obviously fresh out of training as they had about as much idea how to get the pan under me, as if they’d been presented with a scalpel and asked to perform open hart surgery.
After one rolled me onto my right side, the other proceeded to push the bedpan at my right buttock with wild abandon, with what seemed like all her might. This did wonders for my newly acquired fracture of the pelvis.
After informing the nurse of my discomfort ( read agonising pain ) in no uncertain terms, I tried to figure out who was in possession of less empathy, her or Josef Mengele?
Majority of the people working on me were amazingly kind, courteous, understanding and competent. There were however some exceptions, like the bedpan nurse. Another was an agency nurse who upon greeting me one morning threw her patients book on my legs. Once again I was forced to voice my pain and complete surprise at the nurse’s incompetence and carelessness.
She kindly removed the offending book off my legs and placed it on the bed railing and jammed its rather sharp, plastic corner into the bandaged wound in my lower right leg.
This was followed by more expletives, which I’m sure were heard across half the ward.
I guess you don't expect to be comfortable or pain free in hospital.
This was to be the norm for my stay at the Alfred. Constant rolling over to have anti bedsore cream rubbed into my back, antibiotic injections, pills, etc.
All this was later accompanied by my room’s other occupant’s incredible snoring.
Now I know I can have a good snore, but this guy’s wet snore sounded like some savage jungle monster with emphysema. I figured it took him around a dozen snores to get to the point when his breathing stopped……….. and then it started all over again.
In the end I asked the nurses for some earplugs or to move me to another room. Seeing as they didn’t have any, I was moved for the rest of the night.
Thankfully, the next day mum brought in some earplugs.
The morning after was just an ongoing drug / sleep deprivation haze.
It was also another first for me………my first encounter with hospital food.
Now hospital food is very similar to aeroplane food. The main difference being that you have more room to attempt to consume it.
The hospital must employ some highly talented English chefs as the food was tasteless and overcooked………to the point that the veggies were just mushy and didn’t require chewing as such, more just squashing between the tongue and upper palate.
At one point my meal was served up and all I could do was to stare at it in disbelief and a hint of intrigue.
The ‘food’ was unidentifiable.
I sat there looking at it, more staring through it, and imagining I must look like someone who should be in the mentally defective ward.
I was almost expecting it to leap up and wrap itself around my face and try to mate with it, kind of like Alien movie style.
The longer I stared at it, the more it brought around a conflict of interests within my body.
My brain said, “Eat it! You need the energy!”
My tongue and stomach screamed “Don’t eat it! You don’t know what it is or where it’s been!”
I came to the conclusion that if I don’t kill it and eat it, it might do the same to me.
So survival instinct took over and the evil entity was disposed of ………in disgust.
I felt like a young child being forced to eat snails or something like that.
Luckily for me I had a steady stream of visitors to ferry edible food to me.
Mum was instrumental in this and I was overjoyed when my mates Brenton and Geoff brought in some Hungry Jacks.
Even though some would argue that Hungry Jacks is not really food, to me at the time it was like a sumptuous silver service dining experience compared to the soylent green being served daily.
I was also starting to build up a sizable and varied collection of chocolate.
I got to the point that I was giving the stuff away to visitors, nurses, anyone who’d take some away.
Not that I don’t like chocolate. Far from it, love the stuff, but by itself, and even more so when combined with morphine, it has the ability to block up your bowels tighter than a yuppie on the Easter Royal Children’s Hospital Appeal.
After nearly a week, I had my first bowel movement.
Never had I had to work so hard to deliver the goods! When I’d finished I was almost tempted to write to Little Johnny to apply for the government’s first child $3000 rebate.
Mind you, just getting onto the pan was bloody painful!
The nurses were obviously fresh out of training as they had about as much idea how to get the pan under me, as if they’d been presented with a scalpel and asked to perform open hart surgery.
After one rolled me onto my right side, the other proceeded to push the bedpan at my right buttock with wild abandon, with what seemed like all her might. This did wonders for my newly acquired fracture of the pelvis.
