On cookies and crutch tips

Owing to the postal strike, I volunteered to bake some hazelnut shortbreads and take them to my Aunt Helle on behalf of my cousin Kristine. I had wanted to also take some to my Aunt Suzanne "Who is so Nice" but she was busy today. 

(Her demurral email was extremely kind making reference to a night when I gone to her and my uncle Donald's house at Margo's behest when Suzanne thought she was having a heart attack. I ended up staying the night to watch over Donald while she was being checked out at a hospital. In the end, it was determined she was "only" stressed out.)

Anyway, I booked a car from Communauto to make the delivery and used the opportunity to go out to Medicus, the big medical supply store on Sherbrooke Street East to see if they had good replacement crutch tips as the two previous pairs I had bought from pharmacies had worn out far too quickly. I found sturdier ones at the store. I double checked with a staff member that they were the right caliber, before waiting to pay for them. The cashier first asked if a member of the staff had helped me. I said that someone had, but all I had needed was confirmation of the size. I casually indicated person in question. He then came over and offered to install them. As my tips were quite worn, I accepted. I waited in a chair for a few minutes while he did the work. When he came back, I checked to see if the "crampons" still fitted over the tips. This was prompted by the fact that I had used them that morning as Montreal has just received ts first major snowfall of the winter. The new tips were slightly longer so the crampons need to be adjusted. The man cheerfully volunteered to do this, even though I could have do so myself, had I a screwdriver. He was so nice, I was tempted to go back to car to fetch him a hazelnut shortbread!

I gave Helle the cookies on my way back. She was impressed by my mobility, something that seemed more than it was as I had walked from the car to her door using only one crutch so as to have a hand free for the cookie tin. Her mobility seems to have gone down since I last saw her.

I ran another errand before returning the car. When I got home, I was surprised to see a box from Simons on my doorstep. This proved to be bicycle themed T-shirt that Kristine had ordered for me. I am going to have to weed my T-shirt drawer. No good deed goes unpunished. ;-)

On books and blood

*Legal disclaimer* The following entry discusses my work. The opinions mentioned herein do not represent the views of my employer. However, given the nature of said opinions, I doubt there will be trouble over it.

I was given the responsibility for ordering French books for adults yesterday. I must confess that the task seems a bit daunting. However, I think I will get used to it and certain aspects of the new assignment look fascinating.

As luck would have it, this week is the Salon du Livre de Montréal. So this morning, I went to scope out some new books for the Library at the Palais de Congrés. At the ticket counter, I was asked if I had a City of Montreal library card which would qualify me for free entry. I replied that I didn't but that I was a librarian working for a public library. The clerk then gave me a free ticket. (I don't know if this qualifies as a conflict of interest, so I will report this when I return to work tomorrow.)

I had thought that today (Thursday) would be quieter than on the weekend. Unfortunately, it was "Matinée scolaire" day so there were a large number of school kids, some of whom were running past me, which caused me to flinch for worry that they would step on my bad foot, as it was relatively unprotected owing to the fact that I had disassembled my left crutch in order to stow in my backpack so I might have a hand free to wield my iPhone and its barcode reader app.

There were a lot of books to consider. I mean a lot. Thanks to the aforementioned iPhone app, I was able to record seventy-odd barcodes which is far more than I would have written down without it. I am certain that some of the books will prove to be ones the Library has already purchased, while others will prove to unsuitable or simply unnecessary. However, the exercise gave me a mental picture of what is out there and gave me some ideas about how the collection might be developed in new directions within the strictures of the Library's acquisition policy. 

One interesting direction was suggested by the presence of a Korean book zone. The Library serves a growing Korean population and interest in Korean literature (in translation) might be spurred on by Han Kang being awarded this year's Nobel Prize for Literature. Another direction the collection might expand into would be the new "romantasy" genre (romance fantasy) that one vendor had a large table dedicated to. Unfortunately, the titles appeared to be mostly translations from English rather than original French works.

There was blood donor clinic set up on the ground floor of the Palais de Congrés. As I was leaving, I stopped by the front desk to thank the volunteers and employees of Héma-Québec, as well as a younger man who was about to give blood. I am alive today because of blood transfusions.

On winterizing the crutches

About a month ago, I was crossing a relatively busy street near my home after dark. The corner wasn't signal controlled but I felt reasonably secure crossing it, keeping my gaze looking towards on-coming traffic. Afterwards, I reasoned that given my relatively slow pace, I should improve my visibility to drivers by digging out my bag of reflective tape and using it on my crutches.

I didn't do so right away for the usual reasons of sloth and the lack of a pressing need. However, a few days later, Louise or Thomas posted a picture of their daughter Tessa going out trick-or-treating dressed in a largely black witch outfit. She was carrying a very traditional looking broomstick with a non-traditional lit-up, high visibility reflective strap attached to it. I commented favourably about that. Thomas, in his wonderful way, replied "It's a government requirement when flying in restricted airspace." I had very good chuckle over that. 

The picture also spurred me to actually find the bag of reflective tape and get to work on my crutches. I probably overdid it, but I have done worse things in my life.

Cut to this Monday, when the forecast for Tuesday included freezing rain in the morning. As I had an appointment with my GP to discuss and renew various prescriptions on Tuesday morning, I decided I would take steps to reduce my chances of a fall. On the way home, I went to a pharmacy where I bought flip down spikes for for my crutches. I like to think that my crutches are now ready for winter.

On the beginning of the end

Words fail me, so just watch this video taken on Thursday during my physio session.

 If I look serious, it is because I am trying not to cry.

On the rest of the trip

I have struggled to write this entry but things have been a bit weird for me.

I’m going to start with an expansion on what I said at the Celebration of Margo’s Life. As an agnostic Catholic at best, I had not wanted to pretend to be a Catholic pilgrim. Aside from having a hang up about lying, despite being a sceptic, I have a certain respect for those who genuinely believe. After arriving in Compostella, the three of us had visited the pilgrim office where our “pilgrim” passports were processed. The pilgrim office recognizes three types visitors: genuine Catholic Pilgrims, people who have done it for a mix of spiritual and touristic reasons and “pure” tourists. I firmly opted for the pure tourism certificate. Somehow, Margo, who officially renounced her Catholicism and Chris the Quaker, managed to get themselves talked into getting the semi-spiritual certificate.

Having read the account of how the bones of St James the Apostle ended up in the North West corner of Spain and being something of a sceptic, it would greatly surprise me if the bones that have been venerated there for over a millennia were actually those of Jesus’ companion. At best, they are those of a local person worthy of sainthood who became conflated with Saint James the Apostle. One of my jokes about it is that Saint James the Apothecary is constantly apologizing in heaven for the misunderstanding. I do believe that it is the same set of bones that has been worshipped for more than a millennia. That, in and of itself, makes them holy.

