On qualifications and qualms

 The new bike helmet is redder than I expected, but that is no bad thing. I put it to use a week and a half ago with a short trial of my biking abilities. St Michael the Holy Mole was there to support me and record the event. I didn't go far, merely up and down a few local streets and around the block.

It was a bit awkward getting on and, more importantly, off the bike, despite having removed the milk crate. The first time I tried to get off, I became mentally stuck trying to decide exactly how I should do it. I later wondered if there wasn't conflict between well ingrained muscle memory and more recently acquired caution about new movements.

 It felt very weird to be back on the bike. I found that it was hard to keep my left foot in a consistent location on the pedal. Once or twice, it went so far forward that it bumped against the front mudguard. I haven't been back on the bike since, partly because of bad weather, partly because of fear and partly because of another source of stress that has emerged.

A week ago, I got an email from a real estate agent about buying my late neighbor's ground floor condo from her estate. The price was a bit higher than I hoped it might be, but it was enough to prod me into action about talking to my bank about getting a loan to buy the place. For various reasons, I don't want to sell my current condo before having moved out. I'm lucky enough that I can be so indulgent. I will be meeting with the bank to get pre-approval in two weeks. Fortunately, the inheritors are in no rush to sell. They want to sell, but given that some of them are in Ireland and that person who is in Canada lives in Ottawa and has the complication of a new baby, who is very cute. I know this as I have seen the baby.

The ground floor unit will present some challenges as the hallway has a different configuration. I am planning to follow my neighbor Jacques' example and having a bike storage space in the front hall. However, I would not be able to keep a spare bike box there, at least, not with any pretensions of elegance. It would also mean I would have to rethink the storage of some of my books, DVDs and CDs. There is only so much that can or should be weeded. It will be quite a job of packing, finding people to move the stuff and unpacking. Not to mention making some changes to suit my needs, including adding some railings to the three steps up to the new place.

The day after getting the call from the agent, I had a meeting with the ortho doctor who cheerfully told me he didn't want to see me again. He meant, of course, that my tibia was in sufficiently in shape that his services were no longer required. Among the qualities he described about my leg was that it was the same length as my other leg. I had heard about broken limbs sometimes ending up shorter than their counterparts but had not given the matter any thought. While I had him, I got him to give me document telling the Library that I was reasonably good to go, particularly in the matter of a mobile staircase that my immediate superior was reluctant to let me use. I also decided to use the letter to justify returning to work full-time. I had been hemming and hawing about this, but finally came to the conclusion that the best course of action was bite the bullet and just do it. When I went the Library the following day, my immediate superior told me that another manager had agreed with her that I shouldn't use the mobile staircase. I promptly presented the letter to her. She relented.

On protection and politics

I went to a local bike store to buy a new helmet last week. While I am not sure my head hit anything during the collision, I am also not sure that it hit nothing. When in doubt, buy a new helmet. I was quite happy with the Specialized Align II model, so I was looking for "The same, again." The store had one in my size in stock but it was matte black which was exactly the colour I didn't want. So instead, I went about getting the store to order one in an appropriate colour. My first choice would have been the same "safety ion" high visibility green as my previous few helmets, but that would only be available in November. I settled on "deep orange".

I have been working my way through Star Trek : Deep Space Nine on DVD. There was one episode which really caught my attention. It is titled "Melora". It features a certain Ensign Melora arriving on the Deep Space Nine station. She is a member of a species that evolved on a low gravity world and needs external mechanical apparatus in the form of an exoskeleton and a wheelchair to exist comfortably on the station. She is rather determined to be as independent as possible and abruptly refuses various offers of help as well as taking offense at legitimate expressions of concern. As someone who is currently handicapped, I empathized with her and sensed her frustrations at having to explain herself, again. About 30 years ago, someone told me that the character had first been written as a permanent cast member who would represent the physically handicapped but for various reasons, the idea was rejected but later revived as a guest character. Anybody who tells you that the current Star Trek series are "woke" has missed the point that Star Trek has always been socially progressive.

Today is election day here in the True North, Strong and Free. The co-worker who gives me lifts was happy to drop me off opposite the high school where my polling station was. For one thing, it meant that she would have a simpler drive home. I was a little surprised that the polling station was in a part of the high school that I had not previously been to, namely a second floor gym. It was accessible via an elevator, but I could not be bothered to walk the extra distance. It was much simpler to climb the stairs. The election worker at the top of the stairs tried to encourage me to fill out a comment form prior to voting. However, I again couldn't be bothered so I simply voted for the Sensible Party and left via the stairs. The same election worker tried to direct me to the elevator.

