MOOMINS M.C.

I'm really struggling to write this, but I've gotta get it out of my system and I'm sure some people might even have a slight interest in how my weekend went.
You know, the kind of morbid interest usually reserved for some alcoholic who's passed out in his drunken stupor, somewhere in the way of the general public's thoroughfare, and vomited.

I was really looking forward to this weekend and only had modest expectations and goals.
I wanted to spend the evening in my local with my mates and drink beer like I used to and like many people do every Saturday night ( so often taken for granted ).
I also wanted to spend one night in my house and not in a hospital.
As disorienting as both of these were, I none the less achieved these goals convincingly.
Let any man who doubts my ability to consume elephantine quantities of alcohol and remain standing, even with my partially operational legs ( even if it was just standing for a bit to take the pressure off my very sore arse without impersonating the World Trade Centre Tower One ), and my drinking bicep inoperative ( must admit my arm did get sore from holding the beer up, gotta work on that one ), come forth and sound his suspicion for all the world to hear.
Let this man cast his aspersions and beware, as my witnesses will vanquish these slanderous utterances.

Firstly, I spent four hours in a photography course with only one break, when I was able to get up on my crutches and stretch my legs and then rather flattened buttocks.
It wasn't too bad as I did actually learn something and should be able to apply it to my photographic exploits.
I then made my way to Clarence St. as my battered body really needed a rest before embarking on my alcohol fuelled 'lost time' incident.

At the local, I met up with various people who had visited me in hospital and much merry making was had.
The publican Sandra, even shouted me a beer and considering this as rare as a solar eclipse, I made mine a pint.
One thing I must mention about the beer quality at the Empress.
It's not very good.
Especially the Carlton draught.
Ever since my trip to Tassie last year, I have refused to ingest this vile liquid and have preferred the Victoria Bitter. ( neither of these is of half the quality of my beloved Cascade Red, but for some inexplicable reason it is not available on the big island )
Some believe that the age of the pipes in the hotel is to blame for the incredibly savage hangovers it produces.
Others blame the beer itself.
Whichever it is, it certainly gave birth to a bouncing Mike Tyson of a hangover sometime during my slumber.
The round of shots from Mick Dabbs didn't make matters better I must say, nor the port offered by Gino at home after the pub had shut.
Having said that, one doesn't go there for the beer does one?
No, it's more for the motley collection of crazies and freaks and their stories and opinions.
Another little pleasure I indulged in was the drunken record playing in the middle of the night.
Hadn't done that for over four months!

Sunday.
I was roused about three times by Cam and eventually rose from the land of the living dead to partake in the tea and eggs on toast that were on offer.
Being on the outside, I took advantage of the shop four doors down and bought some Swiss cheese, Hungarian salami, Italian semi sun dried tomatoes and fresh bread rolls.
I managed to put on a bit of a spread for mum and the collection of friends who'd come to visit, although I did find using the knife a bit difficult due to my broken fingers not being able to fully curl around the handle.
Oh well, something else I have to get used to.
I eventually made my way back to the hospital and immediately crashed for a couple of hours.

All in all a beaut weekend out, but extremely taxing on the body.
I found that especially on Monday, my joints, muscles and fracture sites were quite painful, but I've managed to build up my endurance a bit, so the pain is just a necessary evil.
This afternoon, after physio, it all hit me at once.
I spent quite a few hours sleeping it all off and didn't stir until about six.


So another week in hospital begins, hopefully one of the last ones.


.

In anticipation of this weekends historic event, my first night out of hospital, the occupational therapist and I had a home visit to assess the house for any possible problems or difficulties one of diminished capability such as myself might encounter.
The first thing I noticed was the little 'present' set up by Cam, I'm assuming.
This is my 'naked islander girl' record stuck into the fly screen at the front door with a little note.
This had the effect of instantly plastering the biggest smile on my dial.




We were met by Princess Strawberry, who visited me the day before and dropped off some wizz fizz and a book of cartoons.
Anyone who's not familiar with it, it's a children's confectionary consisting of a very acidic / sour / effervescent powder in little paper bags and supplied with a little spoon, which looks like it could be used for sniffing cocaine.
Anyway, I was in a bit of a state as due to the effort and pain of the day's physio sessions I was sound asleep.
I briefly awoke to accept her fine gifts and promptly fell back asleep only to be awoken by my manager Scott.
I once again fell back into a well needed recovering rest only to be awoken by the day's dinner arriving on my table.
For the second day in a row, I could not face the culinary catastrophe on the plate.
Even though it was better than the day before, it was still pretty darn rotten.
The previous day's dinner was beef lasagne and seasonal vegetables.
The lasagne resembled three pieces of plywood with some mince in between.
At least you'd be getting plenty of fibre, I suppose.
The vegies were beetroots, which looked like they'd been left out in the sun for about two weeks and peas.
Generally you can't stuff up peas but these ones had been contaminated by the plywood and rubbery looking sun dried beetroots.
So you can imagine how glad I was to be having some real food tonight.


The Epworth Cripple Association presents:
Beer ( thanks to my uncle ), pizza ( thanks to the local gourmet pizza vendor ) and opiate drugs ( thanks to the Epworth ) on a friday night.
Doesn't everyone do this on friday night?
I guess the only difference is most people aren't in wheelchairs or wearing neck braces and external metal scaffolding.
These patients know how to party!
Now this is how rehab should be, eh?





Here's cheers to my photgraphy course tomorrow, my first drink back at the local and waking up in my house and not to nurses' morning conversations and drug administrations.

clink



.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this flight will be ending soon. Plaese keep all seatbelts fastened until we come to a halt. We thank you for flying Morphine Airways and hope you never fly with us again."


It seems to me that whenever I'm making an estimate regarding time and my progress in this temporary abode, I fail miserably.
Time after time, I found I was about as correct little Johnny Howard is about his actual popularity, and so some time ago, I decided to cease and desist this practise.
Today I had a meeting with the parole board.
The way in which this meeting was held was very strange.
Having been informed of where it was to be held, I was understandably amused.


"The meeting will be held in ......... the quiet room."


This sent all sorts of images of the tv series Get Smart whirling through my head.
Was this some sort of special device like the Cone of Silence?
Or was it some psychological tool designed to subdue crazy people.
So the physio, psychologist, occupational therapist, nurse's team leader, ward doctor, lawyer and the indian chief and myself were to meet to discuss my discharge plan.
Ok, so there was no lawyer or indian chief, but they wouldn't have been out of place.

I was apparently very excited by this as I was pestering the occupational therapist about going to the meeting a whole hour before it was due.

So I took off to the gym to get some physio therapy out of the way.
I was expecting the physio to grab me when the time was right and leave for the "quite room".
Evidently she didn't have the same idea.

As the time drew nearer I was beginning to wonder where the hell she'd gotten to.
I asked one of the other physios and was informed that she had gone to some meeting.
No shit!
I knew that!
What I didn't know was where.
I figured that considering the meeting was about my release, they would want to have me there.
I recalled having been told of the rough location at some particular side of the building, so I took off in that general direction.
I was right as I ran into the occupational therapist and psychologist, both on their own separate search missions for me.
I think I've mentioned how the different departments communicate ( or don't, as more often the case is ) and this was a prime example.
In ''the quiet room'' we discussed my ''parole'' and my leave for the coming weekend.
I was granted weekend leave.
This is the first time I will be spending a night out of the hospital.
Un-feckin-believable!
I was quietly hoping that would be the outcome instead of day leave on saturday, and so it was.
For a change, I was right in my hopes and estimates.
Also on the agenda was the timeline for my release and maybe in 2 or 3 weeks I'll be a comin' home!!!

