On wide-bodies and weather

I probably know too much about aircraft. Then again, I know how to try and get the most out them. Or possibly know enough to get into trouble. Or maybe minimize the trouble. 

Given my leg, I had made a point of booking a flight on a wide-bodied airliner from Montreal to Vancouver. I also made a point of choosing my seat for extra legroom. To avoid the issue of having to step over and being stepped over, I chose a bulkhead row seat in the center block of seats. Finally, the flight I selected left at a very reasonable hour.

In the period leading up to my vacation, I began to suffer from lower back pain to the point that I contemplated delaying my trip by a few days. Nothing came of this which was just as well as the two days following my flight saw freezing rain in Montreal along with the attendant flight disruptions! This may contributed to my flight being solidly booked as some people may have moved up their flights. Among other passengers, there was the Université de Montréal Women’s Volleyball team as a fair number of Sikhs, including three generations of a single family.

I was escorted through security by an airport employee. At first, I didn’t understand when she told not to extract my iPad from my backpack. It turned out that the airport now has a special fancy scanner meaning that it is no longer necessary to take electronics out of your carry on luggage. As with my last flight to Vancouver, there was no point in getting a lift in cart as the gate was extremely close to security.

I put my handicap to good use and boarded early, taking pains to pack my cane and backpack away as tidily as I could. I encountered a weakness in my plan early on as the bulkhead row seat was slightly narrower than the regular seats on account of wider, immobile armrests housing tables and TV screens. Also, I am unfortunately wider than I used to be.

I must be getting old as I found the noise of flying much louder than I remembered. Then again, I was sitting over the wings and therefore nearer to the engines as well various pumps moving air and fuel around the plane. I wasn’t able to relax during the flight.

I made a point of standing by the implied deal of pre-boarding for the handicapped by waiting for the able bodied passengers to leave before leaving myself. I found I was being bumped by the disembarking passengers so I used a lull to move into a middle seat which was also more comfortable as it didn’t have an armrest on one side.

My original plan had been for Chris to meet me at the airport. However, it emerged that he had only flown back from Norway the day before. I could not in good conscience ask him to do so as my flight arrived about 8:30 PM Vancouver time. As it was, he sent me an email saying that he would leave the front door unlocked in case anything happened. I replied with: “i.e. you fall asleep.” 

The weather here has been what I expected for Vancouver in March, generally cloudy and wet. Consequently, I have not been disappointed. Furthermore, this vacation was intended to be a very relaxed one. I will grumble that when Chris and I took the ferry over to Victoria on Saturday, it was very nice and sunny day. Unfortunately, it was also a very windy day, so the open decks of the ferry were closed which meant I could only take pictures through the salt-stained windows which was a pity as the snow capped mountains were quite spectacular in the sunlight.

I made the obligatory visit to the Vancouver Aquarium and soon wished I had bought a season ticket as it less expensive than two tickets. Also, my back was giving me trouble so I didn’t have the patience and energy to force myself to look at everything with attention it deserved. I was happy to see a Pacific octopus actively moving around as opposed to just lurking in a corner as is the wont of the species. However, it was the marine mammals who were the stars of the show. The rescued seals, sea lions and sea otters were easily the most interesting things to watch. The Aquarium puts a goodly emphasis on “rescued” as because of somewhat misguided priorities of animal rights activists, that is the only way they are allowed to keep marine mammals in captivity. I was most enthused by the talk about the Steller sea lions as the guide was openly and honestly passionate about them.

During my visit, I overheard a couple of references to a change of status of the Aquarium that I didn’t think too much about. It was only when I got home that Chris informed me that the Aquarium was no longer the Vancouver Public Aquarium, but simply the Vancouver Aquarium as it had been bought by the company behind Sea World. Apparently, the Aquarium had failed to weather the financial disruption brought about by the Pandemic as a public entity, and had been sold. There is an irony about this from my family’s perspective as back in the mists of time, namely December 1984, we flew to Vancouver for Christmas. We took in the Vancouver Public Aquarium which housed orcas and belugas in those days. We then drove down the coast to California where we stayed for six months. During the Easter break, we went to Sea World in San Diego where we were repulsed by the schmaltzy sentimentality of the various whale displays. Even Alice (aged nine) was of the opinion that she much preferred the presentations at Vancouver than in San Diego.

