Dreams, studies, and waiting to shed the crutches

The day is fast approaching when I go back to hospital for an x-ray to find out if my bone has knitted enough for me to put weight on it again.  It’s been nearly two months since I had the accident now, and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to start walking around again sooner rather than later.  I don’t want to get my hopes up too much, as I’ve been warned that breaks that have been patched up with as much metal as mine can take longer to heal as blood flow to the area can be restricted by all the screws.  I’ve been taking fish oil tablets (found in a cupboard in the kitchen, and only slightly out of date…but can fish oil really go off??), thus hopefully improving my blood flow with the omega-3, as well as calcium tablets for obvious reasons.  And garlic, because I like it.  Admittedly I’ve been very bold about doing the exercises I was given for my leg and ankle since I was discharged from hospital.  It’s only just occurred to me that this would probably be the most effective way of increasing the blood going to the leg.  I’ll have to get back to them, starting today.

For the past week or so I’ve been having dreams relating to my situation.  Usually I’m dreaming about something not linked to my injury (at least not perceptibly, but then again I’m no analyst) and I suddenly become aware of the fact that I’m walking unaided, and I turn around to see that I’ve left my crutches leaning against the wall, and I go and collect them, but I’m confident that the leg is all better.  However, twice last night I dreamt that I was on my crutches, and for some reason I accidentally put weight on my leg.  There was no pain, so I think to myself, ‘Phew, my bone must have set, that was lucky,’ before I looked down saw that the foot was at an odd angle and that the bone is perceptibly pushing up under the skin.  Mildly disturbing, although I don’t remember being too upset in the dream.  In fact, the second time I remember it didn’t look too bad, so I think I shrugged and thought that it’d probably be alright. 

In other news, I’ve had big plans about improving myself while I’m off the leg and hanging around the house.  The main thing that I’ve been trying to do is study Japanese, seeing as I decided to buy An Integrated Course in Elementary Japanese from a friend in Niseko.  I find the book really good, but I’m not sure if I’m only doing well at the moment because I already know a lot of the material covered in each chapter (so far – I’m only at chapter 4) and so I can focus on grammar points, and a few new words, instead of having to learn all the vocab as well as the hiragana and katakana alphabets on top of everything else.  We’ll see how I get on as the material gets a little bit more challenging.

I’ve also been trying to learn the kanji (the Chinese characters used in Japanese along with the other two alphabets) which has been tougher, and less stimulating.  I’ve been trying to learn them using the Heisig Method But I’ll try to keep it going.

The problem is I’ve always been pretty bad when it comes to sitting down and focusing on one thing, and I manage to find distractions very easily.  Been threatening to make a schedule, which, if memory serves I also promised to do when I was doing my Leaving Cert.  And possibly for uni as well.  Never happened though.

Furthermore, as if I don’t find it easy enough to get distracted already, the long-awaited technology necessary to allow us broadband access has finally made its way to our corner of the country, so while I was one of the first to complain about how slow our connection was before, it kept me off the computer for considerable lengths of time, and the lack of wireless access meant that I couldn’t connect from anywhere in the house.  Concentration has become even more of an issue.

If I can at some stage remain focused on this voyage of self improvement, also on the list of things that I want to learn or become some way good at are a few other languages:

• Greek
• Spanish
• Irish

On top of that there are a few other things that I’d be interested in picking up:

• Typing with only my left hand
• Typing with only my right hand
• Meditation
• Not procrastinating (I'm saving that one till last)

Now, obviously there is plenty on this list to keep me going well after I’m back on my feet but it’s good to have enough to keep you going.  The one-handed typing is something I’ve wanted to get down since a scene in the villain in a Bond film (internet research tells me it was Tomorrow Never Dies) was holding his keyboard in one hand, while his fingers danced across the keyboard.  I only really appreciate how useful this skill would be when I was travelling and spending a lot of my time standing on streets and in parks or outside McDonalds, swiping internet and trying to write emails while holding the computer in one hand. This is when I didn’t have my mobile office on the go (pictured, in case your forgot it).

