MOOMINS M.C.

As I lie here rugged up tightly in my insomnia blanket...... I'm thinking.
Well.............I'm not really thinking. My brain's just performing some sort of activity which involves alternating thoughts cycling over like a hamster in a wheel. Putting in all this effort to get somewhere whilst not really getting anywhere.
I've been putting off thinking about it like you do when you had that assignment that was due in last week and you'd already got an extension and you hadn't even started it.
Quite some time ago I had made a conscious decision not to think about it as I wasn't ready emotionally or in any other way to make an honest decision. I figured....... go beige!......... go non committal!...........You'll know when the time is right!
Yet the question has never wandered far from my consciousness.
It gets left behind like a curious dog............only to realise that its owner has moved on.........and quickly rushes back to a proximity that reminds both of the ongoing unspoken bond.
Time has passed and I'm still not sure if I'm ready to make the choice. Whether I'll be ready next week............next month...........or next year, I don't know.
I do think it can only be my decision, yet it effects and is effected by others and their influence and input.
Oh to have a crystal ball.............to know the choice and its outcome................that would be the cotton wool in which to wrap myself in.
But I don't have one and am not likely to get one soon. So the dilemma continues and another night passes.......................................

Started my physiotherapy routine today. I spent some time thinking just how the hell I’m supposed to be at the gym at 9 o’clock, as requested by the physio’. What with breakfast, shower and dressings all needing to be done.
I came to the conclusion that they can just go and get if they expect me there at that time.
That’s pretty much the same opinion the nurses had as well.
I ended up getting there at 11.
Did a bit more of my stand up routine, but this time they made me go up on my toes as well.

The gym is an interesting place. It’s very similar to any other gym but for some minor differences.
The first thing you notice is that it’s incredibly well populated with patients in various stages of therapy. They can be split up into various groups of mobility impairment.

The ones who can walk.

The ones who can walk with an aid like a walking stick, frame or crutches.

The ones who can walk but get around in a wheelchair.

And last but not least, the ones like me who couldn’t walk to save themselves even if we were being chased by hungry man eating sloths.

There’s also some equipment which you wouldn’t find in normal gyms. The main one is the walking rails. These are two rails on a slightly raised platform, about five metres long and one metre apart.
When I first saw the rails there was some bloke at one end trying to stand up and hanging off the rails on either side were a number of other patients.
They were practicing squatting and I really had try hard not to laugh as the two lines looked like a bunch of fucked up, walking wounded ballerinas bobbing up and down with absolutely no particular rhythm or co-ordination.

Seriously, you’ve never seen that many screwed up people in the one place! I reckon if the fire alarm went off you’d witness one of the slowest evacuations in history. And they’d all be ‘running’ fast as they can! It’d be like something out of The Simpsons .

I’m sure there’s some sort of pecking order in there which is determined by how busted up you are or something but I haven’t quite figured it out yet.

You’ve seen my right arm, here’s my right femur ( thigh bone ). It had more breaks than John Howard’s pre-election promises.
Please excuse poor image quality.

This is my right arm when I still had the cast on.
Those aren't just any self tapping screws from some hardware shop. Those little bad boys are $40 a pop! There's 16 in my arm, 6 in my collarbone and can't remember how many in my leg but I reckon probably about another dozen. So that would make approximately $1340 worth of screws!
Then there's all the cross bolts and rods and plates and staples.......... If you want to make money you've got to 'start your own religion' (L. Ron Hubbard) or get into the medical hardware business. I'd love to see the 'parts' list for my reconstruction and what it adds up to.

If you've ever seen a newborn zebra or antelope trying to stand up, then you will remember how the determined foal tries to come to grips with reality.
You'll remember how its scrawny little legs do battle with gravity and threaten to give way at any moment.
You'll see its body atop limbs that look too skinny and flimsy to support its weight.
And then you'll recall how the weak supports give way and the whole lot comes tumbling down like a world trade centre tower.
Well that was me today.
Well not exactly like that, but pretty close to it.
Alright, so I wasn't a baby wilderbeast.
Ok, so I had a couple of physiothearapists helping me get up.
And they did help me 'tumble down' in a controlled manner.
But really.............that was me.............the newborn gazelle trying to remain vertical for a few seconds.
I didn't know what to expect as my last memory of standing up was..............when I was standing up. I never had to think about it, I just did it.
I didn't remember it being so hard or painful.
Oh well, at least now I know what I'm up against.