On oddities and ointments

Short version: 

This evening, I had my first bath since at least the 1st of September 2023.

Longer version:  

After patient waiting, I have enjoyed the pleasure of being immersed in hot water since the accident. It was not something I did lightly. I'd done a (literal) dress rehearsal or dry run a couple of weeks ago to see how easy it would be for me to get out of the tub. I also made sure that a number of aids were to hand, such as my transfer bench, a step stool and my smartphone. The latter had a dual purpose, namely recording the event and being there to call for help if I needed it. Speaking of the former purpose:

It was a bit weird as my left leg and foot seem to have altered or reduced sensitivity to heat and cold. Indeed, at times my left foot felt oddly cold. It reminded me of the sensation you get after frostbite. Given that the foot didn't get directly damaged, I suspect there is some sort of mild nerve damage. The experience was also odd as it wasn't obvious how to turn myself in order to submerse my chest in my rather shallow bathtub. When I move to a new place, it will have a deeper bathtub.

Now, to make up the other "O", I should go and apply ointments to various parts of my body.

On navigation and nationalism

I wrote this returning from Ottawa after a short visit. In fact it might be qualified as a “revisit” as it mostly covered things I didn’t have time or energy for during my last visit! Mostly, this was shopping for books and DVDs. This involved a fair bit of driving around Ottawa and consequently, navigating around Ottawa. The car I had rented (which may or may not have been the same one I had rented in January) first proved reluctant to connect with my iPhone. Once I had made it connect, it turned out that I couldn’t use the iPhone’s navigation system to display on the car’s large display. Net result: I had to navigate with a combination of paper maps, pen scratching assisted by Google Maps.

I had identified several stores around Ottawa and printed a list. I then marked them on a free but limited map of downtown Ottawa and a better but larger scale map that I bought at Canadian Tire. Google Maps was handy in locating where the stores were on the maps which I marked in pen. I would then use the maps to do the actual navigation. I used a principal which I think of as simplified street navigation. Rather than follow an optimized Google Maps route, I  chose to use streets in such a way that minimized the number of turns to be negotiated. It more or less worked for me. One slight problem was that I wasn’t used to the scale of the map vis-à-vis the scale of Ottawa:  I found that I was overestimating the distances involved.

One bit of shopping that I didn’t need maps for was visiting an LCBO to get some Screech, currently unavailable from the SAQ. In the shop, I saw an ad for the launching of a drink inspired by the Trailer Park Boys TV show. The three main actors would be there as their characters. I was nonplussed by this having been the victim of a driver from a trailer park in the Maritimes with a history of substance abuse including alcohol. I’m half-tempted to go back to Ottawa and crash the event.

An added distraction was the sight of various building, among the most bizarre being one that first caught my attention by the incongruous sight of a large satellite dish on the roof of what looked like a grey stone convent. Getting closer, I saw that it was now the Chinese Embassy. I couldn’t help but remember a quote from Douglas Adams in Last Chance to See about hearing the theme from Hawaii Five-Oh being played in Tiananmen Square in 1988: “It was hard to avoid the feeling that somebody, somewhere, was missing the point. I couldn't even be sure it wasn't me.”

This morning, I sought a couple of stores on Bank Street in the Glebe. I found the street wonderfully eccentric and had I need to live in Ottawa, I would love to live in the Glebe neighbourhood. One note of this eccentricity was an add for an animated South American film that would apparently be shown at a special screening in the original Spanish. The film is based on comic character, and is named after him: Condorito : la Película.

The stores I sought didn’t have anything I really wanted, but there was a Flag Shop which had an indigenous variation on the Canadian flag which caught my eye. I went in to purchase one. While I was making the purchase, a pair of women came in and asked the sales clerk if the store had any combined Canadian and Mongolian flag pins! I commented that the combination was somewhat unusual. One of the women said that they had family who were to be posted to Mongolia.

If I may digress, when I bought a Driza-Bone riding coat in Sydney, Australia back in 2011, I was given an Australian-Canadian flag pin. The lady in that shop said they had a stock of such pins for likely countries. Hence, dual flag pins are a thing. However, I would give you good odds that the shop in Oz didn’t have Australia-Mongolia pins! 