Finally I am considering continuing with the blogging, but I'll probably start under a new heading soon enough, as soon I can think of something clever to call it.  I still don't like the name of this one.

Home at last

Finally home after over three weeks in hospital, although I was beginning to think I’d never make it.

To begin with I had been told that I’d be cleared for flying home after Thursday the 19^th May, exactly two weeks after my operation (the two week wait being to hopefully reduce the risk of blood clots and DVT on the thirteen hour flight home).  I had informed the insurance company of this, and had been assured that they’d be calling me on the day to confirm that I was good to go, after which they’d get cracking on booking flights for me.   But as Thursday morning became Thursday afternoon, which in turn progressed to Thursday evening I still hadn’t heard anything.  So at about 10pm I decided to call them, and was told by Patrick, their travel nurse, that they’d tried several times to call me during the day, and that the one time they’d actually got through, the phone rang out (presumably during one of my two hour-long physio sessions).  However, I was assured that now they’d heard from me they’d start the ball rolling on getting me home.  I was told that once they found flights they’d call me back to verify that I would be able to take them.

Now, while I was well looked after in the hospital, and I had no shortage of visitors, I was starting to get a little bit stir crazy.  I was happy enough to wait around for the two weeks until the 19^th, because that was the date I’d been given to begin with (in my head, I think, this date had also become the day I was flying home), but after that I couldn’t handle sitting around with no idea when I’d be getting out.  I was starting to freak out a little bit and I told Patrick as much.  He told me that if they couldn’t get me out the following day he’d make a note that I should be moved to a hotel while I waited until they managed to get me on a plane.

The next day I waited once again for most of the day, anxious to get back to my room after physio so as not to miss any calls.  But once again none came, and I came to realise that I’d be spending at least one more night in the hospital.  Eventually I called them again.  It turned out that the number they’d been using to get through to me was the hospital’s old number, which is probably where the trouble came from, although I still don’t understand how they got through to me sometimes and not others.  They still hadn’t got anything definite for me, but they told me they’d get back to me the following day, Saturday, which they did.  I confirmed that I’d be able to travel on the flights they’d found from KL to Heathrow, and then Heathrow to Shannon, flying out business class with Malaysian Airways on the Sunday at 21:00.  I was officially leaving.

After I’d paid up some outstanding bills at the hospital that the insurance hadn’t covered (just over €100 of non-medical expenses – which included my crutches – not much considering that I’d spent three weeks there receiving treatment and surgery) and packed my gear I was helped downstairs and into the taxi to the airport.  The driver was a nice guy, and at other times I might have been interested in whatever it was he was talking about, as he gave me information about areas we were driving past, but I wasn’t in the mood for it.  He helped me into the airport with my stuff and from check in on I was pushed wherever I wanted to go in a wheelchair by the airport staff.

Long story short, my flight from KL was delayed by two hours initially, but it didn’t bother me all that much because I was quite comfortable in the business lounge, making the most of the complimentary food and wine, and I was confident that I’d still make my connecting flight (although it might mean that the staff in Heathrow would have to push the chair a bit faster).  However, after boarding the flight we were sitting on the runway for another hour before take-off.  Have to say I was looking forward to experiencing travel in business class for my first time, and it must be said that the seats were comfy with a range of different settings which would have the seat reclining to different extents at the touch of a button.  Of course these only work when the plane is in the sky, and so while we waited for the plane to get going the seat remained in the fully upright position, which is fine for the fifteen minutes it usually takes to get into the air, but much longer than that and it gets pretty uncomfortable, pretty fast.

