I just got a library card.
Your mom didn't show.
It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.
I'm all on some judge not shit.
Monday, 14 December 2009
Monday, 7 December 2009
Straight up and down, it's all good...
As I walked through the forest today (or crutched), during a short break in the rain that encompasses winter in Wales, I thought to myself how lucky I am to be alive. This is an interesting time in my life. I have basically nothing to my name. My soul possessions are 3 pairs of pants (trousers), 5 shirts, 5 pairs of underwear, 5 pairs of socks, an i-pod, a camera, a backpack and a few books. But I've come to realize that, as cliched as it may sound, happiness doesn't come in the form of material things.
As I walked along, listening to one of my favorite songs that reminds me of a very good friend of mine, it began to hail and rain very hard. Someone told me recently that I need to learn to appreciate the little things in life, and I've been working hard to do that. This was one of those moments that I had to appreciate. Even though I could only move at a very slow pace, and I was getting completely soaked, I had music in my earphones, the air smelled amazing, and I knew I had a warm, dry, and loving place to go back to.
I also know that despite all my faults, and whatever I may have done wrong in the past, I have a family that loves me, and a few good friends that truly care about me and would do just about anything for me. Not everyone has these things, and they are reasons to feel blessed.
This isn't to say I always feel happy and content, at times I feel very in limbo. I don't have a job or much of any way to make money, I have to leave the UK by April 5th and I don't know where I'm going yet, I'm recovering from a broken leg, amongst other things, and I don't have much of a plan. But I truly believe that everything will work out. The point is to enjoy life while it is happening, not always be looking and waiting for the next big thing. Lately, especially while I was in the hospital, I have been having these overwhelming feelings that I need to do something to help people who are less fortunate than me, and once I heal, that is what I intend to do. I'm not sure yet what that will be, or where it will take me, but I know in my heart I should stay away from America for awhile, and I'm sure I will end up in the right place.
My goals for the short term are to use my creativity positively, to help people in the small ways that I can, and to nurture the friendships that I have and hopefully develop some new ones. I have never been one to surround myself with too many people, but I believe it is important to have a few good friends.
For now, life isn't perfect, but it could be far worse, and I feel a new appreciation for the things I do have. I suppose the trick now is just to remember that...
Friday, 4 December 2009
Broken leg, hospitals, and all that good stuff, yeah all that good stuff.
This all began on a Saturday night about a month ago. For a week leading up to this I had been living an extremely healthy lifestyle. I had quit smoking, and was doing a detox diet that included no alcohol, and was eating very healthily. I had two options that night; stay home with my sister Rebecca and her boyfriend Paul and watch a movie, or go into town and meet up with my friends Emily and Phil, with the possibility of going to a big outdoor party that was being held in a field on a farm a little way outside of town. I was feeling extremely cooped up and decided to go into town.
So, in any event, I went to Emily and Phil's house and after some deliberation, and figuring out whether or not we could get a lift, we decided to go to the party. We met up with some other friends and after parking and walking about a half mile to the field, the party had begun. It was a sixtieth birthday party for a guy named John, and many people from Machynlleth had decided to come out, despite that it had been raining all day. But the weather cleared, and a festive spirit was in the air.
I was having a great time, having some drinks (my no-alcohol diet had been set aside for this night), chatting with some people I already new, and meeting some new faces. There were tents set up to keep people dry, although it didn't rain at all that night. There was a tent with rave-style music and lights, another tent with bales of hay set up for people to sit on, and a large bonfire for people to gather around and stay warm. Everything was going well, and then with one misstep, my world was turned upside down.