It almost seems surreal, but there you go.
So this weekend I plan to attend my photography course and head off to the pub for some well earned R&R.
After that I plan to spend the first night at my house for four and a half months.


Finally I'm starting to see the light of normality at the end of the orthopaedic trauma tunnel.


.

Yet another first for "Metal Man"!!!!!

After coming back from the morning physio session I settled down to my nice hot meat pie and fruit salad for lunch. ( well the pie was hot, not the fruit salad )
Suddenly, an orderly wandered into our room, with a look of confusion on his face he checked our name tags and wandered out.
This was a new orderly, one I hadn't come across before.
He was a well built sort of chap of about forty with multicoloured arms, or at least that's what I mistook his numerous tattoos to be.
He was also sporting one of the best hair styles I've come across for quite some time.
Really thick hair, set in a position which gave away the years of careful and fastidious sculpting into an Elvis / 50's rocker style, with an 80's twist.
Although it must have at one point resisted, years of training and overpowering had it now positioned in an immovable mass that looked like it could withstand hurricane force winds.
And all this without gel!!!
Amazing......
A few seconds later he reappeared, double checked the name tags and informed me that I was to be taken away for a Magnetic Resonance Imaging scan ( which shall be referred to as MRI ).
This particular orderly was of the first stage and seemed more than happy to chat away merrily about all sort of mindless crap.
Turns out he has had many an argument with the ex undertaker orderly.
It made a nice change I must say, from the usual bitching and moaning.

Having arrived, I was parked in front of a telly and made to endure a rerun of that awful excuse for a television show 'queer eye for the straight guy'.
After cringing at the idiot presenters and nudist victim, I was led into the MRI room.
This room can only be entered by punching a four digit code into a panel on the wall.
I think it was 4489 or 4889.
Anyway, this is where the evil radiographers were going to attempt to destroy Metal Man!!!
After removing all metallic adornments and my glasses I was handed a list.
Classic Rock, Modern Rock, Country, Popular, Blues/Jazz, Relaxation, Classical and the all time favourite Easy Listening.
This was the music they were hoping to lull me into a false sense of security with.
It reminded me of the music channels on aeroplanes in the 80's.
Apparently, when the MRI is in operation it produces quite a lot of noise.
I chose Marvin Gaye to accompany me into battle.
This decision was soon to have major ramifications.

I was then laid on a table and it moved into the MRI scanner, which looks for all intents and purposes like a giant tubular donut. yummmmmm ( I didn't get chance to start my lunch and my brain was playing up, not unusual for me really. It seems to be doing this more and more. )
I was given a pair of headphones with quaint little cloth coverings and noticed that there were no cables but plastic tubes attached.
I was beginning to think I was back on one of those aeroplanes from the 80's.

After being informed that the scan would begin, the music started.
My god! I suddenly realised how they planned to conquer Metal Man.
Not by using super highly charged electro magnets, but with really torturously bad music.
What flowed through the plastic tubes and into my ears was not the soulful, beautliful R&B I knew and loved, but a hideous cacophony of 80's synthesised trumpet keyboard sounds and that really unfunky 80's slap bass.
I realised that along with the 80's music categories and 80's earphones, they were going to inflict upon me a manifestation of that still unexplained phenomenon: the death of funk and soul in the 80's.
You must remember how anyone who used to be in the funk, soul or R&B genres completely lost the plot and produced music rife with awfully crude synthesiser MIDI sounds and arrangements entirely bereft of any musical aesthetics or taste.
This was the time of Stock, Aitken and Waterman.
Filthy, mass produced musical contamination, having the sole purpose of aurally raping the western population.

I was fated to sit through this for about half an hour as I couldn't move during the scan.
The headphones, spewing the agonising music straight into my brain, had to stay.
The only relief was the occasional interjection ( I think she was trying to inform me of the various stages of the scan ) by the operator, .
The only thing I could do was to try to concentrate on the variety of electrical hums, buzzes, bips and tocks, which thankfully were quite loud and helped drown out the music.
It was like standing inside the biggest power plant ever when it's cranked up to the max.

Metal Man had survived.
Mentally exhausted, barely sane, but still kicking.
It take's more than machines using enough electricity to power several suburbs, to activate magnets able to pick up a semi trailer, as well as excruciatingly bad music to take this cat out of circulation.

Back from my electro magnetic session, I headed to physio where I was forced to perform exercises which caused me pain in my left knee, but were apparently necessary according to the physios.
I tried to explain to them that no my knee's not going to seize up, yes I do bend it in the bed in my room but not as quickly, no I don't need no god damned pulley system to help me lift and bend my knee.
They didn't understand that the reason I didn't want to do these exercises was because of the pain and not out of laziness or something.
All I wanted to to do is give a rest for a week or so as the incision is on the side of the knee where the skin pulls and stretches.
I had to really "count to ten" to stop myself from sending my crutches on a field trip across the gym.


I headed back to my room.
At this point, as if on cue, the resident psychologist arrived wanting to know if I would like to have a chat.
I was then able to vent a bit about the physio experience, the whole shittyness of 4+ months in hospital, the anxiety of going back home / to work, the effects of the scars and various other things I care not to mention here.
Afterwards, I procured a slice of pizza ( that didn't require shaving ) from the fridge and had a good comfort munch.
I figured it was better than a cold pie ( everyone knows you can't microwave pies ).

Still, it could be worse.
I could be an ambulance driver in Lebanon getting bombed by the israeli air force.



.

'

One of the most boring weekends I've had for a while.
Apart from a couple of visitors, all I've done is lie in my bed trying to rest my rather irritating knee.

Actually, I lie.

I just remembered a little incident on Saturday morning, but for this I must go back to a previous operation.
After this previous operation I was not given the little morphine pump like I was expecting.
Instead I had pills and injections to try and take the pain away.
They work of course, but the nurses would only give me limited doses even though I was still in pain and refused to give me anymore.
Soooooo, in order to avoid the same situation this time around, I managed to stash away a pill for this rainy day.
When you receive DD's ( dangerous drugs like morphine / opiates ) there are two nurses who check your UR number ( like a hospital serial number ) and date of birth and then watch you take the pill.
After 'taking' the pill and waiting for the nurses to leave, I spat the little blighter out and like a little red squirrel in the autumn making sure it's not sighted, stashed it away.

Back to Friday night.
There I was happily thinking that I'll be able to get some sleep that night.
When the right time came, I reached into the place where I'd previously secreted the little pill and retrieved it.
As I was putting it in my mouth, I dropped it.
Try as I might I couldn't find it and therefore was back to square one with the pain situation.
I had a pretty crappy sleep as I expected.
The next morning I was half out of bed and one of the nurses turned up.


"What's that?"
"Is that (da da da duhm! )...................an Endone?"


As she was standing behind me, those words sent panic through me.
Ohhhhhhhh shit!!!!!!!
I turned around slowly.
There she stood with the little brown and white pill between her thumb and index finger, holding it up like the irrefutable evidence of my failed drug taking that it was.
The little panicky voice in my head kept repeating the word busted over and over.
She'd found what I was trying to the night before.
I was planning to have a look in the daylight and completely forgotten about it during the course of the night, and she'd beaten me to it.
This is a pretty serious thing and there were all sots of incident reports filled out.
The team leader came to see me for some sort of explanation.


