View allAll Photos Tagged ,Retching
Explore #425 08/20/09
Walt Disney World, Disney's Hollywood Studios - 08/10/09
Signage at the entrance to DHS.
That's not the reason I chose this photo for today...after spending most of the night at the ER with hubby who unambiguously broke his arm chasing a spider from the ceiling. File this one in the "things you know better than" file for future reference. It's always better not to get caught up in the heat of the chase and step up on a chair before making sure it is absolutely secure when trying to obliterate a spider stationed squarely over the bed before retiring for the evening.
I won't go off on the healthcare system, but after spending 5 hours in the ER with a woman retching into a trash can and a 6-week old baby who had "chest congestion" and not being able to drive my husband to the hospital with the fracture unit and having him transported via ambulance, but I could...
Surgery was this afternoon, he comes home tomorrow, and the bottom line is I didn't get to anybody's photos today and tomorrow looks sort of iffy. I will get caught up, but it may not be for a day or two.
Right now, after taking care of parrots, mopping floors, and doing laundry, I'm off to what I hope will be more than 3.5 hours of sleep....
...the spider is still at large.
After retching to the horrible, horrible, horrible smells from some sort of horrible place atop the observation tower at the falls that give this fine city it's name, we made our way to the bridge and heard a horn in the distance. Could it be? A D&I road train? The very trains that elluded DK and I on our trip not one month previous?! Yes!
A bona-fide chase wasn't in the cards (we still had 350 mlies to go to get to Rapid City), but there was no harm in banging out a few shots along a creative route back to I-90.
You can't see them, but, the greatest wife in the world, Emily is riding shotgun, and my boys, Berk (3) and Lucas (2) are sitting in the middle, taking pictures with their toy cameras through the open windows.
The Dakota & Iowa is one of two railroads through town owned by a gravel / stone / construction aggregates concern, the smaller Ellis & Eastern being the other. The D&I's mainline was badly damaged by flash flooding last month (which happened the night DK and I arrived to foam), which knocked out a dozen miles of track. Glad to see they were up and running again.
Emelie is doing her best to nurse Myles back to 100%
We just got back from our vacation in North Carolina at the Barkwells resort, unfortunately it will be a trip to remember for all the wrong reasons. My male Standard Poodle, Myles,~ 52 weeks for dogs 2010~ suffered from GDV also known as BLOAT while we were away.
About 6 pm on Thursday, Myles refused his dinner.....as I was watching him, he retched 3 times in a row unproductively. Then layed down on the deck. I immediately thought GDV. We went to the nearest emergency Vet Clinic after we called ahead, only to find the x-ray machine was not working. After keeping my husband John from crawling over the counter and punching the girl (he was stressed) WHY didnt you tell us??? And listening to the Vet on call tell us why she doubted GDV beacuse he showed no signs of bloating~"I can do a needle aspiration, or you can go to anothe ER vet "and I won't charge you" GOOD cuz we are not PAYING YOU anyway", we headed to WESTERN CAROLINA VET HOSPITAL AND ER. we asked her to call ahead and tell them we were on our way. We had called them once, but they had guided us to the first clinic beacuse it was a bit closer.
This was 45 min away from the first clinic......we made it in about 24 minutes.On the way, Myles all of the sudden acted like he wanted to jump out of his skin and crawl down my throat.I believe this is when his stomach twisted. John called ahead and said, "no matter what the vet from ABC vet hospital said, this dog is in pain and we believe it is bloat. They were waiting outside for us, took him in and he was xrayed in about 3 minutes...he was torsioned to 270*, even without the telltale bloating.
So an emergency surgery, 24 hrs in ICU and 2 large swipes to a Credit Card, and he had torsion surgery and a gaxoplexy to attach his stomach to his abodimonal wall so it hopefully will not twist again.
The Vet said there was little to NO food in his stomach (I am careful about feeding and excercise too close together) and we got him there quickly (could have been quicker if it wasnt for the first vet) and his levels of Potassium and Lactate* were at the lower levels for a GDV patient which all worked in his favor.
He was released in 24 hours, the quickest he has ever released a bloat patient and he said this was the best outcome he has had in 2 years with this situation.
Needless to say, I am still a bit shell shocked and troubled. But he is home with us and that is a plus.......
*Kelly...Correct me
Since KOS-MOS didn't quite know what to do in a world without Gnosis, she took a job at the Retching Netch because she remembers giving Shion a drink on the Elsa, so it feels familiar & in her off time would help people with their problems, as she remembers doing in another time & place.
This is my fan version of KOS-MOS, who was one of the main characters in the Xenosaga jrpg series on the PS2 ♥
When I become a fan of a character or game series, I remain an eternal fan ^ ^ ♥
Phylum Arthropoda - Arthropods
Subphylum Hexapoda - Hexapods
Class Insecta - Insects
Order Orthoptera - Grasshoppers, Crickets, Katydids
Suborder Ensifera - Long-horned Orthoptera
TENTATIVE
Infraorder Gryllidea - Crickets
210216_Tiny_Cricket_Profile_slab_retch_ps
NOTE: The following story is mildly graphic.
And totally awesome.
"I stood, leaning forward over the open hole of the porta-potty toilet. Someone had ripped the lid off the seat, which I thought was kind of funny as I retched and tried to hurl. But nothing came up and I nearly choked instead.
This was a battle between me and my body: I knew what I needed to do, but something inside me was not co-operating. Something inside me did not want to come out.
I closed my eyes and focused on the spinning sensation which overwhelmed by brain. I was really, really, really high.
And I really needed to vomit.
But even with my eyes closed, focusing on the pain, I couldn't do it. This ugliness inside me wanted to hold on for a moment longer and I suddenly felt angry at it. I wanted it out so bad that I felt myself shaking.
So I rocked my head back and forth quite violently, making myself feel affectively sicker. I tried again to throw up, but only managed to make a hideous choking sound, which drew the attention of someone in the stall next to me.
“Y’okay?” they asked.
“Never been better,” I shot back sarcastically, then closed my eyes and shook my head around again.
This time, as I leaned over the bowl, I thought about things that made me feel sick: Roller-coasters that spin, cheddar cheese, peanuts, Dani—
And I finally hurled.
Several times.
When I was done, my headlamp caught the color of my vomit and I recoiled, nearly falling backward – it wasn’t the color of my food as I’d expected. It was instead the color of Grizzly Bear’s personality.
As a synesthete, it’s hard to describe the emotion I feel when I see a color in “real life” that I see for a number, letter, or person I usually see only in my head. I once saw the color of my own cartilage and it was the color of my 2s. So even though I was a bloody mess, I pointed it out to the doc, who probably thought I was crazy.
Anyhow, seeing Grizzly Bear’s personality color escape from my body in that manner made me feel shocked, amazed, and totally relieved.
It was over.
I could move on now.
I had literally expelled him from my life in the most perfect, fitting way imaginable: Staring into a disgusting porta-potty on the Playa at Burning Man, the very night they had set the Man on fire.
This is what the veteran Burners call “Playa Magic”. It’s the crazy, divine co-incidences that leaves us thinking and questioning all we know about ourselves, our lives, and our spirituality.
Such is the way of Burning Man."
okay...something different. I thought I would practice my guitar in a pair of extremely high stillettos, in my living room...and of course I needed help but all that hussie did was offer me some unripe, make you retch, green bananas.......:-P I think the look on my face, to her, says it all...."you've got to be kidding and get those away from me, can't you see i'm busy, wench!!!"
Finished A4 page
Will be exhibited at this event: galeria-autonomica.de/vorlage_newsletter/newsletter_novem...
The exam rooms at the new EVCOT site are huge, quiet and comfortable (good size for your sick Great Dane and its family.) Tikki was nervous though and decided to crawl on top of me and purr loudly to calm herself. (See how she’s frowning & pointing her whiskers down? And those eyes!)
I took Tikki in to the emergency vet because she was seeming ill (not eating, diarrhea, retching, low energy). She wasn't running a fever and didn't have parasites (per poop test) but she was a bit dehydrated and had a lot of white blood cell activity so she had something. They gave her sub-Q fluids and antibiotics (and trimmed the fur on her backside) and we went home. I'm supposed to give her Metranidazole for next week, twice a day, which she thinks is as foul tasting as everyone says. 8/4 she is eating the fresh out of can wet w gusto! 8/5 ... and crunchies also... she’s showing more normal energy too. Needs another 4 days of antibiotics which she will really wriggle hard to avoid... that energy can be tricky.