I’d also looked forward to the in-flight entertainment, as when I’d flown out of Japan with Cathay Pacific I was delighted with the range of decent shows and movies I could watch – so many in fact that I was kept busy for nearly six hours of flying time.  I could only imagine that a business class journey would offer a wider range of media, regardless of the fact that it was a different airline.  Perhaps I flew home in a trough in the standard of cinematic releases, but I was left uninspired by the choices presented to me.  On selecting The Green Hornet (2011) a message on the screen informed me that the film had been edited to suit a Muslim audience, some lines had been dubbed over, and scenes deemed inappropriate were omitted altogether.  This meant that about five minutes into the film Christoph Waltz’s character is told to, “…kiss my ear.   Put your lips to my ear and kiss it.”   I don’t know who decided that ‘ear’ would be a suitable substitute for ‘ass’ in this context, but the film did make for more entertaining viewing for this alone.  As for any excluded scenes, anything that made the film shorter was fine by me.  In the end, the highlight of my viewing experience was the two episodes of Glee that I found (Yogi Bear certainly didn’t make my top ten movies of the year, either).

Landed in Heathrow to discover that my Aerlingus flight was boarding in ten minutes and that no matter how fast my girl pushed my chair we weren’t going to be able to collect my bags, get to Terminal One, check them in again for the next flight and make it through security before they took off.  So I had to try and get back onto my insurance people and get them to book me on the next flight to Shannon, as the girls at the desk needed me to cough up £60 if I wanted to do it myself.  Eventually we got through the whole thing, and all I had to do was wait for another six hours.  A couple I met in the bar told me that they’d spotted Jedward walking through the airport earlier, no doubt flying home so they could sing for Barack “Barry” Obama during his visit to Ireland and, more specifically, Moneygall.  Gutted I missed them.

The flight home boarded on time, but then we had to wait another uncomfortable hour while they changed a tyre on the plane.  The air industry seemed to want to make me suffer.

I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when I saw Ireland again for the first time in a year, but as we started descending through the scattered clouds I was surprised at the scenery that I hadn’t even realised I’d been missing.  I even took pictures of the fields and hills, which I haven’t even looked at since.  I'd include them here, but I think they'd complicate things immensely with my internet connection the way it is at the moment.

My parents met me at the airport and brought me home, and that’s more or less where I’ve been for the last three weeks.  I’ll be heading back into the hospital in a week’s time to find out if the bone has knitted, and if it has then I’ll be able to start putting weight on it.  Fingers crossed.

That should be plenty for now, but there'll be more, promise!

Trouble on the moving stairs and other exploits

Right, now once again for the news in brief.

First of all, my sister left on Sunday after enjoying much of her week’s break from working in a hospital in Singapore…in a completely different hospital, which I’m sure was thrilling for her.  Luckily a few of my visitors from CS brought her around to see the city a bit, and she finally decided to join the CouchSurfing community, and on Friday joined a group trip to some nearby waterfalls, so it wasn't a total waste.

I have still been getting visited fairly regularly by couchsurfers since then, and I’m still getting new faces in. Last time I posted I was heading out to dinner for the first time since the op, and I’m glad to say it went very well, although by the end of it my leg was getting pretty tired as the protective boot I wear can get a bit uncomfortable after a while.  I’ve been out of the hospital a few times since, but can only really hit shopping malls because the streets are ridiculous – the good ones are crowded, and the bad ones require careful vigilance for gaps opening into the sewers, uneven ground, lack of footpaths and other various obstacles that can catch out the unwary crutch-handler.  I lost control of the crutches the first day, when they slipped from under my arms and I ended up putting my weight on the bad leg, which gave me more of a fright than causing any pain, but since then I've taken to taxi-ing around.  My first attempt at mounting the up-escalator was also a bit frightening, but I've gotten the hang of that now aswell.  It's all about timing and getting the good foot on one step, instead of half way between two of them, so when the panels start coming up you don't start falling backwards (which is especially likely to happen when your under-arm crutches are on the upper step as well).  A concerned friend has enquired whether the physio had actually taught me how to use the crutches, and I assured her that he had, but a normal staircase is a completely different kettle of fish from an escalator (of which the hospital has none) and thus training has to be done in the field, in my case while my sister watched in horror as I teetered backwards before grabbing the railing and stepping back once again on my bad leg.  I also tend to skip some of the steps that I was shown for standing up (out of bed, off chairs, etc.), instead of taking both the crutches on my injured side and using them to support myself as with the other hand I push myself up off the bed, before transferring one crutch to my other side putting both under my arms and being on my way, I choose to hop from my bed onto my good leg, pull my crutches from where they rest against the wall shove them under my arms and take off.  It is a much faster and convenient method of doing things, but it does upset the nurses and physios considerably when they see me doing it, but I'm sure they'll get used to it.