After informing the nurse of my discomfort ( read agonising pain ) in no uncertain terms, I tried to figure out who was in possession of less empathy, her or Josef Mengele?
Majority of the people working on me were amazingly kind, courteous, understanding and competent. There were however some exceptions, like the bedpan nurse. Another was an agency nurse who upon greeting me one morning threw her patients book on my legs. Once again I was forced to voice my pain and complete surprise at the nurse’s incompetence and carelessness.
She kindly removed the offending book off my legs and placed it on the bed railing and jammed its rather sharp, plastic corner into the bandaged wound in my lower right leg.
This was followed by more expletives, which I’m sure were heard across half the ward.
I guess you don't expect to be comfortable or pain free in hospital.
Friday, April 21, 2006
FREE DRUGS, GUARANTEED TOP QUALITY, HOSPITAL GRADE
The chopper had touched down on the helipad at the Alfred hospital fairly smoothly, but that could have been the morphine now coursing through my vascular system.
The beautiful thing about morphine is that the pain was still there, but just not as bad…….anyhow, I was feeling pretty good……..I was high as a kite and loving it!
I was then wheeled into the main trauma unit, completely ignorant of the fact that would be the last time my skin would feel the rays of the sun and my hair be caressed by the breeze for over a fortnight.
I had already met more people in a short amount of time than you would on speed dating, but there was more.
“Hallow. I’m Haans Peeta. I will bee opereyteeng on youu toodey.”
Excuse my graphic representation of a german accent, his english was actually pretty good.
Hans Peter and the rest of the crew soon set to work on me. I was glad they decided to knock me out prior to irradiating my body and possibly turning any future offspring into potential mutants. ( I’m hoping to get a cd of the x-rays from radiology, could look interesting )
I was also glad that a German was going to be bolting me back together. Germans being well known for their engineering and precision.
I would rather the people who build Mercedes and BMW putting my somewhat battered body back together than people who build Hyundai and Daewoo. If anyone takes offence to that, so be it.
They shouldn’t have built those crappy little shitboxes.
I woke up feeling all better / high as kite still and after a little while was wheeled into what would be my new temporary home for a while, ward 2D, where all the people who didn’t die from major trauma live.
Not happily as I found out.
Having never broken a bone in my body or spent time in hospital, I was not prepared for the cacophony & business that is a trauma ward.
Imagine the sounds made by people periodically being rolled over, to stop bed sores or to get on a bed pan, who have for example fractured pelvises or other parts. I would think they would not be much different from the screams and moans heard in Abu Ghraib prison.
Add to this the never ending vitals checks, drug injections, pill handouts, etc.
Not a fun place to be and not very conducive to sleeping.
The next day I was informed that the surgery went well and that I have multiple fractures in all four limbs.
Broken left collar bone, fracture in the pelvis around the right hip, multiple fractures in the left & right femurs, right ring & little fingers, wrist as well as compound fractures of both right radius & ulna and right tibula.
Turns out I have so much metal in my body that I’ll need to start carrying anal lubricant with me just to get onto an aeroplane. Both femurs have rods & pins, right arm has plates & screws, right fingers have pins and are in traction, right lower leg has plates, screws & pins.
Being post op. I was given two toys to play with. One was the button that’s supposed to make the nurses come running and the other, a little button that gives me a dose of morphine ( max. of 1 dose every 5 minutes ).
The latter was my favourite toy and I played with it a lot. As well as being great fun and good for pain relief, it turned to be quite educational.
I’d realised why hospital walls and ceilings are not decorated.
With the amount of morphine and other drugs circulating through my body I didn’t need decorations.
Gotta love that.
I get to get high for free and it’s legal as well as being prescribed by a doctor. Gotta love the silver lining around this dark cloud.
to be continued...............
The beautiful thing about morphine is that the pain was still there, but just not as bad…….anyhow, I was feeling pretty good……..I was high as a kite and loving it!
I was then wheeled into the main trauma unit, completely ignorant of the fact that would be the last time my skin would feel the rays of the sun and my hair be caressed by the breeze for over a fortnight.