I’ll not protest scepticism as I am not sure of my faith. I do think that there is a place for scepticism but the Crypt of Santiago isn’t it!

I will also note that I wasn’t the only one wearing a kilt at the Celebration of Life. Margo’s son John was also so attired as was his son Arthur.

Louise was the last to speak. I am afraid that I had trouble hearing her as the microphone was a little too far away from her mouth. I think she was a bit distracted as she was simultaneously nursing Patrick!

Jonathan, Elliott’s twin brother was there assisting Tom, John’s father-in-law, with the tech side of things as the ceremony was being broadcast to friends and family in Europe and possibly elsewhere. The Mole later asked what Jonathan does for a living. I replied that I didn’t know. The Mole then suggested he might get a job at LeBaron’s in North Hatley if he was out of work. My response to the Mole was: “You’ve heard of the concept of sibling rivalry?” (I have since learnt that Jonathan is involved in keeping the BC government’s websites up and running.)

After the ceremony, the clocks of both St-Michael the Holy Mole and myself had wound down and as it would be couple of hours before the Reception, lunch was proposed. There was a failed attempt to go to the Oakridge Mall en masse, so we retreated to our downtown hotel. I suggested he and I go to the Indian Burgers Joint I had noticed near the hotel. In the course of a phone call while I was driving us back, the Mole invited my parents along. In hindsight, I think this was a bit of a mistake. The problem was that the offerings of the fast food joint were new to all of us, especially my Father who doesn’t remember the first thing about Indian food. The burgers were all vegetarian or even vegan in a traditional Indian way as in the beef patty was replaced with a patty made of beans or potatoes rather than a “beyond meat” pseudo meat patty. None of us being experts, we ordered on faith. At a certain level, our faith was betrayed as the staff didn’t seem have grasped the concept of fast food. It seemed to take forever for our orders to be completed The burgers were tasty, but I’m not sure I’m going back there.

As a side note, Michael later commented that their mango lassi used soft ice cream instead of yoghurt which prompted me to do a monologue as if I were an Indian apologizing for that by explaining that is how they do in his state in India which is admittedly a small state with barely five million people living in it.

I changed out of the kilt and went off to the reception with the Mole. There were quite a number of people there along with quite a spread of food and drink. There former included Rice Krispy squares courtesy of Louise, spurred by my joke on the subject. 

Among the people I spoke with, was T. from Canmore. He told me that he was planning on going to Santiago de Compostella using the bike Chris had ridden there! Said bike has a no-farting sticker that I had put on it during our trip in Spain! I found it interesting that the bicycle would revisit that pilgrimage destination, particularly as I had spoken about the trip at the ceremony.

I also spoke with a woman who introduced herself as “a Megan”. Apparently, she was one of several Megans in Margo and Chris’ life as well as one of the many waifs and strays they had housed over the years. Like many people, she thought my speech was very à apropos. I must confess that I thought it was better than some of the other speeches given, particularly the one following mine.

I was slightly disappointed that I didn’t get to interact much with Arthur, Tessa and Ruby. They were to busy playing with each other as well as other kids their age. They seemed to be having fun with some sort marble run game. It did my soul to see them happily play with each other.

All too soon, the Mole and I ran out of steam, and so we returned to the hotel.

The Mole returned to Montreal the next morning. I had lunch with Raymond whom I had met while biking across Saskatchewan. We caught up on news. He had been working in a garage that specialized in customizing cars, but had since become a disaster response planner for the Canadian Red Cross.

I then drove to North Vancouver to see Kristine and company. She had not gone the celebration of life owing to strained relations with both Margo and her brother who was at the event for no particular reason. Mummy joined us there. Kristine apologized for her driveway which she said was “deceptively steep”. I retorted that I was never deceived by her driveway: I always thought it was steep! Midnight was happy to see us, but then as a Labrador, he is programmed to be happy to meet people. I wish I had thought to bring him a bacon-based doggy treat!

We were treated to a trip to a nearby stable where the family’s horse was being ridden by one of Kristine’s daughters (I am no longer sure which one.) We got to meet and stroke the horse afterwards. There was a certain discussion of our horse riding pasts as Kristine, Mummy, Margo and I had all ridden and interacted with Aunt Lorna’s horses to varying degrees.

I had been under the impression that the tartan rental place opened at 9 AM. After checking out of the hotel on the Monday morning, I drove out the place only to discover that it only opened about an hour later. As my flight was at 11:30, I was in a bit of a pickle. I resolved the issue by trying an exterior door which opened to an atrium. I then tried the door of the shop itself, and found that it opened. My intrusion brought out a middle-aged woman who was a bit alarmed by my presence. I explained that I just wanted to drop off the kilt before my flight. As there was no need of a financial transaction to happen, she accepted the bag.

It took me a bit longer than I’d wished to get to the airport. Still, I wasn’t late. I dropped off my bag, bought a little something at the Vancouver Public Aquarium gift shop and went security. Someone at security arranged a cart to drive me to my gate. Pre-boarding was in process when I arrived. I walked up to a gate agent and said: “I believe I qualify for pre-boarding.” I was soon seated in a premium economy seat. I believe that it was my shortest airport transit that included a check-in. (My shortest airport experience was at Toronto’s Billy Bishop airport when I exited one Porter Dash-8 and walked over to board another one.)

When the plane arrived at the gate in Montreal, I waited until the bulk of the able-bodied passengers had exited the aircraft before getting up. I was, however, at the fore of the wave of disabled passengers as there were at least three attendants waiting with wheelchairs who eagerly offered me their services. I hope I was sufficiently polite in declining their services. As with my flight out of Montreal, the gate was sufficiently close to the exit that it wasn’t worth waiting for a cart.

On what I said at Margo's celebration of life

 I apologize for the delay, but here is what I said at Margo's celebration of life:

"My name is Daniel, large nephew of Margo, my adventure auntie.

I am here to offer up a pair of apologies which reveal something of my beloved aunt. The first apology is for wearing a kilt which is nae doone at Hieland funerals. However, this is a celebration of life and a kilt is the only remotely formal garment that I can wear over the fixation.

I also believe Margo would have appreciated it as she was fond of men in Highland wear. She once told me that shortly before her marriage, she heard that her Father, Grandpa, was proudly boasting to his friends about how he would be giving away two brides that summer as her cousin Jane had asked him to stand in for her late father. Now between Margo’s feminism and rebelliousness, she wasn’t at all keen on the idea of being “given away”. However, as Grandpa was getting on in years and had suffered the loss of his daughter Shelia earlier that year, she made a deal, mostly with herself. She said to him: “If you're going to give me away, you’ll have to wear your kilt with the Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket.” To hear her tell it, he hadn’t been planning on wearing his kilt but was quite happy to oblige her. And he looked very elegant doing so.