"Are you selling drugs Chris?"


The little voice in my head was having a giggle fit at this point.
Anyway, after explaining how this pill found its way into my bed and not my stomach and the reasons for it, it all blew over.

We'll see what the next week brings in regards to physio, now that my knee should be back to a reasonably normal condition.

.

'

After being roused at a rude six in the morning I put some clothes on and was met by the Kiwi patient transport driver Dion.
A lovely part Maori chap with a fantastic sense of humour, with whom I get along with really well.
It was a very fresh morning as even in the underground car park it was BLOODY COLD!
Riding in the back of the transporter with the differential whining away like Johnny Howard, I watched with interest as the city started to stir in the first hints of twilight.
It reminded me of those early morning starts in Tassie on the way to a rally.
We'd be half asleep, cold and driving to some cold bush destination in order to stand around in the cold and perform servicing or official duties.
It also reminded me of some of the motorsickle trips where we'd once again be up at sparrow's fart in the cold, in order to get somewhere far away at a reasonable hour ( like the 900km Broken Hill trip for example ).
After being admitted, I promptly reverted back to my slumber.
With the inevitable occasional stirrings, I would steal a glimpse of the ever brightening outside scene.
The half lit hospital smoke stacks and chimneys were kicking into life and spewing forth great plumes of steam and smoke, which danced around like spectres in their dying throes before finally dissolving into the atmosphere.
Eventually the pre operation procedure, now as familiar as any daily ritual, began to take up my attention.
After the usual barrage of questions like: your own teeth? any allergies? any metal in your body? smoker? diabetes? I was left alone to contemplate this upcoming surgery and what it means to my recovery.
This seemingly minor and uncomplicated operation means a lot as it suddenly accelerates my recovery.
This in turn will bring me closer to terminating my existence as part of the furniture in this rehabilitation centre.

It is a bit like jail sometimes, but without the unpleasant showering incidents or brutalisation by inmates and non inmates.
Although I have heard of cell mates having quarrels.
One was tapped around the head with a crutch for his incessant failure to cease his mind numbing monologues.
It appeared that this particular human piniata possessed a defect, which crippled his ability to stop his jaw from performing a continuously reciprocating movement.
Patients do greet each other with a "What are you in for?" and there is a certain unspoken respect, usually displayed by a certain knowing look and slow nod, for the ones who have been here longer or incurred more extensive and debilitating injuries.
There are also the ones who are in for minor offences like the aged ones with hip replacements.
Oh I do digress.

I was told to disrobe and replace my fine convalescent attire with a hospital issue arseless gown.
Then I was wheeled by a young orderly ( orderly of the first stage ) to the theatre area.
My old surgeon Dr. Doig, met me there and had a bit of a poke around my knee to find the offending screw end.
Once he located it with the subtlety and delicacy of a rugby forward, he once again asked:


"Which football team do you barrack for?"


To which I replied:


"Ahh.......which football team do you barrack for?"


"You're learning." came the reply.


My anaesthetist turned out to be a good one and managed to insert the IV line with a minimum of fuss or pain.
I praised him for this and commented on his obviously being very good at his job.


"Oh it's a bit of luck as well. Like yesterday eh ( whatever the nurses name was )?" he said.


"What, you mean the patient survived?" I asked cheekily.


About then the injection of liquid goodness came on.
I was expecting the inevitable drop out of consciousness, but it didn't come.
The now familiar metallic taste didn't penetrate my mouth and nose.
Confused, I had to ask:


"What was that stuff mate?"


"( Sister ) Morphine." replied the anaesthetist.


That would explain why I was still with it.
Not long after that I got the oxygen mask with the special gas and next thing, no more screw in knee!!
I think I must have woken up too early.
My eyelids peeled apart and I was staring at the ceiling in the recovery room.
I suddenly realised there was something in my mouth.


"Oh, hang on a second mate."


The nurse put down his paperwork, leant over me and pulled out this bloody huge pipe out of my throat.
And this thing just seemed to keep coming and coming.
I remember thinking, this is what all those porn stars must feel like.
I think they planned on removing this ventilation pipe before I woke up.

Anyway, after all is said and done, a good day though.


.

'

Hospitals are a lot like colonies in nature.
There are various animals of the same specie with particular responsibilities and specially equipped to deal with specific situations.
Usually these various vertebrates spend as little time as necessary actually interacting with each other and spend most of their time attending to their own tasks ( this can also be said for the various areas or departments within these hospitals ).
They can however be easily distracted by other members of the colony known as patients whose sole purpose it seems is to be constantly attended to, washed, fed, filled with chemicals, moved around, cut open, added to, removed from, shut back up again, moved again, regularly made to perform various movements known as physiotherapy and subjected to various procedures and tests ( which they seem to obtain pain from and display a clear distaste for ).

Some of these are known as orderlies.
These creatures spend their day dutifully scurrying along the corridors that link all the various wards and departments of the hospital, moving around patients in wheelchairs and trolleys like busy worker ants moving larvae from one part of the colony to another.
Sometimes they are called on to assist nurses ( a different creature again ) but usually they tend to stick to ferrying the patients between different areas.

From my studies I can reveal that the orderlies change their behaviour the longer they are occupied in their duties.
They start off very friendly and sociable and seem to take enjoyment from interacting verbally with their charges.
After some time they appear to develop certain psychological changes, which seem to render them unable to continue their apparently sociable verbal interactions and they begin verbalise at rather than to their objects of burden about things like: how difficult their job is, how the pressure to move patients on time is too much, how other colony members' expectations are too high, how other orderlies don't perform their tasks as efficiently, and a plethora of other topics.
I have written of this kind of behaviour before.
My current means of conveyance falls into this very category and today I clearly upset him.
After a telephonic exchange with someone he questioned their continual insistence on performing some task in the difficult manner rather than opting for some clearly obvious and easier method.


"What's up mate?'' I asked.


"Oh nothing." he dismissed my enquiry.


"Well are you gonna grizzle about it all afternoon or are ya going to tell me?" I challenged.


Well, didn't he go all quiet and broody.
I had put him in a position he wasn't used to i.e. someone actually listening to his continual vocalised grievances.
After some coaxing, he managed to explain the source of his dissatisfaction and happily reverted back to his former unhappy self.


The next stage into which these orderlies enter into is their final one and the most interesting........before they die.
After an extensive four month field trip I have surmised that the constant repetition of their daily tasks combined with the growing list of real and imagined tribulations render them clinically insane.
Their vocalisations become a combination of the two mentioned before in the sense that they spend equal time directing them at patients and at themselves.
They also transform from the unhappy, disenchanted, frustrated into blissfully happy and unable to feel the former emotions.
I have been studying a particular example of this third stage.
He takes the form of 68 year old Welshman, around 5 feet 8 inches in height and of a substantial girth with a Barry White voice.


"Now you can say you've met a Welshman with a 13 inch cock!"

"Ya fuckhead!"

"Hello slut!"

"Wait you dickhead and cross when the man is green!"


These are just some of the communications he has directed at entities other than himself although sometimes it is rather difficult to distinguish if they are indeed directed at others.
Soon he will pass on from the colony and another will take his place.



Tomorrow I will arrive at the Alfred hospital at 6:45am to have a part removed for a change.
The seventh procedure "Operation Screw You! Screw" will be carried out and that dastardly screw in my left knee will be vanquished.


Hot on the heels of my anti Israeli Defence Force rant we have this sick photo.
At which point is this right?


.

.