After lunch, I visited the Canada Agriculture Food Museum at the Experimental Farm. I was a bit disappointed that there was only limited amount of space devoted to explaining crops rather than livestock. I would have loved to find out more about boring crops such as wheat, oats and barley. The only crop that was covered in any detail was Canola, a crop that the Experimental Farm had a hand in developing.

A ewe with her four lambs

I did have fun “annoying” the sheep by saying “Miiiiinnnnt saaaauuuuuce”. I also loved petting the lambs and sheep. One of the ewes, a Canadian Arcott, had given birth to four lambs this year. All four were penned with their dam. I don’t know exactly how the ewe sorts out who gets fed first, sheep only having two teats, but the lambs looked like they were thriving. I loved watching the lambs nurse as their tails seem to indicate pure joy. By the way, the breed term “Arcott” is an acronym for “Animal Research Centre in Ottawa”.

A Canadian horse

A Newfoundland pony

RCMP surplus Hanoverian

The Horse and Cattle barn housed both an elderly Canadian horse, age 29, and a Newfoundland pony. Next to the Newfoundland pony was an RCMP surplus Hanoverian. I teased one of the museum employees about the bull in the barn being angered by red as both she and I were wearing red jackets. She explained that cattle can’t actually see the colour red, something that I knew full well.

In the building with historical displays, there was a small section describing a traditional Jamaican Christmas pudding recipe. There was an element of conspicuous inclusivity to it. There was also something in the recipe that reminded me of a recipe provided by a Jamaican-Canadian girlfriend of my brother Stephen. Or rather something that wasn’t in the recipe. There was a reference to adding alcohol marinated fruit to the pudding, but no reference as to the quantities of fruit and alcohol required. The recipe in from my brother’s girlfriend also left out an important ingredient.

Between the Orange Menace (a.k.a. Putin’s Puppet) having upset the established global trade rules the night before and the fact that I was in my nation’s capital, I was feeling somewhat patriotic. Also, a bit silly, as driving towards the car rental place, I mentally described the various government buildings I passed as being guarded by pairs of highly trained RCMP cobra chickens. As well, I stopped at the Canadian Science and Technology Museum to visit its gift shop as it was next to the car rental place. A larger family was boarding an SUV. I was a little perturbed to see that it had an Arkansas license plate. The state’s slogan was “The Natural State”, something that I really didn’t associate with it. As I got back in the car, I noticed a woman directing an SUV into a parking spot with aircraft marshaling type hand signals. This caused me to laugh out loud attracting her attention and causing her to exaggerate her motions even further.

Unlike my previous experiences at Ottawa’s train station (all three of them), this evening’s trip left from the nearest platform to the station. Unlike the other platform, this one was raised so as to allow high level boarding. That is boarding straight into the train without having to negotiate a set of stairs. This is makes life much easier for those with mobility issues or luggage. As I currently have both, I couldn’t help but wonder why the hell Via Rail doesn’t have more of such platforms.

My taxi from Central Station home feature a blue disco type light inside for no real reason other than the driver thought is was a good idea.

On medicine and merde

I saw my ortho doctor this morning. After looking at freshly taken X-rays images, he pronounced me fit enough to start putting my whole weight on my left leg and to throw away the Zimmer brace. About the only bit of bad news was that I will have to wait another four weeks before taking my first bath since the collision. Mummy had wanted to know how common the surgery I had was. The doctor, who has a deserved reputation as something of a hot shot said that for him, it was common, but that otherwise it was relatively rare.

Afterwards, I took the bus down to Maisonneuve, then walked along Ste-Catherine Street where I ate lunch at an Indian restaurant. I walked to the Alexis Nihon, doing some grocery shopping, along the way. At the Alexis Nihon, I went into a nail salon to see if they might trim my toenails for me. I can only do my left toenails with extreme difficulty and today seemed like a milestone. They had the time and I had the money. With tip, it was just under twenty dollars.

I took the Metro home, where I had my first shower since the removal of the external fixation. I followed up by putting on regular trousers for the first time since the 2nd of September.