My second apology is for not having been wholly truthful with her when we were in Santiago de Compostela together. 

If I may digress, this was my first long distance bike trip and I had been apprehensive about it despite having been thoroughly organized into it by Margo. 

Cycle-touring has since become my favourite type of vacation. For many years, I had an ongoing project of crossing from sea to sea by bike in three-week sections as that the maximum length of time I could take off work.

Getting back to Margo, she, Chris and I had biked to Compostela from Seville following a pilgrimage route across Spain and a bit of Portugal. As the only even nominal Catholic of the group, I insisted that we be honest and say to anyone who asked that we were doing it as tourists, not pilgrims. We visited the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, said to be the resting place of Saint James the Apostle and at one time, number three on the Pope’s list of recommended pilgrimage destinations, after Jerusalem and Rome. I went down into the small crypt where the mortal remains of the Saint and a pair of his disciples were kept. 

A few minutes later, Margo came down and in a slightly too loud and strident voice asked me: “Do you think that anyone actually prays to Saint James here?”

I replied: “Yes, I know some do.” 

What I didn’t tell her was I knew that because I had just offered a rather skeptical but sincere silent prayer to the Saint."

On a long delayed lunch

Well, I’m in Vancouver. I got here through a combination of careful thought, mild indulgence and kindness.

I am tall to the point that even in normal times, I find airline seating on the cramped side. With my left leg unable to bend that much and having a large external fixation on it, economy class seating was right out, unless it was some form of extra legroom seating. Even then, well what with the crutches I felt claustrophobic just thinking about it. This was not helped by the flights I took last summer. The flights on Bearskin Airlines and the Learjet had claustrophobic elements to them.

When went to look for flights, I found that WestJet didn’t offer direct flights between Montreal and Vancouver which ruled it out as flying with them was both longer and more expensive than with Air Canada. I don’t understand why WestJet doesn’t offer flights between Canada’s second and third largest cities. It makes it harder for me to take them seriously. (Long after I booked with Air Canada, I found out that Porter Airlines now offers Montreal to Vancouver flights.)

Through judicious searching, I found some suitable flights on Air Canada that offered several things that I wanted. One of them was wide bodied jets to reduce the feeling of claustrophobia. They also offered premium economy seats, hence more space. In fact, my flight out was a mix of business class and premium economy as the seats were in what is business class on international flights but the service was only premium economy. It was a bit of an indulgence, but it helped me get here.

As it was, I had a few panic attacks both before and during the flight. I was quite nervous and a little fearful, starting with going through security. I really wasn’t sure what the procedures were for crutches or external fixations. However, it went reasonably smoothly and the security personnel seemed to know what they were up to. Once through security, I might have asked to be taken to my gate via an electric cart. However, my gate was so close to the security checkpoint that it was only twice as far to walk to the gate as to where the carts were parked. It would have taken far longer to find a driver and to sit down as I took me to walk to the gate.

At the gate, there were some flight attendants waiting around and two of them were sitting on a bench with a handicap sign on it. I nervously but politely asked them if they would let me sit down on the bench. They were happy to do so.

I think I was the first on board and a flight attendant stowed my crutches in a overhead bin while I pulled out the things I wanted on the flight from my carry-on bag. The business-class pod seat was very comfortable, though a little tricky to get in and out of with the fixation. It could also have done with an instruction card on how to use the various functions of the seat.

I watched a number of episodes of Disney+ TV series which Disney isn’t releasing on DVD, curse their eyes. I also needed to use the toilet a few times, a clear sign of nervousness. Thankfully, I was able to get there with the crutches, using the seats for support and balance. On one trip back to my seat, I realized that about a third of people in section were stretched out in sleeping positions rather than sitting up. It was a morning flight so maybe that was it.

People were very kind, both flight attendants and fellow passengers. When the plane go to the gate in Vancouver, a woman across the aisle from me retrieved my crutches from the overhead bin without me asking! I made a point of waiting until the able bodied passengers in my section had left before getting up to get my carry-on and stowing my gear.

At Vancouver Airport, I had to walk a certain distance before I could get my bearings and figured out where I was vis-à-vis baggage retrieval. By the time I had done that, it didn’t seem worth the effort to summon a cart. One of the perks of my ticket was that my bag was labelled priority, so it beat me to the luggage carousel. Admittedly, I gave it an advantage stopping to use the loo on the way.

I then set out to find the car rental place pulling my roller luggage with my left hand. This meant I was slow going down the ramp the rental level and a passing fellow traveller offered to help. I hope I was sufficiently polite in declining her offer.

There a bit of a snag at the rental place as when I arrived they didn’t have any cars ready: only SUVs. They offered them to me, but I insisted on a car as most of the time it would only me driving it and as I was going to the celebration of the life Margo, something of an environmentalist, I would very embarrassed if I showed up in anything larger than a Subaru Outback. The rental people had probably suffered more demanding customers. They checked their computers and found out that a Toyota Corolla was being sanitized and would be available in about ten minutes. So I waited.

As I driving away from the airport, I was pleased to see sensible bike paths beside the road. Going over the Arthur Laing bridge, there was a highly visible cyclist pedaling away. On the other side, I was waiting for the lights to change when the cyclist went past me. It made me feel glad.

My plan had been to find lunch on the way to Alma Street, but owning a miscalculation on my part, it only when I was approaching Dunbar Loop that a restaurant appeared. It was the Crepe Café. It had a sign at the door saying the daily special was butter chicken with naan bread which pleased me greatly. There were some workmen climbing down from some scaffolding outside the building. One of them went to open the door for me before I could protest. The butter chicken and naan bread really hit the spot.

Afterwards, I stopped by the house on Alma Street to check in with the family. Chris, John, Louise and Patrick were there along with Chris’ sister Carolyn. I got to cuddle little Patrick. He wasn’t too sure about me, but then, at his age, there is little he is sure about! His physique is what is known as “bien nourrie” in Quebec. He definitely is a cutie. I don’t remember where John and Louise’s spouses and other children were, except that they weren’t there. We chatted away. Louise talked about how Tessa was using the climbing wall in the basement. That triggered something that I had thought of in Vancouver airport. In the domestic wing, there is a wall meant to look like a sloping cliff. I had wondered how often people try to climb it. I mentioned this to assembled company. This prompted John to relate how he nearly gotten into trouble rappelling off a building in Victoria as the building next door housed a “hush-hush” branch of the Canadian Government!

I drove to my hotel downtown, checked in, parked the car, went to my room and had a well-deserved snooze. Afterwards, I had supper, then got in contact with various relatives. I then gave into the urge to go to bed even though it was barely past 8 PM.