Day Eleven:
I can feel it. Constantly feel it. A sense that not all your thoughts are your own. Like there's something else in here with you trying to pull the strings. If it was one of your own little voices you'd know, wouldn't you? You'd recognise it. The speech patterns. The accent. The familiar demands they all make of you. But where did this one come from?
It's not just that unrecognisable disembodied voice you. There's something tangible about it. Something physical. It's eating away at you. Eating away. Eating. Get it out...get it out...get it out. It's in there. It's making me do things. Want to do things. I don't want it to make me do things. I am me. I decide what me does. I don't want something else burying itself inside the darkest parts and letting out what's in there.
Think happy thoughts...think happy thoughts....sour the milk...make your mind so rancid it won't stay in there. Think happy thoughts. It doesn't like that. It's practically retching at those joyful explosion of synapses. There's nowhere for it to go but out. I won't have any little parasite forcing me to do what I don't want to do. But there's no need for you to leave completely my little brain munching maggot....after all, do unto others.
Looking west from the top of Bowfell. The clouds crept up the mountainside and slowly consumed the snow.
They then retched a little and spat it out. It's a bit cold, snow.
Saskia turned 18 recently (hard to believe!), so I made a little collage of Her Museness. They're all old pictures, so it made me nostalgic to go back to some of the photos from when we were 13 or 14, and see how she's grown up. It's amazing to see how chameleon she is from shot to shot. She's been so many different characters of mine.
For my creative writing class, we had to write a paragraph using only one vowel, taking our pick of A, E, I, or U. I chose E. If you're at all interested in writing, try this. It's a fun and challenging exercise. Here's what I came up with:
Even Hell herself sleeps, her temper enfeebled, her flesh defenseless when the embers freeze grey. The perfected veneer flees (she’s the expert pretender). Vexed, she spews her secrets; the deeds fester when expressed, the sentences breed spleen, bleed needless, nerveless self-centeredness. She retches; the repressed fever renews. Her speech rebels, the tempest emerges; the repellent resentment renders her helpless. The nerds were her preferred prey—these rejects remember her deterrent leers, her heckles, her sneers, her relentless “presents.” The fees, the debts. She wheezes, her wretched spells depleted.
Detested, she sees her deeds everywhere. She weeps.
This was the 10th [tenth] motorcycle I owned, purchased circa 1989. This is not my bike but as close as it gets to the example I owned.
My bike was imported in to New Zealand from Queensland in Australia. It was originally owned by a Mr Colin R. Bruce, 146 Union Street, Spring Hill 4001, Brisbane.
The bike's owner's express warranty handbook provides the following details;
PRE-Delivery was at Queensland Bike World, Ipswich Rd, Marooka, date; 2/9/85.
Mechanic: M.S. Brown
The model: ZX 750 G2.
The bike had 2 more service checks at Queensland Bike World. 1. 20/9/85 at 800km/miles & 2. 18/2/86 at 4744km/miles.
Unfortunately on Friday April 27th 1990 at approximately 11.30pm I had my near-death motorcycle accident aboard it. I lost control of the bike after braking heavily at high speed for a right hand bend in the open road, fell, and slid across the road in to a farmer's paddock concrete fence post and instantly amputated my left leg at the knee. I was transferred to a local hospital fortunately within the 'golden hour'. More chance of surviving such an horrific traumatic accident. I had 12 hours of mainly exploratory surgery. My injuries were many and serious and my condition was listed as 'critical'. I had fractured my pelvis on the right side, had massive injury to my left buttock after sliding on tar seal in denim jeans. I had sustained several urological injuries, and a colostomy had been formed with my bowel.
My motorcycle was a write-off as it had chassis damage.
On the 4th day in the Intensive Care Unit I began fitting while in surgery and had developed renal failure. I was transferred to another hospital by ambo 200km east and placed on kidney dialysis. On the second evening in the Intensive Care Unit it was decided a hemipelvectomy operation be performed due to septicemia [blood poisoning] spreading from my remaining left leg stump. If the septicemia spread in to my body's vital organs I would die. So the remaining left leg stump was amputated including my hip joint and left side of my pelvis. It was a massive traumatic operation and I had my near-death experience during the operation. I could see myself from a distance [the ceiling of the surgical theater]. I also traveled through a tunnel at warp speed and met my maker on the other side. I was asked if I liked it there. I replied it was OK. I was then asked if I wanted to stay there or 'return'. I replied 'I'll return please'. I then again traveled at warp speed through a tunnel. I awoke after my operation and wondered what the F @ % & was going on.
I spent 3 weeks in the Intensive Care Unit trying to survive. My body was infused with the maximum dosage of morphine it could take as I was in so much pain. At times I was placed on a ventilator and thought I was Darth Farking Vader. I continually sweated profusely - remember the body's skin is like a car engine's radiator - so hack a piece of radiator off it and naturally the engine can't cool itself as well as if it had all the radiator. My hair began falling out. I experienced wild terrifying hallucinations. At one stage I believed one of my Intensive Care nurses was going to kill me - remember fear of dying is worse than really dying. I had little sleep, and dozed. For a long time I couldn't drink water - and believe me my thirst was greater than Jesus when he was in the desert. I couldn't eat. I was in hell. There was 2 ways out. 1. Death. 2. Life. I felt a presence of 'something' holding the rope I was at the bottom of clinging to. It was just not going to let me go. It was so strong. I began regaining strength. One day I was allowed to eat something. I chose a lettuce and Marmite sandwich. And a pottle of yogurt. Wow it was delicious!
I was transferred to Ward 4A near the nurses station. I couldn't sleep. I felt if I went to sleep at night I wouldn't wake up in the morning. I faked pain and was given 10mg of morphine in the morning around 6am. I slept for 2 hours. Upon waking I dry retched for 1/2 an hour. This regime continued until I began naturally falling asleep at night. I stopped asking for morphine. I was transferred to a room of 4 patients. I began communicating with other patients. I was placed on a 'Tilt Board' to get my body used to being upright again. One time I was assisted out of bed and in to a 'Walking Frame'. I began hopping on my one good right leg in the Walking Frame.
I was transferred to another 4 patient room where sunshine would come through the window curtains in the afternoon. I began being taken by stretcher and wheels on my back over to the Physio Swimming Pool where I was lowered in to the pool by tray on my back. I would be dipped in to the water and my body would then naturally roll off into beautiful warm water OH WOW! I would wade around in the warm water before returning to my hospital ward room and my primary nurse would make up a full 1 liter plastic jug of orange flavored cordial and I would devour it! This regime continued and it wasn't long before I began semi-swimming in the Physio Swimming Pool - remember as I was a very successful local athlete [road cycling, marathon runner/harrier, bi & triathlete] my body was used to exercise and a lot of it. But this was an entirely different sport - the sport of REHABILITATION.
See road cycling career info here: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/51988007800/in/album-7...
I was also taken across to the Otago/Southland Artificial Limb Center where I was cast and fitted with a hemipelvectomy prosthesis. However as I was so weak I found it very slow and frustrating learning to use the prosthesis. I was also issued a pair of crutches.
Read about how I put my crutches to good use here:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52067220563/in/album-7...
I spent a total of 101 days in hospital and hopped out with a prosthesis over my shoulder. My new life as a trauma hemipelvectomy was about to START.
The Southland Times newspaper article covering my accident:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52037881082/in/album-7...
At The Big Kart Track on the Sunshine Coast in Australia on my honeymoon in 2005:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403299991/in/album-7...
At Australia Zoo catching up with my old mate Skippy on my honeymoon in 2005: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403280721/in/album-7...
Meeting Australian V8 Supercars hero & super driver Rick Kelly here in Invercargill in 2013: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/24735165364/in/album-7...
My sons Asif Shakir and Saif Shakir
I was not a very good father half my life I spent drinking..drinking was something I tried to give up but always returned to the bottle I battled and finally came out of the clutches of the genie called Old Monk .
I had this incorrigible presumption that my so called creativity came through drinking and the short stint I did at a Advertising company made me an alcoholic the pink gins at Dhobi Talao...everyone I worked with drank in the afternoon..It is crazy when I try to remember those days and the fuzziness of my lost illusions.
