lproven: (Default)
In the British Isles, it looks like 2025 is a mast year.

https://medium.com/gardening-birding-and-outdoor-adventure/what-is-a-mast-year-e6ef751460d0

Please help the trees. Gather as many acorns & other big, easy to find tree seeds as you can find, & scatter them on any waste land you can reach. 

https://www.countryliving.com/uk/wildlife/countryside/a66136717/seeing-lots-of-acorns-on-autumn-walks-heres-why-2025-is-a-bumper-year/

The world urgently needs more trees.

https://ribbletrust.org.uk/what-is-a-mast-year/

Please do share this sentiment more widely. We all can do a lot to spread trees. Forests are burning across the world. Isolated trees & small groups away from woodland have chances to survive & form species reservoirs.
lproven: (Default)
This is the outline of a sketch of something deep, maybe, possibly. Don't expect greatness from it.

DON'T start in with "just let people like what they like". Not interested. I have a point, a question, here. I am not interested in your grumbling.

A 1990s Britpop band called Oasis are touring the UK right now. Apparently it's the most massively sold-out tour _ever_ or something. My preferred radio station, BBC 6music, is absolutely full of Oasis. I had to turn it off for most of yesterday.

Today there was a report from a radio music journalist I like, Matt Everitt, from the first gig in Cardiff last night. Apparently it was a big success. The crowd was "mad for it", throwing (very expensive) beer at each other from the first song, and so on. This is exactly the sort of thing I hate about that kind of gig, and Oasis fans...

But as an experienced music journo -- I loved his Glastonbury report -- he noted things I'd not  thought of. 

No original material.
Set list published in advance.
Same set list for the whole tour.

No new material: well, it's a cash-in tour, that's blatant. The band only reunited for the tour. 

Set list: I hadn't thought of that. Everitt, Radcliffe and Maconie debated this. The unique experience of a gig where, given the costs, given the price, every fan present knew every word of every song? Live music isn't always like this.  

And whether fans would _enjoy_ them getting more familiar and looser and experimental as it went on, or, would they resent it and want a faithful rendition?

I _detest_ Oasis and its music. The singer can't sing. I lack the musical vocab The melodies are trite and simple, like a playground "na-na-nee-na-na" chant. The words are mostly meaningless: they _sound_ like they're expressive, but from my minimal exposure, they're not. The musicians are competent enough: the riffs are boring and stale and derivative, but they're played well.

We are in the 2nd quarter of the 21st century now. Since the middle of this week, we are closer to 2050 than 2000.

This band, this tour, reminds me of some other things I've hated in the first quarter of C21.

The all-female _Ghostbusters_ reboot. I am a big fan of groups of women and girls reclaiming stuff. I like women in art, in music, in comedy, whatever. But that film was _awful_. It failed to get any of the whipcrack tight repartée of the first film, but it was full of incomprehending imitation of it.

The script of Ghostbusters was a work of art. It's immensely quotable. It is full of gags. GB2 was all right, it has moments. GB3 -- nothing. Zip. Zero. 

It's a copy without comprehension. It's not a cover version -- I like a good cover. A near unique thing about Oasis is that almost any cover version of any Oasis song will be _sung better than Liam Gallagher can sing_ so it will be better in some aspects. (Also true of Bob Dylan, for my money, but he can write, at least. Can't sing, can't play, but can write.) 

Then Ghostbusters 4 _Afterlife_ came out and I liked it a lot. It isn't great but it's fun, it's entertaning, it has some good dialogue. It skips over the flat empty GB3 and hearkens back to the original funny two. GB 5 _Frozen Empire_ is... diverting. Weak, the seam is nearly mined out now, but it had moments. Still better than 3.

GB3 reminded me of a performer I'm conflicted about: Ricky Gervais. I find his comedy awful: he's an actor, trying to role-play a comedian. He wanders the stage behaving like a stand-up comedian but he isn't one, he's just pretending. It's abhorrent to me. But some people seem to love it. 

I hated the original _Office_ TV show. Can't watch more than 2 minutes, partly because of Gervais's gurning. But, like a Dylan cover, the American remake is doable, because it lacks the irritant of the original. I don't like it, never watched a whole episode, but the clips are tolerable to amusing. (I think it's a "comedy of manners" which is not a genre I care for at all. Maybe these are modern versions of Laurence Sterne?)

However -- however -- Gervais's jokes about and comments about atheism are _good_. Religious folks many not know but there is a thriving meme subculture of atheists making jokes about religions -- all of them -- and the meaner, the nastier, the funnier. 

Gervais is often mean-spirited, I suspect, but when he directs it at religion, I find him funny and quotable. I do not want to see the act but it makes for good memes, good quotes.

(Maybe it's all about who is the target? Of course all the religious folks squeal about persecution, but always remember, when they were in charge, they tortured heretics to death. Now they are not but they are still destroying lives and their churches are still billionaire-level rich. Don't forget, don't forgive.)

It suddenly reminds me of "AI". LLM-bot generated averaged staleness.

I now keep seeing people using bot-slop cartoons to illustrate original blog posts, soc.net comments, articles, etc. I see people in 1980s home-computer fora using bot-slop photos of children waving home computers at one another in the playground. 