The excursion to Victoria was planned for the weekend in order to see my cousin John, his wife Caitlin and their kids Arthur and Ruby as well as my brother Stephen, his wife Margaret and their offspring Avery. For reasons that I must not go into, I stayed with John and company rather than my brother. I was their first guest since a major renovation. As such, I was more or less invited to provide feedback about the guest room. I hope my contributions were viewed as positive and/or constructive. There was a slight issue that my electronic devices were Apple products and therefore I could not use the charging cables provided. (Caitlin’s father used to work for Microsoft and therefore there is a familial bias. This was not a real problem as I had brought my own charging cables.)

John had told me before hand that Saturday’s supper would be make your own pizzas. Various posts on Facebook informed me that Saturday, March 14 was Pi day, so I assumed John was being his (very) geeky self and hence, therefore or otherwise, the menu was chosen in light of the date. As it turned out, I was mistaken as John hadn’t realized the coincidence. My faith in John’s geekiness was misplaced.

At breakfast time on Sunday, John started to talk about his espresso machine and how he had modified it and wired it into the internet at some length. At some point, I said with a smile: “So, short version, I should let you make my coffee for me.” John agreed with this. I then commented that my practical knowledge about how to make espresso started and ended with stovetop Bialettis. 

Sunday was spent on low key activities including a play date at a nearby park and a visit to a used bookstore. Interestingly enough, John and Caitlin had to explain the concept of a used bookstore to Arthur.

I had supper with Stephen and company. Stephen was slightly disappointed that I wasn’t drinking as I was taking a muscle relaxant so he couldn’t show off some of his more exotic spirits. To be honest, so was I. However, my back pain is real and wasn’t made any better by the low chairs and sofas in his living room. 

On Monday, while waiting for Chris at John and Caitlin’s, John sort of apologized for how boring my stay with him had been. I scoffed at that and said I much preferred the term “relaxing”.

On Tuesday, I drove to Mission in order to see Steve. He was my first roommate at the Lindsay, and through his example, I began to exercise much greater agency in my recovery. Previous to that, I had acted a lump in a bed. It was very good to see him. We chatted for a while in his basement cum guitar repair business in the company of William the movie star corgi. His daughter works for an animal trainer and coordinator for various film and TV shows produced in the area. The nine-month old corgi had been in a movie with Randy Quaid as well as one or two commercials. He was being fostered by Steve and his daughter on condition that they lend him back if needed. 

Steve seems  to be regularly involved with minor aspects of film production in the area. We went to lunch at Rocio’s Family Diner, the exterior of which was used for the filming location of Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe in the Riverdale TV series, a dark and gritty live-action take on the Archie comics. As we got out of the car, Steve was greeted a friend who also worked on various film and TV productions in the area. Steve joked about how the vast majority of shoots in the area were set elsewhere, usually in the United States. He then asked me if I knew the name of just about the only film actually set in Vancouver. I didn’t hesitate to name Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever, which was the very film he had in mind. I should have mentioned that a friend I saw it with commented that Antonio Banderas had a hard time trying smoulder in that movie on account of being too wet!

Update

After several days relatively heavy rain caused by an atmospheric river and causing various landslides, the weather was very sunny today. So much so that returning from a shopping expedition, I made a detour to find a park near the water looking out at the North Shore mountains for a quick photo op. (Unfortunately, for some reason, I can’t post it right now.)

Also, during this trip, I found out the WeatherCan app from Environment Canada has a feature which alerts the user to weather alerts on highways in the general area. It would appear that Montreal doesn’t have a need for them whilst Vancouver with several nearby areas sometimes having radically different weather than the city, such as the Sea to Sky Highway or the Coquihalla. (I also took a screenshot, but I can’t post it at present.

On Vonn and vicodin

On Lindsey Vonn

During the Winter Olympics, I was struck with sympathy for the downhill skier, Lindsey Vonn. Even my Mother thinks she was courting trouble by participating in the Olympics after a recent ACL injury, I found my myself interested in her as she also had her left tibia fractured. As well, she posted a picture of her external fixation which took me a long time to do. Her external fixation was much more complicated than mine, though I understand it was relatively temporary as she had at least another operation lined up when she released the photograph.

