Motorcycle Down

Driving in to work the line of cars was suddenly slowed for no reason I could see and then I noticed yellow flashing lights ahead. A tow  truck looked like it had a customer in the right line. It was only when the car in front of me managed to drag its eyes from he scene and get moving that I saw a scooter on the ground, a car parked in front of it in the travel lane and two people on the ground. One of them looked to be in terrible shape, a limp doll in the roadway face down and I started to feel queasy.

Had the tow truck not been on scene covering the accident I'd have felt obliged to stop to help but as it was I called ahead to my office and advised them to send two ambulances as there were clearly two patients. The other half was lying on the sidewalk face up with his arm across his eyes. I know that feeling all too well. My PTSD kicked in. They were riding a rental scooter with no evidence of helmets in use as typically only paramedics remove headgear to preserve the integrity of the rider's neck. I was lucky that way and I found as I lay on the ground my helmet actually made a comfortable pillow supporting my head. Weird but I remember that well.

In dispatch we don't usually find out how these calls end but I know there's lots of pain and self doubt down the road. A half hour later someone fell down some stairs and was left in an altered mental state as we sent an ambulance. You don't have to ride a motorcycle to get hurt. I don't know if I'm more aware of them nowadays but we seem to be having a  spate of accidents, and they do freak me out a bit. The other night a young man died when he ran his bike into a tree in the middle of the night. A passing ambulance found the rider but he was beyond help. I had another very thoughtful night.

I talk in terms of living on borrowed time. I don't mean that in the sense of time taken from someone else, or in terms of an overdue deadline for a disease or trauma but in terms of time borrowed from a  future that didn't exist for me. Every time I dispatch to a severe accident or a fatal trauma I realise that there go I but for some great good luck and excellent medical care.  Had it been a crappy day for the helicopter to fly, for instance, my time would have been up most likely. 

The difficulty about living on borrowed time is that you cannot live at 100 percent all the time. It's just not possible not to waste time because humans are imperfect. Some days the little things do irritate me and some days I am impatient to be somewhere to do something or simply I feel irritated something has broken or someone has failed me. I have to remind myself borrowed time doesn't elevate the user to sainthood status, it just means every day gets a little extra flavor from the realization this day might not have been. Explaining this to someone who hasn't had the experience is complicated. You sound preachy or demented or irritating so it ends up being a losing proposition. The dispatch center goes quiet when motorcycle wrecks are announced. My frailty is noted. 

People look at me like I'm mad when I say I got some positive experiences out of the hospital and recovery. My wife says i don't remember a  lot of the misery but I remember it quite well, most of it though some of my experiences were deleted by memory loss caused by the brain's natural self protection as well as memory loss caused by powerful chemicals. I was talking to the hospital staff in ICU this week and they remarked how cheerful I was in my wheelchair which surprised me. By the time I could be propped up and out of that goddamned bed I was pretty happy.

I am actually surprised more people aren't cheered up by finding themselves alive and mobile for the first time but apparently not. I loathed the wheelchair frankly but it got me out and about and that made it worthwhile. Were I stuck in one I'd like to take advantage of modern electric technology and have one like I saw in the hospital with electric hubs in each wheel and speed to spare! The reality is wheelchairs are hard to push by hand especially when you are broken. My wife was extra patient in that phase of my recovery.

I wonder about the young man who was a passenger who fell off when his motorcycle went down on the Boulevard in Key West. They told me later he probably had a broken pelvis and to this day I wonder how a man in his 20s copes with all the struggle and suffering to come from this most complicated of injuries. I hope has come to terms with what needs to be done to speed his complete recovery. 

Last I heard the scooter riders were being flown to Miami in the wake of three people injured in a boating accident earlier in the day. Five people flown out of the city in one day. Not the sort of record one wants to witness really. 

Yes indeed every day is a gift, if only you knew it. I think Rusty does after his rough start.

Miami Fun

There was a time I could drive to Miami, see a doctor, do some shopping (all hail Trader Joe's! All hail Costco!) and then turn around drive home and carry out a  twelve hour shift at work. Not any more. We left home right after I finished my usual 8 hour shift and while Herself drove I slept and Rusty was with friends for the night.

It was a rainy day in Miami and while my wife had her broken finger inspected, the result of a kitchen slip, I stared out of the window at the rain clouds. The surgeon said no point in operating, it will heal itself and if not a fresh decision in a  month. Relief all round. I hear people bitching all the time about the quality of care in the Keys but with world class medical services available in Miami I don't really get the complaining. But some people are afraid of driving which makes life in the Keys rather restrictive.

 We went through Whole Foods for lunch which was an experience especially after I saw these chameleons strutting their stuff: 

I had bibimbap for lunch. The rice wasn't crisp whish is what I only know about from reading about this Korean dish but it tasted fine. I'd never eaten in the cafeteria  at Whole Foods but I would again, even with all the Amazon promotion plastered round the store. 

I bought gas and found a  bizarre smiling face at the pump. It turns out our sole statewide elected Democrat has put her face on our gas pumps. Technology strikes again!

Breakfast at the hotel had a massive view of downtown Miami and all it's construction as this is a city that never seems to run out of money. 

The University of Miami has developed a security system using more of that photo technology more or less successfully. Then you check in all by yourself which is also pretty weird at a computer screen which knows who you are from previous visits and charges your copay to a credit card and its all automated.  