I am aware of the subgenre of short video-clips of disaster scenes. River floods, tidal waves (post Banda Aceh, the first tsunami on video and at its time the most-filmed natural disaster ever, I believe), ships sinking, animal attacks, etc.

But now I am seeing bot-slop versions. This morning I saw a bot-slop video that starts with a real rogue wave hit shore, then it's followed by a blatantly fake one. If it were real, hundreds would have died. That's a nasty form of "entertainment". 

I have been bot-slop tiktok length videos of impossibly huge whales, boats in impossibly still seas. There are plenty of Chinese ones of impossibly thin girls with impossibly long legs. 

If people are making them, then audiences must be consuming this. Liking and sharing and bloody subscribing or whatever.

Oasis does a roleplay of a comeback tour, with a fixed setlist. I am sure Liam G still can't sing the meaningless lyrics, the riffs will still be poor Beatles ripoffs, but the fans won't care it's all totally choreographed. It's more of the same and that's what they wanted.

Gervais filled theatres for his curious roleplay of comedy. Maybe he is as mean-spirited "punching down" at other subgroups and the audiences *like* that, and it only so happens that when it aligns with the religious-mockery I find funny, I get on with that bit and that bit alone.

GB3 filled cinemas. People lapped it up. Friends of mine defended it to me. They could not name a single joke, quote a single punchline, but they liked it.

Now, this stale derivative incomprehending-cover-version work, which Oasis and Gervais and the GB3 team hand-created, now this can be automated.

And audiences lap it up.

In my business, it applies to code. Bots can generate awful code on industrial scale, and many programmers are embracing it. Presumably they wrote awful code anyway.

Entire companies are leaning in to it.

Some programmers are despairing. 

I thought this essay made some good points:

«
The rise of Whatever
»

https://eev.ee/blog/2025/07/03/the-rise-of-whatever/

It's illustrated with that weird furry stuff that's so prevalent now, which squicks me a bit, but try to ignore it.

Why is it that some people are happy with poor quality second or third generation fakery, while it repels others?

And what is it going to do with us now that many simply cannot tell, they don't care enough to notice?
lproven: (Default)
Watching people posting about the Fallout TV series, I got curious and did a little reading up on it. I had almost no idea of this entire franchise, which has existed for half my lifetime. Never seen it, never played it -- I'm not a gamer and they definitely do not sound like my kind of game. (I don't like role playing or role playing games.)

There's a fleshed-out world, canon and non-canon, acquisitions and takeovers. The story of the story of the game is complicated in its own right.

Apparently the makers of the Westworld TV series (which I've also not seen) made the Amazon series. I wonder if that's because_the Peripheral_ got cancelled. I did watch that and enjoyed it, even if I think they made a bit of a hash of Gibson's much weirder novel, simplifying it to a dumber adventure story.

I know Gibson's work fairly well. To me, the TV series showed a simplified kiddy version of the book, with added gore because the kiddies are grown ups.

But now I learn that Fallout is inspired by "A Boy and his Dog", a rather nasty Harlan Ellison story (that is, from the rather nasty Harlan Ellison) which the creators loved and built upon. It's not even an Ellison tale I rate but they loved it and extrapolated from it, and from steampunk and more to the point valvepunk imagery.

It's odd to find a big franchise you don't know is built from a root you do know. Much as for me it was odd to finally see William Gibson, whose settings and stories have been a big part of my life for well over half of it, finally brought to the screen in a big-budget adaptation, and they didn't really get it, and had to put guns in.

Gibson's worlds are ones I know fairly well. I didn't rate the adaptation much but watched it all anyway.

I really rated _the Expanse_ by "James S A Corey" and the adaptation was better... but still missed a lot of points. The slowness, the grinding travel times of even fusion-powered solar system travel. The slowness, the silence. That relativity prevents dogfights. But they put them in anyway, and the spacecraft make roaring noises. Great SFX in places, but they _missed the point_... and they can't show Belters as etiolated as they really are because they're played by humans and they didn't have an Avatar budget. I have yet to finish the book series or the TV series. I have yet to finish the 2nd Avatar movie, too.

What's left is fun but almost a parody.

Now I find another fictional world, one I don't know, built on one I do, and now its fans are confronting an animated version on screen and some are grappling with it.

All these layers...

The big deal of Fallout, it seems, was building a scenario for a nuclear WW3 that allowed some tech to survive, and people are apparently fascinated by that world.

And yet every day we _accelerate_ closer to real life apocalypse and nobody much seems to care and relatively little fiction seems to examine that apocalypse. Aside from stuff like _Termination Shock_ -- after the novel, we're in one, due to low sulphur marine fuels, an ironic inversion if ever thet was one -- and _Ministry for the Future_, I seem to be missing out on it. What good climate-collapse SF should I be reading? 