Its been a long time since I gave up drinking
.
In my college days it was hash ganja LSD sitting at the archives of Elphinstone college but I gave that up before marriage but not the bottle .I mostly smoked a 14 goli chilum with my friends in the Rhythm house lane or behind Taj or at the garden near Liberty .
My grave as a drinker lies at Yacht Bandra pehaps on All Souls day they light a candle on the table where I drank my retching guts out ,,
On my part I recite a fatiah when I pass by Yacht for those of my drinking pals who died holding the bottle in their hands .
I have a daughter too who was born in Bandra Waterfield Road .
My sons were born at Strand Colaba at Dolly Gurbaxanis clinic Candy Castle .
The first day of my exhibition. Mother and I planned a lunch at the gallery to soak up the ambience and relax after the preparations were completed. Tucking into oozing, Italian sounding goo in ciabatta whilst gazing around my mum’s eyes suddenly became filled with horror.
‘Oh no, not a pube in the sandwich.’ I thought, inwardly retching and putting mine down with covert rapidity. But no, her eyes were not on the sandwich, they were scanning the walls like a holiday maker hunting down the last mosquito left in their Spanish villa before bed. I felt like the girl in Jurassic Park as she witnesses her brother freezing over a spoonful of green jelly when he sees the velociraptors behind his sister.
“I don’t want you to panic but…..” The worst words you can utter…..
“….I can see a slight bubble of air in one of the photos.”
My mouth turned to asbestos, the blood was evacuated from my face, the lettuce stuck to the sides of my mouth like toilet paper. As I turned in painstaking slow motion to look at the photos on the wall the cockling in the photo hove into view. It was enormous, it was multiple…lunch was over.
We both sat poking at food with sweaty hands whilst scanning the walls. Dilated pupils counting bumps and bubbles in each of the pieces on the wall. Hours had been spent spray mounting photos to prevent this very disaster and lo, it was upon us. As our eyes took in the awful sight of my exhibition photos puffed up like popadoms we had to fight the urge to go foetal.
It’s amazing just how delighted you can appear that a disaster has occurred when in front of people you don’t know. (Just like when you bash your head embarrassingly loud after a raucous guffaw on an ill placed wall in a pub – you have to act like it was just what you wanted and that the pain is not coursing through your skull making you want to chew your own arm.) The manager of the gallery must have thought this was what we had hoped for all along as with pained smiles of frivolity and ecstasy we told him that we would just need to make a few minor adjustments to the pieces. Three and a half hours in the back yard in November later, having roped in every friend and relative who had kindly visited the opening day of the exhibition the photos were back on the walls, un-cockled in their frames and we sat cockled over cups of hot chocolate, immersed in the kind of relief a child feels after their final urge to vomit from a stomach bug passes and they can handle the thought of some dry toast.
I don't remember much since I woke up
but in my dreams, I could still run
the sun was still yellow
but the ground was grey
the snow in the air was only ashes of the burning days
it doesn't pay to grind my bones
every step is a retch of stone on stone
and I'm alone in this struggle
limping for survival
a marathon gone around the bend of trouble
I'm one side stepped crooked
into a straightened corkscrew
into my joints on the sharpened side
I'm widened by worry
two feet far apart
planted firmly on each side of the canyon
it's been a long time gone
since the bottom fell out
and I've been standing here
as the river grande
washed out the rocks and ate the sand
how will I know if these feathers fly
until I lose my grip on the slippery sky?
nothing tells me that something is coming
I'm like lead in my bed
and my bones are thinning
but in my dreams, I'm running...
© Steve Skafte
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This was the 10th [tenth] motorcycle I owned, purchased circa 1989. This is not my bike but as close as it gets to the example I owned.
My bike was imported in to New Zealand from Queensland in Australia. It was originally owned by a Mr Colin R. Bruce, 146 Union Street, Spring Hill 4001, Brisbane.
The bike's owner's express warranty handbook provides the following details;
PRE-Delivery was at Queensland Bike World, Ipswich Rd, Marooka, date; 2/9/85.
Mechanic: M.S. Brown
The model: ZX 750 G2.
The bike had 2 more service checks at Queensland Bike World. 1. 20/9/85 at 800km/miles & 2. 18/2/86 at 4744km/miles.
Unfortunately on Friday April 27th 1990 at approximately 11.30pm I had my near-death motorcycle accident aboard it. I lost control of the bike after braking heavily at high speed for a right hand bend in the open road, fell, and slid across the road in to a farmer's paddock concrete fence post and instantly amputated my left leg at the knee. I was transferred to a local hospital fortunately within the 'golden hour'. More chance of surviving such an horrific traumatic accident. I had 12 hours of mainly exploratory surgery. My injuries were many and serious and my condition was listed as 'critical'. I had fractured my pelvis on the right side, had massive injury to my left buttock after sliding on tar seal in denim jeans. I had sustained several urological injuries, and a colostomy had been formed with my bowel.
My motorcycle was a write-off as it had chassis damage.
On the 4th day in the Intensive Care Unit I began fitting while in surgery and had developed renal failure. I was transferred to another hospital by ambo 200km east and placed on kidney dialysis. On the second evening in the Intensive Care Unit it was decided a hemipelvectomy operation be performed due to septicemia [blood poisoning] spreading from my remaining left leg stump. If the septicemia spread in to my body's vital organs I would die. So the remaining left leg stump was amputated including my hip joint and left side of my pelvis. It was a massive traumatic operation and I had my near-death experience during the operation. I could see myself from a distance [the ceiling of the surgical theater]. I also traveled through a tunnel at warp speed and met my maker on the other side. I was asked if I liked it there. I replied it was OK. I was then asked if I wanted to stay there or 'return'. I replied 'I'll return please'. I then again traveled at warp speed through a tunnel. I awoke after my operation and wondered what the F @ % & was going on.
I spent 3 weeks in the Intensive Care Unit trying to survive. My body was infused with the maximum dosage of morphine it could take as I was in so much pain. At times I was placed on a ventilator and thought I was Darth Farking Vader. I continually sweated profusely - remember the body's skin is like a car engine's radiator - so hack a piece of radiator off it and naturally the engine can't cool itself as well as if it had all the radiator. My hair began falling out. I experienced wild terrifying hallucinations. At one stage I believed one of my Intensive Care nurses was going to kill me - remember fear of dying is worse than really dying. I had little sleep, and dozed. For a long time I couldn't drink water - and believe me my thirst was greater than Jesus when he was in the desert. I couldn't eat. I was in hell. There was 2 ways out. 1. Death. 2. Life. I felt a presence of 'something' holding the rope I was at the bottom of clinging to. It was just not going to let me go. It was so strong. I began regaining strength. One day I was allowed to eat something. I chose a lettuce and Marmite sandwich. And a pottle of yogurt. Wow it was delicious!
I was transferred to Ward 4A near the nurses station. I couldn't sleep. I felt if I went to sleep at night I wouldn't wake up in the morning. I faked pain and was given 10mg of morphine in the morning around 6am. I slept for 2 hours. Upon waking I dry retched for 1/2 an hour. This regime continued until I began naturally falling asleep at night. I stopped asking for morphine. I was transferred to a room of 4 patients. I began communicating with other patients. I was placed on a 'Tilt Board' to get my body used to being upright again. One time I was assisted out of bed and in to a 'Walking Frame'. I began hopping on my one good right leg in the Walking Frame.
I was transferred to another 4 patient room where sunshine would come through the window curtains in the afternoon. I began being taken by stretcher and wheels on my back over to the Physio Swimming Pool where I was lowered in to the pool by tray on my back. I would be dipped in to the water and my body would then naturally roll off into beautiful warm water OH WOW! I would wade around in the warm water before returning to my hospital ward room and my primary nurse would make up a full 1 liter plastic jug of orange flavored cordial and I would devour it! This regime continued and it wasn't long before I began semi-swimming in the Physio Swimming Pool - remember as I was a very successful local athlete [road cycling, marathon runner/harrier, bi & triathlete] my body was used to exercise and a lot of it. But this was an entirely different sport - the sport of REHABILITATION.
See road cycling career info here: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/51988007800/in/album-7...