As far as anniversaries go, today's would have to one of the strangest by anyone's standards.
But I shall get to that later.


Yesterday I was paid a visit by my mate Michelle from Tassie.
Bless her funky little tv addicted soul for she came bearing another six pack of Tassie's finest. ( thanks heaps matie )
Sometimes it feels a bit like bootlegging runs between Tasmania and Victoria seeing as The Red One is not legal tender or available in Victoria.
What the hell is wrong with this god forsaken state where a motorist who puts another in hospital for months on end is fined 2 points and one hundred something dollars for failing to keep left and you can't buy Cascade Red???!!!
And I know, because I've rung retailers and even Carlton United Breweries to see if I could get some of this liquid gold and it seems the only way is to smuggle it across Bass Strait, all clandestine like.
Disgusting, I tells ya!!! Absolutely despicable!!!
Keli rocked up as well so we followed the usual catch up protocol and took off to the pub for some crisp draught beer.




T'was indeed good to see her, although not as upright as the last time.
Last time we met was at my best mate Scottie's wedding in November last year.
Come to think of it, I was barely upright then as well, but obviously due to a different cause.
Wasn't long and she had to disappear again until the next time. ( see ya soon )


Now, for today.
As mentioned before, it's been 4 months today since the "defilement by Kenworth" come off.
I'm celebrating it with a very sore body, joints and all ( although there's no joint involved at all, bugger, only sweet Cascade Red ) whilst watching a documentary on SBS about a woman with 2 wombs, 2 cervixes, 2 vaginas and 2 pregnancies at the same time.
Like I said, there's always someone worse off or, it's always funny.........when it happens to someone else.

The reason for the all soreness is partly due to the physio from the last two days and a new test I had the great misfortune to experience today.

I'd woken up this morning and for some inexplicable reason had the South African national anthem going round and round in my brain.
Now, I 've got no idea as to why this was and the only logical reason I can think of is the Wallabies V Springboks rugby game on the weekend.
Very disturbing.
Then I had a thought.
The doctor I was to see today is Dr Hjorth.
Sounded kinda Zuid Afrikaan to me!
Whoops, there goes that overactive imagination again!

This morning at approximately 1000 hours I was wheeled away to a lower, more distant and dingy looking part of the hospital where I was to undergo an EMG.
I had heard a few different stories and accounts as to what this is and what I can expect, so when I arrived I was pretty keen to find out exactly what will happen.

I was met by a man who as it turned out wasn't a doctor but a scientist.
He was to assist the doctor and seemed like an ok sort of bloke.


"Are you South African by any chance mate?" I enquired.


"No, not at all." he replied, very bemused.


The doctor however was a different kettle of fish.
As it turned out, she was not Dr. Hjorth ( and Hjorth I found out is Danish ), but Dr Kiers.
I've got a feeling she had her personality surgically removed prior to beginning her stint in this position.
Not only that, but she was a rude prick to boot.
Now I use this word because I cannot find any other suitable apart from c**t.
She asked me to soak my hands in some warm water in a hand basin, which was positioned lower than most hand basins have a right to be and had a note asking people not to lean on it when soaking.
As my back and legs starting to get more and more painful I forwarded my opinion to it's lack of altitude.
This was met with a response from the little short man:


"Well if you've got ten thousand dollars for us to remodel it, then yes we can." smirk


That immediately put him into the feckin' smart arse eejiet category and I started to think if he could come up with an equally smart arse remark after copping a smack around the side of the head.


"Can anyone tell me exactly what's going to happen here?" I asked.


This was met with a reply that I did not expect at all from a supposed professional:


"You'll find out as soon as we start."


Another smart arse remark!
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
Normally any normal person who is about to affect another or their possession will explain what it is they're about to do, the consequences, etc.
Not this one!
No siree, this fucking blonde, middle aged, ice queen, female Josef Mengele doesn't stoop to those levels.


"That surname, that's not South African is it?"


"No it's Australian."


Yeah right!!!!!
I know you, you sadistic Afrikaaner bitch!


Anyway, I vent too much.
The start of the procedure was fairly straight forward.
They stuck sensor pads on my arm and pulled out this electrical prod.
This was then driven ( they used a fair bit of force and left marks! ) into various parts of my arm and an electric current was gradually increased until the tested muscle was doing impersonations of a fish out of water.
My hand, fingers and arm all flapped about with each jolt.

This wasn't so bad as I had experienced electrocution before, but the next bit went a bit further in the pain stakes.

It involved Dr. Kiers, or Charlize ( good traditional Zuid Afrikaansche name that) as I prefer to remember her as, inserting a needle into my arm.
Then she would jab about with it until she hit the nerve.
Then I was asked to use that muscle with the needle inserted in it as hard as I could and the electrical current would be converted into noise not unlike the kind heard from geiger counters.
The needle would be removed and then the jabbing would continue in another unsuspecting part of my arm.

This whole experience left me with a combination of round prod marks, puncture marks and bruises and a feeling like I was some kind of lab rat on a production line.
I thanked her for completing the EMG relatively promptly out of sheer relief.
By the time I left my right hand was literally dripping with sweat and I was as pale as a ghost.
I didn't have enough wits about me to tell these two what I thought of them, so when I got back, I asked the receptionist to send a message to Charlize to call me so I could give her a piece of my mind.
Haven't heard anything back from her so far.


Oh, and before I forget, remember that rant about Israel and stuff?
Well I sent a slightly modified ( replaced the swear words ) version to The Feral Scum ( the herald sun for those from interstate ), The Age and the biggest newspaper in Israel: Ynetnews.
A heavily edited version appeared in the The Hun, but I don't know about The Age or the Israeli paper.
Maybe I do have too much time on my hands.


Cheers to four months in hospital!! clink


.

.

My new cripple bling...



Got ma noo Gold Member outfit on friday!!!
It's soooo sehxy!!!
It's custom made, skin tight, gold and ......................crotchless!!!! ;)
Yep, you gotta wear your undies on the outside!
Gotta wear it for two years and it's designed to reduce swelling and flatten the fillet of fish scar on my right lower leg.
Would you believe made in Perth at a cost of $700?






So much has happened in the last two days I’m almost giddy with decision making as to where to start.
Mind you, that could be down to exhaustion and beer intake during the weekend.


Saturday mum and I took off to a barbecue arranged by Alan at his place for all the people present on the day of the ride, others who helped with the post med. evac. cleanup and cartage of the Yamaha's lifeless corpse ( thanks heaps Shane and Kerry!!! ) as well some others that I've met through the motorcycling experience.
There were some I'd known for some years and others I'd only just met that day ( like Shane and his missus ), but all had fun eating, drinking and exchanging stories.
I found out that when Shane and Kerry went to pick up my bike, they were in the middle of some MRA first aid course, so when they'd finished loading up all the bike and spanked riding gear, the whole lot was taken back to the course to demonstrate what one can expect when arriving on a crash scene and what sort of damage to the gear and injuries to the body are possible.
It's nice to know that even that now useless bunch of stuff served a good purpose.
I must thank Al for organising it, his wife and mother for the catering and Shane for holding the umbrella over the BBQ whilst Al made burnt offerings to the rain gods.