P.S. For clarity, I'm a big fan of Kim Stanley Robinson, have pretty much everything he's published, and a few of them autographed when I got to meet the man and express my admiration in person.

lproven: (Default)
Number 1.
There is a rash of flavoured teas in British supermarkets since I returned. Shortbread flavoured tea, for instance. I find them weird and a bit sickly. So I tried a mixture of ordinary black teabags and flavoured teabags. This worked rather better and I recommend it. It takes the edge off.
Number 2.
*But* I did something bad and wrong: I made a pot with Earl Grey and shortcake flavoured tea. (Okay, I didn't, my lovely wife did.)
It's great. Better than the sum of its parts. Try it.
Number 3.
If you try to make masala chai by adding some garam masala to a cup of black tea, it doesn't really work and tastes weird. Don't do this.
But, while it is a truth universally acknowledged that instant tea is an abomination unto Om, instant masala chai from your friendly local Indian grocery is pretty good. Try it.
P. S. Number 3 and a half.
However if you can get real Indian masala chai tea leaves, use them. Follow the instructions. You have to boil it. But it's great and blows the socks off the feeble so called chai that European grocers sell.
lproven: (Default)
(Not really update 22.)

Huh. Missed the anniversary of the latest bike crash – it was on Monday.

Today, the ever-helpful Google showed me a selfie I took from my hospital bed a year ago. (Thanks *so* much for the reminder, Googs.)

So, a year ago today I had more or less got some kind of alertness back and was hoping to get transferred over to Liverpool for my arm to be reassembled. Little did I know it would take another 4 days, because they were hoping to put me in an ordinary airline seat...
lproven: (Default)
I am overdue.

So, on Tuesday, as I said last week, I was up at 4:30 to fly to Liverpool. I saw Ms Helene Stephenson, a senior consultant there, who greeted me familiarly although I am ashamed to admit I don't remember meeting her before.
I got good news (for a change).

They are happy with how it's uniting, and as soon as 1 year post-operation, they could maybe remove the plate in my wrist -- that is right under the skin, and causes me pain, which is why I've taken to wearing a towelling wristband on that wrist. I don't need to bang it; just resting on a hard surface hurts.

I can lift heavier loads now, increasing slowly. (I was told to avoid any load over 1kg in July or so.)

I can start swimming, and start physiotherapy to try to build up some strength and increase the rotation. I've made an appointment for January, and went for a swim on Saturday and it was OK. It felt weird but it didn't hurt.

Regarding my loss of supination (that's the rotation in the forearm: pronation is turning the palm of your hand downwards, for example to type. I can do that. Supination is turning the palm upwards, for instance to hold a bowl of soup. Soup -> supination, geddit?)

Ms Stephenson thinks that maybe, with lots of effort, I can regain as much rotation as I had before, although no more than that. That would be a big deal. I haven't been able to turn my palm flat since the mid-1980s but not being able to hold my hand vertical, like a blade or for a kung-fu chop downwards, is a major handicap.

It's the first positive news in 9mth, and my spirits are a little lifted.

Then I went for a belated veggie fry-up, followed by a pint, then a visit to Pete Young and family, which was great. They've been looking after the laptop Douglas Spencer lent me in hospital, and my noise-cancelling headphones as recommended by Tomáš Brukner shortly before Ada arrived. I've really missed those!
lproven: (Default)
(Not really a proper instalment, but previous stage... https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159152766826691&id=608866690 )

[Fixup post compiled from a few FB posts and comments. Sorry for poor formatting. This was all last Friday.]

-----
I decided to come to the clinic early, just to check I found the right place, etc. I figured that they weren't going to see me 4 hours early or anything.
Next I'd go find some food, because I've been up since 4:30 AM and I've not eaten yet.
Step 0 was getting a map and finding where the nearest loo was. This place is big.
Well, I was wrong again.
They are seeing me early. They're amazed and a bit horrified that there has been no follow up, no stitches taken out, nothing since the operation. Apparently Nobles Hospital should have done this.
So, another Nobles Hospital #FAIL. I'm hungry. Dead on my feet, but also starving.

So, they cut the cast off, and peeled off the rubbery self-very-adhesive wound dressings. Free arm waxing!
 

I think it's straighter than it's been since 1988 TBH.

So, they were dissolving stitches that didn't really need to be removed, so Nurse Pearly only had to get a few lingering stragglers out.
I have 1 exciting new hole, and 2 *big* new scars. I think there are other holes I can't see (yet). But I can move it a bit and it doesn't hurt. Some new numb areas but that's to be expected given how I've been flensed. The nerves might regenerate in time. Might.
Snag: a couple of the surgical wounds haven't completely closed up yet. So I can't wash my arm.

I have 2 new surgical incisions, both somewhere around 20-30cm, and then there are 3 puncture wounds where bones were sticking out of my arm through the skin. So they told me. I can't see much of my arm currently, and anyway, it's swathed in dressings now.

On the X-rays, I count 5 plates and 28 screws... There needs to be 3 screws on both sides of each break to stabilise it, and each screw must go through both the inner and outer cortex of the bone. So that's 5 major breaks, I make it. Permanent, I should expect. Unless I break it again or it needs another bone graft or something, which isn't impossible.