In other news, I've gotten through nearly all seven seasons of The Office US, seen a few films that I'd been meaning to get through (namely Terminator Two - Judgement Day and Blade Runner the latter of which was referenced at least once in every lecture of my Science Fiction module in fourth year - verdict: it was alright, but not sure I understand the hype)  Also saw Boy, a kiwi movie that I'd been told about while in Niseko.  I enjoyed it a lot, although it was possibly down to the ridiculous way they pronounce things. By the way if any of you haven't seen the Beached As clip, now's the time.

Further newsworthy events include the fact that I’m getting alternate stitches out tomorrow, and the remainder out on Thursday, and after that I should be ready to fly as it will be exactly two weeks after my op and thus I'll be at less risk of falling victim to the dangers of DVT on the long flight home.  The insurance company is paying for me to go business class (score), but they seem loathe to book the flights until I've actually got the all clear.  Which is fair enough I suppose.  I'm not going to whinge about it, anyway.  But anyway, this means that I should be on terra Hirenses (I think that might be right) within the week. 

Now all I have to do is try to meet up with the people that have visited me once more before I leave, if at all possible.  It’s going to be a busy few days, but it keeps things interesting.

On the mend

Despite the abundance of time I’ve had on my hands for the past few weeks I’ve been finding it difficult to motivate myself to write anything much, but here’s the rundown.

At 9am on Thursday morning, I was rolled into the elevator and brought down to level one for the big operation.   I know this is going to sound bad, but an observation I have made is that, for some reason, level one is where they place a lot of their better looking staff.  I mean this as no slight to the ladies I see every day up here, who are lovely, and treat me very well.  Maybe it’s because there’re a lot more people down there which increases the odds.  I don’t know.

Anyway, came to after the op at around noon, a little bit disoriented, with a burning pain in my leg.  I actually still thought I was waiting to go in until the nurse gave me a funny look and told me that I’d already had the operation.  I was brought back up to my ward and spent most of the day drifting in an out of sleep.  Didn’t really fancy my meals all that much and although the hospital food hadn’t seemed too bad before, even now, a week on, I’m finding it difficult to get back to demolishing it like I did last week.

The following day I was taken down to level one again to get my x-ray to see how the leg looked now it had been stuck back together, and an ultra sound to make sure I didn’t have any blood clots from lying around in bed most of the time (all clear).  The doctor came up with the x-ray later on and I was surprised at how much metal there was in there.  It looked a bit like my dad’s toolbox.  Twenty-four bolts in there.  I’m going to see if I can stick fridge magnets to it.

Anyway, since then I’ve had daily visits from the doctor, and the physio who trained me in the use of crutches and has given me exercises which I try to do on a regular basis.  I haven’t quite been doing them every hour, like he suggested, but on the other hand, I do manage more than the minimum of three times daily as well.  In fact, it’s not even midday yet, and I’ve already got three of them down. 

Yesterday, when they were changing my dressing I got to see how many stitches I got after my surgery.  Thirty-three.  I did take pics, but I’m not going to post those as they are a bit unpleasant to behold.

It was my birthday on Saturday, and also the day that my sis made it up from Singapore.  Additionally, being the weekend it was the day that many of the local CSers that had responded to my post in the KL group could come and see me.  So I spent the day with visitors coming and going, which was really good fun.   I was exhausted by the end of it, though.