Oh and thanks to Maxi and Erin for attacking me with a hair straightening iron like I was their own personal My Little Pony. The only reason I let them get away with it was because there was nowhere for me to escape in my humble and clunky wheelchair.
Notice how Erin's drinking like a lizard and Maxi's talking thirteen to the dozen?
Don't worry, that's perfectly normal ;)




A very pleasant surprise was the presence of Geoff from Sydney who had flown down just for this occasion and it was great to see him and have a chat about the whole incident and stuff.
I must admit I was a bit worried on the way as all we seemed to encounter was one of the first proper drenchings this winter. ( see photos below )






It was a great opportunity for my mum to meet a lot of the people I've talked and written about and who've really helped me in one way or another since my enforced hibernation.
I was also able to find out how the whole unsavoury incident had affected various people.
Good to know all are still riding even though some had contemplated giving it away.



Sunday, after a very late start ( breakfast at 11 ), I had a visit from non motorcycling mates and the afternoon was spent replenishing our drastically depleted blood alcohol levels with some ice cold draught beer.




Steve and Amy had come back from a trip to Italy and the land of grey ( England ).
Princess Strawberry ( formerly of Watkins St and now a temporary member of Clan Clarence St ) and Brenton from Clan Watkins St with Anne-Maree had turned up.
And a good mate Alicja had rocked up with my mum.
And I had another surprise in the form of Leonie, having turned up from Sydney for the weekend.
And I got a phone call form my old muso mate Glen ( The Swarthy Malanero ) from Queensland!
Tomorrow I'm getting a visit from Michelle from Tassie!
I'm starting to see a pattern developing here.
Looks like a real nation wide few days.

"coz I'm ba-ad..........I'm nation wide" - ZZ Top
:)


.

'

"You should be looking at going home in about four weeks or so."


Said the cute physio when I got the clearance to fully weight bear on my legs and therefore start walking.


"I hope you're not still here when I finish up in early august."


Said the ward doctor today.


I forget if I've mentioned it or not, but I've developed some new body noises since my skeletal rearrangement.
Among these is quite a click emenating from my right hip joint. Well actually it's more like a deafening crack clearly heard by people within a ten to fifteen feet radius.
Now at first I thought it was some sort of gas or fluid in the joint.
Then I thought that maybe it was something to do with my pelvis healing a little bit off or something.
It also feels a little like the joint gets stuck and then suddenly releases, which is quite painful.
As my movement and loading increased with the walking exercises so did the soreness of that particular hip joint.
I also found that I couldn't stand as much weight through the right leg either.
Naturally I assumed that this was due to much more extensive damage caused to the right leg than than the left.

Today the physio had me lying down with my feet pulled up towards my bum so that my knees were bent at 90 degrees.
From there I would lower / swing my right knee out to the right.
This action after a few reps caused the hip to what I would describe as partially dislocate and get stuck.
So I pulled my knee up towards my chest and cracked it back into place.
I continued the exercise and it happened again.
The third time I called the physio over and put her left hand on my hip joint and her right on my knee.
I asked her to push my knee up to my chest and sure enough "crack!!"
After quickly taking her hands off and stepping back, she grimaced and did a sort of squirm or convulsion like you do when see someone break their leg in slow motion on television.
She'd finally realised how bad this was and spoke to the doctor.

That evening I was carted off to radiology by my least favourite orderly,
This guy has as much personality as an extremely conservative, frigid and anally retentive Englishman with the social skills of a parsnip.
He whinges and whines like a bitch at every opportunity and I am sometimes tempted to slap him and tell him to just top himself and be done with it.
Then, at least we'd be spared the continual negativity and 'woe is me' complaints.
I mean really, compared to the people on my ward and the brain injury ward next door, what has he got to complain about?
I asked if they ( the orderlies ) were busy today and I didn't get one word in after that.
Found out from one of the nurses that previously he used to be an undertaker.
I guess he's used to bodies that don't talk back.

Anyway, I had a squiz at the x-ray of my pelvis and even with my lack of medical training I could see that the fracture hadn't united.
It reminded me very much of the collarbone incident and we all know how that turned out.
So I am presuming that the 4 weeks is not going to be 4 weeks after all, but I guess I won't know until the surgeons have a look and make a decision.
And that reminds me, why didn't they pick this up at my review?


On a different note, I met an older musician at hydro therapy today.
He's a jazz pianist with a bit of a love for classical as well, currently suffering from a condition which means he can't play anymore.
Turns out he had a friend who was framed for murder in New York.
After some looking into the matter he found out that the murder was carried out by two policemen.
They in turn found out about his investigation and essentially threatened him, unless he moved out of the country, with joining his friend or the murder victim.
As his wife and her family were from Echuca they moved to Melbourne some years ago and have been living here ever since.
Funny the people you meet in here.
I'm hoping to get a copy of a cd he put out last year which was a collection of recordings throughout his career.


.

.


A few changes have occurred in my current state of being.
Start with breakfast.
I am now going to the pool from 9 till 10.
This is a very nice way to wake up really and I'm thinking of installing one in my bedroom when I get out.
This is followed by a shower and getting dressed.
It's nice to wash all that chlorine off and clean up in time for my physio at 11.
Midday it's back to my room for lunch.
1 o'clock it's time for more physio.
Bit after 2 it's back to my room.
Now at this point I basically crash and burn after essentially 3 hours of working out.
Now some may say that is nothing and they work for 8 hours a day landscaping or something, but when you've been essentially lying in a bed for months on end with minimal physical exertion, 3 hour workouts really make their presence felt.
A bit like being interrogated by some dirt farm hick American soldier, well maybe not as bad. But still, pretty harsh.
So I get woken at dinner time, have dinner, check emails, etc.
Then I can't sleep at night.
Now I know you're probably thinking it's the reoccurring nightmares, dreams of being savaged by killer Kenworth trucks, violated by petulant potatoes, trashed by multiple truck tyres, but no.
It's far simpler than that.
I just don't feel tired. Well not until about 2 in the morning.

So then I wake up half asleep, eat my breakfast half asleep, get wheeled down to the pool half asleep and finally some time in my watery, semi lucid state, whilst performing hydro therapy like a lobotomised automaton, the neural connections start firing.
By the time I come out of my primitive, aquatic, sea cucumber state of mind and am extracted from the modern day primordial, chlorinated swamp I rise to the status of the fully awake.
And the whole process begins anew.
Kapish?


I received a phone call from the insurance company covering the driver of the truck which rendered me a temporary cripple.
She wanted to know why I was making this claim...............
After all the letters and telephonic discussions regarding the abhorrent actions of the truck operator ( I have ceased to call him a driver as that would insinuate that he was somehow capable and in control. It would be like calling Johnny Howard honest or George Bush intelligent. Well I guess Johnny "I've got short man's disease" Howard is about as honest as the Chinese or North Korean governments and George "I read children's books upside down and can't even speak English properly" Bush as intelligent as the sea slug I mentioned before, but I digress )
So after I sat there in silence and disbelief I had to state the bleedin' obvious.


"B e c a u s e - h e - h i t - m e - a n d - r a n - o v e r - m y - b i k e." I slowly explained as you would to a deaf mongoloid ( no offence intended ).


Can you believe her!?
I mean, really!!!
Apparently she's waiting on the police report to verify this.
Honestly, after all the crap I've waded through I have to deal with a complete imbecile!
And she did sound a bit like one in previous telephonic interactions all of which made me feel like that due to cost cutting, the insurance company had actually hired chimps to handle these matters.