Then, after a short walk to a local chip shop, back off to the airport again. Before I left Aintree University Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust, I went up to Ward 4 to thank Sister Amy and her staff for looking after me in April. I'm glad she was there -- she was an absolute star.

Meanwhile... I am fairly sure that this motorway didn't exist when I left Liverpool, more than 40 years ago.

(P.s. I looked it up. I was wrong. It was here. It opened when I was 5. So, possibly, after the Provens had left for Nigeria...)

(Previous instalment... https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159153205256691&id=608866690)

And I am back at the airport again. I was just cracking open an Irn Bru Extra (see under "got up at 4:30 a.m.") when a guy came up to me and asked for me by name. "I was told to look for a tall guy with his arm in a sling."

I checked in already, this morning, and I have a boarding card... But check in doesn't even open for 20 minutes yet. I'm early *again.* This feels weird.

I'm also too full of chips from my brunch to take advantage of the nearest branch of Gregg's the Bakers to my home, which is the one here in the airport. My £6 chip supper brunch was only slightly more expensive than a chai and a chocolate brownie at the hospital coffee shop. Spring rolls not shown, on account of already having been eaten.
 
 
lproven: (Default)
(Previous instalment:  https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159085978761691&id=608866690)

Recovery continues. Yesterday I went up to see my mum. Just for a couple of hours, by taxi, but that's the furthest I've been since I got home.

Today, I walked up to Little Diamonds Nursery with Jana Štůlová (or "my work" as Ada calls it.) It's only a couple of hundred metres, but I was tired. But then, we walked together up to the main road and down to my local barber's, the Barber's Code. I got the haircut I was seeking nearly 3 weeks ago when I had the prang and did my famed impersonation of a "pavement pizza".

Then walked home. Not a lot, but by far the furthest I've got under my own power in a few weeks. I was pretty shattered, so needed a lie down and a cuppa. Spent a few hours playing around with the latest review ThinkPad and the horror that is Windows 11.

I recovered a bit and Jana made a great lentil lasagne. I even got to have a beer after dinner. That's my first in a couple of weeks. I'm tailing off the painkillers and finished my last Codydramol last night, so with no paracetamol in my system, just some diclofenac, I figured it'd be fairly safe.

My closest thing to a normal day yet. Its progress.

