Thursday, July 27, 2006
"MORPHINE AIRWAYS FLIGHT 180306 WILL BE LANDING SOON"
"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.
.
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.
.