I was awoken by a text message from the Montreal General at 6:30 AM. It was about confirming next week’s appointment. I had made arrangements with St-Michael the Holy Mole to have breakfast at around 7 AM, so it wasn’t that bad.

After breakfast, I had a shower, then tried to write down the directions to Tartantown in Port Coquitlam. While I was packing on Sunday, I found out that my kilt no longer fit me. A quick internet search brought to Tartantown’s website which listed them as willing to rent kilts. Their limited range of tartans included Black Watch which I considered an adequate substitute. So, I set off for the wilds of suburban Vancouver. I must confess I made a few wrong turns. I stopped at least three times to check Google Maps as I was unwilling to subscribe to Toyota’s navigation system. On one occasion, I had pulled into a tire store to check progress. I was startled when a man in a black suit tried to open the right rear door. It turned out that he thought I was his Uber ride!

Anyway, I got there safely in the end. It was a bit anti-climactic as an employee greeted me, took my waist measurement and then took an appropriate kilt off the rack. I tried it on and it fit, funnily enough.

I then indulged in something that I had been waiting to do for 1 year, 1 month and 1 day. That is, something I had wanted to do the day of the accident. I am a bit ashamed to admit it but I had lunch at Taco Bell. I have a weakness for Taco Bell that stretches back almost thirty years. There used to be a few in Montreal, but they ceased to operate at some point during Covid. I’d like to blame LeGoat and his language policies, but that might be a stretch.

I had supper this evening with the Mole at the Happy Noodle House. I must admit, I like the creative nature of restaurant names in Vancouver than in Montreal. For that matter, I find the multicultural qualities of Vancouver distinctly refreshing from Montreal’s rather eurocentric qualities.

On some progress and strangeness

Earlier this week, my physio brought over a set of pedals meant to be hand cranking but usable by feet. He put it on the floor in front of me, and I fully pedaled for the first time in over a year. I came very close to crying for joy. I had a bit of trouble keeping my left foot properly on the pedal but it is still early days. My ability to ride a bike has long been a worry.

At the gym where I am currently getting my physio, I made a double take recently when out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a nun in a veil and a tight gym shirt approach the desk. In fact it was a young woman with very flat and long black hair with a white headband under it. I wonder what Naisi would do with the concept of a nun doing aerobics in a leotard and a veil.

I tested myself today by renting a car from my car sharing service. I used it to run some relatively minor errands in order to get a further feel for how comfortable I am driving. It was also an opportunity to practice my driving skills. I think I did quite well.

One of the errands involved going to Aubut, a grocery warehouse store. In the parking lot, I was surprised by the license plate of a red Volkswagen Golf station wagon. It was a custom plate which read "MEXIQUE". The surprising thing about that was the plate was from New Hampshire! Given that New Hampshire is a notoriously conservative state, why someone would have a license plate giving the French form of Mexico is somewhat perplexing, to say the least!

On progress and fatigue, failure and success

Because of an overly bureaucratic interpretation of the doctor's note, last week, I worked three full days. I was very tired at the end of each day. Thankfully, the days were Monday, Wednesday and Friday so I had the chance to recover.

Admittedly, Thursday wasn't much of a recovery day as I had a dentist appointment in the morning and a physio appointment in the afternoon. Jonas, my usual taxi driver, drove me to my dentist in Verdun. Our route took us past a slightly scruffy dépanneur on LaSalle Boulevard. It had set of iron bars coming down from the balcony above, the door of which was open. Hanging from the balcony within the cage was a boxing punch bag which was being pummeled by a shirtless East Asian man in bare feet. Jonas said that the man was frequently to be seen at his training there. He added, he would be very afraid to rob that dépanneur because of the man. Not that Jonas would even try to rob a dépanneur as he is an exceptionally decent man.

The dentist's office was on the third floor. I walked up the stairs, but after my teeth were cleaned, I took the building's slow and idiosyncratic elevator down. At the present time, I can go up stairs putting only one foot on each step. However, I have to put both feet on each step going down. This is frustrating and annoying, so hence why I took the elevator down.

The physio appointment was mostly evaluation. The man had me do a series of exercises to determine my sense of balance and mobility. Generally, I did them fairly smoothly with one noticeable failure. He placed a recycling bin on its side in front of where I was standing without crutches. He asked me to alternately lift one foot and tap the upper side of the bin with each foot six times as fast as possible. I started with my left foot and did it without trouble. I then tried my right foot. I began to topple forwards and in my panic tried to push off the bin with my right foot. CRACK! My foot went through the upper side of the bin coming to rest on lower side which lay in contact with floor. The physio steadied me, both physically and mentally. While I failed that particular test, overall, the overall result of the evaluation was that I was nearly ready to move to a cane rather than crutches.

On Saturday morning, Volker, the man running my local breakfast place, gave me a sample of some bread he had baked with a special ingredient he had grown himself and had just harvested: hops! Apparently, he has some hops vines growing at this home. He had picked the flowers and boiled them in water. He then used the water to make bread. I had to admit the effect was subtle. He had a small basket of the hops flowers which he showed to the customers.

In the afternoon, I took a cab to the corner Sherbrooke and Côte des Neiges. Once there, I met with a nice driving instructor and took a drive. 

Yep, I drove a car.

One of the minor blessings of the collision is that it was my left leg that took the damage rather than my right leg. It is possible to drive a car with only your right leg in full operation, provided it isn't have a manual transmission. As manual transmissions are increasingly rare owing to advent of hybrids and electric cars, I am in luck. 

I had realized about two months ago that I was physically capable of driving a car. However, I was unsure whether I was mentally up to the task. My uncertainty and anxiety was increased because having been the victim of someone who shouldn't have been driving, I was determined not to be the cause of an accident. Another source of uncertainty was the fact that technically my license has always been valid, despite the fact that a year ago, I could barely turn over in bed without help. 

Anyway, I had booked a session with a driving school to evaluate my mental capacity to drive. To my mind, the instructor was really there to take over if I dissolved into a nervous jelly. Anyway, I drove west along Sherbrooke Street to Decarie. Then it was up Decarie to right onto the Boulevard before turning left onto Grosvenor and right onto Sunnyside. The instructor had been telling me where to turn. However, at that point, I asked if he might indulge a whim and let me turn onto Upper Landsdowne to look at Granny and Grandpa's old house. He was fine with that. The house was still there. Then it was right onto Edgehill Road, back to the Boulevard, left onto Côte des Neiges then a slow drive around Hill Park Circle before returning to where we had started via Côte des Neiges, Dr Penfield and Simpson Street. (The reason I listed the route we took is that with the exception of Hill Park Circle, all these streets are linked to the time I have spent in Westmount with Mummy's side of the family.)