https://untp.beer/My53g
lproven: (Default)
I got home last night. That's home as in rented house in the Isle of Man. The ward sister, Amy, at the Aintree University Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust, is kicking me out at about midday.
I had to find and book flight or boat, fast, myself, now. Stress levels now 11/10. Pain 5-6/10. Not pooped in 10 days -- morphine side effect -- but strong laxatives mean painful intestinal cramping.
It took an hour but I managed to go. Even more exhausted now.
My mum phoned and told me that Patient Transfer Services would handle this, and to call Nobles Hospital. I did. They gave me a number. I had to memorise it, as I am currently ill equipped to write anything down while holding a phone. The woman told me I'd memorized it wrongly. I hadn't. This is Noble's helpfulness in action.
I gave it to Sister Amy. She called them. I had got the number right. She came back later and told me it was wonderful. It was all sorted for me. No payments, nothing. I'd be collected from the hospital and taken home to my door. Stress levels down to 10, maybe 9.
Amy helped me to tape a plastic bag over the bad arm and its plaster cast, then I managed to give myself a somewhat sketchy shower. (For example I still have a large black arrow on my right upper arm, meaning OPERATE ON THIS ONE.)
It was great. Definitely top 5 or so of my life ever, although maybe not quite as good as the first after the crash.
I staggered out to find that lunch had been served. After 6 days they still hadn't remembered that I'm vegetarian. Steak slice, chips and beans. But soup and dessert.
Sadly while I was still trying to clean up post shower, someone took it away uneaten. 😢
2 student nurses helped me get dressed and to pack. There was way too much stuff for the tiny case Jana brought.
It was okay, though, they said. I'd be transferred to the Patient Discharge Lounge where I could eat. And Julie Faith McMurray and Patrick McMurray had told me they're on their way to be there any minute -- about 1 PM they said -- so I thought they could help.
While I tried not to shake so hard with extreme tiredness and fatigue that I'd fall off the bed, or sweat so much I'd soak my "new", "clean" clothes (some are very much neither, but I've not enough spares) I attempted to direct the packing. Once everything was bagged they stashed me in the family room for a while before formally transferring me.
There at least I got a small unsweetened instant coffee and 2 packets of bourbon biscuits. Virtually impossible to open 1 handed with no working incisors, but food.
(For those at the back doodling, thinking about the opposite sex and not paying attention, I have braces on my teeth. Can't bite, can barely chew.)
And I had a small cupcake in a bag stashed from dinner a day earlier. Not much but solids.
Here I discovered: no coat, and it's cold outside. And Julie and Pat are no longer coming. Stress levels to 12. Awooga, alert, awooga.
Anyway. I went back and found my coat, hanging on the door of my former private room where nobody had looked for 3 days. Hospital hygiene thanks to NHS cuts, folks. Go hang a Tory from a lamp post, si seulement pour encourager les autres.
I asked for them to change the forgotten dressing on my left elbow. No time.
They moved me to another floor in another building with some random geriatrics. I reminded the official checking folks in that I need a dressing change. Not his job. He's not a nurse.
I'm frantically trying to message several people likely to be close enough to come and get things and look after them. My phone of flaky and has intermittent internet. The hotel doesn't provide patient Wi-Fi.
Gods, I'm getting faint stress flashbacks at the memory.
Anyway, the saintly Benji, wife of Pete Young, came and took a big carrier bag of stuff, including the (hand woven?) basket of fruit they'd given me.
The less saintly but definitely still holy, or at least holey, David Coveney also came to seize the last chance for a brief visit.
I managed to poop *again.* It's a very welcome thing that you just don't appreciate properly until it stops for double digits numbers of days at a time.
I reminded the staff again that it was now half an hour to departure and no dressing, no drugs TTO. (To Take Out or some similar TLA.)
They changed my dressing. They brought me a huge carrier bag of drugs, including liquids. When knowing I'd fly. Oh dear.
A housekeeper and a tall thin African healthcare assistant took me to the main entrance. My new Ethiopian friends and I waited for the taxi. Big Balls Cars, we were told. Riiiight. No such company online. Quelle surprise.
We were 10 minutes early. It was OK.
Soon it was time. No cab.
Then it was 15 min late. No cab. I asked him to go outside. He did. He couldn't find a taxi for me.
At 20 min, I asked him to take me outside. "But is cold!" Yeah, well, I have a coat, and I'm vibrating with tension anyway, I'll not only manage, it'll be welcome.
I pointed him at various taxi like vehicles until one was left. "No! People in!"
"Just ASK!" He asked. Yes it was mine.
The driver came over and started to berate me. Why was I in the wrong place? Didn't I remember the last 3 or 4 times I was in the wrong place?
In vain I protested that I'd never been here before, never used Patient Transfer before, never been to this hospital before, never seen him before. No, it was MY fault he consistently went to the wrong place and didn't go inside to check.
He put me in the cab. He drove to Liverpool John Lennon Airport. The 3 other passengers chaated among themselves about how awful Manx Care was (agreed) and how they should never have renamed the Isle of Man NHS anyway (fair) and how while everyone else was awful they did their jobs and made everyone happier and improved lives (frankly seems dubious but what do I know?)
We got to LJLA. Sounds like half of Ljubljana to me. Silly name, silly logo. Anyway.
They parked me in the cripple queue and left me. After a while, the whole member of staff came to check me in. Yes I have ID, it's in my bag. He pulls my bag out from under the wheelchair. Where is it? I'm not sure, I didn't pack it. I can't. It's inside I think. He unzips the top and tried to fumble inside. I tell him it's hey tightly rammed in and he'll have to open it. He tells me he can't as he can't bend much die to a trapped nerve in his back. He tries to wheel the half open bag to check in. I tell him not to as it's contents will spill and both our days will be worse.
He tells me off and that it's not acceptable to use that tone with him.
Anyway. The checkout lass climbs out over the luggage belt, finds it, climbs back, checks me in, climbs out again -- also not the sharpest knife in the drawer -- gives me passport and boarding card, closes the case up, stashes it, and climbs back in. 4 round trips, maybe 6.
I am wheeled back, past an ATM, and parked with the other cripples. I consider going and getting some UK money and thence to Gregg's for a pasty. But I'm already in the dog house and font want to worsen my position. I could walk, it's very close, but then I might lose cripple service and I think I'll need it. So I sit tight.
An hour before the flight, it's time. I ask if I can get some food. No, we're boarding. But wait, yes, maybe. Where? *Points* There. OK. A newbie lady takes me. She wants consent to open my bag to find my wallet. More hilarity and confusion.
Nobody is making Gregg's counter. I holler. I holler more. I shout. I howl. An eleven year old appears. I buy 2 pasties. They did not understand 2. They do not understand 1 bag. They do not understand much. Everyone knows that people in wheelchairs are mentally deficient.
They get me through security. The security gate computer crashes. The operator retried although warned. 5 attempts and you're locked out. She is locked out. She calls IT. IT comes, fast. But it's now working.
I am allowed through security, after a cursory search, my drugs passed. We get to the gate. We wait. An escaped cripple is rounded up and corralled with us. We are moved to the wrong gate. This is alarming. Here, there's a ramp, apparently.
We get on the plane. Despite the assurances I'd have nobody in my right (because shattered arm), there is a man on my right. He grumpily agrees to move to the 1st row. Damn that extra legroom! Curse that free space! How very dare?
The flight is short but rough on me. Perhaps the drop in air pressure. I'm struggling to read on my phone -- I just have to take it on trust that my bags got in and I have no book -- both for the distraction and because otherwise I might slump over and alarm people.
We get to Ronaldsway Airport Isle Of Man only 10 minutes late. Jana and Ada are very happy to see me and Ada has water for me, *and* gives me some of her Wotsits, a privilege.
There are many taxi drivers. None are from patient transfer. One tells me it's a minibus, waiting outside. He pushes me. He tells me, tell them that when his can company had this contact, they went inside to check, and the bus company should do the same. Meanwhile, the minibus drives off. We are stranded. I'm cold, shivering. Jana is near meltdown.
I ask the airport security. They give me the number of the hospital. They put me through to patient transfer. It's shut. I call back. Despite asking for the duty admin, they put me through again. It's still shut.
This is what passes for helpful efficiency on the Isle of Man.
I ring a 3rd time. 25% battery left now.
I get given the number of the bus coordinator. I ring him. He's surprised. I was not on the list... but he radios the driver. They'll come back for me. 20 minutes or so.
We wait. The airport is trying to close. It's dark. At 25 min I call back, but then the bus appears.
I was not on his list. So do I have my transport mandate? He is shocked I don't know what one is. He takes our names down on a sheet of blank paper, "for insurance purposes."
He doesn't know where my road is and apparently lacks any way to look it up. I direct him.
I got home about 10 PM, cold, shivering, in pain, deadly tired. Jana is stressed and unhappy. Ada is annoyed daddy stole her blanket. No I may not share it.
I try to call my mother. She is annoyed with me too. I am talking too quietly and sound far away.
I go to bed, weeping.
That was not a day I'm keen to repeat.
I am due back there in 6 weeks.
I may sail.
lproven: (Default)
(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159079424981691&id=608866690 )