I was sitting under one of the tents on a bale of hay, talking with Phil and some others, and I stood up to make my way over to the bonfire. The ground beneath was a thick and sticky mud. I took only a couple of steps from where I had been sitting and my feet were suddenly coming out from under me. My left foot started sliding away, and my right foot became rooted in the mud. I fell hard to my right and heard a loud snapping noise. Down I went, into the muck. Several hands quickly grabbed me by the shoulders and arms and pulled me up and sat me back down on a hay bale. The pain was immediate and intense, although certainly not as bad as it would have been without the drinks that I'd had. I'm sure I was in shock at this point, but a misplaced positivity refused to let me believe that this injury was anything worse than a badly sprained ankle. Little did I know.
After a few minutes I decided to try to stand up and test my leg. I put some weight on it and immediately fell face down back into the mud. Not my most shining of moments, I have to say. I was helped back up again and after calmly convincing (perhaps too calmly) everyone that I'd come with that I was badly hurt and couldn't walk, we began the long descent back down to the car. With the help of Emily, Babs, Phil, and Julian, in the cases of Emily and Babs, supporting me as I limped down the hill, and finally Phil and Julian carrying me on their backs, we made it back to the car and drove back to Emily and Phil's house. We decided all to go to bed and see how my leg was in the morning.
After a night of fitful sleep I awoke and realized that my leg and foot had swollen to about four times their normal size. Emily came down and looked at my leg and was quite certain that it was broken. I was still refusing to fully accept this, but deep down I think I knew that it was. I called my sister Bec and told her what had happened, and asked her to come and pick me up and take me to the emergency room, which she did. The closest emergency room open on a Sunday was in Aberystwith, about a 30 minute drive away.
So, to make a long story short, I was x-rayed and it was determined that I had fractured my tibia and fibula, the tibia having been cleanly snapped into two pieces. What I had originally thought would be a day long visit to the hospital began to unfold into something much longer. I was taken to the orthopedic ward of the Bronglais Hospital, called "Llewelyn" and waited for the doctors to come and speak to me. I was told that my leg was much too swollen to operate on at this point, and that I would have to wait for the swelling to go down before I could go to "theatre", or in other words, the operating room. I was told it could be as long as five days, an amount of time that at that point seemed insurmountable. It ended up being much longer than that.
The next day my leg was put into traction, using a weight and pulley system. The point of this was to keep the bone from beginning to fuse itself together naturally, as well as to take pressure off of the injury. I had a pin surgically inserted into my heel, all the way through the bone there and out the other side. As counter intuitive as this sounds, it did take away some of the pain, and made me feel much more comfortable. This is how I would stay for 14 days, eating, bathing, and everything else, in a hospital bed. Everything that went on, the characters that I met, the things that I witnessed, are the subject for another post, but needless to say, it was an all at once interesting, trying, and boring time.
I cannot express in words the love and appreciation I feel towards Bec for everything that she did for me during this time. She took four hours out of her day, nearly every day, to come and visit me. She made sure that I had plenty of dvd's, books, music, snacks, and sweets, to keep my time occupied. Knowing that either Bec or Emily would be coming to see me in the evening gave me something to look forward to, and just being able to spend a couple of hours with people that I love made me feel more normal. I am also very grateful to Emily, who came to see me several times, making sure she came on the couple of days when Bec couldn't, and who brought me small things that made the time go by so much easier.
I also feel lucky to have been able to have a few long phone conversations with my best friend Paula, back in America, whose shared love of foul and politically incorrect humor got me through a couple of very rough days. And knowing that I could call my sister Tiny anytime for a few words of encouragement meant the world to me.
So, finally, after 14 days in traction, the swelling had finally gone down enough to have surgery, and have my broken tibia repaired. After a two and a half hour operation, which was graphically described to me by a student nurse who witnessed it, I had six inch long by 2 inch wide metal plate inserted into my leg, held to the bone with 12 screws. This metal plate will be with me for the rest of my life.