Owwww is probably the best way to describe the last two days.
The operation went well. I'm now sporting a fresh wound on my left collarbone / neck and left hip (bone graft donor site) as well as a new metal plate with six, what look like, self tapping screws. According to the surgeon, the collarbone did not even attempt to unite and the wires in the fingers were a bit 'difficult' to get out.
The first night was absolutely woeful. Instead of being left in the surgical ward with a morphine i.v. pump I was sent back to my ward and given numerous pills, injections and observation checks.
As a result I got absolutely no sleep and in the morning I was in so much pain that I had trouble swallowing due to the needles site and the cut which extended into my neck.
I had a couple of painkillers stashed away for that first night just in case a situation like this should occur. The only problem was that I was in so much pain that I couldn't move to get them. How bloody ironic.

This morning's shower was particularly painful and long. This was followed by the dressing of the wounds, which was also painful and long.
This afternoon I slept for about 4 hours and my roommate was kind enough to stand guard and make sure I wasn't disturbed and for that I am extremely grateful.
As a result I am feeling heaps better and am able to write this.
Had the strangest dream though during that time.
I dreamt I was walking around in my room.
I dreamt I was surprised at how easy it was. That got me thinking..............aside from the weight bearing...............how hard can it be? Will I remember how?

"Hmmm"....... as he takes another painkiller and washes it down with water and chocolate

..........ouch..........

It's that time again.
The time for the surgeon to do his samurai thing and install some more metal.
I remember touring around Tasmania with Geoff and Gino last year on our motorbikes. We camped at Little Beach on the east coast and mobile phone reception was pretty lousy. The only time Geoff could get reception was when his phone was on speaker and sitting on top of the motorbike.
At least with all this metal in me I can look forward to better mobile reception.
This the quarrelsome little bugger that's been giving me trouble.
Tomorrow I will have a nice fresh new scar to play with.



See ya ron :)

It's official!
There is hope left for Europe yet!
I'm glad to see that good taste, a recognition of genius songwriting and quality live performance prevailed at the end of the day.
Lithuania's hypnosis efforts didn't work, looks like it's back to the drawing board for them.
Finland's entry has come through with the goods
Was I right?
You betcha!
Does it prove that Europe is stuck in the 80's?
You betcha!
I can only cringe with anticipation when trying to imagine what the other countries will come up with to try and compete with that next year.
There must a stack of music producers, managers, promoters who are absolutely beside themselves for not seeing it coming. How could they think their mediocre efforts couldn't win the contest! It's worked every other year!


Apart from Eurovision and a couple of visitors it's been a particularly uneventful weekend.


Day 64 and I'm starting to get quite fed up with this shit.
Not even my roommate's midnight arguments in his sleep carry any entertainment value anymore. I have no idea who he's arguing with, but wouldn't want to be in their shoes.
I don't know, maybe my biorhythms are a bit pissy or the moon's in the wrong phase, but today has been , well.....shitty. I fell asleep this arvo for about 3 hours and that's not normal for me.
Maybe it was the dream about walking around in the mountains with my best mate at dusk, with the snow falling all around in a lightly gusting wind that did it.
I'm a bit sick of staring at the same flat landscape that is Melbourne. I haven't seen anything as much as a hill in over two months, which also makes me think I'd make a crap sailor.
Even the wheelchair has lost its novelty value. It just sits there staring at me like a dog that wants go for a walk but knows its master is not interested one bit.
Oh well...........see what tomorrow brings.

I can’t hold back any longer!!!!!!!!!!

I have to share some of the crazy stuff that’s been going on here in regards to patients and staff.

One particular patient followed me here from the Alfred. Yes that’s right…..stuttering faecal commentary man..............
One of the nurses walked in on him once to find him digits up arse, trying to get the last of the bit of turd out. I know I promised no more poo stories but shit man, that's not normal behaviour. I think they put him the wrong ward. Glenn, my sister's other half is probably used to this kind of carry on being a psych nurse, maybe he could shed some light if this is committable behaviour.