I was also taken across to the Otago/Southland Artificial Limb Center where I was cast and fitted with a hemipelvectomy prosthesis. However as I was so weak I found it very slow and frustrating learning to use the prosthesis. I was also issued a pair of crutches.
Read about how I put my crutches to good use here:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52067220563/in/album-7...
I spent a total of 101 days in hospital and hopped out with a prosthesis over my shoulder. My new life as a trauma hemipelvectomy was about to START.
The Southland Times newspaper article covering my accident:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52037881082/in/album-7...
At The Big Kart Track on the Sunshine Coast in Australia on my honeymoon in 2005:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403299991/in/album-7...
At Australia Zoo catching up with my old mate Skippy on my honeymoon in 2005: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403280721/in/album-7...
Meeting Australian V8 Supercars hero & super driver Rick Kelly here in Invercargill in 2013: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/24735165364/in/album-7...
For those of you who follow this photostream (and who doesn't?) you may know that Sheree and I have been REALLY busy over the past few weeks. So we decided to hop into the car and go for a couple of road trips together this weekend.
One of our road trips started like this. Sheree looks at me and says "Before we go, can you get the bird bath out of the box for me?" About a month ago, we purchased a cast iron bird bath for SEVENTY DOLLARS at Canadian Tire...and it's been sitting alone in our living room since then. Still in the box. One day it moved to the center of the floor, apparently to attract my attention. (I actually had to step around it.)
Apparently said birdbath is the perfect addition to the seventy-nine bird feeders and water bowls and little birdie mattresses and massage tables we already have on our deck to attract their attention. I had resolved to ignore it.
Sheree looks up and smiles innocently. We both know what's happening, of course. It's checkmate from the start. Beautifully played. I will open the box containing the birdbath for those fricking birds she keeps feeding, apparently so they will continue to poop copiously all over our deck. Then I will put together the birdbath since taking it out of the box, leaving the crap all over the floor and creeping off to the bathroom is a tactic of the Lesser Man. (Besides...I just used it yesterday.)
I shudder just a little as I see mysterious screws and nuts and those little round things I always forget to put on until the nuts are REALLY tight. They are vacuum packed against stiff cardboard. This means an exacto knife...and I'm the first to admit I should not be trusted with anything that sharp...
But we were going on a road trip, so I was in a pretty good mood. Attempting to cast my feelings of impending doom to one side, I arrayed the dizzying pile of crap in front of me. I then sat down to try to interpret the directions, obviously written by someone who learned English second hand from a slow-witted stuttering Dutch sailor. I give up on the words and commence trying to glean hints from the illustrations that had not been that good to start with and copied way too often...
MEANWHILE Sheree is listening to music. Our good friend, Fred, sent her a ton of wonderful soul music. However we could only open twelve of the songs. Sheree likes them and so we have been listening to the same fricking twelve songs for DAYS.
(Brief sidebar: Once the events described herein are done, we are in the car and I am listening to Joe Tex singing: "SHOW ME A MAN WHO'S GOT A GOOOOOD WOMAN..." (again) and I look at Sheree and start making sharp retching sounds.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"I can't listen to this fricking song one more time," I respond. "I used to like it. But you've played it over and over...good GOD, woman!"
"I still like it,"she says with a shrug.
I go into the cluttered compartment between our seats and draw out an 80 GIG iPod which I have given her. (I have actually given her TWO iPods...)
"This is an iPod," I say.
She nods and listens to the music. She's not even pretending to pay attention to me. I sigh.
"Sheree," I say. "You could listen to the music on this iPod for fourteen days and never hear the same song twice."
She nods absently. I am looking at her incredulously.
Joe Tex is still yelling at me: "Show me a man who has a GOOD WOMAN!"
I revise strategies and begin to moan and mime having small seizures in my seat. This draws a distantly interested glance from Sheree. She is watching only long enough to make sure I am only being a jerk...and not in the throes of a medical emergency.
"Well hook it up then," she says finally.
"The iPod?" I ask.
She nods.
"You mean you don't want to listen to your four cd's all day long?" I ask.
Here endeth the sidebar.)
SO I am putting the fricking birdbath together. I am done. It looks okay. I have only done myself minor injuries. But I have one screw left. Why? WHY??? WHY?????
There are those people who would toss the screw into the garbage and call it done...and those of us who really get bugged by that one screw. Where is it SUPPOSED to go??? (I have often suspected that there is some psychopath at the factory who puts one EXTRA screw into the package ON PURPOSE...chortling and chuckling about the emotional carnage he knows it will cause.)
I started thinking of innocent birds, bathing joyfully in this bath when suddenly the whole structure cants to one side and then, with murderous force, slams into the deck, getting bird guts all over the wood of my deck.
"How are you doing with that?" calls Sheree cheerily from the deck.
I mutter something and consider putting the screw in my pocket. But I just can't do it.
I tell her I am almost finished. I start taking the stoooopid birdbath apart and find an empty hole the same size as the screw. It holds a little thing to a large roundish bigger thing. Oho! I think. (Oho is an outstanding word...try it the next time you figure something very difficult out. Just sit there and say "OHO!" to yourself. You'll understand what I mean.)
I am elated. I screw it in and put the birdbath back together. No problems.
"Oho!" I say again...just because.
Sheree enters a moment later and examines my handiwork.
"It looks like a birdbath," she observes shrewdly.
I beam. Even the guys who built the space shuttle could not have been this proud.
She pokes a finger at a stooopid ornamental bird on a stooopid branch. It moves.
"This bird is loose," she says as it flops to one side and hangs there looking...well...stoooopid.
We both contemplate it quietly for a moment.
"It's supposed to be that way," I tell her. "It needs to maintain a...flexibility...quotient...so high winds don't...y'know... blow it over." My words hang in the air between us, weakly gasping for life before eventually shambling off into oblivion with a hopeless sigh.
Sheree fixes those blue eyes on me and I briefly consider sticking to my stoooopid story.
I sigh.
"Okay," I say with yet another sigh, designed to CLEARLY convey that I won't be held responsible for the ensuing carnage should the intended repairs be made. "I can try to tighten it."
"Good idea," she says. She is standing looking at me.
I am dreading the impending repairs because I have a history of really messing crap up if I dare take anything apart when it's pretty much working.
"You want me to do it NOW?" I ask. "I'm pretty busy, you know."
She sighs.
I start unscrewing the stoooopid bird.
"Can you give me one of those screwdrivers that has that cross thingie on it?" I ask. It seems to me that she really should be doing something other than supervising me.
"You mean a PHILLIPS screwdriver?" she asks.
"Whatever," I mutter. "Showoff."
She gives me the screwdriver and I channel all my nervous energy into fusing that stooopod bird with that stooopoid branch.
I screw the whole thing back on and await the Return of the Princess. I am prepared now to accept the admiration that surely shall be mine.
She walks into the room, pokes the bird with a finger. It doesn't move.
"Hummmph," she says. (This is as close as I can come to the actual spelling of the sound she made. Put into words, I think it would translate into "About time, you moron.")
So we put the bird bath onto the deck with all the rest of the bird crap we aleady have out there.
And we hit the road.
Among other things, we went to Heritage Days in the tiny town of Onoway -- which was what I started to tell you about. But the birdbath story just took over. Maybe another time...
Oh...right. The picture. We took this one on our way OUT of Onoway. Sheree kinda tells the story about it here: www.flickr.com/photos/97705796@N00/4673417501/
BY THE WAY: I have yet to see a SINGLE bird go anywhere near the birdbath. Will keep you posted.
This photo is of Sandra Pankhurst, who runs a business in Melbourne, Australia, called Specialised Trauma Cleaning Services. To find out why I've put it here, please read on...
A few of you have asked me what prompted my recent posts on the likes of Validation & Acceptance, and our creating of delusions to help us get by.
Probably the main catalyst was my recent reading of an amazing book called The Trauma Cleaner, by Sarah Krasnostein. I can't recommend it enough, for a bunch of reasons. There's a few here:
www.theguardian.com/books/2017/sep/28/i-started-dry-retch...
And a magazine-style article in Narratively (which the book I presume grew from) here:
narratively.com/the-secret-life-of-a-crime-scene-cleaner/
But, honestly, read the book.
Sandra Pankhurst, the subject of the book (and above photo), is trans, and that's explored in great detail in the book, including the traumatic events of her life.