 So, good luck to her and I hope she recovers faster than I did.

On matters relating to vicodin

Strictly speaking, I am not really going to write about Vicodin. However, it is a "v" word and touches on what I am going to write about.

Morphine. 

Fentanyl. 

Dilaudid.

OxyContin.

All of them drugs with a lot of baggage. And all of them one which I have consumed in one form or another. I will quick to add that in all cases the consumption was medically regulated and, in most cases, administered by medical professionals. There may have been other opioids administered to me but in all honesty, the names ran together at some point. 

The third one in the list is somewhat scary for me as it was the one that I was on the longest and at dosages that made me wonder. For various reasons, it was administered by injection early in my hospital stay. At some point it was decided that I should receive it orally. I had no objections to this. However, the first time a nurse came around with my pills she said I had been getting 2 mg of Dilaudid by injection, but as it isn't as effective taken orally, the dose would be doubled. That would mean 4 mg at a time and they only give that much to addicts. At the time, I was taking very passive approach to my treatment and said something like "Okay, give me the dose you think I should get." However, looking back, I wonder if I should have asked questions about the dose I had been receiving by injection. One of the side effects of Dilaudid is hallucinations. I can think of a least one time when I was at the Montreal General when I think I was talking to nurses as though I was still in a dream involving a girl and boy and a Bernese mountain dog. I wasn't supposed to let the nurses know about the dog. With hindsight, I find it somewhat scary that I was so disconnected with reality.

Partly as a result of this, I tended towards taking as little as possible of the opioids prescribed to me. In fact, at least once, my physio had to tell me to take my dose before the physio session! Even after going home, I was still on opioids, though I was scrupulous about taking no more than the prescription warranted. After the operation to reconstruct my left tibia using bits of my hip, I was prescribed a higher dosage of Dilaudid (2 mg). When I went to the pharmacy to get it filled, I was somewhat frightened by the fact that they also gave a Naxolone kit, "just in case". As a result, I only ever took one of the 2 mg pills. I later returned the unconsumed portion of the prescription.

Why am I writing about this? Well, BC recent tightened up the rules for supplying various opioids to people at high risk of drug abuse. The drug featured in the picture is hydromorphone which is the generic name for Dilaudid. I feel uneasy about how easy it is has been for me to access the drug compared to others versus the potential danger for the substance. 

One of the reasons I used Vicodin in the title was because it is the drug that Dr. House used and abused in House, MD. Looking back at the show with the benefit of having been a user of an opioid, I wonder at how realistic the way he consumed the pills was, popping them like they were candies. On the flip side, I now appreciate the fact that we often see Dr. House arriving at work with a backpack instead of briefcase or small bag, as when you are using a cane, keeping your other had free is fairly important.

On undeniability and umbrage

As I near the end of the alphabet, I find it increasingly hard to find proper nouns for the titles. The first "u" word is a bit of a stretch but it refers to an absolutely wonderful picture Louise posted recently, which I show here with her permission.

My immediate reaction was to comment that it was a lovely picture showing undeniable fascination and familial love. Tessa is clearly enthralled by the book and Chris' storytelling. Patrick is interested at the least and Chris' arm around him shows his style of quiet grand-paternal love.

However, when I took a closer look at a picture taken slightly earlier, my appreciation for this picture was multiplied. 

From this picture, I could see that the book being read from was evidently a printed and probably edited version of Chris and Margo's blog. The thought of Chris relating to Tessa (and Patrick to a lesser extent) about his adventures with Margo had been on filled me with undeniably warm and fuzzy affection. The feeling is reinforced by the fact that while their adventures were undeniably remarkable, I cannot help but feel that Chris would have told them in a very matter of fact manner.

I am going to veer into probably unwarranted and widely outdated associations here, but somehow it feels appropriate. Norway (where Louise and family reside) was one of sources of Vikings more than a millennia ago. Between my frequent re-readings of Bernard Cornwell's Last Kingdom series, a reading of the Orkney Saga and a book about Viking artifacts on my kitchen table, I have the idea that the Norse were ones to boast of their accomplishments. They did not hesitate to highlight and sometimes exaggerate their deeds. Modern grandfathers have also been known to do so. However, Chris would be last person to do so, first because of who he is and second, because there is little need given the fact that one of his adventures was to ride from Bangkok to Paris, which is hard to underplay.