I had already met more people in a short amount of time than you would on speed dating, but there was more.
“Hallow. I’m Haans Peeta. I will bee opereyteeng on youu toodey.”
Excuse my graphic representation of a german accent, his english was actually pretty good.
Hans Peter and the rest of the crew soon set to work on me. I was glad they decided to knock me out prior to irradiating my body and possibly turning any future offspring into potential mutants. ( I’m hoping to get a cd of the x-rays from radiology, could look interesting )
I was also glad that a German was going to be bolting me back together. Germans being well known for their engineering and precision.
I would rather the people who build Mercedes and BMW putting my somewhat battered body back together than people who build Hyundai and Daewoo. If anyone takes offence to that, so be it.
They shouldn’t have built those crappy little shitboxes.
I woke up feeling all better / high as kite still and after a little while was wheeled into what would be my new temporary home for a while, ward 2D, where all the people who didn’t die from major trauma live.
Not happily as I found out.
Having never broken a bone in my body or spent time in hospital, I was not prepared for the cacophony & business that is a trauma ward.
Imagine the sounds made by people periodically being rolled over, to stop bed sores or to get on a bed pan, who have for example fractured pelvises or other parts. I would think they would not be much different from the screams and moans heard in Abu Ghraib prison.
Add to this the never ending vitals checks, drug injections, pill handouts, etc.
Not a fun place to be and not very conducive to sleeping.
The next day I was informed that the surgery went well and that I have multiple fractures in all four limbs.
Broken left collar bone, fracture in the pelvis around the right hip, multiple fractures in the left & right femurs, right ring & little fingers, wrist as well as compound fractures of both right radius & ulna and right tibula.
Turns out I have so much metal in my body that I’ll need to start carrying anal lubricant with me just to get onto an aeroplane. Both femurs have rods & pins, right arm has plates & screws, right fingers have pins and are in traction, right lower leg has plates, screws & pins.
Being post op. I was given two toys to play with. One was the button that’s supposed to make the nurses come running and the other, a little button that gives me a dose of morphine ( max. of 1 dose every 5 minutes ).
The latter was my favourite toy and I played with it a lot. As well as being great fun and good for pain relief, it turned to be quite educational.
I’d realised why hospital walls and ceilings are not decorated.
With the amount of morphine and other drugs circulating through my body I didn’t need decorations.
Gotta love that.
I get to get high for free and it’s legal as well as being prescribed by a doctor. Gotta love the silver lining around this dark cloud.
to be continued...............
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
HOW TO GET A FREE HELICOPTER RIDE
So now that you know about my little altercation with the sadistic spud carrier from hell, I can give a more detailed account of the aftermath.
As I lay in the recovery position on my left side ( here’s one we prepared earlier…….no really, I landed like that ) looking into the lush green bushland to the side of the road, I was very confused.
I was pretty sure I hadn’t lost consciousness, but my spontaneous roadside acrobatics happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure.
All I knew was that someone had moved the horizon by about 90 degrees.
After realising that bugger all time had passed, something else drew my attention.
Like the kid at the back of the class, arm enthusiastically stabbing at the ceiling, calling at first then yelling my name, finally jumping up and down with impatient need of attention, something else came within view of my mind.
A sensation familiar yet different to any time ever experienced before.
Pain started to seep in like a fog rolling down a valley. Before long I was engulfed in it and it captivated my attention wholly. Everywhere I turned, there it was……completely filling my consciousness.
So there I lay, trying to figure out which bits are working, which bits are causing me the most pain and what I could do about it ( came to the conclusion there was bugger all ) whilst staring at the most serene, luscious and calming bit of aussie bush scene.
So this is what roadkill feels like. Lucky for my being human, I could be pretty sure of some assistance coming my way rather than another errant vehicle.
Adam was riding a few seconds behind and according to him the first indication of trouble was the telltale sign……dust and dirt being thrown up ( by the truck ).
Next came the semitrailer, which was now trying to regain control and stop ( he later told me that he thought he was going to become part of some giant impromptu potato salad as the load was trying its hardest to detach from the trailer and launch itself at him ).