That's all actually a bit peripheral, but towards the end of the book there's some exploration by the author of shame and empathy and acceptance (yes! that word), which started me on this process.
But Sandra's life experiences have made her an incredibly empathetic and non-judgemental person, and that's obviously a huge part of just why she's so good at her particular job.
Just after I finished this book, I also had some communications with someone that made me reflect on some of these issues (shame, empathy, acceptance, etc).
This all started coming together, and made me think about how these things are kind of connected -- and that's where my validation & acceptance musings first came from (and I thought I'd start with that as a reasonably positive note, not that I intend getting too grim and depressing (I hope)).
So, in a very broad sense, this is where this is all coming from (for those who are interested).
Sorry – camera pr0n.
So I backed the Lomo'Instant Kickstarter campaign and this arrived a few weeks ago. I'm feeling mixed about it at the moment. It was a nice idea at the time, but I find myself saying, "But wait a minute..."
You know when a product doesn't feel quite right? Yeah – that. Has anybody else picked one of these up recently? I'd be interested to know what your own experiences are with this thing. I don't feel overly impressed with it.
I haven't been feeling too great lately. A mixture of isolation and general madness/sadness, possibly to do with my current work placement and some recent things happening both at home and at work that have been a mixture of distressing and unnecessarily stressful, &c., &c., and that has resulted in me not really picking up any camera that much. Or going out that much. The usual doom and gloom around this time, especially Christmas, ensues. I don't particularly enjoy it, and whilst I may have my health and all that, I find that I have little to be joyful about at this time of year, purely because humanity is going out of its way to make me retch (Christmas adverts, Black Friday in London – what the actual f...?!) and I may or may not have expressed the fact I didn't really want to be on this Earth any more. Though that's par for the course anyway. I am really tired – maybe it's the SAD. I don't know. But I've found human interaction really exhausting recently in situations where I'd usually be absolutely fine.
I am hoping the local churches or community centres will be taking "stuff" for Christmas – I have a storage unit full of things that I hoarded from my life before, and it will just take too long to put on eBay (plus I have about 3 people that haven't paid for stuff on eBay already – and it has been over a week since these people placed their winning bids – I may rant / blog about this later). It will be nice to get some of the nice things I do have that I never used and give them to people who will use them and find them a help.
Update: So I had a rant about eBay...
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"Horrible abominations. Cataloging them is impossible, as they are as chaotic as the wretched dimensional cesspit that retched them into our world. They do not even seem to follow any pattern of adaptation or evolution, they simply are, and prefer to make their environments suit them instead of the other way around."
Rigging issues solved. (Hopefully) Finally getting to make variants now. Here are a few of the many that will be available. I am particularly beholden to the fleshy one on the right side.
or Armeria maritima (sea pink) to give it it's posh name. I thought I'd throw a bit of bokeh *retch* in as well.
The newlyweds decided to move to the city of Zhenjiang and open an herb shop of their own. The shop was a great success, for Lady White could tell just what was wrong with a patient and just what compound to prescribe. What’s more, she showed great dedication in helping the sick, no matter how poor.
The two were supremely happy with their work and with each other. Adding to their joy, Lady White soon announced she was expecting a child.
One day when Lady White had gone off to rest, an old Buddhist monk entered the shop and spoke to Xu Xian. “I am Fahai, the abbot of Gold Mountain Temple,” he said. “I have come to warn you of a great danger. By my spiritual powers, I have discovered that your wife is a thousand-year-old snake. She hides her true nature for now, but one day she will surely turn on you and devour you.”
“How dare you say that!” said the young man. “It’s nothing but wicked slander!”
But Fahai told him, “Just make sure she drinks realgar wine for the Dragon Boat Festival. She’ll change back then to her true form, and you’ll see for yourself.”
Soon came the Dragon Boat Festival, when everyone drank wine mixed with foul-smelling realgar to drive away snakes. Knowing the danger to her kind, Lady White stayed in bed pretending to be ill. But Xu Xian called her out of the bedroom and said cheerily, “We mustn’t let the festival pass without sharing at least one cup of realgar wine!”
When his wife made excuses, he suddenly remembered Fahai’s warning and mentioned it as a joke. Lady White was horrified at this unexpected assault on their happiness. Afraid then to make her husband suspicious, and hoping by her powers to withstand the realgar, she drank one cup and then another.
Before she could drink a third, she began to retch. She quickly returned to the bedroom, while Xu Xian hurried out to prepare her some medicine. But when he came back with it, he found on the bed not his lovely wife but a huge white snake.The young man collapsed to the floor, where Blue found him moments later. “Sister,” she called, “wake up! Your husband has died of shock!”Lady White, again in human form, knelt by her husband and wept. Then she declared, “I will fly to Kunlun Mountain and steal a miracle mushroom from the gods. That and nothing else can bring him back to life.”Taking both her own sword and Blue’s, Lady White flew swiftly on a cloud all the way to holy Kunlun Mountain. But just as she came upon one of the miracle mushrooms, she was challenged by Brown Deer, a guard serving the gods. “I beg you,” said Lady White, “spare one mushroom to save my husband’s life.”“These mushrooms are not for mortals!” said Brown Deer.He struck at her with his sword, but she met it with her own. “Then forgive me if I take one anyway,” she said. And she fought back until she wounded him.Lady White picked the mushroom and turned to flee. But just then White Crane, another guard, joined the fight. Holding the mushroom in her mouth, and a sword in each hand, Lady White defended herself bravely. But she was no match for both guards together and was finally beaten to the ground.As White Crane raised his sword for a final blow, the Old Man of the South appeared and called a halt. “How dare you steal from us!” the god demanded of Lady White. But he could not help admiring her devotion to her husband. For that and the child she was expecting, he pardoned her and let her take the mushroom away.
Brad this and Brad that… it made Christine retch to think of that dweeb. Her childhood nemesis with his nasally voice and feathered hair had long annoyed her to tears, but he was her cousin’s best friend so she had to deal with his presence.
Or did she?
Every afternoon after school Christine toiled in the corner of her room, plotting how to make Brad’s life a living hell while gnashing her teeth. Yet whenever she scribbled down her plans her heart grew troubled.
It sank to her stomach.
It clashed against her ribs.
Almost as if she… cared.
What harm would come from stealing Brad's lunch money? Or setting the jacket to his favorite record ablaze? In her youth a schoolyard sandbox had been their battleground---what stopped her from burying him in the trenches? Even her cousin couldn’t decipher Christine’s rage, although Eric preferred reading issues of Playboy to girls' emotions.
But those answers and more await Christine should she ever be brave enough to read between her diary’s lines.
April 2015 Photo Challenge
ft. Christine ♥ MNF Rheia
Thje convulsions force me to my knees, retching into the undergrowth until I pass out from the pain
Visit this location at Studio Skye Creative Textures in Second Life
It's not mean to be a strife
It's not meant to be a struggle uphill
It's late night March 19th, 2012. I'm right amidst that feeling you get when unknown realms of your subconscious begin to decompress from a wild chapter of life coming to a close.
December 23rd I was out running in the morning with my brother and a friend. I don't remember the incident but I got hit by a car while jogging through a crosswalk in SW Portland. Apparently I flew about ten feet in the air and shortly after I was lying on the street my head in a puddle of blood. Folks at the scene were not sure if I was going to make it. 24 hours later I was sitting up in my hospital bed, heavily medicated but alive and well. Among many wonderful folks who came to visit me, one gal, who happened to be there to witness the event, came because she didn't believe that I was actually alive, much less that I only suffered a concussion, broken nose and a chipped tooth. The look in her eyes...I can't say I've ever felt anything quite like it, particularly from a stranger. She said she'd been having nightmares about what had happened to me. My brother, as well as other folks who were at the scene, told me the same thing. I was dumbfounded. To say that I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around the whirlwind of chaos and compassion that I had been thrown into would be an understatement.
Fast-forward to now, the last three months have been an emotional roller coaster filled with some joyous highs and gut-retching lows. It has been a time of great restoration and healing but also of great hardship. Taking the semester off from school afforded me the opportunity to stay busy and work closely on creative projects with my brother and my cousins for our band Charbonneau. Though this was a very good thing in the sense that it kept me from being idle, it was an untimely race to run due to the state of mind my concussion had put me in. I was told that what I was trying to do each day working on our music video was like trying to run a race with two broken legs. Ambition is a crazy thing. Succumbing to that voice in your head that says "you've got to strike while the iron is hot," when your mind is so broken that you struggle to put on a smile for the people you love, will lead you to dark places you never knew were inside of you. I suffered dearly. My family suffered for it. I thank God for forgiveness though, because without it being so graciously poured down on me every day, there's no telling how much bitterness and chaos would abound where there is now more love, more healing and more growth.