On Monday, all the staff from this level came in to my room with a birthday cake and sang me Happy Birthday.  Obviously I was surprised, as it was no longer my birthday, and I wasn’t expecting anything from the hospital in any case.  The doctor had pointed out one of my birthday cards on my bedside locker earlier and asked me about it, so I think they must have rallied the troops together then.  A nice thought, and I tried to get a slice of cake to everyone, but there was a lot left over.

After that I think I’m out of news, except for the fact that I’m going to venture out of hospital for dinner this evening with my sister and some of the CSers that have been stopping by to see me here.  It’s going to be my first outing since the incident, so obviously I’m excited!  I’ll let you know how it goes

.

Day one

Playing the waiting game for an operation.

Progress

On Sunday morning I woke up to find that the cuts on my leg had bled during the night and come through the dressing.  It looked a lot worse than it actually was, but they still had to change the dressings and to do so they also needed to take off the cast that I’d been wearing since I got to the hospital on Thursday, an uncomfortable process.

As they were redressing the damaged skin I asked them if I’d be getting some sort of pain killer before they put a new cast back on, because I remembered that as being quite a painful process.  ‘Oh yes’, they said.

Soon after, the medical evacuation doctor came and introduced himself, and we discussed how we were going to get to KL, whether or not I could bend my right knee, an inability to do so making the flight difficult, but not impossible, he assured me.  I was sure I could bend it if my cast didn’t extend to just above my knee, so when they were fitting me with more plaster the guys made the necessary adjustments.  Of course…they did forget to give me any pain killers in the end, so having them pull my foot out to straighten up my leg was tremendous fun.  In the ambulance on the way to the airport, my evacuation doc told me how annoyed he was that they hadn’t given me anything, and that he wasn’t able to say anything at the time because people get huffy if you start telling them what to do in their own hospital.  He was a good guy.

Flew business class to KL, and on the flight the doc told me that my break would be pretty straight forward to fix up, because I had broken nice straight bones (fibula and tibula) and not any of the tricky intricate bones of the ankle.  I counted my blessings once again that my sandals had broken and I’d been wearing my shoes when the bike landed on my foot (oh, and remember how I’d asked them not to cut my good sock when they were examining me on the first day?  Well when I was trying to get everyone to help me pack to leave the hospital we could only find one of them.  And that one had a big hole in it that I hadn’t noticed from the crash).  He reckoned that they’d either operate that evening or the following day.

When we finally made it to the hospital, however the doctor had another look at my leg (cast off again, but they gave me some painkillers this time before putting another one on) and said that because there were abrasions over the fracture that could potentially have goodness knows what bacteria in them, he felt that they would not be able to operate for two to three weeks, to avoid the risk of getting bacteria into the leg during an operation.  I was then shown up to my ward, a private room with internet and a TV.  A far cry from the place I’d been on the island, which, although I said it was clean, had a fair share of geckos running along the walls.

The following day, the doctor looked at my leg and said they could operate in five days or so, which was a good improvement on two weeks.  Next day, yesterday, I was told two or three days!  And so today I’ve been told I’ll be operated on at nine tomorrow morning, which is exciting news.

It’ll be at least two weeks before I’ll be able to take a long distance flight back to Ireland, if indeed that’s what I decide to do, although I can’t imagine too many other options at the moment, as I will be pretty restricted in my movements henceforth.  I don’t fancy lugging around a backpack the size of mine with only one leg and some crutches.  It would be asking for trouble, I think.

Have had several visitors through CouchSurfing, who have helped to keep me entertained for the last few days.  Also my sister will be arriving on either Friday or Saturday to visit me out here, instead of meeting in Thailand as we’d originally planned.  Possibly a poor second choice to getting some more scuba diving in, but the best laid plans…(I’m not sure how that saying ends, it’s usually left hanging , isn’t it, but I’m sure there’s more to it).