This is me in the morning. An ignorant sea slug. Yeah I know, it looks like shit, but then again so do I in the morning :)




And just one more thing, don't normally get political on here, but I did notice an incredible act of hypocrisy recently.
Many ( hopefully ) will remember the collective punishment dished out by the nazi and stalinist regimes.
These were acts of punishment, usually by death, of number of people for the transgression of a single person.
So if I were to commit a crime, then by their reckoning all the people in my street should be rendered dead for failing to provide me or information leading to my capture.
So I was shocked to find this practise being carried out right now which fits this modus operandi like a glove and by a people who are extremely familiar with it as they were once subjected to it.
I speak of Israel and their use of sonic booms as a weapon.
These low level sound barrier breakages are like a bomb exploding right above your head, but without the explosion.
The Israelis call this a "non lethal weapon", but I would argue that it's very lethal due to one of the symptoms or side effects of this as outlined in the following sentence.
Amongst the effects are: chickens not laying eggs, children being traumatised ( some have stated they are more afraid of sonic booms than actual distant explosions and gun fire ), increased miscarriages in women, sleep deprivation.
If you're interested you can read about it here and here
What a strange world we live in where Jews act like Nazis.......................
And no one seems to give a damn.
I do wonder how long Israel can carry on behaving like a total prick with no pressure or punishment from the world's population.
Or maybe Israel is just milking that historical guilt trip for all it's worth?
I have met, worked with and know some really nice Jewish people, but that doesn't change my opinion of Israel and the way it conducts itself on the international stage.



.

My blog had a near death experience tonight when I managed to wipe out into oblivion half of my template.
The template has all the html codes for how your blog looks and functions.
After some careful and painstaking reconstruction I think I've fixed it.
Although not on the same scale as the New Orleans reconstruction, it was none the less quite a huge task.
phew
That's all I can say, it's 1:52am and I'm ready to hit the fart sack.

'

And you gotta ask yourself.............do you feel lucky?
Well do ya punk?

Well I am feelin pretty lucky actually, thanks for asking!
Last night, my good buddies down on the southern territory Taswegia, Wolfy and Trent had phoned with an offer I couldn't refuse.
They came up with the bright idea that at the year's end I should be travelling down to the fair isle over the other side of the creeek that seperates it from Melbourne.
You see the Falls Music Festival is on at that time and they proposed I come down for some R & R.
They along with Kim even offered to pay for my air fare and put me up.
Now I have mentioned before the incredibly humbling kindness shown to me by many great mates before and this was yet another example of this kind of behaviour which, once again came out of the blue and if I wasn't on my hospital bed, I would have surely fallen off my seat, pssiblly causing more injury to my already battered chassis and panelwork.

It still blows me out.


Had a couple of firsts today.
Had my first hydro therapy session today I didst.
Yep this fine specimen of land lubber had a taste of the life aquatic and deemed it to be good.
Spent a bit of time walking in the pool, then performing some moves that wouldn't be unusual in some tai chi class.
But by far the best bit was just being able to float ( with the aid of a few floatation devices ) for a while.
Just exist in the water, with no particular point or purpose.
Float half in the world of h2o and half in air, mind just blank for the first time in a long time.
No distracting assessments of which vehicle to purchase when the time comes for that, no attempted anticipation of emplyment, no useless analysis of body parts current and prospective functions, no unnecessary worrying about readjusting to "normal" life.
Oh what contented bliss and diversion!

When i got back I had another first.
That being my first upright shower.
Yes sirree, none of this sitting down business for this little hunk of truck fodder, that's strictly for cripples!!

Oh! Oh! Oh! Speaking of cripples, got some new cripple bling from my ocupational therapist at my review today.
A couple of fancy finger straighteners that double as resistance training devices for my right 5th and 4th metacarples ( that's fingers for the medically ignorant ), you know, the ones that got mashed by the semi trailer.....trailer.


After all that, I was paid a visit by my housemate Cam and "pommy chick" Laura.
We took off for a quick bit of spliffage and then to the rub a dub for some quenching ales.
And a good proper winter day it was out there too.
You now the overcast, threatening to rain all the time type, with a bracing breeze pushing the crisp, fresh air along.
Laura having blessed our shores with her fine presence will be flying back to the land of grey ( or England as some prefer to know it as ) this weekend.
Just short of a year long trans national sojourn that saw her, amongst other things, working as a jillaroo in the Queensland outback.

Our main source of amusement was that ritual performed every day at 7:30am and 4:30pm every day.
That's right, the clearing of the clearway in time for the peak hour traffic.
We spotted four vehicles offendingly at rest in one of these zones and bang right on 4:30pm the tow truck turns up.
Two blokes in flouro orange vests jump out and proceed towards the innocent vehicles ( it's not their fault their owners left them exposed like that ).
One proceeds to take mug shots of the first car whilst the other one hooks up a tow line.
Before you know it the city dwelling four wheel drive is crudely hauled up onto the eagerly waiting tilt tray and they're away like they've stolen it.
This got me thinking.
If you turned up with orange vests and a tow truck and a camera, you too could walk away with a new car!
No one would think anything suspicious if you did it at a clearway time.

Whilst all this is going on, a weedy parking inspector is placing fines on the four cars behind it.
I'm not sure if he managed to get one on the UAV ( urban assualt vehicle ), but I wouldn't put it past him.

Following this one of the owners turns up to find a ticket on his windscreen.
Now I figure if he can afford those shiny aftermarket 18inch rims, he can afford a ticket for blocking a clearway.
:P

Next arrived a mum to find her people mover newly adorned with a little piece of paper.
She didn't look at all impressed but seemed to take it on the chin.
:(

Next to arrive was a young asian gentleman with parents in tow. His boy racer also sporting a new paper motif on the windscreen.
Looking at it in disbelief, he shows it to his folks who also look at it in dibelief.
They check the parking meter ticket bought at the machine and surely the allotted time had not run out, so why the ticket?
More disbelief.
:|
They then proceed to scan the footpath up and down to see if they could spot the inspector, but he'd long gone, off to decorate more cars.
Still in shock they spot the clearway sign and all becomes clear.
Well almost.
There's still one more car.

Now by this time, the tow truck had promptly dispatched the first car and had hurriedly come back to hunt again.
Now can you imagine what it must be like turning up to see your car being hooked up to the tilt tray and on closer inspection finding that you also had a ticket?
The couple pleaded with the towies but "rules are rules" and after more mug shots, their pride and joy was whisked away to some cold and unhomely compound to be incarcerated for the duration of the owners getting their poo in a pile.

You should have seen the look on these people's faces!
:0
There's that last glimmer of hope which disappears as quickly as the truck disappears into the distance, followed by the anger, then the laughing denial and then finally the resignation.

But all this is nothing compared to the woman who's UAV had been so hastily transported away.
She walks down the footpath all very confident, probably thinking how nice the car's heater will be when she gets in out of the cold.
She walks past the spot where her car was parked and about two parking spots later, her walk becomes progressively slower until she comes to a confused halt;


"I'm sure I parked here somewhere........hmmm."


She turns around and walks back to where her AUV ought to be and it finally dawns on her that it's gone!!!
She followed this with more confused pacing up and down the footpath whilst ferreting around her quite capacious hand bag for her phone.
Lonely, cold, violated, she stood there.
Before she was a confident city woman with a four wheel drive.
Now just like all the other plebs roaming the streets in a manner unheard of........on foot, in the cold miserable Melbournian winter.
An empty shell!
For a moment the realisation must've dawned on her.


"I'm without my car. Yet I'm still here. I am not my car."


Maybe that's just hopeful thinking.
And just as she was about to take off, the now empty tow truck arrives to take away the couple's car.
She realises the error of her ways and starts to interact with the driver and cameraman / assistant.
One can only imagine what was said.




