Recovery day 54 – Long walks

Every couple of days the range of movement in my arm improves more and more. Since I now have mostly no need for the splint I’ve been able to go for long waks around Sandstone Point and across to Bribie Island, to get my fitness level back off rock bottom. There’s some nice scenery around here. Maybe I’ll get some photos soon. Last week I broke into a jog for 2 minutes. The next day it was 5 minutes. But the physio said only walking for now, probably because I told her the range of my arm decreases when I walk fast or jog, but then improves again when I stop. Not good. This during an appointment that made the outside of my elbow feel like – well, imagine what the inside would feel like if you hyperextended it by 45 degrees. Another appointment with the surgeon tomorrow. I’ll ask how long until I can run again!

Australia Day

There seems to have been a lot of Australia Day in the media this year. I think it’s been overhyped. The day we all celebrate and give thanks for freedom, democracy, the fair go, egalitarianism, and various other things that make this country a nice place to live. A nice day here too. A surprise visit from Mark from Sydney on holidays at the Gold Coast, a dour but admirable fightback from the Aussie top order batsmen in Adelaide and a nice BBQ dinner. Oh, and finally feeling a bit like it’s really summer. The hottish sunny day made a nice change from the cool, cloudy, windy and occasionally wet days that have dominated southeast Queensland since I arrived here.

Recovery day 47 – pain and boredom!

Today was physiotherapist appointment number 5. The previous 4 visits had a few minutes of torture followed by half an hour or more of pleasant massage (with and without ultrasound) and tingly electric current. But then I had an appointment with the surgeon on Friday who, seeing the good results of his work through X-rays, gave the physio the all-clear to really torture me in an attempt to loosen up my arm quicker. The arm felt like it was ready to drop off after today’s treatment, but I can now get it within about 5 degrees of complete extension. Completely bending it is another matter and will take more work. Everyone says when you break a bone and have a limb immobilised for weeks, it’s hard to get it moving because the muscles have wasted away and are too weak, but I have not found that. I’ve found my arm movement is limited because it is just really really stiff. So someone has to dig their thumbs in and loosen all the muscles and tendons. Not pleasant! But I now only use the splint in crowded public places for extra protection, and have lots of exercises to do. Progress. 2 weeks until I can get back to work.

Until then, I must stay here. Near Brisbane where I have a few friends, but not really in it. It may be a pleasant environment near Bribie Island but socially, not much happens here. I’ve got to the point where I’m even too bored to start doing the useful things that I could be doing. It was a struggle to start another blog entry while recording a 1980’s vinyl record onto a computer for transfer to a CD, but here I am. Discretionary time is great when there are people to see and things to do with them, but so much of it is pretty maddening otherwise. And don’t even mention the cricket I could have been watching to kill the hours. All that has served to do is induce depression and irritability, as the Aussie team got distracted by the ridiculous media hysteria in the previous week and forgot how to win! Friends and family in Brisbane are busy. So are friends in Sydney but there are regular things that I see many of them at. These things are all still happening but are going on without me, how much will have changed while I’ve been away? It will be great to get back there in just under 2 weeks, and hopefully pick up where I left off in December.

Sack Roebuck, not Ponting!

Dear ABC commentary team,

I feel the need to point out Peter Roebuck’s lack of objectivity on the eve of the 3rd Test. I’ve left it this late so it is hopefully fresh in the minds of anyone who reads it when the Perth Test match begins, and hopefully some of these points can be discussed on air during the match.

Roebuck’s piece in the Sydney Morning Herald calling for Ricky Ponting to be sacked was simply an insult to journalism. It focussed obsessively on alleged bad behavior by the Australians while blissfully ignoring all context to how the match progressed and finished. I’ll attempt to deal in turn with all the major issues which this article both discussed and ignored.