He and another annoying little shit of a seventeen year old, who's always annoying everyone, have been kicked out due to mainly a particular incident that occurred a couple of nights ago.
They’d been down the pub and had come back off their guts.
There’s a couple of problems with that. The old coot became extremely abusive towards the staff, so much that one of the toughest nurses around here was all shook up. And I mean she’s tough. She could rectify anyone’s constipation problems just fixing them one of her looks! She could perform an emergency amputation with her bare teeth! Of course she’d be doing it “......for your own good”.
I managed to put things in perspective for her after telling her about some of the things I had to put up with when I shared a room with him for two weeks.
The second problem was that he’d been buying the young bloke his drinks. And the hospital is essentially responsible for the little turd while he’s in here.
Anyway, they both got kicked out.

We were also treated to a bit of music today. One of the patients, a fellow motorcyclist, is performing on piano tomorrow with a singer from Opera Australia. They did a performance for the ward today. Opera and musicals are not my cup of tea but it was nice anyway.

Gotta share two quotes from the staff.

“I was brought up to be proud to be a kiwi. Dad used to say that we should be proud, we invented the pavlova!” – one of the cute nurses

“I didn’t get my driver’s licence until much later. I was born to be driven.” – one of the gay nurses trying to drive my wheelchair.

Right now I’m watching some of the funniest tv ever!
The Eurovision song contest.
Where else can you see MC Hammer pants in 2006 ( Monaco ) or pregnant princesses ( Poland ).

But so far the winner is Bulgaria where the singer was accompanied by, I’m guessing, his grandfather who was trying to blow up a dead sheep.

Finland’s entry “Hard Rock Hallelujah” rocked though! 80’s cock rock metal with barbarian costumes and masks which looked like they were stolen from some low budget science fiction tv series. Pure genius and a nice contrast to the usual computer generated back beat, mindlessly boring crap.

Ireland’s entry was about the only one that sounded relatively ok, but lacked the passion that you’d expect. If you added a bar and a generous helping of Guiness it might have helped.

Lithuania’s entry consisting of a backing track that was a cross between Knock On Wood and When The Going Gets Tough and an endlessly repetitive lyric “We are the winners of Eurovision!” was very painful. Maybe they were going for some sort of hypnosis approach.

Monaco’s singing was flatter than a biscuit and Iceland’s golden shower routine needs no further comment. As for Andora, what country is that? Is it populated by goats or something?

All this goes to prove my long standing opinions that the 80’s never died in Europe and that the Europeans, cultured as they may be, are some of the biggest dags on this planet.

Anyway, here’s some more pics of my leg, because it’s just so purdy.

It’s our two month anniversary!!!

I first met my injuries one weekend on a lovely road in the bush just out of the city. We were introduced to each other quite by accident thanks to a sudden mutual acquaintance, a semi trailer. It works for a potato cartage company and thought we would make a good pair.
We hit it off instantly and spent our honeymoon at the Royal Prince Alfred hospital.

Since then, we have gotten to know each other quite well.
Our relationship like any other has had its ups and downs, and at times the pressure was so great it almost tore us apart. My injuries sometimes were very hard to live with and caused me a lot of pain, but in time as we got to know each other better, I learnt how to deal with them.

I learnt to accept my injuries for what they are and realised that even though deep down, living with them isn’t what it was cracked up to be, with a bit of tolerance we could mend our relationship.

For a long time we took things slowly and only recently have I been able to see them undressed. My injuries aren’t the prettiest around, but then again beauty is only skin deep. They’re not as superficial as some I’ve met before and we’ve developed a much deeper connection that’s not just physical, but also emotional.
You could say “I’ve got them, under my skin”.

We did seek some professional help. The orthopaedic and plastic surgeons have been instrumental in helping the healing process along and we’re very impressed by the way they’ve managed to nurse our fractured relationship back to the point it’s at now.
Their Prince Alfred operation is well respected and I would recommend them to anyone.
And also, because of them, my injuries conceived and we are the now the proud parents of eighteen healthy scars! Two of which I got to see today for the first time in about four weeks.
There’s two more on the way, they should be born around Tuesday next week. Can’t wait!

Any way, here’s a photo of the two scars I haven’t seen for a month.
Aren’t they just gorgeous!

Special day today!

After countless days of overcast weather, rain and generally crappy weather ( outside that is. it's always 21 degrees in here ) we had a day of blue skies, sunshine and 20 degrees.
And what better day to get a new set of wheels!

Ok so it’s an electric wheel chair, but it’s a set of wheels!
After 2 months of lying in a bloody bed I finally got to get out of my room not because I had to go to x-ray or the Alfred, but because I wanted to!
Sure, to get in and out of the wheel chair I need to be hoisted by the nurses by something resembling an engine crane, but now I can roam freely with the buffalo!
Or at least roam freely with all the other totally screwed up cats that are on this ward.