The instructor gave me 10 out of 10 and his two recommendations were trivial. Not that it really mattered to me as I had decided that I was fit to drive around the corner of Sherbrooke and Greene Avenue, that is very early in the drive. I am glad that I spent the time and money to test myself. I am secure in my insecurity.

Afterwards, I walked down to the Guy Metro station and went to the Alexis Nihon Plaza to do some shopping. As I was getting quite tired, I took a taxi home. As we went down the Glen, I saw what I thought was a familiar figure on an unfamiliar bike going up at a reasonable speed. I noted the time. That night I phoned St-Michael the Holy Mole to inquire if it had been him on what I took to be the good bicycle Margo had gently nagged him into buying and to "brag" about having driven a car that day. The Mole had indeed being going up the Glen and was pleased to hear of my progress.

On it being a year to the day

It was a year ago today that my life became very hard. I am still not sure what to think of it. Even now, looking back, I am shocked at how close I was to death. 

I am doing very much better which doesn't really cover the ground I have covered and doesn't address the distance I still have to go. My pains mean I can only walk a very few steps very awkwardly without crutches. I took a taxi to meet St-Michael the Holy Mole at the Greenspot for breakfast. It is at the corner of Notre-Dame and Greene avenue. Afterwards I walked home with a short detour for a strawberry shortcake doughnut. That is about 1.4 km. It felt longer.

My thinking about how my life has gone in the last 366 days has been altered by something I learned on the morning of August 31st. I was woken up by a phone call from the RCMP in Shediac. It seems that the driver (may his name be spat upon) passed away. Apparently he had a heart attack on July 17th and died in the Moncton Hospital where I was initially treated. This removes any obligation to be in Moncton on the 4th of October for his sentencing, not that I was planning to attend anyway. I was a bit stunned by this news, for one thing, it means that I will never know just how sever his sentence would have been. I was still sleepy after I hung up, and pondered scenarios about him being enlisted in Hell's Colonic Brass Band until I fell asleep again.

I know one shouldn't speak ill of the dead but I am having a hard time not doing so. Then again, given the torment he put me through, I believe I am entitled to some rancor.

On what the doctor said

I had an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon on Thursday afternoon. I went to the General quite early with the intent of getting some lunch beforehand. As I went to sit down on a wall bench in the Hospitality Corner bistro, an orderly of colour, got up and moved the table for me. I protested mildly that it was unnecessary, but he said his job was to help the patients. We exchanged pleasantries during which I said that I knew I could not do his job, which he took (as I intended) as a compliment.

After an indifferent club sandwich, I went to the elevator bank, just missing one despite the efforts of the orderly who happened to be waiting there until his next set of duties. I got the next one down and went along to the X-ray department. As waited to be served, I saw an older woman in a wheelchair that was half bed asking ineffectually for help. Nothing loath, I asked her what her problem was. It was simply getting her mobile phone out of her bag.

I had a longish wait to be X-rayed, during which time, I used the washroom. As I was coming out, the same orderly was just outside the door asking me if I needed help. I was confused by this until he told me that I had pulled the emergency call cord. I hadn't realized that I had done so, but given that the washroom wasn't very large whereas I am large and awkward, it was not hard to imagine that I might have done so by accident. I was somewhat embarrassed by this and apologized, despite the orderly saying there was no need to apologize.

Once on the slab in the X-ray room, I was asked to remove the shoe on my left foot. I did so in my current way when lying down by I lifting my leg up and bending my knee. I then hold my foot that position without using my hands. The X-ray technician was impressed with my flexibility, saying he was not that flexible.

Afterwards, I went to the Orthopedics department where I was shown into an examination room very quickly by an orderly or junior doctor who not only remembered me but also the Welsh origin of my last name. The orthopedic surgeon saw me, looked at my X-rays and went "hmm". He was pleased by the progress my tibia had made in healing. However, it still has a way to go so I will be keeping my Taylor spatial frame at least until mid-October.

While I was with him, I asked him for a written authorization to work longer hours. He happily did so. I had to get the document stamped by the receptionist as well as make my next appointment. After doing so, I stood to one side of the reception desk to put the papers in my backpack. The next patient was another older lady in a heavy-duty electric wheelchair with impaired use of her hands. Between the short arms of the receptionist and her limited use of her arms, there was difficulty in hand over the various documents. I offered to help.

On taking joy in small things

One of the ways I have to cope with life, particularly these days, is to take joy in small things. In the last week I have done this a number of times.

The first of which was when I was walking along St-Antoine Street to my breakfast place on Thursday morning. It is in the process of having its water and sewage pipes replaced. These roadworks are a royal pain when it comes to getting around via crutches and taxi. However, on that trip, I witnessed a twenty foot length of 2 foot diameter reinforced concrete sewer pipe being lifted by a crane. There were two workers adjusting the exact location of the sling on the pipe so that when lifted, the pipe would be balanced. It took them at least three tries before they were satisfied. When the pipe was lifted well balanced, one of the workers took out his measuring tape to see just how far along from one end the sling was. As there were two other pipes of the same lengths, I think he wanted a reference for them. At least, that is what I would have done. I will also observed that I had stopped my hobbling to watch the procedure, giving way to my inner child. This was particularly easy as my inner child has a fascination with heavy machinery.

On Thursday evening, I noticed that my crutches seem to slip too easily on my floor. I inspected them and found that the rubber tips were somewhat worn.

Consequently, after work on Friday, I went to medical supply store on Wellington Street. After getting replacement tips, I decided to explore Wellington Street which is currently pedestrian only during the summer. I found much to amuse me. One of these was a sign in a ice cream parlour where I had stopped for a milkshake. There was a sign listing the various flavours of dip for soft ice cream.

It was the last one that really threw me for a loop. "Mac and cheese". Just to be sure, I checked with the staff that I wasn't misreading the sign. They assured me it was so. I can't think why anyone would want such a flavour.

I was later struck by just how silly one of the requested behaviour signs on Wellington Street was.

Have they really had a problem with people diving onto the street, I ask you?

A little further along, there was a golden retriever being very sociable and friendly much to its owner's annoyance as she evidently wanted to keep walking. The golden wanted to lie on its back and be petted.

On a court appearance by the driver

I had been informed that the driver (may the fleas of a thousand camels infest his armpits) would be sentenced on October 4 on the charges to which he plead guilty in my case namely Dangerous operation of motor vehicle causing bodily harm and Failure to stop after accident causing bodily harm, under sections 320.13 (2) and 320.16 (2) of the Canadian Criminal Code. I won't be there as I will be in Vancouver, getting ready to celebrate Margo's life. I was discussing this with my co-worker Margaret who is from the area. She suggested I should look at the New Brunswick court dockets to see if they will give out the sentences. I glanced at them but as they only go to the end of August, I didn't give it much thought.