The behavior of the Australians in the Sydney Test: As far as anyone calls personal sledging unfair and wrong, I agree. But I bet most of what is usually objected to is legitimate subtle mind games and even light-hearted humour, which all teams engage in but only the Australians ever seem to be criticised for. Perhaps the critics are just jealous that the Aussies win so much? If in the euphoria of the win, the Aussies forgot to shake hands with their opponents at the end, this is also wrong and needs to be addressed. But the Australians should never have to apologise for doing all they can to win, and wholeheartedly celebrating a win. Indeed their winning attitude is the best and most Australian of all their attributes. The closer and more hard fought it is, naturally the more "ecstatic" (in Roebuck’s words) the celebrations.  Hardly surprising how happy they were at achieving a win which with 2 overs to go and 3 wickets still standing, seemed so unlikely moments before, and clinched retention of the Border-Gavaskar trophy. I can’t see what made this celebration any different to the outpouring of joy at regaining the Ashes in Perth last summer. So many teams celebrate their victories long and hard. Is it only the Australians who should not be allowed to? Roebuck seems to have forgotten a thing or two about 2001, which I’ll get to. And after the game, it was not Ponting who was rude to Indian reporters, it was they that were rude to him, questioning his integrity. The Indian board protest about the word of their players not being taken but no-one seems to have noticed the implication of them calling 5 or 6 of our players who testified liars. Pot… Kettle… black…

The behavior of the Indian team: Roebuck’s article largely forgot, or at least glossed over, AN INCIDENT OF RACIAL ABUSE BY HARBHAJAN SINGH. Anyone reading it is justified in concluding that he thinks Harbhajan’s behavior is OK because he’s Indian and not Australian. He calls the Australians hypocrites for daring to complain about it, but aside from a lapse several years ago by Darren Lehmann, who was duely punished and no longer plays for Australia, I struggle to remember a single incident of racism that any member of this team has been convicted of. Andrew Symonds has every right to be enraged, given the history of the word "monkey" which Harbhajan used to abuse him. He should have known better, after the incidents with the Mumbai crowd and Harbhajan himself last year. By the way, I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of the reporting about the Mumbai crowd. I was there myself in 2004, and can report without a shadow of a doubt that they are the rudest and most unsportsmanlike crowd I have ever seen. Moreover, Ponting was REQUIRED to report all such incidents under the rules they were playing by. He may not even have wanted to but not only did he have every right to, he would have broken the rules if he didn’t! One can only shake one’s head at Roebuck’s lack of understanding here. We can add to this the litany of incidents, in black and white in the ICC’s disciplinary incidents history, which prove the Indian team is the worst-behaved over the last few years, as reported by "The Sunday Mail" last Sunday. Harbhajan is one of the worst offenders including verbal abuse of Ricky Ponting way back in 1998. No-one will be surprised to find that Sourav Ganguly is the worst offender of all, at least if they remember 2001. Even Sachin Tendulkar who the indian board were affronted at not having been taken at his word, has been found guilty of ball-tampering, though I’d like to think this was an abberation in the behavior of a player who I’ve long seen as not only talented but fair. These cold hard facts should cause severe embarrassment to Roebuck and hold him up as a laughing stock among serious cricket writers. The way Ganguly led his team in "celebrating" their victory at Kolkata in 2001 was manifested in a one finger salute to Australian supporters in the crowd as can be seen here and here.  No prizes for guessing that the chief offenders were Ganguly himself and Harbhajan Singh. And how about the way Harbhajan celebrated Ponting’s wicket in the second innings in Sydney? Can anyone blame the Aussies for making their joy at the result of the game no secret? This is not to say I think the Indian team is all bad, they are largely fair opponents that I enjoy seeing our team play against. But they were not blameless in the Sydney Test. The point of this is that there are two sides to every story and Roebuck literally took one.