I am still here. Pain levels extreme, and this is after I/V morphine on PCA plus codeine tablets and intravenous paracetamol.

Surprised nobody asked what PCA was last night. Stands for Patient Controlled Analgesia. It's a big button on a cable & you press it for a shot of I/V meds. It will only trigger once per a timed interval. I'm on 5 min. I think that's quite a lot. There's no signal when it expires except that the light comes back on. There's no buffer. You can't ask for more until the 5 min is up. So I spent all evening and much of last night peering blearily at this little button waiting for it to light up so I could press it again.

I got quite good at mentally timing 5 min and could press it again with a second or 2, until sheer exhaustion overtook me. (Checks green light... No, not yet. Bugger.) Thus the slowest and least fun computer game ever.

I've also had I/V paracetamol and codeine tablets. I'm still up there on the level of "can just barely remain coherent" and am looking for distraction.

The orthopaedic professor visited me on ward rounds. He says that as soon as my pain is under control, they will ship me back home, and then they will want me back here in 6 weeks. I can't believe it might be so soon.

He was very happy with how much I can wiggle my fingers, and the lack of swelling at both ends of the plaster cast. He told me they put in a nerve block from the axial nerve (that's the one that comes out of the spinal cord, IIRC -- may well have misspelled it; brachial maybe) and that's why I can't feel my fingers. That it's normal and it will come back... But probably with additional pain.

They gave me a *VERY* quick, and very rough, wash. I have clothes on and cleaner teeth. But I feel like an ice hockey team danced on me, in their skates. I guess that nurse had 50 patients to wash in an hour or something, but jeez Louise. She even picked up my arm _by the fingers_ at one point. I thought I might scream. I guess it's the rip-the-elastoplast-off-in-one-motion approach, but it was the most brutal hygiene process I've ever experienced. And a new euphemism: "I'd be happier if you washed your front yourself." Apparently _front_ now means specifically _genitals_.

Day 1 post op is often *the* worst. And today is living up to that. You've eliminated most of the drugs from your system and you're regaining awareness but at the same time your body is indignantly reacting to shocking new modifications it didn't make or ask for.

Oh good, my light has gone green again. I think this has been a 3 press post.

A few people said that they might visit me today. That would be great... Just, if you're among them, do manage your expectations. And I hope you don't mind possibly being vomited at. Not _over,_ just in the general direction of. I am *NOT* in good shape at all, but this may be the only chance we will get.
lproven: (Default)
I am in so much excruciating pain that I can't sleep... But sleeplessness makes it worse. And as the anaesthesia gradually wears off, it's spelt getting worse. I also keep vomiting, which provides only very brief transient relief.

I have, or had, all sorts of profound insights I wanted to share, but I'm so unwell I just couldn't. I hope I can remember some, in a few days' time.


I wanted to talk about PCA, its fully intentional lack of keyboard buffering, and how that makes it the world's slowest and least enjoyable video game.


I was trying to rough out something about recovering from deep long anaesthesia, and try to draw some kind of comparison with Unix single user mode and gradually bringing up a machine progressively.

About the problem when the recovery room staff aren't native English speakers and you doubting your own comprehension. About quantum time blurriness and wondering if all such experiences in one's life are the same one.

And if they are, if I managed to send a message to 1994 Liam about bitcoin.

About GA, going into it, coming out of it, and subjectivity and sentience.
lproven: (Default)
Part 12.

(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159075501541691&id=608866690 )

Still absolutely knackered here. Spent most of the day in bed. Not ashamed one bit. Last afternoon boosted by an unexpected visit from Pete Young and Benji, though -- that was lovely.

I'm OK, although they forgot to feed me at lunchtime. So I got cornflakes. Better than nothing! Pleasant discovery: I can eat cornflakes fine. It doesn't feel like they are all stuck in my facewires.