However, she looked them more carefully and noticed the name of the driver (may cockroaches spit on his shoes) was on the Provincial Court docket for tomorrow (August 20) for reasons described as "Other" regarding charges of sections 320.13 (1), 320.13 (2), 320.14 (1) (a), 320.16 (1), 320.16 (2) and 430 (4)(b) of the Criminal Code. 320.13 (1) and (320.16 (1) are Dangerous operation of motor vehicle and Failure to stop after accident in cases without bodily harm. 320.14 (1) (a) is operation of a motor vehicle under the influence of alcohol and/or drugs. 430 (4)(b) is Mischief causing less than five thousand dollars damage.

I am somewhat curious to know what the "other" charges represent. Are they related from September 2nd and other collisions he is alleged to have been involved with on that day or do they stem from another day's mayhem? If from September 2nd, then my thinking is that the 320.14 (1) (a) charge might relate to a later collision which happened closer in time to his arrest and therefore evidence of his intoxication level would be admissible in court for the later collision.

On the Cirque du Soleil and a rainbow

Yesterday, I went to the Cirque du Soleil's Kurios show down at the Old Port. Dominique had initiated the trip, partly because she had been initially led astray by an ad offering "cheap" tickets. Anyway, it was a gorgeous, sunny Saturday afternoon and there were a huge number of people in Old Montreal. This made it hard for my taxi to get near the Jacque-Cartier quay, so I had to hobble a fair distance to meet up with Dominique, Désirée and Philip.

It was an intense affair with lots of Broadway, Hollywood and acrobatics, i.e. it was le Cirque du Soleil. At one point I realized that I hadn't seen le Cirque du Soleil since its early days. I believe I saw it twice in the nineties in Sherbrooke when it was a touring production. The first time I saw it, it was with my (great) Aunt Lorna, meaning more than thirty years ago! The last circus I saw was a traditional traveling circus I coincided with in Michigan ten years ago.

One of the highlights was an act featuring a female acrobat on a bicycle which soon lifted into the air. She performed various tricks as it circled the stage. When she rolled onto the stage, I had noticed an odd pattern to the bike's spokes. I soon realized that there were three gaps in the spokes so she could grip the rims with her hands.

At another point, a pair of male and female acrobats climbed a tower above a mattress. He was rather burly. The act involved him slinging her around. I quipped to Philip that I was wondering if she was going throw him!

 Philip and I had chosen a nearby sushi restaurant the day before for supper after the show. I had booked a table and quite glad I was that I had. While the restaurant was empty when we arrived, it filled up very quickly. 

I was also glad that I had chosen to sit inside as a torrential downpour hit while we ate. It was followed by one of the most intense double rainbows I have ever seen. The violet band was especially bright. There was a bright zone next to it that I surmised might be ultraviolet light.

The restaurant had a very high (nearly a foot) step. So as I was leaving, I lowered myself slowly and carefully. An older Asian man offered to help. Philip politely informed him that I could do it by myself, I just needed time. 

I had been pondering where I might find a taxi when I saw one just leaving Place Jacques Cartier. As its windows were open, I yelled "Taxi!" and waved a crutch. It stopped, impressing Philip. The driver was very nice and offered the front seat to me. He also knew how to get to my section of my street despite the construction. This was a blessing as I was getting very tired. When I got home, I pretty much went straight to bed and fell asleep very quickly, despite it being well before my usual bedtime.

In other news, so far today, I have managed not to use my wheelchair! A small step in the right direction.

On the doctor's verdict

I saw my ortho doctor this morning. The verdict was that my tibia is healing well which means only two more months of being shackled.

On the elephant in the room, Jasper and my first weeks back at work

Margo

I started this blog entry with the last two items in mind. However, I quickly realized that I have to acknowledge the elephant in room: my aunt Margo has died.

She guided me into bicycle touring and by doing so opened up a new world for me. I would be a poorer person without her assistance in taking flight. I had been optimistic that she would be around to suggest replacement gear once I was fit enough to ride, but alas cancer had other plans for her. As it was, I gather that she hung on to life by her fingernails to meet her newest grandson, before letting go.

I had desperately wanted to go out to Vancouver to see her one last time, however by the time I might have been fit to travel, she was too far gone to receive me. There will be a celebration of her life in October.

I had been thinking about what to wear, namely should I wear my kilt, when a conversation at work gave me an insight. I was discussing her death with colleagues when I remembered a recounted a story she had told about her wedding.

To set the context, this was in summer of 1981, a few months after her eldest sister had died prematurely. Her Father was boasting to his friends about how he would be giving away two brides that summer as a niece had asked him to stand in for her deceased father. Margo, being a feminist and something of a rebel, disliked the notion of being "given away". However, she loved her Father all the same and as he had just lost a daughter, she made a deal with him (and mostly herself), by saying to him something like: "If you are going to give me away, you will have to wear your kilt along with the Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket." Her Father hadn't been thinking about doing so, but was quite happy to oblige her request.

So I'll be wearing my kilt.

Jasper

I have been following the news about the wildfire in Jasper. I am afraid that my rationale is based on the fact that I spent many a happy hour there, all of which involved the Canadian. I was relieved when a map of the affected areas was published here on the CBC. I was happy that the damage didn't seem to be as bad as some of the news reports had implied. One of the things I did see was that the new HI Hostel had been destroyed, something that this article confirmed. I had stayed there in 2019. At that point, it was so new that work was still being done! I thinking that it needed to age before it became a first rate hostel. Now the building never will.

My first weeks back at work

I have started my third week back at work. I have settled almost too easier into the routine. I will have to figure out if I will ask my doctor later this week to change to more hours.

 

Part of my routine is to have lunch at the mall across from work after my half day was over. Twice now I have been spotted by patrons who missed my presence. Today, it was an older lady who is something of a fixture in non-fiction. I was pleased when she told me that I was looking much better than when we had last met about six months ago. She also revealed that the staff had been very concerned about my health. I had known they were concerned but not the extent that a patron would be so empathic about it. I was touched more than I could express.

Of course, I am still a "librarian". So someone else at the mall asked me where I had I purchased my crutches. She was also an older lady and was walking with two hiking poles. She was hoping to get one crutch in that style. I told where I had bought them, but qualified it by saying that they were handed, so I didn't know if she might buy only one. In hindsight, I should have told her that the style of crutch is known in the trade as "Canadian crutches". Mind you, I wasn't on duty and unlike registered nurses, there is such a thing as an off-duty librarian! ;-)

On my first day back at work

As I was leaving work, someone asked me how did I feel the day had gone. My response was, "Well, at least I didn't cry." 