I'm praying to be in a generous mode
To share, to unfold in a generous way
Kodak Ultra Max 400
Canon FTB camera
Canon 50mm 1:1.4
. . . A Bite of Bonito
Unfortunately that is not true for all my felines. You see, when Gumbo eats bonito he vomits ALL the contents of his belly twenty to thirty minutes later. And I mean ALL. Yuck. And, unfortunately, Gumbo does not get the association. He LOVES bonito. It just doesn't love him. All it takes is one tiny flake of the stuff to produce violent retching. Additionally, apparently, Gumbo is not alone in his reaction. MoMo turns his nose up at the stuff, refuses to eat it. But he accidentally got some on my fingers when I gave him a different treat. Same delayed reaction as Gumbo! Sigh. At least MoMo avoids the stuff. But the rest of the crew love bonito. Just have to make sure the canines clean up every last bit on the floor so Gumbo doesn't sneak a taste. . .
[SOOC, f/1.4, ISO 100, shutter speed 1/400]
This was the 10th [tenth] motorcycle I owned, purchased circa 1989. This is not my bike but as close as it gets to the example I owned.
My bike was imported in to New Zealand from Queensland in Australia. It was originally owned by a Mr Colin R. Bruce, 146 Union Street, Spring Hill 4001, Brisbane.
The bike's owner's express warranty handbook provides the following details;
PRE-Delivery was at Queensland Bike World, Ipswich Rd, Marooka, date; 2/9/85.
Mechanic: M.S. Brown
The model: ZX 750 G2.
The bike had 2 more service checks at Queensland Bike World. 1. 20/9/85 at 800km/miles & 2. 18/2/86 at 4744km/miles.
Unfortunately on Friday April 27th 1990 at approximately 11.30pm I had my near-death motorcycle accident aboard it. I lost control of the bike after braking heavily at high speed for a right hand bend in the open road, fell, and slid across the road in to a farmer's paddock concrete fence post and instantly amputated my left leg at the knee. I was transferred to a local hospital fortunately within the 'golden hour'. More chance of surviving such an horrific traumatic accident. I had 12 hours of mainly exploratory surgery. My injuries were many and serious and my condition was listed as 'critical'. I had fractured my pelvis on the right side, had massive injury to my left buttock after sliding on tar seal in denim jeans. I had sustained several urological injuries, and a colostomy had been formed with my bowel.
My motorcycle was a write-off as it had chassis damage.
On the 4th day in the Intensive Care Unit I began fitting while in surgery and had developed renal failure. I was transferred to another hospital by ambo 200km east and placed on kidney dialysis. On the second evening in the Intensive Care Unit it was decided a hemipelvectomy operation be performed due to septicemia [blood poisoning] spreading from my remaining left leg stump. If the septicemia spread in to my body's vital organs I would die. So the remaining left leg stump was amputated including my hip joint and left side of my pelvis. It was a massive traumatic operation and I had my near-death experience during the operation. I could see myself from a distance [the ceiling of the surgical theater]. I also traveled through a tunnel at warp speed and met my maker on the other side. I was asked if I liked it there. I replied it was OK. I was then asked if I wanted to stay there or 'return'. I replied 'I'll return please'. I then again traveled at warp speed through a tunnel. I awoke after my operation and wondered what the F @ % & was going on.
I spent 3 weeks in the Intensive Care Unit trying to survive. My body was infused with the maximum dosage of morphine it could take as I was in so much pain. At times I was placed on a ventilator and thought I was Darth Farking Vader. I continually sweated profusely - remember the body's skin is like a car engine's radiator - so hack a piece of radiator off it and naturally the engine can't cool itself as well as if it had all the radiator. My hair began falling out. I experienced wild terrifying hallucinations. At one stage I believed one of my Intensive Care nurses was going to kill me - remember fear of dying is worse than really dying. I had little sleep, and dozed. For a long time I couldn't drink water - and believe me my thirst was greater than Jesus when he was in the desert. I couldn't eat. I was in hell. There was 2 ways out. 1. Death. 2. Life. I felt a presence of 'something' holding the rope I was at the bottom of clinging to. It was just not going to let me go. It was so strong. I began regaining strength. One day I was allowed to eat something. I chose a lettuce and Marmite sandwich. And a pottle of yogurt. Wow it was delicious!
I was transferred to Ward 4A near the nurses station. I couldn't sleep. I felt if I went to sleep at night I wouldn't wake up in the morning. I faked pain and was given 10mg of morphine in the morning around 6am. I slept for 2 hours. Upon waking I dry retched for 1/2 an hour. This regime continued until I began naturally falling asleep at night. I stopped asking for morphine. I was transferred to a room of 4 patients. I began communicating with other patients. I was placed on a 'Tilt Board' to get my body used to being upright again. One time I was assisted out of bed and in to a 'Walking Frame'. I began hopping on my one good right leg in the Walking Frame.
I was transferred to another 4 patient room where sunshine would come through the window curtains in the afternoon. I began being taken by stretcher and wheels on my back over to the Physio Swimming Pool where I was lowered in to the pool by tray on my back. I would be dipped in to the water and my body would then naturally roll off into beautiful warm water OH WOW! I would wade around in the warm water before returning to my hospital ward room and my primary nurse would make up a full 1 liter plastic jug of orange flavored cordial and I would devour it! This regime continued and it wasn't long before I began semi-swimming in the Physio Swimming Pool - remember as I was a very successful local athlete [road cycling, marathon runner/harrier, bi & triathlete] my body was used to exercise and a lot of it. But this was an entirely different sport - the sport of REHABILITATION.
See road cycling career info here: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/51988007800/in/album-7...
I was also taken across to the Otago/Southland Artificial Limb Center where I was cast and fitted with a hemipelvectomy prosthesis. However as I was so weak I found it very slow and frustrating learning to use the prosthesis. I was also issued a pair of crutches.
Read about how I put my crutches to good use here:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52067220563/in/album-7...
I spent a total of 101 days in hospital and hopped out with a prosthesis over my shoulder. My new life as a trauma hemipelvectomy was about to START.
The Southland Times newspaper article covering my accident:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52037881082/in/album-7...
At The Big Kart Track on the Sunshine Coast in Australia on my honeymoon in 2005:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403299991/in/album-7...
At Australia Zoo catching up with my old mate Skippy on my honeymoon in 2005: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403280721/in/album-7...
Meeting Australian V8 Supercars hero & super driver Rick Kelly here in Invercargill in 2013: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/24735165364/in/album-7...
Today is Friday, she pulled her stitch out, the others are loose. She's the first time I've see a female nauseas after surgery. She was dry retching a bit...she's not eating like she was before the surgery. I have to pet her and nurture her and then she eats a bit for me. My experience is usually they are starving and half doped they are gobbling their food...but not Geraldine...otherwise, she seems well and playful.
More photos in comments.
UPDATE 30thMarch: Vet looked at it, it's closed and no need to add the stitch back and she is free to play. By this afternoon it looked even better so I'm happy all is fine
This was the 10th [tenth] motorcycle I owned, purchased circa 1989. This is not my bike but as close as it gets to the example I owned.
My bike was imported in to New Zealand from Queensland in Australia. It was originally owned by a Mr Colin R. Bruce, 146 Union Street, Spring Hill 4001, Brisbane.
The bike's owner's express warranty handbook provides the following details;
PRE-Delivery was at Queensland Bike World, Ipswich Rd, Marooka, date; 2/9/85.
Mechanic: M.S. Brown
The model: ZX 750 G2.
The bike had 2 more service checks at Queensland Bike World. 1. 20/9/85 at 800km/miles & 2. 18/2/86 at 4744km/miles.