I'll finish today's waffling with a little saying I've started using recently.
I used to think that there's always someone worse off than me.
Now I just say:


"It's always funny!"


"If it happens to someone else!"




.

'

Oh joy and delectation!
I had a phone call from two old friends from Tassie.
Astrid and her Hubby Joe were 1/2 of my first band ever. Now that's going back 13 years, kind of fair while when I think about it.
Astrid informed me that they now have a second child and also that she's just released her CD. Also mentioned Joe's unfortunate little episode with an exploding garbage bag after which he's nearly grown his eyebrow's back.
Anyway, today I not only received a copy of Astrid's CD but also of another friend of mine's.
Joe ( not husband Joe, but a chap who Astrid and I were forming a band with once ) has released a second CD.
So I've now got two fantastic quality albums to listen to as I write this entry.
Having a look at the artists on these albums I am reminded of the tremendously talented bunch of people I left in Tassie.
Most of them good friends, others acquaintances, but all gifted musicians of a standard as high as anywhere else in the world.
I miss these people and their music and have found it very difficult to find similar musicians here in Melbourne since moving here three and a half years ago.
But listening to these CD's I am encouraged to continue my music when I get out with a new enthusiasm and hunger.
So thank you Astrid and Joe and Joe, you have given me much more than two bits of round plastic.


The second call I got was from another old friend from the apple isle, Michelle.
It turns out she's coming over to see Queensryche play here next week and we'll be popping in for a visit.


Oh and mum brought me a shitload of chocolate!!!!!
All in all, a pretty good sunday.






If anyone wants to buy one of these I can put you in touch with the artists, seriously this is realy great stuff!
I can't really put them in a genre but they do have bits of jazz, funk, roots, cabaret, rock, and other stuff.
I'm not going to describe the songs as that would be like trying to describe the Mona Lisa to a blind man and expect him to fully comprehend the artwork. Completely pointless.



.

'


This walking caper is a bit strange.
I tried it in the walking rails and my right leg wasn't coping too well due to unhealed fractures and that whopping chunk in the thigh that's just floating around causing excessive pain and reducing my co-ordination.
Hydro therapy is out of the question as wounds are still too fresh.
Crutches are a no no as my left shoulder is still non weight bearing.
So that just leaves the Golvo.
And no, it's not a volvo for gay people!
It's a hoist which is used to take some of the weight off your feet, therefore making it easier to walk.
It's a fantastic aid but is about as comfortable as being fondled by a 200kg, 6 foot 8 inches tall Bubba in a jail cell.
When I was first strapped in, the physio left the two outer straps off thinking they were just for decoration or something.
The first go I had was like trying to walk with someone giving you a wedgie at the same time.
It also made me bend forward at a fair angle whilst I was trying to walk.
Very unnatural and quite painful in the lower back area.
And while all this is going on the physio is like:


"Stand up straight Chris!" smile


Yeah right!
Anyway, I deducted that the pretty decorative straps were in fact there to be attached to the overgrown coathanger, off which I was hanging in a position not dissimilar to Bubba's cellmate.
After suggesting that we place these two straps in their rightful spots, the whole excercise seemed to take a turn for the better.
Although still very uncomfortable, I was now able to stand up straight, although the coathanger on steroids was now tapping me on the back of the head in a way not dissimilar to the way Bubba would his cellmate.
None the less, I was off for a lap or two of the gym.
The funny side effect of being strapped into this contraption is it tends to make you look like Virgil from the Thunderbirds tv series when walking.
I'll let you decide.





Only things that are missing are the lame hat, pink gumboots and 60's "phaser" :)





Oh, and my stitches are finally out!!!! Wooohoooo!!
No more "Holy shoulder batman!"






.

As another countless day turns into another countless night I am brought into a new phase in my recovery.
For I can put the bedridden days truly behind me and concentrate on regaining my ambulatory status.
Much pain and suffering has been paid to reach this point and I can now move on, literally.
Having been forced to involuntarily sacrifice my dignity to the cold obsidian coloured bituman road I have spent 16 weeks on this voyage of convalescence.
The abandoned dignity is now almost returned to me, but not yet in full.
For that last remaining portion I will have to toil just as much.
And pain will be my constant companion as I strive to return to my former state.
But through this pain my vision will be focused and my efforts honest as there is not another to take my place.
I choose and yet I have no choice in this matter.
My only choice being that I apply myself in earnest to the last few tasks and complete the challanges set before me.
Only then can I truly appreciate what it is to walk on my own two feet.







Let he who hath understanding reckon the numbness of this beast. For it is a human numbness. Its numbness is sixteen weeks.


.

Just a quick note today.
Had my review today with the trauma department. Gotta love it when you start seeing people around such a big hospital and they give you a wave and cheerfully say


"Hi Chris! How's the leg / hand / arm?"


Anyway, long and short is I can now officially start walking! Three and a half months it's been, can you believe it?
So woohoo for me!!!!
So I did 3 laps of the five metre long walking rails and to be quite honest, I''m back to performing newborn antelope impersonations.
And I've ached in both legs and right arm ever since like I haven't ached for ages!
After spending six and a half hours in a wheel chair and walking 15 metres I was knackered and soon as I got back to my room it was time for a nanna nap, out of which I didn't arise until dinner time.

Apparently, my right femur and lower leg fractures haven't quite healed yet, and the x-rays did confirm that. The femur still has a floating piece that hasn't quite atteched itself yet and that's about 4 inches long.
I'm not allowed to use crutches as my left collarbone isn't ready for that kind of commitment yet. Apparently it wants to take things slowly.
Regarding the screw in my knee, that's going to be removed on the 21st so I'll regain normal use of my knee. That'll be operation number 7 or "Operation Screw You Screw".
My bicep is rooted and there will be a nerve conductivity test carried out to tell me that.

I also got a copy of the x-rays taken after the close encounter of a truck kind, before I was bolted back together.
Not pretty at all!
It was quite scary actually to see the damage done, a bit hard to relate to as well.
Once I can figure out how to post them you can all gaze to your heart's content and make all those ooh and ahh sounds you all seem to make.
I've noticed that if I was blindfolded I could pick who the person is that's making them as you all have individual ways of expressing those sounds. You pick up on weird things like that, or maybe I've just been here too long.

Well I'm stuffed so it's off to the fart sack for me!

.

I love my life here in the hospital!
It enables me to experience strange and new things I never would have had the opportunity to if I wasn't hibernating here.
Like the wheelchair business for example. Incidently, when I said you should say:


"Sorry mate, didn't see ya there!"


I actually meant that instead of saying that ( the usual response ), which tends to be a little belittleing (sic), a simple


"G'day mate"


followed by a nod and smile will suffice.
Apologies for the inaccuracy / confusion.
It was late alright!


Anyway, I'm getting off the subject.
So, today's new experience was : ( drum roll )

Being electrically shocked for the sake of rehab!

Yep, the old sending electric pulses through the muscle to wake it up / stimulate it / give it a kick start trick.
Seeing as my right bicep is about as capable of performing as a pre viagra Pele, the pretty physio decided to give this treatment a go.
I was quite interested and inquisitive initially, but that was to change rather quickly.
First she applied some of that ultrasound gel to my upper arm, all well and good, and then stuck two little pads with wires coming out of them.
At this point all's going well and I couldn't help but crack a little joke.


"So, if I stick this on my old fella, will it make it work better or make it bigger?"
( wink, grin )


"Umm, I don't think so Chris."