Actually, the half-day went quite smoothly, the only bit of trouble being that I left my mobile at home. Also, I'm no longer in charge of DVDs for the Youth department.

On penny farthings and a return to work

Mummy has sent me this picture of a picture of two of my great great uncles with penny farthings. They and their two siblings, one of which is my great grandmother, are in front of Bishop's Court where they lived with their parents and grandfather. The latter was the Anglican Bishop of Montreal. Bishop's Court was just above the Anglican Cathedral, thus between Eaton's and Morgan's Department Store (now the Bay). The family kept a cow on the premises to insure a supply of reliable milk.

In other news, on Monday, I finally managed to secure a doctor's note saying I am fit enough to return to work part time. The plan is to start on Monday. Me being me, I am both nervous and hopeful.

On a penny farthing and other topics

I was the last customer of the day for Jonas my wonderful taxi driver from Eritea yesterday. Saint Michael the Holy Mole had been his first at a little after 4 AM on his way to see Margo. Knowing I was a cyclist, Jonas asked if I had been following the Tour de France. I replied that I hadn't because I view the Tour de France to be something of a perversion of true biking. He was enthused by it as an Eritean was winning it despite being only the third best cyclist in Eritea. I said that I hadn't heard that, the only news that I remembered seeing about the Tour de France was that a cyclist had been fined for kissing his wife. (Which only serves to show how ridiculous the Tour de France is.) I was quite prepared to be happy for Jonas and promised to wave a metaphorical flag in support of the Eritean cyclist.

I have since discovered that the cyclist in question, Biniam Girmay, had "only" won two stages of the race, no mean feat in and of itself. He is also the first African of colour to win a stage in the Tour de France. Go, go, Biniam Girmay!

I had a few errands planned around the Alexis Nihon Plaza. These included mailing various things. Another errand took me a block away from the Plaza. On my way back, I caught sight of a person of colour carrying a penny-farthing bicycle on his shoulder on the other side of the street. I tried to get out my iPhone, but hampered by crutches, I didn't manage to get a shot. It is extraordinarily rare to see penny-farthings in the street. As in, I think this is first time I have seen one.

Yesterday, also saw the birth of Louise's baby boy, Patrick. I'd post the picture but I'm not sure that it is my news to post. Congratulations to Louise, Thomas and big sister Tessa.

I had a physio session today. While I have a long way to go before getting full angular mobility on my left knee and ankle, there was a first today, namely walking with only my right crutch. At first the physio was holding my left arm, but eventually he let me walk by myself. Me being me, I neurotically apologized for sometimes stopping to plan my next move. I also apologized for having paused to instinctively grabbed with my left hand for a support or crutch that wasn't there at one point. Muscle memory is always 100%. I will only be walking with one crutch in the safety of my narrow hallway.

Actually, that isn't quite true. At some point, I will be shopping as I have been with a shopping cart acting as a substitute for my left crutch.

On a coincidence of Griffins and other tidbits

Saturday of last week, Mummy and I went to the Farmers' Market in North Hatley. There, there was a three fold coincidence of Susans. We then went to LeBaron's. As usual, it took me more time to get out of the car than Mummy. While doing so, I thought I saw James' son Griffin arriving by bike and head into the store. I wasn't 100% sure it was him, so I said nothing. The floor at the entryway of LeBaron's is not 100% smooth, so my gaze was downwards as I came. I heard someone call a greeting to me so I looked up to see Griffin, the younger brother of Elliott the owner. I replied "Hi Griffin!" whereupon James' son Griffin looked up from his position two spaces behind Griffin, brother of Elliott and said "Hi Daniel!" I know exactly two people whose first name is "Griffin" and both of them were in line at the cash of the store.

Mummy told me that Elliott's older sons, Aiden and Orran, had been pushed around the store in a shopping cart. Orran was facing backwards, so when the cart when forwards he started going "Beeeep, Beeeep" like a truck backing up. It sounded like such a wonderfully typical small boy thing to do. I hope that doesn't sound sexist.

I went to see the movie Furiosa, a Mad Max saga yesterday. When I came out of the theater, it was about time for supper, so I hobbled along Ste-Catherine's street to Reuben's delicatessen and steak house. While perusing the menu, my eyes caught sight of one the more expensive offerings, namely a 40 ounce tomahawk ribeye steak. Elliott had mentioned that he never ordered steak at a restaurant as it would three times more expensive and not as good. On hearing about the tomahawk steak the Parents and I had enjoyed chez Elliott, Dominique had commented that the tomahawk steaks had been nearly fifty dollars each at LeBaron's. The ones on the menu at Reuben's were $165! Needless to say, I didn't order one.

I will say this about Reuben's. After my meal, I needed to use the loo. Normally, that would have meant climbing a set of stairs, however, I was directed by a waiter to an unmarked toilet on the main floor at the back of the restaurant. This involved multiple "Excuse me"'s to various patrons in the crowded restaurant. Everyone was very kind and understanding. 

I must say that people have been very kind to me about my condition. In fact, after the incident in LeBaron's with the two Griffins, I walked, well, hobbled over to the North Hatley Library to renew my membership, rather than having to get in and out of the car for the short trip. While I was in front the Club tennis courts, someone unknown to me drove up in an grey SUV and asked if I needed a lift! I politely turned him down saying that I was just going to the Library.

In other news, I have started climbing stairs in a more normal fashion. That is put one foot on a step, then put the other foot on the next step. It is a bit more complicated than normal as climbing with the left foot first involves making sure both arms are available to assist my left. I still can't go down stairs with my right foot first.

On revisiting a great day via the Internet

When I last biked in Newfoundland, there was one great day when I saw humpback whales feeding within a couple of dozen meters from the beach. It seems the whales have returned to the same beach for the same reason: the capelin.

On steaks, docs and cogs

Unlike one of my brothers, I am not given to the “best something ever” hyperbole. In fact, I find my brother’s usage of the trope to be annoying. However, I must confess having employed a similar hyperbole recently with reason. Now, it may be partly because I have recently been released from 8 months of hospital food, but I have to say that Mummy was also raving about the meal in question.

On Friday, she had come into Montreal with Joey to pick me up and to buy some things for the store. On the trip to North Hatley, Mummy told me we were invited to Elliott’s for supper. Mummy would be bringing various desserts. So around six, we went down River Street to Elliott’s house, where I had a bit of trouble with his front door step. We were greeted by the family, viz. Elliott, Xiaofung, Aiden, Orran and Luke. Joey was also there. We were ushered out onto the porch where I was seated and given Luke to hold, while Elliott fussed over the charcoal barbecue and a pair of tomahawk steaks. Unfortunately, Luke wasn’t happy being held by me for long so he was handed over to more experienced baby holders. Aiden and Orran ran about while the adults chatted and tried to put Luke to sleep.