Unfortunately on Friday April 27th 1990 at approximately 11.30pm I had my near-death motorcycle accident aboard it. I lost control of the bike after braking heavily at high speed for a right hand bend in the open road, fell, and slid across the road in to a farmer's paddock concrete fence post and instantly amputated my left leg at the knee. I was transferred to a local hospital fortunately within the 'golden hour'. More chance of surviving such an horrific traumatic accident. I had 12 hours of mainly exploratory surgery. My injuries were many and serious and my condition was listed as 'critical'. I had fractured my pelvis on the right side, had massive injury to my left buttock after sliding on tar seal in denim jeans. I had sustained several urological injuries, and a colostomy had been formed with my bowel.
My motorcycle was a write-off as it had chassis damage.
On the 4th day in the Intensive Care Unit I began fitting while in surgery and had developed renal failure. I was transferred to another hospital by ambo 200km east and placed on kidney dialysis. On the second evening in the Intensive Care Unit it was decided a hemipelvectomy operation be performed due to septicemia [blood poisoning] spreading from my remaining left leg stump. If the septicemia spread in to my body's vital organs I would die. So the remaining left leg stump was amputated including my hip joint and left side of my pelvis. It was a massive traumatic operation and I had my near-death experience during the operation. I could see myself from a distance [the ceiling of the surgical theater]. I also traveled through a tunnel at warp speed and met my maker on the other side. I was asked if I liked it there. I replied it was OK. I was then asked if I wanted to stay there or 'return'. I replied 'I'll return please'. I then again traveled at warp speed through a tunnel. I awoke after my operation and wondered what the F @ % & was going on.
I spent 3 weeks in the Intensive Care Unit trying to survive. My body was infused with the maximum dosage of morphine it could take as I was in so much pain. At times I was placed on a ventilator and thought I was Darth Farking Vader. I continually sweated profusely - remember the body's skin is like a car engine's radiator - so hack a piece of radiator off it and naturally the engine can't cool itself as well as if it had all the radiator. My hair began falling out. I experienced wild terrifying hallucinations. At one stage I believed one of my Intensive Care nurses was going to kill me - remember fear of dying is worse than really dying. I had little sleep, and dozed. For a long time I couldn't drink water - and believe me my thirst was greater than Jesus when he was in the desert. I couldn't eat. I was in hell. There was 2 ways out. 1. Death. 2. Life. I felt a presence of 'something' holding the rope I was at the bottom of clinging to. It was just not going to let me go. It was so strong. I began regaining strength. One day I was allowed to eat something. I chose a lettuce and Marmite sandwich. And a pottle of yogurt. Wow it was delicious!
I was transferred to Ward 4A near the nurses station. I couldn't sleep. I felt if I went to sleep at night I wouldn't wake up in the morning. I faked pain and was given 10mg of morphine in the morning around 6am. I slept for 2 hours. Upon waking I dry retched for 1/2 an hour. This regime continued until I began naturally falling asleep at night. I stopped asking for morphine. I was transferred to a room of 4 patients. I began communicating with other patients. I was placed on a 'Tilt Board' to get my body used to being upright again. One time I was assisted out of bed and in to a 'Walking Frame'. I began hopping on my one good right leg in the Walking Frame.
I was transferred to another 4 patient room where sunshine would come through the window curtains in the afternoon. I began being taken by stretcher and wheels on my back over to the Physio Swimming Pool where I was lowered in to the pool by tray on my back. I would be dipped in to the water and my body would then naturally roll off into beautiful warm water OH WOW! I would wade around in the warm water before returning to my hospital ward room and my primary nurse would make up a full 1 liter plastic jug of orange flavored cordial and I would devour it! This regime continued and it wasn't long before I began semi-swimming in the Physio Swimming Pool - remember as I was a very successful local athlete [road cycling, marathon runner/harrier, bi & triathlete] my body was used to exercise and a lot of it. But this was an entirely different sport - the sport of REHABILITATION.
See road cycling career info here: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/51988007800/in/album-7...
I was also taken across to the Otago/Southland Artificial Limb Center where I was cast and fitted with a hemipelvectomy prosthesis. However as I was so weak I found it very slow and frustrating learning to use the prosthesis. I was also issued a pair of crutches.
Read about how I put my crutches to good use here:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52067220563/in/album-7...
I spent a total of 101 days in hospital and hopped out with a prosthesis over my shoulder. My new life as a trauma hemipelvectomy was about to START.
The Southland Times newspaper article covering my accident:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/52037881082/in/album-7...
At The Big Kart Track on the Sunshine Coast in Australia on my honeymoon in 2005:
www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403299991/in/album-7...
At Australia Zoo catching up with my old mate Skippy on my honeymoon in 2005: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/50403280721/in/album-7...
Meeting Australian V8 Supercars hero & super driver Rick Kelly here in Invercargill in 2013: www.flickr.com/photos/35707376@N00/24735165364/in/album-7...
A dirty little doodle which was greatly inspired by the great, and inspired Laura Park:
flickr.com/photos/featherbed/3129432768
She's so gawl-durn talented, she makes Eddy wanna "sell the Buick." Then again, Eddy's always looking for an excuse to "summon the Earl." It's a darn good thing Sir Pee likes his leftovers served al dente!
UPDATE: Johnny Ryan: flickr.com/photos/18176432@N00/3133978852
Jeremy Tinder: www.flickr.com/photos/jeremytinder/3170913715
John Martz: flickr.com/photos/robotjohnny/3173258550
I got invited to a photo pool on Flickr about dogs and this picture is on my desk so I thought I'd share it.
This is my dog Judd.
My mum bought him for me when I was about 12 as I had been a bit unwell, she thought he would cheer me up. Judd is a pedigree toy poodle however he was so confident when my mum went to pick him up as a puppy he bolstered right on over to her whilst his brothers and sisters shied away from her. Judd grew so big that the vet was sure he was a small miniature poodle!
We named him Judd because my mums Jack Russell Terrier when she was a little girl was called Judy - as small kids we romanticized Judy as we had never met her - she had died when my mum was young without kids. We (me, my brother and sister) always said if we ever got a dog we'd call it Judy but Judd came along and was a boy. Breakfast Club (the film) had just come out also and my 'rebellious' brother reckoned we called him Judd after the actor Judd Nelson, so everyone was happy.
More of a family dog than my own. We all love him. After an acrimonious divorce of my parents Judd went to live with my Dad. My dad was a salesman and took Judd everywhere with him in the car and I got him at weekends, my mum saw him occasionally but I had to mediate those visits. Judd didn't go to live with my mum as she bought a tiny flat that couldn't house dogs.
So I was 19 when they got divorced. Ella was born when I was 24 and I lived with my wife and Ella in a nice flat in North East London. My dad called me up one day and said Judd was not too well, off his food and when he was taken for walks just lay down after a few hundred yards. Dad felt Judd was getting on and was considering getting him put down (I prefer to called it 'killed' - but thats the phrase you tell your kids isn't it?) I said no way.
Of course we had to decide this big decision as a family. I was like Kofi Annan that week, I swear I could have got a job at the UN after the diplomacy that pulled off getting my Mum and Dad, my sister Georgina and me in the same room - our DNA creates a chemical reaction if we are all within a certain radius of each other - seriously, you could power the whole of London for 20 years if you could contain the energy.
We took Judd for a walk round the lake in Lloyd Park just down the road from my flat. Judd walked for a bit, wagging his tale running between us like a puppy each of us taking turns to walk with him but after a while he just laid down on the grass - I think we were about half way round the lake.
I scooped Judd up in to my arms and held him close, his little heart pounding against my chest. I carried him the rest of the way and talked to him. His eyes were squinting from the bright sunshine and for a few moments we were like a normal family out on a happy Sunday stroll in the Park.
We couldn't decide what to do, Judd just seemed tired and weak but not in any sort of pain. There was no way I could accept that we would hand him over to a vet to kill.
I carried Judd to my Dads car parked a little way down the road from my flat. My sister opened the passenger door on the left side of the car near the pavement and I lifted him on to his blanket. My sister leaned in to the car to kiss him goodbye but he started to retch. I don't want to recollect what happened in more detail but Judd died in my arms that day.
We all got to say goodbye as a family, as a pack. Its what Judd wanted.
Smart dogs poodles. I never cried so hard for so long in my whole damn life.
I have a ton of photos and sketches of my little brother Judd and I always intended to build a website as a memorial for him. Perhaps I will dig them out and share them with you on Flickr?
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.