Breakfast was Weetabix, so far the only way that Noble's scored over Aintree. Thanks to my braces, porridge was a win. Dinner was a cheese and onion pasty and chips, and was delicious.

Chatted with the consultant and then a couple of hours ago with the surgeon. That was... Daunting.

The good thing about being able to speak medical language a bit is that they don't try to BS you. But that means getting the raw undiluted stuff. (_Pace_ their instilled expectations management, etc., of course.)

It's not sounding too good. Certainty there will be multiple surgeries. Possibly stage 1, trying to save the radius, plate it together, remove contaminated bits of the ulna; stage 2, later, try to graft what's left of the ulna back together... Later possible stage 3, try to straighten out what stuck together and maybe try to make it work a bit.

I knew it was a mess and it would be difficult but from the horse's mouth, it's scarier.

Multiple visits to Liverpool beckon, then possibly a long time in rehab.

Barring big unexpected problems, I should keep the arm, but probably with even more limited movement and dexterity than before... And it was bad then.

I must admit, I wish I'd pushed Noble's harder to ship me back to Prague last weekend.

Op tomorrow, unless there's an emergency before me. No food after 2 a.m. No water after 6 a.m.

I'm feeling distinctly... 😨😰
lproven: (Default)
Part 11...

(Link to previous instalment:
https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159073691646691&id=608866690 )

I was getting pretty desperate last night, as you could tell. The effort of sitting up and making some calls destroyed me. My health took a steep turn for the worse yesterday afternoon as a result, after spending a couple of hours trying to find another hospital on my own.

This morning I tried again myself. The consultant in charge, Mr Ian Wright, I've not seen since Sunday I think. Mr Raj was more obliging. He'd refer me if I requested, including to Belfast. I took this up with the ward sister and her manager. They were not impressed and warned me that if I did this the NHS might refuse to pay.

Anyway. That little meeting, in an office, wore me out again and I collapsed back into bed, too weak to talk. Jana tried calling me but I could hardly even speak, and couldn't hold my phone up to my ear.

The hospital staff didn't believe me or care. 1 doctor ordered a blood work up, but the instruction got lost. The other 2 attending said yes there was a 3rd Dr present but refused to check the records of what he requested, or who it was.

Last night my mum came up and today Jana did. They were both really shocked  what they saw & I think between them, and the actions of Dr Heidi Heidi they persuaded the hospital to airlift me. The air ambulance team were initially unimpressed too, and thought I was tired or over emotional. But they changed their mind. Not sure why. But they decided to fly me.

Jana Štůlová  helped me wash my face and put on a T shirt. She put shoes and socks on my feet. Result: the hospital transfer coordinator said I looked well enough to take a scheduled flight to her. I was very afraid they'd cancel it but they didn't.

So, it happened, after 6 days of waiting. I was flown to Liverpool a few hours ago. I got ambulanced to Aintree University Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust.

I am shattered -- literally as well as metaphorically -- but I'm in a side room off Ward 4. I've not even tried to eat yet and clutched a vomit bag all the way here. Thought I'd puke in the 1st ambulance but didn't quite.

I am weak and shaking but conscious.

The bad arm hurts and feels hot, and I have slight pins and needles in the middle fingers. I hope this was in time.

Heidi tells me I'm scheduled for surgery on Saturday. Sooner would be good but hey maybe I'll get some dinner tonight.
lproven: (Default)
Part 1 (Saturday)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/304633.html

Part 2 (Sunday 1.45 AM)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/304651.html

Part 3 (Sunday 3 AM)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/304974.html

Part 4 (Sunday midday)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/305303.html

Part 5 (Sunday evening)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/305657.html

Part 6 (Monday)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/305901.html

Part 7 (later on Monday)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/306035.html

Part 8 (Monday evening)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/306194.html

Part 9 (Tuesday)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/306447.html

Part 10 (Wednesday)

https://lproven.dreamwidth.org/306841.html

lproven: (Default)
Part 10, and this is your chance to help.

(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159071726316691&id=608866690 )

I'm *still* in Nobles Hospital. It's now 5 days since I've had any medical treatment except some medications.

For the last 3 days I've been kept on nil by mouth overnight, every night, just in case there was a bed available for me in the Aintree University Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust . Every time the hospital there tells the hospital here there is a bed, Noble's then tries to book a flight or sailing to get me there. But that takes hours and by the time they have one, the bed is full.

Now it's the end of Wednesday and I still have an unreduced untreated open fracture. I have no bed in Aintree. They don't have any mechanism to move me anywhere else. I had q flight ticket at 9 a.m. but there was no bed so they let me miss it. Then there was a bed, so a 3 p.m. flight was booked... But there was no bed so they let me miss it. There was another bed later but by the time they had a ticket it was gone.

I am trapped here, not getting medical aid because my injuries are too severe... For 5 days now.

I need to find a UK hospital with an upper limb reconstructive surgical department, which has a bed. I need to be able to fly from Ronaldsway on the Isle of Man to close enough to that hospital to get a taxi.

I'm also trying to investigate whether I could fly back to Prague. Anyone with the time to Google companies that do medical evacuation by air, they could help. Better still, send me or Jana Štůlová contact details. Even better then that, try to get a price for flying me from Ronaldsway to Prague.