In other news, I’ve discovered that the cardboard jugs that they give you to pee into are not designed to hold urine for an extended period of time.

Time to sleep, big day tomorrow, wish me luck.

A Weekend in Paris

On Wednesday morning as I was sitting on the pavement outside a restaurant using their unprotected internet (posting the last blog entry, as it happens), I was approached by a girl who smilingly asked if the internet signal was good.  I looked up, surprised by the accent and inquired where she was from.  Derry, no less.  Sat chatting with her for a while, and on parting she said that she was going across the road to rent a scooter for the day to check out the island.  She asked if I wanted to come too, but I thanked her, but declined, wished her luck with it, and strove to finish up on the internet.

Five minutes later after watching two girls trying to learn how to use one of the machines, jerkily taking off into the traffic, she came back saying that she didn’t have her license on her as it had been stolen while she was in New Zealand.  I asked how much the bikes were to rent, out of interest, and was surprised to hear they were only 30 Ringgits (less that 8€) for twenty-four hours.  “In that case”, I said, thinking that I hadn’t yet seen the island properly and that this might offer a better opportunity than hitching around as I had been considering, “would you like to go splits on one?”

We went and put my gear in her dorm room, and then on to sign up for a bike.  Before we went, I warn her that this would be my first time taking out a bike, but she said it was fine, as the only experience she had was a ten minute tutorial from one of the guys in her hostel that morning.  So no worries.

At the back of my mind as I filled out the forms, was handed the keys and shown how to start the thing I was thinking about Mum’s hatred of bikes and scooters, and the warnings of how if I ever got on one that I’d be kicked out of the house.  I shrugged, and reckoned if I told her she’d get over it by the time I got home, seeing as I wasn’t planning on making a habit of it, and anyway, I was old enough to be able to make my own decisions.

So off we went, and I took to it quite well, going quite slowly at first as I got used to the controls, but then easing it up to a reasonable speed, although I was still being passed out by cars and other scooters.  Stopped off at another marina to suss out if anyone was looking for crew, and got chatting to a couple who were very helpful, took my email address and said they’d pass it on to a few friends of theirs that might be looking for someone, but they seemed to think I shouldn’t have any trouble with finding something, so long as I was flexible.

We went to a waterfall with seven beautiful pools of cool fresh water that was much more refreshing to bath in than the sea, which is almost hot at times.  We rode on further north, and as evening drew close we arrived at the mangrove swamps.  We had been hoping to see “The Cave of Bats” presuming it to be an attraction you could just walk into, but discovered that it could only be seen as part of an hour’s boat tour of the swamps, which also included a stop at something like a floating aquarium, and eagle feeding.  With a bit of haggling we managed to get at half price.

The mangroves were spectacular and well worth it, and when we finished up there we headed back to near where we were staying to join some CouchSurfers for a barbeque at their house.  The food was great, but as soon as I ate it I started fading, the long day and very little sleep having caught up with me.  The guys, who had no room in their house, told me that I’d be more than welcome to pitch my tent in the grounds outside their place, or alternatively stay in the condemned house next door, still equipped with electricity and running water.  I took the house.

The following morning I hit the road fairly early in order to get something for the local guys who’d invited me for dinner when I first arrived.   The only thing I could think of doing for them was printing out three copies of the photo I took with them and writing a note.  Two of them were there when I arrived, but the guy who’d given me the ring wasn’t, and I couldn’t hang around for him as I was set to meet the girl from Derry at 11:00 to see if she wanted the bike for a few hours before we had to give it back at two.  She was content to hang around for the afternoon so I decided to head to a beach away and make the most of the petrol we’d put into it.