After negotiating that obstacle he came around the corner only to find me and my bike in the middle of a competition to see which of us could do the best impersonation of a lizard drinking ( both of us losing as we were on our sides, but you could say the bike was ahead because it was pretty flat after being run over ).
So a squatting Adam suddenly filled my vision.
This brought about a conflict of emotions and more confusion.
I was kind of glad to see him because I knew everything should be ok.
On the other hand I might have died and gone to heaven, in which case that make Adam god or maybe St Peter……..either way a scary thought.
Then again I could be in hell, in which case it would make Adam the devil……..still not a pretty thought.
I chose to go with the first one and felt compelled to utter my first words in order to let Adam know that I’m ok and with it and in no major danger of fading fast “Oh fuck it hurts!”.
I don’t know if it had the desired effect, but at least we established some sort of communication link.
Eventually our Kodak moment was spoilt as more punters arrived on the scene. First some drivers, then the Country Fire Authority, followed by the Police and finally someone who could actually help me, the Paramedics,
By this stage I had been reunited with my ride buddies who were appropriately shook up.
So there was quite a party going on with everyone wanting to have a chat with the guest of honour.
Whilst lying there I had taken account of the sources of the pain and was able to inform the paramedics that my right leg was pretty smashed up, as was my right lower arm / hand and also my left femur.
They reckoned my left leg looked ok until they tried to move and said “Geez you’re right mate. I think it’s broken.” Tell me something I don’t know!
So they did…….”Looks like your left collar bone’s broken too mate.” said the ambo in a way that could have been “Looks like we’re out of milk as well.”
Gotta love how calm these people are. You could be lying there with you foot next to your ear and your head next to your arse and they’d say “Stay there mate, don’t move, we’ll just go and get some morphine and a stretcher and she’ll be apples.”
So from there it was onto stretcher, into the ambulance and off the local cricket oval.
Here I am lying in pain and they want to watch the local under 16’s cricket match!
It all made sense when I heard the faint sound of a helicopter blades, which then turned into something resembling Mike Tyson giving a boxing speed ball a right old flogging.
My first helicopter ride!!!!! Yay!!
My first broken bones! Doh!
Would have been better if I wasn’t lying on my back looking at clouds, but still….
Before long we were landing at the Alfred hospital and the next phase was about to begin.
To be continued……………
As I lay in the recovery position on my left side ( here’s one we prepared earlier…….no really, I landed like that ) looking into the lush green bushland to the side of the road, I was very confused.
I was pretty sure I hadn’t lost consciousness, but my spontaneous roadside acrobatics happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure.
All I knew was that someone had moved the horizon by about 90 degrees.
After realising that bugger all time had passed, something else drew my attention.
Like the kid at the back of the class, arm enthusiastically stabbing at the ceiling, calling at first then yelling my name, finally jumping up and down with impatient need of attention, something else came within view of my mind.
A sensation familiar yet different to any time ever experienced before.
Pain started to seep in like a fog rolling down a valley. Before long I was engulfed in it and it captivated my attention wholly. Everywhere I turned, there it was……completely filling my consciousness.
So there I lay, trying to figure out which bits are working, which bits are causing me the most pain and what I could do about it ( came to the conclusion there was bugger all ) whilst staring at the most serene, luscious and calming bit of aussie bush scene.
So this is what roadkill feels like. Lucky for my being human, I could be pretty sure of some assistance coming my way rather than another errant vehicle.
Adam was riding a few seconds behind and according to him the first indication of trouble was the telltale sign……dust and dirt being thrown up ( by the truck ).
Next came the semitrailer, which was now trying to regain control and stop ( he later told me that he thought he was going to become part of some giant impromptu potato salad as the load was trying its hardest to detach from the trailer and launch itself at him ).
After negotiating that obstacle he came around the corner only to find me and my bike in the middle of a competition to see which of us could do the best impersonation of a lizard drinking ( both of us losing as we were on our sides, but you could say the bike was ahead because it was pretty flat after being run over ).