(As an aside, last night, I watched Les Douze Travaux d'Astérix. One of the tasks is to defeat "Cylindric the German". He proves to be a rather small man who manages to defeat Obélix using judo. He explains to Astérix that he learned it on a trip which took him far to the East. The relevance is the trip to the East and past Germanic activities.)

My recent dealings with my own immediate family have not been as welcome. Over the winter holidays, I received umbrage from most of them. I could explain, but it would not be wise to. 

 

 

 

On tiredness and temples, tiles and tibias

Sorry for the very long delay since my last entry but, I’m tired these days what with one thing and another. Work, new condo, renovations, physio and to top it off, I can’t do something that would help, namely bike to work. After doing my physio exercises during my lunch hour today, I was lying on a staff room sofa pondering life, the Universe and everything, when I was struck by just how much I missed the daily two half-hours of exercise that I didn’t have to make time for. Now, by the end of the day, I find myself puffing by the time I get to the top of my inside staircase. The revelation was made all the more irritating as after physio this afternoon, I went up to the stationary bicycles at the gym to put in a half-hour of pedaling. As if to taunt me, one of the sports channels playing on the TVs in front of me was showing highlights of this year’s Montreal Cycling GP, complete with scenes of professional cyclists cranking along Park Avenue and up the Camillien Houde Parkway. 

 In other news, several months ago, I donated a substantial amount of money to St-Joseph’s Oratory as a way of thanking St-Michael, the Holy Mole. (In some ways, I’m glad I don’t have to tell Margo, as she would likely get her nose out of joint because of it. Mind you, I wish she were here to be able to tell me off.) The fact of the matter is that Michael is a devout catholic and is very attached to the Congregation of Holy Cross which runs the Oratory, hence my choice. Interestingly and very appropriately, my donation was used to help fund a new chapel dedicated to caregivers. Michael and I were invited to attend the dedication. This was the first time I had been to the Oratory since some major renovations which included some very welcome escalators and elevators. It was also the first time I attended a service at the Oratory. After Sunday mass, there was a short dedication ceremony, the audience for which included a significant number of women who had the look of professional caregivers such as nurses, nurses’ aids, etc. The majority of them were from visible minorities and at some point a section of the crowd broke into a hymn which I couldn’t follow, but it seemed to have African or Caribbean rhythms to it.

Afterwards, Michael and I were invited to eat with some of the members of the Congregation of Holy Cross in their living quarters which are attached to the Oratory via a small maze of corridors and an elevator. Michael said I made a good impression on them. Now they want to give me a religious medal. 

My condo renovations have progressed to the point that I need to get packing. They consisted of three major items. The most important was getting a new, deeper bathtub. The old one was the small as the one in my current condo. I find it very shallow, particularly with my bad leg. The installation process meant ripping out some of the tiles and replacing them with new ones. Thankfully, Griffin the contractor was very helpful in that regard. He also arranged another major item, namely repainting the new condo to my satisfaction. The third item was replacing the doors to both condos as they both needed it. I found it took surprising amount of time for that to come together. Thankfully, it was done before the cold weather came in earnest. 

A few weeks afterwards, I had a visit from a city tax inspector. Apparently, this is normal after a condo sale. I explained to him that the only major change was the bathtub which I qualified as being "hardly a Trump level renovation." 

Rather oddly, my final bit to this entry involves the other Griffin in my life, namely Griffin the son of James. He had the bad luck to break one of his tibias in a rugby game at the end of August, just before starting at a new school. I offered the use of my wheelchair, even though it was likely a bit big for him. Well, it made a huge improvement to his quality of life. It helped him make friends at his new school and strengthen his bonds with his big sister, at least, according to James. I also suspect it helped James’ family by enabling Griffin to get out from under foot in their relatively cramped house. Now that I think of it, I should also mention that the purchase of the new condo also helped James and family as they were the recipients of some of the things that came with it, namely a washer and dryer and two large beds. I had expected the former to be left behind but the beds weren’t in the contract. However, it all turned out for the best.