We walk down the old main road, the old Great North Road, as was, now a quit pedestrianised street, leading steeply down underneath two of the 5 bridges that cross the river. More history down there; merchants houses, where wharfs unloaded good from around the world, and just beyond, the once busy river.
That was the tour, we thanked the guide, and she said that along the river we would find many places to have lunch. We walked on, coming to a modern glass and steel building, a posh eateries and bar: looking at the menu, we both decide burgers were in order. So we go in, take a table, order drinks and our meal and watch the people. It is graduation at the university, and many people are in gowns, joyful with their friends and families, out celebrating their degrees and awards.
Our burgers were good, as were the drinks; Jools has a margarita, which was OK, but strong. Once we finish, I leave Jools on a bench as I cross the blinking bridge to snap the views along the river.
As the rain falls again, we walk back up the hill to the castle: I buy a ticket and go straight to the roof of the keep to snap the trains. But no Flying Scotsmen or Deltics this day, just the usual class 91, now rebranded to Branson’s Virgin company.
I take shots anyway, but time is getting away from us. I worry that our tickets will not be valid between four and six, so en route to the station, we stop off at the cathedral, I rattle off a few shots and we press on.
Just missing one train back to Hexham, but another is due to leave before four, a minute before four in fact. So, I pace the platform, snapping the trains that were there, coming and going before our nodding donkey arrives.
The class 142 is a horrible train, loud, even more ratly than the one we rode in the morning. Jools manages to nod off, quite an achievement as we shake our way along the Tyne valley. Half an hour later we pull into Hexham, we get off, and walk to the car, just a 15 minute whiz up the road to the cottage.
Yesterday, we bought a couple of bird feeders and hung them on the washing line and a bush in the garden, and to our delight as we arrived, a half dozen birds were about, feeding well. As we went inside, the heavens opened, and so we looked out the windows as the rain ran down the roof and off the ends of the thatch. That put paid to another evening we hoped to be sitting in the garden watching the owls and bats flying.
The Castle, Newcastle is a medieval fortification in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, built on the site of the fortress which gave the City of Newcastle its name. The most prominent remaining structures on the site are the Castle Keep, the castle's main fortified stone tower, and the Black Gate, its fortified gatehouse.
Use of the site for defensive purposes dates from Roman times, when it housed a fort and settlement called Pons Aelius, guarding a bridge over the River Tyne. In 1080, a wooden motte and bailey style castle was built on the site of the Roman fort, which was the 'New Castle upon Tyne'. It was built by Robert Curthose, eldest son of William the Conqueror, having returned south from a campaign against Malcolm III of Scotland. The stone Castle Keep was built between 1172 and 1177 by Henry II on the site of Curthose's castle. The Black Gate was added between 1247 and 1250 by Henry III.
The site is in the centre of Newcastle, and lies to the east of Newcastle Central Station. The 75 feet (23 m) gap between the Keep and the Gatehouse is almost entirely filled by a railway viaduct, carrying the East Coast Main Line from Newcastle to Scotland. The Castle Keep and Black Gate pre-dated the construction of the Newcastle town wall, construction of which started sometime around 1265, and did not form part of it. Nothing remains of the Roman fort or the original motte and bailey castle. The Keep is a Grade I listed building, and a Scheduled Ancient Monument.
The Keep and Black Gate are now managed by the Old Newcastle Project under the Heart of the City Partnership as one combined visitor attraction, Newcastle Castle.
In the mid-2nd century, the Romans built the first bridge to cross the River Tyne at the place where Newcastle now stands. The bridge was called Pons Aelius or ‘Bridge of Aelius’, Aelius being the family name of Emperor Hadrian, who was responsible for the Roman wall built along Tyne-Solway Gap. The Romans built a fort to protect the river crossing which was at the foot of the Tyne Gorge. The fort was situated on rocky outcrop overlooking the new bridge.[1]
At some unknown time in the Anglo-Saxon age, the site of Newcastle came to be known as Monkchester. In the late 7th century, a cemetery was established on the site of the Roman castle.
In 1080, the Norman king, William I, sent his eldest son, Robert Curthose, north to defend the kingdom against the Scots. After his campaign, he moved to Monkchester and began the building of a ‘New Castle’. This was of the “motte-and-bailey” type of construction, a wooden tower on top of an earthen mound (motte), surrounded by a moat and wooden stockade (bailey).[2]
In 1095, the Earl of Northumbria, Robert de Mowbray, rose up against William Rufus and Rufus sent an army north to crush the revolt and to capture the castle. From then on the castle became crown property and was an important base from which the king could control the northern barons.
Not a trace of the tower or mound of the motte and bailey castle remains now. Henry II replaced it with a rectangular stone keep, which was built between 1172 and 1177 at a cost of £1,444. A stone bailey, in the form of a triangle, replaced the previous wooden one. The master mason or architect, Maurice, also built Dover Castle. The great outer gateway to the castle, called ‘the Black Gate’, was built later, between 1247 and 1250, in the reign of Henry III.[3]
Additional protection to the castle was provided late in the 13th century when stone walls were constructed, with towers, to enclose the town. Ironically, the safety provided by the town walls led to the neglect of the fabric of the castle. In 1589, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth the castle was described as being ruinous.[4] From the early 17th century onward, this situation was made worse by the construction of shops and houses on much of the site.
In 1643, during the English Civil War, the Royalist Mayor of Newcastle, Sir John Marley, repaired the keep and probably also refortified the castle. In 1644 the Scottish army crossed the border in support of the Parliamentarians and the Scottish troops besieged Newcastle for three months until the garrison surrendered. The town walls were extensively damaged and the final forces to surrender on 19 October 1644 did so from the Castle keep.[5]
During the 16th to the 18th century, the keep was used as a prison. By 1800, there were a large number of houses within the boundaries of the castle.
Annapurna Base Camp (-50m)
Nepal
This isn't a picture that I would print or sell but I took it more as a reminder of our remarkable night under the stars at 4100m. To cut a long story short, Marianne became a little unwell and needed moving in the middle of the night to this location. At the time, the full moon was lighting up the mountains so I used the "magic cloth" technique that another flickr user "Iceland Aurora" has described though no magic cloth, just my filter wallet over the top part of the image for all bar 10 seconds of the 70+ second exposure.
I wrote a blog earlier and this is the relavent section of the story:
"Dinner time came and all she could stomach was the soup of her vegetable noodles while I polished off everything put in front of me and the rest of her dinner. At bed time, in retrospect, I did notice that even getting things out of her sleeping bag and brushing her teeth resulted in shortness of breath but she no longer felt like vomiting. We went to bed in the cold room with damp clothes under us again. Some time in the middle of the night, I noticed Marianne get out of bed, presumably to visit the toilet. I fell back asleep and was woken by our assistant guide saying that ‘Santoshi’ (Marianne’s christened Nepali name for the trip) was not well. I jumped out of bed and found her a little short of breath, in tears and dry retching. Later, I found out that in that previous half an hour, she had arisen nauseated and tried to get help from the local staff who seemed to have been drinking and could not really understand that all she wanted was to discuss her condition with our group leader. By this time at midnight, it was pitch black, the weather unpredictable and MBC a good 2-3 hours away in the dark. We decided to see if we could go down a little way to discover at what altitude her symptoms woudl resolve. Altitude sickness is a strange condition and seems to have a very precise line for each individual as we had only walked down about 50m in altitude when Marianne started to feel better. The assistant guides brought some blankets down from the dining room and set up a bed atop a rock (ironically shaped like a bed) and together, we intended to sleep there overnight. The temperature had plummeted by now to below zero. Condensation from our body heat and breath frosted around us and on top of our sleeping bags. During the course of the next few hours, I got no sleep but more importantly, Marianne did. I made 5 trips back to ABC firstly to get our sleeping bags, 2 trips the rest of our gear down so that the group could move the next morning, 1 more for Marianne’s camera gear for the morning, and finally, one more trip back up to take dawn from the previous day’s vantage point knowing that Marianne was safe and well. During the night under the stars, the clouds cleared to reveal sights I can’t describe and which I hope the following photographs might give a sense of. Moonlit mountains, a myriad of stars, shifting clouds and pure darkness in the pure mountain air. Once Marianne was OK, I didn’t care that I was cold and sleepless – I would stay up just gawking in awe at this amazing scenery.