The umpiring: It was pretty bad for both sides in the Sydney Test. But as is usual, everyone seems to have selective memories as to the bad decisions, especially Peter Roebuck in his article. I saw no mention there of Ponting being given out lbw off a massive inside edge by umpire Mark Benson, and Michael Clarke going to a dubious lbw the very next ball. Some may fire back that Ponting should have been given out earlier but they could only say so after seeing Snicko – the original replays were far from clear and in this case benefit of the doubt applies. Tendulkar was also plumb lbw at one stage and not given. But it was Steve Bucknor who had to go since most of his clangers favoured the Australians. It’s probably best that he retires anyway since his eyesight and hearing have been deteriorating for some years now, but the point is the way the ICC caved in to pressure from the Indian board, who think they’re bigger than the game, is disgraceful. Can anyone remember Australia ever succeeding in getting an umpire replaced simply because they didn’t like him? No, in contrast our team has copped it sweet when it’s been the victim of disgraceful umpiring, ironically most often in India, as well as Pakistan, before there were neutral umpires at both ends. Everyone remembers Harbhajan’s hat trick in that 2001 Kolkata Test, but how many remember that the 2nd of those wickets was Gilchrist, lbw, pitching a foot outside leg stump, given by Indian umpire S.K. Bansal? I certainly do. Or who remembers that this same umpire refused to give two plumb lbws in the last over before lunch on that infamous 4th "wicketless" day when Ponting was bowling to the Laxman/Dravid partnership, but was only too willing to fire out the Australians one by one the following day? "Inside Edge" magazine later ran a short piece demanding to know why Bansal was later seen drinking champagne with the Indian team in their dressing room after the match, which was to be his last before he retired. Despite these howlers which resulted in the loss of a match and series they should have won, the Australian team copped it on the chin with sportsmanship and grace, as they usually do, but are never given credit for.

I hope this has illuminated the context in which the Sydney Test and Roebuck’s article appears. I have long seen a trend in his writing which betrays a desperation to see opponents beat the Australian team manifested in laments about pitches, conditions, umpires and luck, all the while pointing the finger like a self-righteous school headmaster at anything that might be perceived as bad behavior of the Australians. However the article that appeared after the Sydney Test was the worst of all and, as can be seen here, is nothing other than obsessive, unmitigated anti-Australian drivel. One wonders how he ever bluffed his way to citizenship of our fine country. If he really hates the place so much, why did he come in the first place? All serious journalists should be ashamed to be associated with him, especially those at the "unbiased" ABC. Quite simply, it’s Roebuck, not Ponting, who should be sacked.

Freedom, freedom is coming, oh yes I know… Recovery day 37

In the past 24 hours, I have lost the plaster cast, gained a splint, bent and straightened my right arm through angles other than 90 degrees for the first time in 37 days, had an X-ray and follow-up examination by the surgeon, have had a proper shower for the first time in at least 37 days, and have had my biceps muscle, which feels as hard as a rock, subjected to various kinds of assault (but to help fix it) by a physiotherapist. This morning I could not straighten it to less than a 30 degree bend, but can now get it to just 15 degrees.

The surgeon says all is going well, and I’m spending a long time out of the splint in order to do the exercises which will help prevent bits of calcium forming in my muscles. According to the physio, prevention is far far preferable to cure for this one. But, if all goes well in my 3 appointments next week with her, I could be permanently out of the splint next Friday.

According to the surgeon, I cannot do anything short of falling over that will compromise the work he did. Thus it now feels like I don’t have a broken arm at all, just a very stiff one. But I must remember it is broken and to not stress it too much until it is fully repaired, and especially remember to not fall over. That is my mantra, for a while now.

Success, survival and thanks and praise

It’s now Tuesday. In fact I started writing this Monday but couldn’t finish it. I expected to be back here Friday! But I can thank the Lord that it has ended well, if later than expected and with a considerable amount of stress in between. As you will see, I have new and refreshing perspectives on a number of things which are probably beneficial, though I wish there were less stressful ways to get them!