On silliness and slenderness

A couple of weeks ago, I had what I hope was the final visit with the orthopedic surgeon. After the usual routine of having an x-ray taken, I saw the doctor who said my tibia was fully healed from the fall from my bike and that barring anymore such silliness, I should be good to go. I was surprised by this as my previous visit had left me thinking that I hadn’t actually broken my tibia. I had spent the intervening weeks worrying about what exactly had happened to my leg as let me tell you, as the leg really hurt! The doctor assured me that I had in fact suffered a small fracture of my tibia. I was taken aback and somewhat disturbed by the apparent contradiction. I don’t know what to think about the situation and that is something which causes anxiety in me.

Another source of anxiety is my weight which has gone up considerably since my low point of about 184 lbs at the Champlain recuperation centre. As might be expected, I spend a fair bit of time contemplating my legs and their relative sizes and shapes. Furthermore, as it is summer and I have to watch my step, I have been noticing the legs of other people. On a weekend expedition by Metro, I became aware of just how thick my legs were compared to the random sample of bare legs seen on the Metro. I am tall because my bones are long but relatively thin. In high school, I discovered that my wrists were quite a bit thinner than those of my shorter friends. Were my legs emulating my expanding waistline? I raised this question with my physio who said that I shouldn’t worry about the size of my legs as their width was a result of a lot of muscle from decades of cycling.

On returns and remakes

I’ve taken too long to start writing this entry. The reason is that there was a quick return to a former state followed a slow return to the previous state. I don’t remember exactly what day it was, except it was Saturday, probably early June. 

I had asked St Michael the Holy Mole to come over to oversee another experimental bike ride. I rode around the block a couple of times and felt I was in good enough form to try going further afield. I stopped to inform the Mole and put some things into my backpack before getting back on the bike. 

I maneuvered slowly to get myself pointed in the right direction, with my left foot off the pedal. I made a tight left turn which brought the tip of my left foot into contact with the pavement. As I was unable to flex my ankle very much, my foot dragged me off balance. I slowly fell over on my left side, catching myself with my hands (thankfully, I had biking gloves on), but a considerable portion of my weight and that of the bicycle came to rest on my left shin, causing considerable pain. 

The Mole came racing out to me along with a neighbour who had heard my cry of pain. I was somewhat stunned by the pain, and it took me a couple of minutes to work out how to separate myself from the bicycle. Once free of the bike, I move myself with my arms and my good leg to the sidewalk to catch my breath. There was no question of getting back on the bike. As it was, I had a hard time getting up the stairs with the Mole’s assistance. 

Once at my kitchen table, I immediately took a prescribed painkiller. I had stopped taking them a few earlier, but the pain was such that I had no qualms about taking it. Well, that is not quite true, as I made a point of telling the Mole that I was doing so. I must have had a mild concern. He agreed with the decision.

The Mole left and I fiddled around on the computer for an hour or so, before retreating to my room for a doze. Around seven in the evening, I wanted some supper. However, the pain in my leg had increased to the point that I found that I could barely lift it because of the pain. It took me fifteen minutes to shift my position so that I was sitting on the side of the bed. I tried to steel myself into standing for another fifteen minutes until I gave up and called the Mole for help. He took a taxi over and brought my wheelchair to my bed so I could get about the condo. 

There was no obvious sign of break, however, given the way my left leg looks, it was hard to tell. I had called 911, but my case wasn’t deemed particularly urgent and it would about 12 hours before an ambulance came. I demurred on the ambulance.  The Mole and I agreed it would be best to wait until the next morning before heading to the hospital. 

Around 11 AM, we went to the Emergency Room of the Montreal General Hospital. For various reasons, I didn’t bring my own wheelchair. This resulted in a bit of a contretemps as there wasn’t a self-propelled wheelchair at the door we arrived at. Consequently, the Mole had to push me to the ER. Once in the waiting room, we found first one better wheelchair followed by an even better one. After the initial assessment, I was told to wait, which is what I expected. The Mole had other business to attend and soon left with my blessing. I had come prepared with various bits of reading material as well as my iPad, so I did have something to keep me occupied. However, it was a long wait before I was first X-rayed, before a further wait and then CT scanned.