After attending to a few things, I had settled in for a rest on the sofa when the doorbell rang. It was Alexandre, my downstairs neighbour. He informed me that my ground floor neighbour Theresa had been found on her floor the day before and had been taken to hospital. She then passed away today. I hadn't been aware of any of this. Alexandre was very upset by all this, having been a witness to some of the drama of police, ambulance and social workers. I apologized for not being so affected explaining that I was riding a personal bubble of happiness.

On luck and laundry

Nearly two weeks ago, I took a taxi to the Alexis Nihon Plaza to run some errands. As the day was warm, I remember getting out of the taxi and using my crutches without gloves. I then did a number of errands, including visiting the Post Office to have my identity verified in order to vote for who should lead the Liberal Party of Canada. When I had finished, I sat down to rest for a few minutes. I suddenly noticed that I didn't have my gloves with me. I tried retracing my steps, but no luck. Fortunately, there is a Sports Experts in the Alexis Nihon, and I knew that they had my favourite brand and model of gloves in stock. As it turned out, there was an end of winter sale on so I got a discount on them which was good as Auclair Lillehammer gloves while very good aren't cheap.

When I got home, I phoned the taxi company as I had summoned the cab with the company's app. They, in turn, phoned the driver who hadn't found my gloves.

One of the things I did during my enforced time off was to finally get around to getting a repairman in to look at my dryer which was making a huge amount of noise. So much noise that I had bought a clothes drying rack and only used the dryer for my sheets. Anyway, I phoned a company and sent them a picture of the builder's plate with the model number on it. A few days later, a repairman came around. He replaced one part explaining how it was defective and lubricate a couple of rollers as well. It now dries quietly. 

Afterwards, I decided I would Google the model number. It turns out that my dryer was made in 1986. Somehow, I thought it was older than that. I acquired it around 2002. It was at least second hand as my Mother bought it and a washing machine with the same paint colour on my behalf from family friends for $50. Repairing it cost 6 times as much! Still cheaper than buying a new one! Part of what makes the age interesting to me is that I have now owned it longer than the previous owners.

I have been wanting to see the film "A complete unknown" for several months. However, I was also hesitant to see it as I knew it would not be an easy film to watch. This afternoon, I decided that I had to pull myself together and watch it. 

I summoned a cab using an app. As it turned out, it was the same cab driver that had driven me to the Alexis Nihon mentioned earlier. As I was about to get into the taxi, I noticed one of my lost gloves wedged behind the back seat! The driver searched the behind the seat and found the other one! What are the odds? Needless to say, I gave him a good tip.

I was in a very good mood when I got to the theatre, which helped as the film was challenging. A complete unknown deals with the early years of Bob Dylan up to the point when he famously and problematically went electric at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. Among the people Bob deals with is Pete Seeger who comes across as saintly in the words of Saint Michael the Holy Mole. Contrast between the two is likely part of the reason the movie failed to win any Oscars as Bob Dylan is described in the movie by Joan Baez as an asshole. He also alternates between being utterly vague about who he wants to be and very egotistical. This frustrates most of the characters around him with the notable exception of a drunken Johnny Cash. Pete tries to mentor Bob, before going very nearly ballistic and wanting to take an axe to the sound cables at the 1965 Newport Festival before being dissuaded by his wife Toshi. 

That, of course, is artistic license on behalf of the filmmakers. Another bit of artistic license is the way that Woody Guthrie is depicted. He is hospitalized for Huntington's and the hospital is depicted as an extremely bleak place almost a prison. (Having spent eight months in hospitals, I related to that.) The only people who are seen visiting him are Pete and Bob. The large room he is in serves to heighten the sense of isolation. This ignores the fact that he had a wife and kids and many friends who would come to visit him. From what I've read about Arlo Guthrie, I doubt he is very pleased with the movie with its assorted Hollywood-isms.

One of these is the dourness of Bob, as he rarely cracks a smile. I don't think it rings true as I remember a fair bit of humour in "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" album which comes out during the movie. Interestingly enough, Arlo complained about this sort of depiction of his father by David Carradine in the film "Bound for Glory" in which Woody never smiles.

One thing that I wish the filmmakers would have included would be a scene where we see Pete singing with absolute conviction and passion. A good song would have been his take on Bob's "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall" such as the one he performed at Carnegie Hall in 1963. The film presents Pete a bit too passively, and doesn't really capture his passion.

On a different note, while it is probably historically accurate, the filmmakers could have toned down the amount of smoking that happens. There is so much smoking in the film that I would have insisted that the movie be preceded by an anti-smoking ad.