Headed north again, and came to a series of bends that I’d nervously negotiated the previous day, and approached the first one with more confidence.  Half way through however, I lost confidence and control of the bike which skidded, fell on my leg and threw me several metres away.  I sat up and went to pick myself up, but as I was stretching my right leg I came to the realisation that I’d broken it.  The foot seemed to be doing its own thing.  Within thirty seconds several people had stopped to see if I was alright, and two guys picked me up, helped me into the back of their car, drove me to the hospital and told me they’d bring the bike back for me.  They were showing me some sort of ID so I’d know they weren’t just stealing the bike, but honestly at that stage I wasn’t overly concerned about it.  On the way, as I was holding my leg up a bit so that the foot only touched the floor enough to keep it from swinging from side to side, but not enough for there to be any weight on it from the rest of my leg, things started to go white, and for a few moments I thought I was going to pass out, but I kept it together.

The guys helped me into a wheelchair, handed me over to the doctors and then took off, before I could get any sort of contact details to thank them.  But I had said it a few times in the car.  The wheelchair was almost as uncomfortable as the back seat, and eventually they put me on a trolley and started checking me out.  The doctor asked what hurt, and I told him my leg was broken.  He smiled and said, “might be broken”.  I shook my head and said that no, it was definitely broken I could tell by the way it was flopping around, but he only gave me a patronising smile and said that we’d see.

They told me they were going to have to take off my shoes and sock, which hurt – they were going to cut my sock, but I protested that they were my good socks (my icebreakers), which got a bit of a laugh - and they managed to roll them off in the end.  They agreed that my leg was broken and sent me for an x-ray.

The x-ray confirmed that I had a spiral fracture, and had done both my fibula and tibula.  Thought I heard one of the doctors outside “oooh-ing” as she looked at the x-ray, which made me feel like I’d at least done a good job of it.

The bit that hurt the most was when they were putting on the plaster and manipulating my leg.  I groaned a bit, but remained conscious for the whole thing, and then I was brought to my bed.  Where I’ve been since.

I’ve since been told that I’ll need an operation, and they’re going to be sticking in a few titanium plates into me.  This was originally going to be done here on the island, and they were going to get the piece they needed ordered in, as due to the nature of the break it is different to the ones that they normally use.  However now the insurance people have got involved and they’re going to fly me out to KL tomorrow morning.

I’ve had no shortage of visitors over the past few days.  The girl from Derry has come in several times, bringing me in books and snacks, and all my gear that was still in her room, as well as getting onto my insurance crowd for me.  An absolute legend, and while I told her not to bother coming in and to enjoy her holiday here, I was always glad to see her.  She’s leaving this evening for Thailand, so I probably won’t be seeing her again for a while, but I really have appreciated everything she’s done.

I was also visited by the CS gang that I met at the barbeque the previous night, who told me that I had no need to worry about a place to stay if I needed it for the next few weeks after I got out of hospital, and who’ve helped me in faxing documents on to the insurance people as well, as they don’t have the facilities here for some reason?

As for the staff in the hospital, they’re all very nice, and even though I’m in a third class ward, there’s only four of us in it, and the guys are all sound as well.   Apart from the fact that they gave me a leaky jug for peeing into which they don’t seem inclined to change – I was left holding it out over the floor as it dripped for ages trying to call a nurse the first time (after taking about twenty minutes to be able to wee into it in the first place, but I’m getting better) – I’ve since discovered that it only leaks when you pick it up and hold it vertically, but it’s fine when it’s laid flat.  Which means it stays on the floor quite happily until a nurse comes along and empties it, so there’s a trail of my wee all the way to the toilet across the ward.  I’ve tried telling them, but it doesn’t seem to sink in.  But apart from that the place is quite clean.

Anyway, not sure what my plans are going to be from here on.  Apparently I’m going to be on crutches for the next six months, but I’m not sure if that’s a conservative figure or not.  It certainly means that diving and partying in Thailand in May are out, and that patrolling the beach in Kefalonia is also a no go for June and July.  Coming back to Ireland seems like the most likely scenario, but as for the exact when and how, it’s hard to say.  I finally broke the news to my father today over a very bad skype connection, but I’m yet to talk to Mum.  That’s going to be fun.

