In which I don’t complain about Powell River overmuch

Today I drove from Nanaimo to Comox, and from there I took a ferry to Powell River. This was quite a feat for me, being the longest piece of driving I’ve done since before my spinal injury. It was painful, but not too terrible, and some stretching and walking made my back feel…well, less cramped, if not awesome.

Why am I visiting the Hellmouth this small little town, you ask? To visit my mom. And the dog, who was so excited to see me I’m newly bruised in places I didn’t know I could bruise. To say Tyee is exuberant would be understating things.

Mom’s small house is a mess, being in the middle of renovations, but still a familiar and comforting place to me. Even if it is bloody cold and in a town I dislike. Once Mom arrived home (about two hours after I did) I asked her what her wireless password was, so that I could write this post and do some other things. An hour and a half and one call to Telus tech support later, and I got online. Hooray!

Of course, now I’m way too tired and I don’t even remember half of what I was going to say in the post, so I’m just going to leave you with a video from last week of Mom and Tyee howling together. (I just uploaded it to YouTube tonight, but it is from last week.)


Tomorrow I do something regarding filming some poetry, or something? I don’t remember.


Scratch my last

I don’t hope the CT scan shows something. Because if it does that means there’s something worse than muscle strain going on; there’s longer recovery; there’s me being weaker for a long time.

Too damn bad. I made my wish and I have to deal with the consequences.

Got my CT scan results back today. I have mild to moderate disc bulges in the three lower discs in my spine; the lumbar region. They’re not herniated, which means I’m very lucky.

But I can tell you right now — if my mom had not been with me a week ago today, if she hadn’t taken me to the hospital, if I’d gone by myself or with a friend…. The chances of me having a herniated disc in my back afterwards would be infinitely higher. I would have gone back to my house, where I probably would have slipped and fallen, and one fall could ruin my back. One fall, and I’m needing surgery and looking at never horseback riding, playing racquetball, etc etc ever again.

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[hardly] Mundane Monday: Mildly Concussed [TMI health issues; bodily functions]

I have a mild concussion. 

It should be the least of my worries; what with the possibly herniated disc. On Thursday I had really bad back pain and tried to sleep it off; by Friday it was worse. My mom came for a visit on Friday evening. I was incapacitated so we called the nursing hotline. Because I had tingling and numbness and because I’d spent an hour on the floor at some point that day, crying, unable to get up (until I finally did force myself to do it, through the pain, which may have injured my back further but godsdammit I had to pee) the nursing hotline suggested that I get medical attention right away, because otherwise my condition would only get worse.

Now. What exactly my condition is I don’t know, for shortly after the call with the nursing hotline we called the ambulance, because I couldn’t get out to the car to get to the hospital, and the paramedics couldn’t get a gurney through the snow of my backyard or into my hobbit hole of a home, and so they doped me up on laughing gas so I could walk, supported, out into the ambulance. The gas made me sound like Darth Vader at a comedy club. I apparently waltzed past 4 firemen in my underwear and didn’t even notice. Mind you, that sort of meh feeling towards modesty wouldn’t have changed without the laughing gas; if I were sober I merely would have made awesome comments about the situation instead of giggling like a mad fool.

And so I was marched into an ambulance and driven to the emerge. at Nanaimo Gen., where I was wheeled in a very uncomfortable wheelchair into the building and then, shortly, into a treatment room. The doctor did a brief brusque physical exam and decided it was muscle strain before instructing a nurse to shoot me up with some painkillers. 

I tried to tell him, as did my mother, that I have 15 years of chronic back pain and it’s possible it’s more than just a muscle strain; that we’d like more tests run. Nothing doing. He wouldn’t even listen. 

I ended up lying down on the table in the treatment room, dozing, trying to forget the pain (which the painkillers had only dulled) while my mom sat in the chair and dozed herself. At some point I knew I had to get up and get to the bathroom or I’d pee myself. The bathroom was only a few feet away from the treatment room and so mom helped me up and helped me walk to the bathroom door…

…at which point my back seized up and I could go no further, and the pain started gripping me harshly, and mom started calling for help and we were steadily ignored until I started screaming, because the pain was so bad, and then a nurse was grabbing me on the underside of my upper arm, on the bat wing, harshly — so harshly I felt sure he would rip off a chunk of my flesh or at least leave a bruise — telling me to shut up because there were other patients.

I don’t know what happened after that, because the next thing I knew I was on the floor, with a major ache in my skull and people all around me yelling.
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The Melancholy of Memory

My partner and I made an apple crisp on the weekend.

A simple recipe — sliced apples in a glass pan with a flour-brown sugar-cinnamon-butter combination put on top. Bake until browned. Basically. (Except we used margarine because we’re lactose-intolerant, and try to avoid dairy where we can so we can still have ice cream and cheese.)

When I was a young child my Oma (Dutch for grandmother) taught me how to cut apples the proper way. Halve it, quarter it, use a paring knife to cut out the seeds and peel it. She was so good at it she could cut out the seeds and peel a slice in one deft movement. Her specialty was applesauce — the secret, she said, was to make it from Granny Smiths, so it wasn’t oversweet.

It’s been over a year since she died, and I couldn’t stop crying as I cut apples and pared out their seeds.