My doctor "Mr. Omar" (in this country 'Mr.' conotates a specialist, and is a higher achievement than simply Dr.), has told me that I will be on crutches for two months. It's only been a week since I've gotten out of the hospital, and already things have improved greatly. The pain is mostly gone, although I do feel a strange twinge at times in the bone that was broken. I have figured out how to do most things for myself, like bring in wood for the fire, and make my food and get it up the stairs to the living room where we eat. That being said, I am still greatly dependant on Bec, and will be for some time. Once again, I'm lucky to have her.
I plan to use this time of recovery to write, read, practice the guitar, listen to music, do some volunteer work for CAT, and watch a lot of movies. I think many people would love to have the opportunity to take time off and do these things, so I'm going to try to make the most of it. It's not going to be easy, but when things get hard I will try to keep in mind the words of my new friend Monika, who said to me:
"I believe you are coping very well with everything that has been thrown at you so unexpectedly, however if you happen to have a worse moment or a bad day, when you may feel weak and drained, bored or, shall I say, stuck, or if perhaps, things that one takes for granted, become a bit difficult to do or to deal with, keep negative thoughts at bay and most of all, don't give up.Only this year have I realised that life is not about hopeful thinking,but about not giving up, no matter what. Afterwards, the sense of pride is just marvellous, the pride of a fighter and a survivor, two in one."
I think these are very wise words, and those of you that know me well know that I have been through harder things than this. All I can do is press forward and try to come up with a plan for the beginning of the rest of my life. In some ways I feel like I have a clean slate, and am very blessed. In the words of Tom Petty "It's time to move on, it's time to get going, what lies ahead I have no way of knowing."
So, in any event, I went to Emily and Phil's house and after some deliberation, and figuring out whether or not we could get a lift, we decided to go to the party. We met up with some other friends and after parking and walking about a half mile to the field, the party had begun. It was a sixtieth birthday party for a guy named John, and many people from Machynlleth had decided to come out, despite that it had been raining all day. But the weather cleared, and a festive spirit was in the air.
I was having a great time, having some drinks (my no-alcohol diet had been set aside for this night), chatting with some people I already new, and meeting some new faces. There were tents set up to keep people dry, although it didn't rain at all that night. There was a tent with rave-style music and lights, another tent with bales of hay set up for people to sit on, and a large bonfire for people to gather around and stay warm. Everything was going well, and then with one misstep, my world was turned upside down.
I was sitting under one of the tents on a bale of hay, talking with Phil and some others, and I stood up to make my way over to the bonfire. The ground beneath was a thick and sticky mud. I took only a couple of steps from where I had been sitting and my feet were suddenly coming out from under me. My left foot started sliding away, and my right foot became rooted in the mud. I fell hard to my right and heard a loud snapping noise. Down I went, into the muck. Several hands quickly grabbed me by the shoulders and arms and pulled me up and sat me back down on a hay bale. The pain was immediate and intense, although certainly not as bad as it would have been without the drinks that I'd had. I'm sure I was in shock at this point, but a misplaced positivity refused to let me believe that this injury was anything worse than a badly sprained ankle. Little did I know.
After a few minutes I decided to try to stand up and test my leg. I put some weight on it and immediately fell face down back into the mud. Not my most shining of moments, I have to say. I was helped back up again and after calmly convincing (perhaps too calmly) everyone that I'd come with that I was badly hurt and couldn't walk, we began the long descent back down to the car. With the help of Emily, Babs, Phil, and Julian, in the cases of Emily and Babs, supporting me as I limped down the hill, and finally Phil and Julian carrying me on their backs, we made it back to the car and drove back to Emily and Phil's house. We decided all to go to bed and see how my leg was in the morning.
After a night of fitful sleep I awoke and realized that my leg and foot had swollen to about four times their normal size. Emily came down and looked at my leg and was quite certain that it was broken. I was still refusing to fully accept this, but deep down I think I knew that it was. I called my sister Bec and told her what had happened, and asked her to come and pick me up and take me to the emergency room, which she did. The closest emergency room open on a Sunday was in Aberystwith, about a 30 minute drive away.