Dr Quinnan likes to see me every  three months after my surgery and I was actually looking forward to showing him how I can balance and squat (a little bit) after he wired my pelvis back together last September. It was a positive meeting and my X-rays showed  good bone growth, the sort of thing that makes a surgeon happy. So we were all happy. Hooray until my next visit in August when I am keeping my fingers crossed that I shall be released to live and work 100%. They all told me it would take a year to recover and so it is turning out. 

 On our way back to the Keys we stopped in South Miami at Jackson South hospital to show off my walking prowess to the Intensive Care Staff that looked after me. Then we drove a further twenty minutes and stopped off at the rehab facility where I spent 58  days recovering the ability to function at least a little. I left in a  wheelchair promising I would return and show them my progress. They say very few patients do go back after leaving rehab and I wanted to be the exception because I am indeed grateful for the care they showed me.

I think that sentimental journey is my last. I can walk now and I have expressed my gratitude and shown them what I can do but as I got back in the car I felt I was closing the book on that part of my recovery and now it's time to move on. More exercise more work more learning to move again without continuing to look over my shoulder.

Around Town

There are several homes you'll find around Old Town with "Private Residence" pasted on the front  doors. In towns filled with tourists you can see why, I mean no one wants random visitors in their homes treating themselves to an authorized  tour. This one though looked heavily set up to repel intruders, with flower pots and all...

The famous figurehead hasn't featured on this page in a  while so here she is, illuminated buy the early morning sun:

Downstairs this useful reminder:

I love the old skylights in the tin roofs though I'm glad I don't have to live with them as heavy rain seeks out leaks in this climate.

I have been reading about late winter storms at the tail end of last month and I have tried to imagine a prolonged winter Up North. It just feels unfortunate hee.w here the seasons happily change very very little: 

Welcome and bugger off, from the mixed message department:

Bicycle as toilet roll holder at a bike shop:

Conch cottage:

Escape construction?

And no, I have no idea why he crossed the road:

This time of year it isn't so critical  when people stop in the road to chat. I was able to bide my time. 

Mind you slow drivers are endemic this spring on the highway. I commute at ten miles an hour under the speed limit which is not so very cool. Oh well. 

Sugarloaf Walk

Weird dog. I was in the mood he wasn't so fifty yards in he stopped. Another dog showed up all shaggy and youthful and happy to see him so he had to be happy back.

Rusty reminds me of me, much happier alone minding his own beeswax.

Signs of Irma recovery, clearing trails and moving downed trees from hurricane damage two years ago,

We turned back and walked the road for a while in accordance with his wishes.

A bright warm afternoon contrasting nicely with reports of snow and storms Up North.

One tends to forget it isn't always summer in other places.

Spiders:

Bees:

Spring may be said to have sprung I suppose.

Contentment:

A Friday Night

In  a  life  filled with much time allocated to physical exercise and a fair bit set aside for work each week the rest of my day is dedicated to sleep as my bones and muscles continue the tedious and lengthy process of healing. That  leaves some time set aside to do something other than paying attention to Rusty. If music be the food of love, play on, Michael Robinson. 

Learning to live in a new body filled with metal plates and held together with steel pins requires patience with oneself as stamina is much reduced. An evening nursing a glass of wine combined with a glass of beer with dinner, leaves a trauma survivor like myself ready to pass out by 9 pm...So a gentle evening at the Gardens Hotel listening to Michael thump the ivories is just the ticket. 

And the Gardens Hotel has the self service wine dispenser of many years standing and it still works very well. I had a glass of dry Greek white, evocatively labeled from the vineyards of Santorini. I had no idea that place had room enough for lands  dedicated to the vine.

Michael had set aside a table at the back of the room for us with a bird's eye view of the piano. He was alone last Friday, his partner Eric was away invigilating university stuff where he works I believe, and thus left Michael togo a little while. I usually play ballads the pianist mused with a wicked glint in his eye, and proceeded to knock a few more spirited tunes with the loud pedal fully deployed.

He did not hold back. I wasn't sure our friends were in the mood so I offered them an out by suggesting we cut out to dinner. I was quite delighted when they didn't leap at the suggestion and we sat firmly in our seats until it really was time to leave and eat Thai food.

The day was overcast yet the heat was enough to keep visitor around the pool and in it. The views of course are lush in a hotel by the name of The Gardens...An American in Paris came belting out of the machine and floated around the rafters.

The hotel is quiet and genteel and very comfortable and filled with knick knacks at every turn.

MisoHappy on Southard Street was pleasantly intimate: 

 Chuck and I work out at the Broga Studio and we end up talking about the wild conversations Sean our instructor enjoys, a man of no filters and many opinions and a provocative sense of humor, Wayne his partner (in the yellow) is sick of Broga and tired of hearing about it so he and my wife decided spontaneously to start a knitting club to offset the exercise oriented conversation.

 I rejected twigs in lieu of cutlery preferring to stick (pun intended ) to my European roots, a culture that has long since embraced the fork as the most sensible way to eat.  Asians in Asia use sticks very effectively but in their culture the bowl is brought to the mouth. In our effete Western idea of good manners the plate stays firmly on the table but the chopsticks are used to convey the food perilously across our chets some distance to our mouths. Makes no sense, combining the worst of both etiquettes...

 The whole fish was excellent though even when eaten using twigs.

A culture laden night out in Key West. Sleep was welcome after all this activity.