So my roommate Angelo and I signed out ourselves out of the ward and headed straight down the hall…….down the lift…….down another hall……….past the cafeteria………..down another lift……….past the pharmacy……..out the doors……..down Bridge Road……..and straight to the pub!
And boy did that feel great!
Sitting outside in the sun and the breeze, drinking beer, watching the world go by.

You don’t realise how much such simple things in life are taken for granted until you are imprisoned in a room. ( with a view of the pub! )
Had enough time to have a couple of pots before the old fractured pelvis starting telling me it’s time to head off and made it back well in time for dinner.

I was so beside myself with excitement that I forgot to time how long it takes to get to the pub.

Anyway, in the days ahead I have many activities to complete. Trying to figure out the terminal velocity of an electric wheel chair……..the standing quarter mile time………..the 0 to 5km/h time, etc……….explore the hospital………find the drugs larder……….chase the nurses………play dodgem cars, etc.

So if you don’t hear from me for a few days, I’ll be on the road!

Being stuck in hospital for long periods of time has many down sides.

For example you’re surrounded by sick people and all the associated noises, sights and smells. Apart from an old people’s home, you don’t get as many wheel chairs, Zimmer frames, bed pans, etc.

The ninety six year old dear next door who, regular as clockwork, starts her day with a ritual clearing of the throat. Her homage to the great god Phlegmes includes an offering of a good sized quantity of lung butter.
This in turn causes great grief to my delicately stomached roommate, which then causes me grief due to his voicing of complaints about it for the rest of the day and the occasional evacuation of the contents of his stomach.
After the bed pan lunch episode at the Alfred I’m fairly immune to the ninety year old’s audio / throat gymnastics. Incidentally, she still insists that the car crash wasn’t her fault and that the brakes were faulty. Yeah right!

I take enough pills to rival Elvis in his last days and get an anticoagulant injection in the gut every day. My gut now has enough bruises to resemble George Forman’s head after the rumble in the jungle and feels like Courtney Love’s arm! Not to mention that I’m stuck in bed all day.

But one of the benefits of my forced hibernation from the real world was pointed out to me by one of my housemates last night during the coverage of the F.A. Cup. I will be able to watch every game of the world cup! As he put it
“I know men who would brake their own arm to be in your (my) position!”
I’m not the world’s biggest soccer fan. After all, it was invented by a bunch of wimps who thought that rugby was too rough. None the less, it’s an opportunity not to be missed.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that for some strange reason normal manners and courtesy seem to take a bit of a beating in this place. Specifically when it comes to dealing with people’s privacy.
Any normal person with a proper upbringing would know that when faced with a closed door which is usually open, that they should knock.
The very fact that the door is closed should alert the person wanting to enter that more than likely there is a good reason for it.
After knocking the said person would normally either wait for an invitation from inside to come in or enquire if it’s ok to come in.
It seems that not only visitors (both mine and my roommate’s) and some of the staff fail to observe this usual and normal protocol. They just seem to open the door and waltz in like they’re walking into a takeaway shop or something.
There’s a very good reason for the door being closed, that being my occupation of a bed pan, which my being male can only mean one thing.

Now, I first noticed this after I started to be able to do the whole business by myself.
I even had enough common decency to give my roommate plenty of warning so that if he chose to he could vacate the room.
At first I was surprised, angry and shocked. My privacy was saved only by the curtain drawn around my bed and even that doesn’t always stop them! There are a couple of serial offenders who shall remain nameless.

But then I referred to my knowledge of animal behaviour and training. Any animal which is faced by something unpleasant or painful will generally cease the action causing the discomfort.
So I figured that if these people don’t wish to respect my right to what little privacy is afforded to me, then they should cop all they deserve.
A right full on sensual assault!
Now if some one wanders in uninvited and I haven’t quite ‘done it’, I try my hardest to get one out whilst they’re still in the room.
I figure if normal animal behaviour laws apply, then eventually these fuckers will learn some basic civilised manners!

In the case that this should fail, they will leave me no choice but to resort to that age old trick used by our closest living primate relatives.
The disgusting although very satisfying I’d imagine, launching of your own faeces in the direction of the offending “animal”, hopefully scoring a direct hit.

Pow! Right in the Kisser!