We had 1 lead so far and it looked like they might cost £13,000 but we could raise that if needed. I am in real danger here. Gangrene, loss of limb, etc.

No more jokes please. No more comments about me being an idiot for falling off my bike again. Sorry but I'm not laughing.

Anyone who could call FN Motol or Fakultní nemocnice Bulovka in Prague, that is FN Motol or Fakultní nemocnice Bulovka ... Ask if they could admit me. I don't have any working electronic ways to contact them. But I'm in a mess here and it's getting worse and the Isle of Man was in hindsight a huge mistake.
lproven: (Default)
Part 9...

(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159069304821691&id=608866690 )

In theory I'm being transferred to Liverpool today but something happened last night and there is no bed available for me in Aintree.

I was kept on nil by mouth all night and morning, and when I asked for some help with personal hygiene before trying to dress and fly, was told no. Apparently it's to encourage my independence. I'm not quite so independent when I'm so battered and bleeding, with an unreduced fracture.

Anyway, with great difficulty, I gave myself a sort of bed bath, and put a T shirt on. Jana is struggling with a sickly and uncooperative Ada but came up and brought me some clothes, and took away a big blue IKEA bag of clothes and things I won't need. I have a small bag to take to Liverpool and back.

By lunchtime they decided I won't be operated upon today, so they let me drink some water, & then gave me lunch.

My girls have left now. I'm sitting here waiting to find out if and when I'm getting sent Across. No shower in 4 days, feeling stinky and foul, but intermittently vertical, and with some food and drink.
lproven: (Default)
Part 8...

(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159068820891691&id=608866690 )

After a couple of hours sitting up in the chair, it all became a bit too much for me. Returned to bed, hurting, quite a lot.

My mum & Linda Robinson visited. I have had lots of tea, my mum washed my face and hand... and I can see again.

Ada broke my good glasses some months ago. (Some rather snazzy frames I bought from Tomáš Brukner after he had LAZIK. Ahh well.) With all the hassle of moving country and stuff I didn't get round to having them replaced yet. I was wearing my spares. They got broken in the crash. My mum managed to get the lenses from my most recent broken pair fitted into new frames. So now I am wearing Tommy Hilfiger, darlings.

I got a bruise on my head, on my cheek, too. Landed hard. But if you have bones sticking into the tarmac, I guess that's a given, right?

My mum says I look much much better. So there's that.
lproven: (Default)
Part 7...

(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159067245306691&id=608866690 )

I am out of bed. Catheter removed, so eliminatory independence beckons. And I've been able to kinda sorta clean my teeth. Not a very good job, with one bandaged hand with a cannula in the wrist, but hey.

On much less pain meds today and feeling brighter, but that's on a relative scale. As days go, this is 10x better than yesterday, but it's only a 1 out of 10 at best.

Arm not hurting so long as I don't move it in any way. However that is very hard not to do.
lproven: (Default)
Part 6...

(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159066260761691&id=608866690 )

Feeling very rough and sleepy but I feel I owe you all an update.

No fluids from 3AM. Met the consultant at about 10. Preliminary op before the real one(s). Meet the anaesthesiologist at about 1. Tomáš, a Slovak. I managed to hold a conversation in Czech with him despite my poor condition.

They took me down about 2ish. Lots of banter between the very ecologically minded Tom and the other surgeon, who's a biker, who broke his back in a crash the same year as my big one. Got a ZZR 1100 as rehab! There aren't many bikers in the medical world.

The premeds were good and I drifted off without noticing.

Was very spaced when I woke in Recovery. Lots of drugs, little pain.

When I got back to the ward, I got dinner. Roasted potatoes, veggie gravy, bread and butter pudding. They're trying hard for this veggie on Spudfit! 👌

I ate about 1/4 of it then started vomiting. 🤢

Been on anti emetics since then and drifting in and out of consciousness. Still on supplementary oxygen.

Jana and Ada visited me, which was lovely but wore me oJana Štůlováuite quickly. Poor little mite is scared of Sick Daddy with tubes going in & coming out of him. She's been sick too, maybe from stress and fear.

I think they're going to monitor me for a day or 2 then maybe fly me to Liverpool Aintree.
lproven: (Default)
Part 5...

(Previous instalment: https://facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10159065963886691&id=608866690 )

No fluids in 7 hours. Feel awful. I/V painkillers ran out and nurses too busy. Hospital pharmacy shut on the tenuous basis that it's Sunday. FFS. Jana Štůlová brought me 1 from home but it's empty.

There is a severely special needs patient in the next room who spends a lot of her waking time hoarsely screaming. It's doing my mental state no good at all.

Met my anaesthesiologist. He's Slovak and quizzed me in Slovak and even in my poor condition I managed to understand and reply in Czech and chat. I'm amazed

Should be going down to theatre soon. I look forward to being unconscious. Being awake isn't fun right now.

Profile

lproven: (Default)
Liam Proven

September 2025

S M T W T F S
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
282930    

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Mar. 22nd, 2026 01:40 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios