On Alice’s visit

 Alice came to see me. The photo is after we cried.

 She brought a poster made by Anna, my niece.

On my mobile phone

 After much effort by Mummy and myself, I now have an active iPhone of my own. Michael’s has been returned. If you want to phone me, use my old mobile number.

On a happy random picture on my iPad

This iPad also got battered in the collision. Thanks to Philip and some techs, it now works. Somewhere along the line, it was used to take a picture of Maki, the family dachshund.

Because it has been a bad day for me, I am posting it.

On what is not in the blog

This entry had been in the back of my mind for couple of weeks now. However, an email from Alisa, my former co-worker prompted me to actually write it.. She had been afraid to read my blog on account of the pain she thought was expressed in it. She found that it contained anything but.

This blog is both window and wall for me right now. I can show what I am able and willing to show. I can keep out of sight that which I don’t wish to or can’t show. It is the version of reality that I wish and can share.

At some point in the last few weeks, I had dream about communication that probably was medication enhanced. In it, I clearly “saw” or “understood” some of the sheer metaphysical complexity of communication between persons over time and space. Or at least thought I did. With waking came the frustration of not being able to remember that which had been so clear. However, one of the messages I got out of it was that we can only communicate so much.

I don’t wish to dwell on the pain, physical or psychological right now.

There is a Pete Seeger song derived from John 14:2 (apologies to non-Christians)

My father's mansion's many rooms

Have room for all of His children

As long as we do share His love

And see that all are free.

And see that all are free to grow

And see that all are free to know

And free to open or to close

The door of their own room.

I’m keeping my door only ajar right now.

On the staff

 The staff in Fredericton were very warm and skilled. Then again, I might have been on a higher level of medication and therefore more mellow. Two incidents stand out. 

One night, I pushed the buzzer for help. The intercom asked what the issue was? “I am having a panic attack.” The patient attendant came in, held my hand and soothed me as the waves of anxiety receded. “You’ll get through this.”

The other was a few nights later when I needed a drink in the middle of the night. The patient attendant offered a mocktail of cranberry juice, orange juice and ginger ale. That was such a treat.

Owing to size and the fact it is a teaching hospital, the Montreal General Hospital’s staff is much more variable. Some of them are only just learning their trade and a rare few have attitudes that would get them reprimanded were I in charge. 

Some are great. Arguably the best is an older African-Canadian woman called Nancy. She came in one night to help another patient attendant deal with one of my bowel movements. She had a gentle but firm hand which could turn me right or left with minimum pain. Afterwards, I said: “Thank you, ma’am” out of genuine thanks and respect. “I have never earned enough to be a ma’am. Please call just call me Nancy,” was her reply. There was a weary, worldly wisdom in that reply which I have been unable to fully interpret.

Another great one is a Haitian woman whom my cousin Michael observed had a deft, healer’s touch. Her gentle, capable hands changed my dressings quickly and painlessly.

A middling capable but amusing personal attendant is a large, squat African-Canadian man whose care I have been under a few times. The last time I noticed his worn brown scrubs had the word “Maimonides” on it. I asked if he also worked for the Maimonides Geriatric Centre in Côte Saint-Luc. He was a bit taken-aback by the question, but once I revealed that I worked for the Library, he was happy to say yes. And of course say nice things about the Library.

On the driver and luck

The driver of the car made at least two more hit and runs before being caught. I can only pray the others weren’t as bad as mine. RCMP arrested and jailed him before being released on bail with conditions including not driving and not seeking to contact victims. I spoke with SQ officers in Montreal, but had little to offer.

For all the bad luck the collision represents, I am lucky. I am Canadian, born into a (relatively) decent and well off family. It happened on a bright sunny day, in Canada, near a hospital. The locals were there to help in a very short time. I was wearing a helmet. I have a job that will wait for me, various insurances, etc. I have various family and friends who are supporting me in this time of crisis (Subject heading: Life changing events).  

On being hit by a car

Saturday, September 2

I was biking South from Shediac to Moncton when a car hit me head on despite me being exactly where I should have been and in a bright red jersey. I landed in a field. The driver did not stop. Help arrived, in form of friendly New Brunswickers, a passer-by, the man whose land I was on, a local fire department member, an off-duty registered nurse (someone joked kindly and respectfully that there was no such thing), then RCMP and ambulance.

I went to the Moncton hospital. I was given something which put me out of reality and into an interesting dream. When I came to, someone said they knew I was out as I stopped talking continually. It has been decided that they needed a vascular surgeon for my left leg. Only one on duty that day was in Fredericton. So I was transferred by ambulance.

It was eight hours of surgery to rebuild my left leg, including a vein from my right. I spent Sunday in the recovery room before being transferred to a ward upstairs.

Extensive damage and breakage of my left leg

Broken left forearm

Damaged pelvis

Kidney damage

Assorted scrapes, bruises, etc.

Parents arrived Sunday. Staff wonderful at Fredericton. Father less so.

Saturday, September 9

Mummy arranges for an air ambulance to transport me to Montreal. Interesting to fly as the only passenger in a Learjet 35. The timing was wrong as Montreal General Hospital a bit disorganized on weekends. Monday morning probably better.

On going backwards like a lobster

I began the day by going backwards. My original plan had been to visit Le Pays de la Sagouine, but looking at the website, it seemed to be mostly an experience of actors being folksy jolly at you, probably with insults at and complaints about “les Anglais” thrown in for good measure. A local told me it is very popular with Québécois tourists. So instead, I went North along the coast to the J.D. Irving Eco-Park, where I walked along the boardwalk to the end, then looked at the dune which goes on for a dozen kilometres or so. It was easy to believe that two families of foxes call the sand spit home.

Heading back to Bouctouche, I stopped at the Musée de Kent. This proved to be a former Catholic girls school and convent and was a surprisingly interesting stop. The chapel was a magnificent wooden exercise in neogothic architecture. After coming down from the former dormitory for the students who boarded, I jokingly said to the guide that the nuns had clearly taught their pupils to be tough and capable young women, based on the chainsaw upstairs! In fact, the chainsaw was part of the “clutter of artefacts” portion of the museum. ;-)  This led to a discussion of the education of women to be capable in the Catholic Church as expressed by Mummy in her translation of the name of my primary school, “Notre Dame de Tout Pouvoir” as “Our Lady who can do anything”! I.e. a Virgin Mary who faced with a task, would roll up her sleeves, call in Joseph and handy offspring and get down to it.

Heading along the coast towards Shediac, I was surprised by the following sight:

The osprey was perched, very calmly on a plastic owl instead to scare away birds from the power line!

It was nearly 4 when I rolled up to the Giant Lobster in Shediac. There is now a large building near it with a large sign proclaiming it to be the “Homarus Centre”. I was just about the right time to get a guided tour of the place. It is a lobster hatchery. They take gravid female lobsters caught in the wild and let them release their spawn in their tanks. After letting the baby lobster grow to a certain stage, they released in various locations at the behest of lobster fishers who have paid the price. Afterwards, it was hands on with a pair of their lobsters, female and male. We were then shown to a touch tank in the shape of a lobster where we could annoy various species of local marine life, including lobsters of various hues and sizes. These included orange, blue and split. The latter was longitudinally split between orange and regular colour of lobsters. Apparently, the frequency of such lobsters is about 1 in 50 million. I always feel sorry for touch tank denizens and content myself with close observation.

Sackville, NB (New Brunswick, not Nasty Bagginses) via Moncton tomorrow. Another short day.