I was first in the surgery list at 8am on Thursday at Holy Spirit Northside Private Hospital and so was up there in the surgery area nice and early. The surgeon visited me pre the procedure to give me an assuring smile, and the anaesthetist interviewed me to tell me he’d be putting me to sleep and get answers to all the questions he needed to make sure he didn’t kill me. I was assured that 10 minutes after the end of my operation he’d have me fully awake, free of pain and free of nausea. After some last minute paperwork I was whisked straight through the ready room into the centre of their modern high-tech theatre with a cast of thousands waiting for me – the surgeon, anaesthetist, various assistants and nurses. I was a little bit tense but confident as I was in the good hands of the Lord as well as all these seasoned professionals. They had a radio playing "My angel is a centrefold" which I was not keen on being the song that got stuck in my head for however long I was out for, or heaven forbid if anything went horribly wrong, the last song I ever heard!

I was told I’d start to float as I was injected with the first painkiller drug (after a couple of attempts to find a vein) and indeed I was hit with a reasonably pleasant feeling as I gazed at the bright lights of the ceiling above and tried not to concentrate on the nurses to the side sorting the vast array of sharp and blunt implements intended for rearranging body parts in various ways. I should not have read the Wikipedia article "Intraoperative awareness" (or, for that matter, "General anaesthesia") in the days beforehand. Nevertheless, I was confident of the care I’d receive in this private hospital.

I don’t recall any sensation of going off to sleep, but next thing I know I’m in the recovery area, people are peering down on me and I catch a glance at the clock on the wall. 3 hours since I went in! It wasn’t expected to be that long. My surgeon or someone else encouraged me to wiggle my right fingers which I duely did, confirming no damage to the radial nerve. I had just enough energy to punch the air in triumph with my left hand, and then realise I was feeling far from 100% well. An oxygen mask over my face seemed to be inhibiting by breathing, it was far easier when I took it off for a moment. I had nausea and was sweating profusely, and my heart rate was banging away at about 140. Some of the nurses had quite a bit of concern about my symptoms. My arm was in a new cast and was pain free, but otherwise my condition was in stark contrast to what my anaesthaeist had promised. A return to unconsciousness would have been welcome. There are worse things than post-surgical pain. Eventually a nurse said it was time to take me back to the ward. Fine, I thought, I’ll either feel like dying here or feel like dying there.

Back in the ward I had another unwelcome symptom, the impossibility of mentally concentrating on anything. I could barely tolerate the sound of conversation in my room, let alone join it for more than a sentence. Watching 3 overs of uneventful Test cricket on TV was was a mighty mental feat that seemed to be the hardest work I’d done. I had to turn it off again. Lunch was out of the question. Food seemed like poison to my nauseous stomach. Later on I barely managed to answer a series of questions from Dad to determine the next day’s menu. The fact that I still hated food probably influenced me, as well as the inability to say anything much more than "yes" or "no".

I did manage to eat a bit of dinner, but it was after dinner that the fun, if you can call it that, really started. My breathing was not too laboured any more, but still not relaxed enough to sleep. The nurses assessed me and called my surgeon, and also a doctor from the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). My heart rate, which had come down but not much, and my breathing were classic symptoms of Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT) and its follow-on effect of Pulmonary Embolism in my lungs. I had certainly got everyone’s attention! Given that this was the reason my grandfather was here one minute and gone the next in 1992 (due, I’ll always maintain, to the diagnostic negligence of staff at another hospital in Brisbane), the situation had got my attention too! The surgeon indicated this was a common post-surgical effect for leg injuries but he’d never seen one with a humeral fracture. I’d have to be pretty unlucky to have it.

A CT tracer scan was ordered, which involved injecting an iodine based fluid which shows up under a CT scan which then would show if I had any blockages in the blood vessels in my lungs. Some people were allergic to the fluid, specifically the iodine. Was I? Who knows? As in most of these things, there’s cheerfully only one way to find out. The CT machine is a big donut shaped loop through which the patient is moved in a horizontal position to expose the appropriate area to the scan. I was informed once again that "some people have a reaction to this fluid;" (as if I needed reminding) "but we really think this test is worth doing." I was told to expect a warm feeling and a funny taste and smell if my reaction wasn’t severe. First scan was a dry run to make sure I was well positioned. Second one I was told would be the real one. I was relieved to come out of the loop with no adverse reaction only to be told an IV line failure meant it hadn’t happened. 3rd attempt, I may have experienced a bit of warmth but nothing else. Success this time, thank goodness. The test had been physically arduous as it involved getting everything including the broken arm in a small enough space to fit me through the loop. Now the stress of waiting for the results. My surgeon said that if the test revealed a blood clot I’d need to be given blood thinners. He earnestly told me that this would be "great for the clot, but it won’t be good for your operation" due to more internal bleeding being likely, interference with the healing process etc. Back in the ward all options were discussed. There was very real talk about me possibly being moved to Intensive Care! Time passed. There were computer problems in the CT unit, results delayed. Great. Mum and Dad had been with me in the ward the whole day and night, and it was decided one would sleep on a recliner chair there for the night and one would go to my brother’s place close by. I was very grateful for the company. More time passed and nurse Amanda, who had done a great job of caring for me, walked in and announced "that test is negative, you haven’t got any clots in your lungs". One of the nicest things I’ve ever heard!

My self-diagnosis of my breathing was that it was necessary to feed the oxygen demand of my heart rate. The question of the cause of my heart rate remained though, and my surgeon referred me to a heart-lung specialist physician to examine me in the morning. Meanwhile my mother read aloud a couple of great pieces from the book of Psalms prompting a hearty "Amen" (I was still too mentally incapacitated to read myself) and settled to sleep on the couch. Thanks Mum! I had a sleepless night due to the breathing and thinking about all that had gone on.

Friday my condition was greatly improved, at least I could happily watch cricket and carry on long conversations, and breakfast was a lot more appetising than dinner. My heart rate showed a steady decline and breathing was easier. Still, to cut a long story short, by the time I left the hospital 2 nights later I’d had 3 electrocardiograph (ECG) tests, a blood test to determine clotting susceptibility, 3 precautionary low dose blood thinner injections,  an echocardiograph (ultrasound heart examination) and on the very last day a deep vein ultrasound to check out a sore calf muscle as the spectre of DVT raised its ugly head for a final time to delay my leaving – and a post-surgery X-ray of my arm to check all was well there, which now seemed rather incidental to the rest of my health. The arm is, by the way, in a good position thanks to the great job done by the surgeon despite difficulties encountered along the way which is why it took longer than expected. All tests came back completely clear, and indicated I seem to have a heart and lungs in as perfect a working order as is possible. I raise a prayer of thanks for this, and when I am fully recovered I am doubly keen to return to my long-distance running to maintain my good health. For those who have not yet had reason to have a series of tests scrutinising the function of the most vital organs, I can say it’s an experience that focuses one’s mind on what is important. A big thanks goes to all the staff at Holy Spirit Northside Private, who gave me the best possible care and took all possible measures to ensure, as far as possible, my continuing good health.

The cause of my ugly recovery from the surgery is still unknown, but I am over it. Walking out of the hospital on Sunday afternoon was a triumphant experience, and there are no words to describe how happy I am today just to be alive. I am thankful that I now have another time in which to live which seems more indefinite the more this experience fades, but have a new awareness of the temporary nature of life and the urgency to ensure life is lived to the fullest and the most possible is achieved. I am also reminded that we have an eternity to live beyond this life which can be filled with unending joy and peace if we so choose. Despite the anxiety of uncertainty over all sorts of symptoms and tests, I could still remember that Jesus Christ chooses when we stay and when we go, and all he does is for my good. If I was going right there and then, it was to a better place (or maybe, more likely, complete unawareness and freedom from suffering until the last great resurrection when all things will be made new). Choose today where you stand with him, because you cannot be sure that you will still be here tomorrow…

"No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life’s first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
can ever pluck me from his hand
Till he returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand"

– Stuart Townend