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 I 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.