Just to wrap up, taking things into perspective I got off  very lightly, apart from the minor issue of the leg (which, although it is probably too soon to say for sure, has probably ended my football career), the rest of my body got out with only minor scratches.  My face is fine, or as fine as it was before at any rate.  I’ve had the opportunity to experience touching generosity, from people who are almost strangers (and from complete strangers, like the guys that were visiting the fella across the ward who came over and gave me a few apples).  Over all it’s not been to bad.

Must dash now but I’ll be back.

The Pervert

The Pervert

Yesterday was rather unproductive, as with the exception of my blog posting I got very little done.   I had been hoping to see a little bit of the island while I had the chance, but by the time I got going after I got off the internet it was coming up to four, and I wanted to walk back to where I’d been hitching the previous day just to take a look for that blasted ring.  No joy, surprise, surprise.

By the time I’d done there, it was almost time to start heading back to the camp to get ready for the gang who were supposedly coming over to watch the sunset (at around seven).  It was definitely worth seeing, the whole sky glowed red and orange, and, as the sun continued to dip further behind the neighbouring island, the colours seemed to slowly flow from the east to pool together in the west with a fierce intensity.  It was nice.

The girls didn’t show up, but the Irish lad did come along so we had a few cans before strolling off to find some food and a bar, where we got talking to some girls from New Zealand, got into an argument about what the long row of lights dotted along the horizon were - I reckoned they might be fishing boats, as I thought I’d seen some out there earlier on, while one of the girls was adamant that they were marker buoys.  We ended up betting on it, and on asking one of the bar staff and trying to decipher his somewhat broken explanation it was decided that I lost, so I paid up and bought her her next G&T.  However, while at first he said that they were markers, he also used the word boat, so I wasn’t entirely happy with the result (losing aside).

The girls left, we decided to try and find a nightclub that apparently EVERBODY goes to, and I left to return to my tent at about 04:00, quite tired, it must be said.

At first I thought the area was deserted, but then I made out a figure sitting about ten metres away from my tent.  I said hello, he pointed at my tent and enquired if I was staying there, saying that he was a security guy, presumably for the motel further up the beach.  I asked if it was alright for me to camp there, and he replied that it was no problem.  There was a pause as we both looked out to sea, and he gestured at the lights on the horizon and said simply, ‘fishing boats’.  

Anyway, I left him where he was as I was ready to sleep, so I got ready for bed and lay in my tent.  I have taken to sleeping with the fly screen closed, but otherwise the tent is open to allow the maximum amount of air circulation, so I could still see him sitting there.  A few minutes later however he moved closer, little over a metre from the door of my tent and sat down.  I found this a bit odd.  I was keeping an eye on him from where I lay, and saw him lie on his side with his back to my door.  It took a while for me to understand what I was seeing in the darkness, but then I realised that his pants were pulled down below his ass and he was fondling his buttocks…which was a little bit much.  I asked him what he was doing and he mumbled something and stood up, which I expected to be the end of it.  But then he just went on from where he stood, still facing away from me.  “OK”, I said, “go away now!” and he muttered something else and slowly pulled his pants back up, then walked down to the shore and off along the beach.

I was happy with myself for clearing him, but I wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t double back again either, so I left my tent to see where he’d gone to.  No sign of him.  But I sat in wait outside my tent just to make sure.  Sure enough, he came along again, walking along the tide line.  I’m not sure if he spotted me sitting outside and thought I’d changed my mind and wanted a chat and watch him grope himself, but he started making his way back up the beach towards me.  Shouting, “Go on, go away, I don’t want you here!” seemed to be enough as he did an about turn and headed back towards the motel.  I stayed out a while longer, and did a bit of a patrol of my area, which felt very macho indeed.  Eventually I went back to bed and slept the rest of the night undisturbed until the sun started cooking me in my little kiln at 8 this morning.

Now there’s a guy who needs to get himself a webcam, if ever there was one.

For no particular reason I’ve decided to change location for this evening.