So, to make a long story short, I was x-rayed and it was determined that I had fractured my tibia and fibula, the tibia having been cleanly snapped into two pieces. What I had originally thought would be a day long visit to the hospital began to unfold into something much longer. I was taken to the orthopedic ward of the Bronglais Hospital, called "Llewelyn" and waited for the doctors to come and speak to me. I was told that my leg was much too swollen to operate on at this point, and that I would have to wait for the swelling to go down before I could go to "theatre", or in other words, the operating room. I was told it could be as long as five days, an amount of time that at that point seemed insurmountable. It ended up being much longer than that.
The next day my leg was put into traction, using a weight and pulley system. The point of this was to keep the bone from beginning to fuse itself together naturally, as well as to take pressure off of the injury. I had a pin surgically inserted into my heel, all the way through the bone there and out the other side. As counter intuitive as this sounds, it did take away some of the pain, and made me feel much more comfortable. This is how I would stay for 14 days, eating, bathing, and everything else, in a hospital bed. Everything that went on, the characters that I met, the things that I witnessed, are the subject for another post, but needless to say, it was an all at once interesting, trying, and boring time.
I cannot express in words the love and appreciation I feel towards Bec for everything that she did for me during this time. She took four hours out of her day, nearly every day, to come and visit me. She made sure that I had plenty of dvd's, books, music, snacks, and sweets, to keep my time occupied. Knowing that either Bec or Emily would be coming to see me in the evening gave me something to look forward to, and just being able to spend a couple of hours with people that I love made me feel more normal. I am also very grateful to Emily, who came to see me several times, making sure she came on the couple of days when Bec couldn't, and who brought me small things that made the time go by so much easier.
I also feel lucky to have been able to have a few long phone conversations with my best friend Paula, back in America, whose shared love of foul and politically incorrect humor got me through a couple of very rough days. And knowing that I could call my sister Tiny anytime for a few words of encouragement meant the world to me.
So, finally, after 14 days in traction, the swelling had finally gone down enough to have surgery, and have my broken tibia repaired. After a two and a half hour operation, which was graphically described to me by a student nurse who witnessed it, I had six inch long by 2 inch wide metal plate inserted into my leg, held to the bone with 12 screws. This metal plate will be with me for the rest of my life.
My doctor "Mr. Omar" (in this country 'Mr.' conotates a specialist, and is a higher achievement than simply Dr.), has told me that I will be on crutches for two months. It's only been a week since I've gotten out of the hospital, and already things have improved greatly. The pain is mostly gone, although I do feel a strange twinge at times in the bone that was broken. I have figured out how to do most things for myself, like bring in wood for the fire, and make my food and get it up the stairs to the living room where we eat. That being said, I am still greatly dependant on Bec, and will be for some time. Once again, I'm lucky to have her.
I plan to use this time of recovery to write, read, practice the guitar, listen to music, do some volunteer work for CAT, and watch a lot of movies. I think many people would love to have the opportunity to take time off and do these things, so I'm going to try to make the most of it. It's not going to be easy, but when things get hard I will try to keep in mind the words of my new friend Monika, who said to me:
"I believe you are coping very well with everything that has been thrown at you so unexpectedly, however if you happen to have a worse moment or a bad day, when you may feel weak and drained, bored or, shall I say, stuck, or if perhaps, things that one takes for granted, become a bit difficult to do or to deal with, keep negative thoughts at bay and most of all, don't give up.Only this year have I realised that life is not about hopeful thinking,but about not giving up, no matter what. Afterwards, the sense of pride is just marvellous, the pride of a fighter and a survivor, two in one."
I think these are very wise words, and those of you that know me well know that I have been through harder things than this. All I can do is press forward and try to come up with a plan for the beginning of the rest of my life. In some ways I feel like I have a clean slate, and am very blessed. In the words of Tom Petty "It's time to move on, it's time to get going, what lies ahead I have no way of knowing."
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