So a squatting Adam suddenly filled my vision.
This brought about a conflict of emotions and more confusion.
I was kind of glad to see him because I knew everything should be ok.
On the other hand I might have died and gone to heaven, in which case that make Adam god or maybe St Peter……..either way a scary thought.
Then again I could be in hell, in which case it would make Adam the devil……..still not a pretty thought.
I chose to go with the first one and felt compelled to utter my first words in order to let Adam know that I’m ok and with it and in no major danger of fading fast “Oh fuck it hurts!”.
I don’t know if it had the desired effect, but at least we established some sort of communication link.
Eventually our Kodak moment was spoilt as more punters arrived on the scene. First some drivers, then the Country Fire Authority, followed by the Police and finally someone who could actually help me, the Paramedics,
By this stage I had been reunited with my ride buddies who were appropriately shook up.
So there was quite a party going on with everyone wanting to have a chat with the guest of honour.
Whilst lying there I had taken account of the sources of the pain and was able to inform the paramedics that my right leg was pretty smashed up, as was my right lower arm / hand and also my left femur.
They reckoned my left leg looked ok until they tried to move and said “Geez you’re right mate. I think it’s broken.” Tell me something I don’t know!
So they did…….”Looks like your left collar bone’s broken too mate.” said the ambo in a way that could have been “Looks like we’re out of milk as well.”
Gotta love how calm these people are. You could be lying there with you foot next to your ear and your head next to your arse and they’d say “Stay there mate, don’t move, we’ll just go and get some morphine and a stretcher and she’ll be apples.”
So from there it was onto stretcher, into the ambulance and off the local cricket oval.
Here I am lying in pain and they want to watch the local under 16’s cricket match!
It all made sense when I heard the faint sound of a helicopter blades, which then turned into something resembling Mike Tyson giving a boxing speed ball a right old flogging.
My first helicopter ride!!!!! Yay!!
My first broken bones! Doh!
Would have been better if I wasn’t lying on my back looking at clouds, but still….
Before long we were landing at the Alfred hospital and the next phase was about to begin.
To be continued……………
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
EXTREME RUGBY TRAINING & EARLY HIBERNATION
Been a while since the last entry due to an unforseen & unexpected incident on the last Moomins M.C. outing.On March 18th John, Gino, Allan, Sydney Geoff, myself & Adam ( Kerry's other half ) took off on a overnight trip to the state border. Geoff had just got back from his Tassie trip and we were going to escort him half way back to Sydney along some interesting roads. The plan was to then head back to Melbourne along more interesting roads.
I'm writing this on a laptop kindly lent to me by science officer / i.t. officer Brenton as I have been forced into early hibernation for this winter.
Unlike the moomins, I haven't gutsed myself on pine needles, opting for large doses of morphine to ease myself into the endless weeks of lying snugly in bed.
Remembering how the weekend in the Grampians National Park I was thinking my fitness levels weren't quite up to scratch, a new fitness regime was in order. One that perhaps involved quitting smoking even!
We all met up at Allan's place and before we could get out of greater Melbourne area the solution was thrust into my consciousness!
EXTREME RUGBY TRAINING!!!!!
A good rugby player will posses a certain amount of strength & stamina, so why not take it one notch further. Seeing as I didn't have a rugby side at my disposal to practice scrums or tackles I went for the next best thing.....the side of a semi trailer.
Maybe I was a bit too keen to rectify my current fittness deficiency and chosen one that wasn't moving........probably would have been a good idea to get off the motorbike first too. So kids, don't try that one at home, alright!
As I entered a left hand bend, I was greeted by a semitrailer carting potatoes. Nothing unusual there except for its front wheel being over the centre line and making progress towards me at a great rate of knots!
Now, becoming a bonnet ornament on some spud truckie's pride & joy held about as much appeal as running into that large escaped rapist, I saw on crimestoppers, in a dark alleyway.
So I deftly cut the corner in order to continue on my merry little way. All good bar some elements of physics, which were about to make themselves very troublesome.