She replied, chuckling and rolling her eyes and followed with,


"You'll feel like a kind of pins and needles sensation, it's a bit uncomfortable.""


I couldn't help but notice a faint smile on her dial as she started to crank up the voltage on the innocent little box the size of two cigarette packets.
Firstly it felt like a little tingle, then it slowly built up to something resembling being stabbed rapidly in the upper arm by a very enraged and determined woodpecker on speed hell bent on getting from one side of my arm to the other via my bicep.
Let me tell you that it FUCKING HURT!!!
Pins and needles my arse!
And feeling your wrist and fingers curl up of their own accord is pretty freaky too!
I'm sure this is the kind of device is standard issue for anyone working in Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo Bay.
Oh well, if this is what I have to put up with in order to get my bicep to get its shit in a pile then so be it.
However, after much experimentation with the pads placement she came to the conclusion that the disagreeable little turd of a muscle is not even remotely interested in pulling its weight and that electric stimulation isn't going to work.
Something to do with the routes of least resistance for the current being determined by the brain or something.
Anyway, I am not rating this treatment AT ALL and would not recommend it to anyone.
It sucks arse!


Oh, and don't even think about putting it on your reproductive organs!







Me getting treatment in rehab today.......



.

This entry is proudly brought to you by Cascade Bitter.



(Thanks Wolfy!)




Wheelchairs.
Wonderful things aren't they?
You never really think about them much until you see a person in one in a shop or struggling to get into a pub or something.
And then it's usually followed by a momentary internal panic isn't it?
Your brain kind of goes through a quick succession of emotions doesn't?
And it's all determined by your proximity to the wheelchair operator.

From a distance your brain registers the wheelchair and prepares for a possible confrontation. A bit like if you were to see a bear from a distance with no immediate threat, but a none the less its existence is registered.

As you and the threatening wheelchair / operator combination get closer, so the brain steps up its threat warning and reaction posibilities.
You immediately check to see if you could in the way or become an obstacle?
If so, you then proceed to take steps to avoid any uncomfortable meeting.

If you should find yourself in the immediate vicinity of one of these machine human cybernetic organisms your reaction will be dictated by whether you are aware of the sudden near physical contact or whether it takes you by surprise.
If you are prepared for the extreme proximity then your reaction will usually be either to frantically, but not suspiciously scan around for an escape route ( if you haven't already spotted one ) or to nervously acknowledge the cyborg's presence and offer to help so as not to look like a completely insensitive prick.
If however you are ambushed by one of these monsters unawares, you may find yourself in a panic state. The appropriate reaction ( after doing the two footed back hop ) should be to put on a very casual look on your obviously startled face and utter some sort of communication such as:


"Sorry mate, didn't see ya there!"


And then proceed to make room.
And if you are asking as to why you should have to move and not the üntermench in the metal contraption, then the answer is simple.
It's because they're in a fucking wheelchair you terminal dickhead!!!
They have enough trouble every day as it is without having to deal with complete fuckwits!


These are just some of the observations I've made whilst confined in one of these.
One other thing, if you see one of these coming your way on a footpath, then when you move over, please do so to the rougher, potholed, cracked or manhole covered part and not to the smooth bit. ( this did actually occur when i had my electric wheelchair )

As you know, my electric wheel chair has been wrenched away from me like a bosom from a hungry baby's mouth, with the reasoning that I should be able to get around with one left leg and one right arm perfectly well.
Well for a while, even though it was kind of difficult and inconvinient, I was getting around ok.
I would go out the back of the hospital to get some non airconditioned air and snap off some photos.
Since my left knee has become defunct I've taken to using my right leg.
Now I know what you're thinking.
With one right leg and one right arm I will just go around in circles.
Not totally far from the truth, the wheelchair does have a left steering bias and so my exploratory sojourns around the hospital have come to a halt.


My neighbour Mark, informed of an interesting use of the wheel chair.
One of his mates works in a nursing home and has managed to become quite adept at wielding these contraptions.
He is able to get them up on two wheels and use the foot rests to lift girls' skirts and demonstrated this ability on the weekend when Mark went home and to the pub for birthday celebrations.
Pretty darn cool if you ask me.
When I get to use two arms I might have a crack at it.


So next time you come across someone in a wheelchair or someone who is mobility challanged think twice about your reaction.........

Wow! What an unusual couple of days it's been!

Not every day you get tinea!

Yep, as if all the broken bones, defective wounds, infections, errant cross bolts trying to tear apart my knee ligaments, hospital food supplemented by a cocktail of pills and tablets, having my bum wiped by strangers, being washed by strangers, crazy stuttering yorkshire man sharing his bowel achievements, being stabbed repeatedly in the stomach with syringes on a daily basis, giving birth to school buses, having my dignity surgically removed and being parked up within line of sight of a pub whilst bed bound weren't enough!
I get freakin' tinea!
I've never had it before in my life and was as surprised as Lance Armstrong finding out the hard way that a fan had swiped his bike seat when I questioned one of the nurses as to my suddenly transformed feet.

For those not in the know, tinea is some sort of fungal infection, which amongst other things can be brought on after courses of antibiotics ( more of those coloured pills I'm on ) and starts around the toes area as a red, pimply rash looking ...........rash thingy!
So the good doctor prescribes some "Smito", Death To Tinea And All Its Descendants!!! cream and I quitely in my disgruntled state proceed to apply the daily treatment.
Actually there's no such thing as Smito cream, but I reckon they'd sell heaps of it if they used that name instead of Clonea, I mean what self respecting antifungal skin cream goes by the name of Clonea?

Its only saving grace is that it contains benzyl alcohol which sounds rather interesting.
So you could always just gobble it down, get drunk and forget about your tinea for a while. Don't know what the benzyl bit does, so I do not in any way endorse ingesting this crappily named product. And if anyone is daft enough to eat it, well more fool you and drop us a line and let me know if it's any good.

Anyway, I think it's working.

There, got that of my chest. ahhhhhh

Oh, and another thing, I think my right bicep is broken.
I thought that it had wasted away due to lack of activity when I had the cast and traction splint device on.
After weeks of arm curls it's increase in size and strength is phenomenal!
It's grown about as much as George Bush's popularity rating.
The bludging little useless piece of meat has done absolutely nothing!
Like the council worker leaning on a shovel, it's letting everyone around it do all the work.
So I queried this with one of the physios today and it seems that the numb patch of skin from my right wrist to my underarm is a bit more than just that.
It appears that the nerve to my bicep is out of order.
What all this means won't be determined until I can have a chat with the doctors next week.

Incidently and thankfully, the numb patch on the top of my right butt cheek is not extended to any other nervers around that area, as my arse is working well enough.


On a brighter note, I was paid a visit by my mum and Barbara, whom I consider a bit of an outlaw ( as in my sister's man's mum ).
They came bearing pierogi and hedgehogs and cheer me ups biscuits, which had cute little hundreds and thousands as hair and smarties for eyes, etc. ( thanks heaps )

In fer a visit also were Wolfy and Kim, a couple of fantastic Taswegians who've come up from the island for a weekend getaway.
They came bearing Cacade Red, ( thank you very much guys! ) and promptly took me away to the pub.
It was a nice arvo spent there with Gino, Kelly and Mandy and later joined by that irrepresible, politically enraged, motorcycling evangelist Dabbsy.
Much talk over numerous beers about the past, present and future goings on was had and before we knew it, it had to end.

Alas, back to my cell atop the tower overlooking greater Richmond.