Also, there were a fair number of patrons in the theatre, mostly older than I am. I think there were only two people at the screening whom I would consider young. After the movie was over, I was tempted to ask my fellow patrons who had seen any of the three main characters perform in person, e.g. Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger or Joan Baez. 

With regards to the timing of this blog entry, today marks one year to the day since I was allowed to use crutches.

On kindness and kinship

In the eighteen months since the collision, I have come to the conclusion that most people are generally kind.

I am probably repeating myself in order to keep up the "On [letter] and [letter]" sequence, but the fact of the matter is that I have only had to ask for a seat on the Metro once or twice, whereas I have had to turn down offers of seats dozens of times. I've been using taxi drivers enough that a number now know me and a usual destination. One of them drove me to the Montreal General early in the morning last Tuesday, for what should be the last procedure.

I'm not sure if it should be called an operation or not. It wasn't a big procedure but for pain control the easiest option was to put me under via relatively light sedation rather than do a spinal block which would take several hours to wear off. Also, a spinal block is itself a bit painful. During the pre-op briefing, I was asked twice if I had any piercings. The second time, I quipped that I had some, but I was there to have them removed! At least, I think I did. To be honest, I had slept badly that night and was justifiably tense. The Doctor talked to me in the hallway just outside the operating room and among other things, jokingly asked me which leg was he supposed to operate on. "The ugly one", I replied. I know he was asking the question partly out of standard practice as it has been known for surgeons to operate on the wrong limb. In this case, as the procedure was to remove the external fixation, it would take a very bad surgeon to get my two legs mixed up.

The operating table was surprisingly narrow with the result that I transferred myself from the gurney a bit too far, before shuffling myself to the center. I felt a bit chilly, but a mask was put on my mouth and I was quickly out of reality. When I came to, I was being moved by gurney and I had the urge to turn on my side to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, this put my left foot outside the edge of the gurney and it caught on something. In the recovery room, I waited as the effects of the gas went away. My cousin, Saint Micheal the Holy Mole, arrived, having been phoned twice by hospital, the first time to say all had gone well and the second to let him know it was about time for him to take me home.

There was a longish talk with a medical specialist whose name and even general job description escape me. She explained what I should and shouldn't do for the next two weeks. My leg was covered in a large bandage over which there was a removable brace. She repeated an earlier instruction of not putting more than 50% of my weight on my left leg. She also explained how and when to take off and put on the brace. Indeed, she had me take a video of her putting on the brace. The short version is that I am only to have the brace off while lying down on my back. As I tend to sleep on my side, I have to wear it at night. 

All this is a bit of metaphorical pain, as it is frustratingly hard to remember to use both crutches at home and difficult to move things from A to B while using both crutches. In all honestly, I know that from time to time I slip up and put too much weight on my left leg. I really hope that doesn't really make a difference! The why of not putting too much weight on my left leg I assume has to do with the holes left behind by the removal of the Taylor Spatial Frame. In theory, the holes could propagate cracks in my tibia if too much stress were put on them.

If I am lucky, then when I next meet the Ortho Doctor on the 13th, I will be allowed to shed the brace once and for all. To be followed by physio, for a certainty. 

While the brace is a metaphorical pain, it isn't a physical one. After a few days, I tapered off my prescription opioid. That is a relief as I had concerns about opioid dependency. 

Getting back to the day of the procedure, I was discharge into the care of the Mole. He got me a taxi and we drove to the Alexis Nihon Plaza to pick up a prescription and to have an early lunch. The Mole was his usual wonderful self. It was a very enjoyable meal. We later took a taxi back to my humble domicile where he escorted me up the stairs. In my living room, he noticed a slightly rusty old blue colander sitting upside down on a chair. He then asked "Is that your old uncle Henry's First World War helmet? Sure is shot up bad!" Knowing my cousin, I decided to play along, "No, it is from a peacekeeping mission that went wrong!" I really enjoyed the easy kinship and kidding of the Mole.

Before he left, I had him stand nearby as I tried to see how easily I could sit down and get up from the toilet. There were no issues and he was getting his boots on when I repaired to my front room to lie down on the futon for a nap. After I sat down, I called on him to wait a moment before leaving. I then made sure I could get up easily, which I could. I have since made much use of the futon.