Some time after six, a doctor informed me that I had broken my tibia, but that it wasn’t as bad break as the previous break. I muttered something sarcastic to the effect that the second half of her statement was beyond obvious as the last time I had seen my femur’s bone marrow! I had been getting a bit hangry. 

The diagnosis was both a blow and a reassurance. It was a blow as my limited knowledge said bones take 6 to 8 weeks to heal on average and my tibia had taken much longer. It was also a reassurance as it was something definite and in theory would heal.

I waited until about nine before the on-duty orthopedic doctors showed up. Their names were both Arabic, and I doubt their first language was English. Their beside manners were unfortunately below par even for orthopedic doctors. After putting my foot and lower leg in a light plaster cast, they disappeared with nary a word. I waited in examination room quite some time, before trying to find someone who could tell me what was going on. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get to the nurses’ station as the corridor was blocked by gurneys. I felt disconsolate at being abandoned. I was also frustrated that I was taking up a large room while another patient was snoring on a gurney in the corridor. A couple of police officers came by but as they were escorting a stunned looking woman, I didn’t want to bother them. At some point past ten, I was discharged with the instruction that I shouldn’t put any weight on my left leg and that I would have an appointment with my “regular” ortho doctor on “Thursday”. 

Surprisingly, the cast really reduced the pain in my leg. I tried asking my sister the doctor why this was, but she didn’t know. Unfortunately, getting up the stairs without putting weight on my left leg strained my right side considerably.

I took the following few days off. Unfortunately, I wasn’t given an appointment on Thursday, instead it was Friday of the following week. By Thursday, I was going stir crazy, so I asked the kind co-worker who has been giving me lifts to work if she would drive me and my wheelchair to the Library. She was willing to do so on Thursday, but had an empêchement on Friday. The following week, I went to work using two crutches to get around, something that she appreciated.

When I finally got to the orthopedic clinic on the Friday, I was rather stunned by the flow of information, or rather the lack of flow. I had to tell them what had happened nearly two weeks earlier. It seems news of it hadn’t made to them. Then they dropped a bombshell saying that they couldn’t see any sign of a new fracture, merely the remains of my earlier injuries. I gathered that the ortho doctors on duty on the Sunday hadn’t compared the new X-rays with old ones. After a little discussion, they removed the cast and told me to put as much weight on my left leg as I could tolerate. I was nonplussed by this turn of events. For one thing, what had I done to myself to cause so much pain?

The subsequent time has been slow return to something close to my pre-fall status. Only today have I started using my cane again.

There have also been some wretchedly hot days. One of my coping mechanisms is what I call “air conditioning movies”, e.g. movies you go to mostly because the theatre is air conditioned. One of these was the live-action remake of “How to train your dragon.” 

There will follow a mild spoiler for those of you who haven’t it or animated original or its sequels.

At the end of the film, Hiccup, the young, thoughtful Viking, saves the day with the help of Toothless, the dragon he trained. However, in doing so both dragon and rider crash to earth, leaving Hiccup unconscious and injured. Cut to Hiccup waking up in his bed at home, no one is around and it is obvious, this is the first time he has been conscious since the battle. Then Toothless appears in the large building having been hidden from view. There is a tender moment of reunion followed by the realization that Hiccup has lost his left foot and an artificial one has been fitted in its stead. With the help of the dragon, he gets up and walks outside to see the village recovering and adjusting to living with dragons as allies.

I had already seen the earlier version and knew what was coming up which the dread of someone who has nearly lost his left foot and who has spent months living in a rehabilitation hospital surrounded by amputees. It takes months of healing before a prosthetic can be fitted. What’s more, you wouldn’t fit a peg leg made with quite a bit of iron to an unconscious person. Nor would a person which such a heavy fake leg be able to get about so quickly, so soon. Yes, I know it is a Hollywood ending to a Hollywood, fantasy film, but even so.

I also found it very harsh that Hiccup wakes up with no human family or friends around him to comfort him and to explain to him what happened. No one to whom he might express the emotional pain of losing a limb.

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.