Anyone who's ever seen a semitrailer taking a corner will remember that the trailer wheels take a tighter line than the truck's wheels, thus the offending spud cartage vehicle's trailer was even further over the centre line.
Shouldn't have been too much of an issue.
It was at about this point that the driver decided he probably should be in his lane and steered the truck accordingly.
This is when another physics demonstration occured.
When a semi is travelling around a bend and makes a sudden change in direction into the opposite of the one it was travelling in, the trailer has a tendency to jacknife, or go sideways.
The already friendly trailer became even more affectionate towards me, leaving me two choices:
1) try and lean the bike further and risk dropping it ( which would send me and the bike under the wheels)
2) try and steer the bike towards the side of the tyres and hopefully "bounce" off the side
Yes viewers, he's chosen number 2!!!!!
The result was a bit of a mixture of the two.
The bike got sucked under & run over by the trailer, I "bounced" off the side much like a rag doll does when you throw it at the side of a semitrailer.
End result is: 12 broken bones ( don't even know how many actual fractures ), one written off motorcycle and some expensive riding gear made useless thanks to some crafty cutting by the paramedics.
Hence the early hibernation and lying in bed for weeks with large doses of morphine. ( I can see why they don't bother decorating walls and ceilings in hospitals, with enough pills and morph. they don't need to! )
to be continued...............
I'm writing this on a laptop kindly lent to me by science officer / i.t. officer Brenton as I have been forced into early hibernation for this winter.
Unlike the moomins, I haven't gutsed myself on pine needles, opting for large doses of morphine to ease myself into the endless weeks of lying snugly in bed.
Remembering how the weekend in the Grampians National Park I was thinking my fitness levels weren't quite up to scratch, a new fitness regime was in order. One that perhaps involved quitting smoking even!
We all met up at Allan's place and before we could get out of greater Melbourne area the solution was thrust into my consciousness!
EXTREME RUGBY TRAINING!!!!!
A good rugby player will posses a certain amount of strength & stamina, so why not take it one notch further. Seeing as I didn't have a rugby side at my disposal to practice scrums or tackles I went for the next best thing.....the side of a semi trailer.
Maybe I was a bit too keen to rectify my current fittness deficiency and chosen one that wasn't moving........probably would have been a good idea to get off the motorbike first too. So kids, don't try that one at home, alright!
As I entered a left hand bend, I was greeted by a semitrailer carting potatoes. Nothing unusual there except for its front wheel being over the centre line and making progress towards me at a great rate of knots!
Now, becoming a bonnet ornament on some spud truckie's pride & joy held about as much appeal as running into that large escaped rapist, I saw on crimestoppers, in a dark alleyway.
So I deftly cut the corner in order to continue on my merry little way. All good bar some elements of physics, which were about to make themselves very troublesome.
Anyone who's ever seen a semitrailer taking a corner will remember that the trailer wheels take a tighter line than the truck's wheels, thus the offending spud cartage vehicle's trailer was even further over the centre line.
Shouldn't have been too much of an issue.
It was at about this point that the driver decided he probably should be in his lane and steered the truck accordingly.
This is when another physics demonstration occured.
When a semi is travelling around a bend and makes a sudden change in direction into the opposite of the one it was travelling in, the trailer has a tendency to jacknife, or go sideways.
The already friendly trailer became even more affectionate towards me, leaving me two choices:
1) try and lean the bike further and risk dropping it ( which would send me and the bike under the wheels)
2) try and steer the bike towards the side of the tyres and hopefully "bounce" off the side
Yes viewers, he's chosen number 2!!!!!
The result was a bit of a mixture of the two.
The bike got sucked under & run over by the trailer, I "bounced" off the side much like a rag doll does when you throw it at the side of a semitrailer.
End result is: 12 broken bones ( don't even know how many actual fractures ), one written off motorcycle and some expensive riding gear made useless thanks to some crafty cutting by the paramedics.
Hence the early hibernation and lying in bed for weeks with large doses of morphine. ( I can see why they don't bother decorating walls and ceilings in hospitals, with enough pills and morph. they don't need to! )
to be continued...............