This morning I had one of the strangest moments in hospital so far.
There I was, happily lying in bed ( not that I had any other option ), sound asleep ( due to the ear plugs blocking out most of my roommate's snoring ) without a care in the world, dreaming of running around European meadows singing "the hills are alive.........". Just kidding about the dreaming bit.
Anyway, I get rudely awoken by one of the night nurses accompanied by some strange man in a suit.

It's amazing how you're brain works when suddenly roused from slumber.
Now when a car's engine management computer suffers from some major malfunction it switches to what's called "limp home mode". This is a program which although isn't the most efficient or optimum, will get you back home or to a garage.
I think that's what happened to my brain. It must have reverted back to some primal survival mode.
In the space of a couple milliseconds it goes through a series of calculations, which dictate you reaction.
It goes something like:


sleeping, sleeping, sleeping………..huh, what’s that?............some noise?...........is it a dream noise or a real one?............it’s real!!!!, wake up!..........open eyes……….it’s dark, still night time………eyes! – quick scan of surroundings for any signs of danger…………..two life forms registered, proximity: close………..scan memory for possible matches: one match, night nurse, threat level – minimal………..focus on other life form: male……..male wearing suit, threat level potentially high to very high! ready body for immediate fight or flight action!


At about this point I took over from “limp home mode”.

Now I get suspicious of suits as it is any way, they always look like they’re trying to conform because they’ve got something to hide and that’ll make them look less suspicious if they blend in!……………..or I could have an overactive imagination.
I get especially suspicious of ones appearing next to my bed in the wee hours of the night!
I’m trying to figure out what this suit is doing there, maybe I’m about to be drugged and taken away for some nocturnal experiments, part of some dark, clandestine research or something.
Or it could be my overactive imagination again.
His lips are moving, but there’s no sound coming out. Maybe they’ve already drugged me and I’ve woken up just in time to catch onto their little caper!
And then I realise…………. I’m wearing ear plugs.

As it turned out it was my chief orthopaedic surgeon, Steven.
He’d just decided to pop in to have a chat about my collar bone and a general chat about how my injuries are progressing.

“I’ve had a look at your collar bone x-rays and looks like we’ll have to operate on it in order to screw in a plate because it’s just not uniting.”

“How’s that right leg going? It looks good, whoever put that together did a great job. Oh wait, that was me!”

“And how’s the left leg? That’s looking pretty straight. I wonder who did that. Oh, that would be me again, wouldn’t it?”

He’s one of those talented surgeons whose quality of work totally depends on which footy team you go for. He is an Aussie rules fan, I’m more into union. Darn good thing he didn’t find out before the initial surgery.
Kind of reminds me of one of the doctors on the TV show Scrubs.

I think his best quote would have to be “It's people like you that make me rich.”


Bad thing is it looks like I’m going back under the knife on Tuesday week.
But the good thing is that I’ll probably get my favourite toy back! The self administered, intravenous morphine machine! One push of the button and the pain goes away, a few pushes and the wall comes alive!


When they left I checked the time, 6:20 in the morning!
What the hell is wrong with these people?

The last week was a lesson in that law of physics, which states “for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction”.
The firsts and progress of last week were replaced with a bunch of downers.
I don’t mean that the Australian foreign minister and family came to visit, although that would have been interesting.

Firstly, my new laptop had been performing requested duties as efficiently as expected, but had trouble with the concept of time keeping. After setting the correct time, I was astounded to find that it didn’t like this and decided to display a time from some foreign time zone. Maybe it was homesick, I don’t know. I reset the time only to find that the next day it had done the same. Hmmm.
There was nothing for it. I would have to have it seen to.
This meant making a series of phone calls and having to explain to people that

“No I can’t drop it off to you! I’m in a hospital and bed bound.”

“No I’m not going to post or courier it to you. The thing is four days old and you will come and get it!”

So after a few hours a bloke turns up and takes the lap top away.
I would not see it for a week. Turns out it needed a little watch battery.
No biggie, but rather annoying.


Last Wednesday I had a review with the plastic surgeons. We were hoping for the pins in my right fingers to be coming out. The good doctor had decided to postpone that for a week so hopefully this Wednesday I will be the proud owner of a right hand without pins and scaffolding and the like.
Still no biggie, but rather annoying in the sense that I’m going to have to put up with the bloody pins for a bit longer.