Elliott applied liberal amounts of Montreal steak seasoning to the steaks while keeping a careful watch on the timing of this and that including pausing the cooking of the steaks. All this was worth it as the end result was the best steak that I have eaten. Period. Tender and flavourful, and OMG delicious.

It may be that Elliott’s cooking success rate is considered “normal” by his sons, but Aiden surprised us by wanting to eat straight Dijon mustard! Pretty surprising for five-year old. Then again, he has grown up around LeBaron’s store!

Earlier in the week, I had gone into the General for check up with my orthopaedic surgeon. After presenting my cards at the reception, I hobbled over to waiting area. On the way, I saw a woman with a baby stroller with the hood partially up. I politely asked if I might admire her child. She was happy to oblige and pushed back the hood so that I might gaze upon the happy, chubby infant within. It made me happy for a bit.

The doctor was full of enthusiasm and said my leg was doing fine. I asked if I might start returning to work? He indicated there would be no problem. Unfortunately, he didn’t offer to give me a note to that effect. When I emailed the Library about a gradual return to work, I was told that I needed such a document. So now, I am trying to get in contact with his secretary to get the blasted piece of paper. *Grumble*

The next day, I met my physio again who gave a some new exercises. From there, I hobbled to the Home Depot get some small hooks and then back to my condo. Probably a record distance for me.

I had thought that I might use my leg as an excuse to indulge in a small bucket list item this weekend, namely taking the cog railways up and down Mount Washington. However, the one way driving distance is about the same as Montreal to North Hatley and I was exhausted by the end of night on Friday. My energy levels aren’t what they used to be. So I think I’ll put that one on back burner. I hope I’ll be up to it before the summer is out, or else it might be another four years before I will be able to do it.

Time to do my exercises.

On the last week

Last week saw Montreal and me swelter under a heat and humidity wave. It was rather miserable, and the large bandage around my left leg didn't help. 

On Wednesday, I went to have breakfast a certain distance away after a short visit to the local CLSC. I tried to think of somewhere where I might quiet sit in a comfy chair and read a book in an air conditioned environment. Then it struck me: the Library where I work. So, I got a cab and visited the workplace. I chatted with various co-workers. The latter included the director of the Library with whom I touched on possibly returning to work.

After reading for a couple of hours, I hobbled across the street to the movie theater where I saw Inside out 2, the most recent Pixar movie. As with the previous one, it touched on various psychological issues. I'm not afraid to say that it had me crying by the end of it.

Coming home, I lucked out by getting a very nice taxi driver. He was chatty and got me out of my tearing mood.

On Friday, the heatwave broke. Also, my new SAAQ agent phoned. The talk we had was quietly productive and reassuring.

On Saturday, I hobbled over to my breakfast place. It was quite busy on account of the holiday weekend and the fact it had just reopened as the owner had been away on vacation. In fact, when I came in, there wasn't a table available. However, the owner asked a group of three young women if they wouldn't mind concentrating themselves on to one table so there would be a table for me. This was a sign to me that I am in the valued but temporarily disabled customer category. 

Later in the day, a pair of gaming buddies came over. We had an enjoyable session of Unmatched using the Slings and Arrows expansion. This meant playing William Shakespeare or some of his creations, viz Hamlet, Titania or the Wayward Sister (a.k.a. the Weird Sisters).

This morning, I hobbled back to the breakfast place where I noticed a pair of touring bikes parked outside. I happened to sit next to the owners, a pair of young Americans who were trying to figure out how to get from Quebec City to either Montreal or Toronto on Via Rail with their bikes. I offered my knowledge on the subject. As they were planning on going to Quebec City, I proposed giving them an old copy of the Guide de la Route Verte. They turned down the latter. However, it felt good to talk about bike touring.

On yesterday's operation

Oh, the life of a neurotic accident victim.

On Tuesday, I got a phone call from the Montreal General saying my operation was scheduled for the next day. It was a little less than a week after the "two to three weeks" the doctor had said it would be. The woman said that she would phone back with exact time and place I was to be in the hospital. I started preparations including social media ones.

An hour or so later, the woman phoned back to tell me to be at the hospital at 6 AM and at room such-and-such. Also, I should have someone to take me home.

At that point, my mental train jumped off the rails. Going home the same day? That seemed to imply that it would not be "The Operation" which would reconstruct my tibia. I asked for details but all she had was mumbo-jumbo about my Taylor Spatial Frame, a.k.a., the shackle around my left leg. My best theory was the surgeon was going to take off the frame to let my skin heal a bit before doing "The Big Operation". The disappointment and anxiety had me crying for much of the day. However, Mummy heroically volunteer to bring me back from the hospital. I prepped a short stay backpack and a long stay duffle. I left the latter at home just in case.

I failed to sleep on Tuesday night, so I got up early enough to make the hospital before 6. After waiting a certain amount of time, the preoperative preparations began. Eventually, a junior orthopedic surgeon identified himself. I asked him if he knew what exactly my surgery was going to be. He said: "Oh, yes." 

I replied: "Good, I'm glad that one of use does, because I don't! But I would really like to know!" 

He demurred at that point as he didn't want to give me incorrect information, but he did summon the senior surgeon. The latter explained that he would reconstruct my tibia with bone grafts from my pelvis but without putting "a nail" inside my tibia. This would be The Final Operation. *touch wood* There would be a few of relatively minor procedures including the removal of the Taylor Spatial Frame somewhere down the road. But with luck, I shouldn't have to undergo another big operation.

This put me in such a good mood that when the surgeon pointed out that I hadn't signed the line on the form for allowing anesthesia, I quipped: "How do you know I'm not a masochist?"

Anyway, several hours later I awoke in the recovery room in the company of a friendly nurse who watched over me for several hours as I regained sensation in and usage of my legs (I'd had something like an epidural.). I also had come to terms with an intermittent and intense pain in my lower left side caused by the extraction of bone from my pelvis. The pain was not helped by the presence of a drain at the site of the extraction. One of the worrying bits was the pain could be triggered by using the muscles near the site. This made most types movement as something to be avoided if possible.

Mummy came in and out as requested by the nurse. I was eventually deemed fit enough to be released. Mummy drove me home. I had a snooze followed by a supper of leftover stir-fry and rice. I went back to bed and slept uneasily for a long time.

Today, I awoke relatively late and sent Mummy to get some breakfast sandwiches at a nearby restaurant. We then went to the Alexis Nihon Plaza for some medications and groceries. I was startled that the increased dosage of the pain killer came with an antidote kit. Thankfully, the pain from the drain has dropped off. 

Tomorrow, the drain will be removed which will reduce the mental load.