The same day I was sent down to have an x-ray of my collarbone done to see if I can start to weight bear on the left arm.
Now I’m not a medic, but it didn’t look good. This was confirmed by the doctor.
What this effectively meant was no wheel chair for this little black duck. Not for a while.
This was a biggie, have to put up with lying in bed for longer.

Last Thursday I realised that while I’m merrily travelling along this road to recovery, I don’t actually know how long it is. So I had a little chat with the doctor. Given my condition and his experience the answer was three to four months from now.
That’s when I get to go home mind you, let alone start driving a car or going back to work.
Ouch.
That was the big one.
The king kahuna!

I was speechless.
I was pissed off!
I was sadly resigned to my fate.
That’s pretty much how Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday were spent.


This is however the start of a new week, at which point I’m trying to make sense of the video clips I stared at mindlessly on the weekend.
Gotta love the septic tanks! After all, we’d all be speaking Japanese or German now if it wasn’t for them.
Some things just can not be forgiven though. Things like modern R & B for example. For a start, I just can not understand how this can be related to the R & B we know and love like Aretha Franklin!
There are actually tracks out there in which the main topic is parts of the body.
Now I’m not talking about the obvious ones, but things like hair or teeth!
Just how much of a moron would you have to be to sing about your teeth?!
Now, I’m not so much worried about the people singing these tracks, but more about the defective units actually buying these singles!

This brings me to the conclusion that although I’m physically unable to move out of my bed and will probably retain some degree of minor physical disability or discomfort, it could be a lot worse.

I could be like these untermenchen that actually buy this shite!

Week 7
The last week has been a week of firsts for me and marks a bit of a turning point in this road to recovery that I’m on.

It was the first time I’ve been able to sit on the edge of the bed and do some leg exercises.

It was the first time I’ve been able to get onto and off the Arjo trolley by myself. This is a trolley that gets wheeled into the shower. The nurses wheel it next to the bed and through some movements I am able to wriggle across. To an onlooker it must look like someone having a fit whilst trying to impersonate a caterpillar.

It was the first time I’ve able to get on the pan, get off the pan and wipe my own arse! This was a big one for me for a number of reasons.
1) The bit of privacy gained by this ability has returned to me some of the dignity, which was so abruptly taken away.
2) I am able to actually ( read properly ) clean my butt, unlike some of the half hearted efforts by some of the nursing staff. Makes me wonder about their personal hygiene.
3) I haven’t had to be wiped since I was a wee young thing and the return to being able to this has increased my independence somewhat. This makes me feel a shitload better as you can imagine.
The whole process is quite interesting as I’ve never wiped with my left hand and I’ve never had to wipe whilst lying on my right side. Not that I’ve had to do that lying on my left side either, it’s just that my left arm / hand is my only operative one.

It was also the first time that I’ve had some relatively pain free days. This was really good even though I’m still on slow release morphine and paracetamol ( although I wonder if the paracetamol actually does anything ).


I’ve been trying to think of my worst experience so far and although there were a few candidates, there could only be one. There was the book thrown on the legs incident, the totally incompetent attempt to put me on my first pan, the roommate’s pan incident during lunch and a few others not mentioned.
The worst incident was over a period of a few days at the Alfred.
I had been kept awake by my roommate’s intolerable snoring. Added to this was an onset of fever. Still don’t know how this happened as I was on antibiotic injections, but never mind.

On the third night I was pretty darn tired and fed up with the snoring and fever, although the fever had settled down a bit.
I the middle of the night diarrhoea came to visit me. After the third time on the pan I started to feel the now familiar rumbling and movement in the guts.
I’d had about enough of this crap and decided I had to do something about.
There was this apple sitting on my bedside table, I figured a bit of fibre and something in the gut might help settle things down a bit.
After forcing myself to eat the apple I lay there, exhausted from the lack of sleep and felt that everything was finally beginning to sort itself out.
It did for a little time until the nurse brought a couple of paracetamol.
The effect these little pills had on my body was extreme. As soon as they hit the back of my throat they came back out, immediately followed by the apple and my dinner right on the apple’s tail. Before I could buzz the nurses I was wearing the entire contents of my stomach.

After the cleanup operation I was left in peace to try and get some sleep. Well almost, there was still the snoring………
I’m guessing it was still a few of hours till wake up time, but my roommate made sure I didn’t get anymore sleep.

I promise no more poo stories………unless of course something really outrageous happens.