100 Days of Awesome: Day One - A Hike, and the Three D's

If you've been reading for a while, you'll know that I recently completed my 101 Things in 1001 Days challenge. And you'll also know that I only completed roughly half the list, and was contemplating starting another one. I've been stewing over what variation of the concept would work the best without putting undue pressure on myself, or being disappointed for failing to achieve certain targets, and then I hit upon the idea of not writing a list at all, but just doing things that make me happy for a set period of time instead.

 

I had a pretty cruddy time of things last week. It was mostly that at every turn there was some kind of obstacle (except for Wednesday. Wednesday was productive AND it involved cake!), a lot of stress at work, and then my brother had a super crap day at work (his boss is a total a-hole) which made me feel bad for him. And then my dad, who has some mental health issues, ended up being hospitalised with that yesterday. Which admittedly was more of a relief than anything, because it had been building for a while and he needed help, but it just makes me very, very sad seeing him not being himself like that. I have to commend my (all-male) colleagues for coping very well when I burst into tears at work after I got off the phone to Dad on Thursday. I'm the consummate professional! ;) And then to cap it all off, my boss asked me to have something done for Monday at 4:30pm on Friday. So although I do need to get that done today, I'm doing this instead.

 

And why, you may ask?

 

Because I've been mulling over this idea for a couple of days, and decided during my hike yesterday that instead of writing a big ol' list that I "have to" achieve, I will keep it simple and just live an awesome life for the next hundred days. The idea is that I inject a little bit of sunshine into each and every day, even if it's by doing something dumb like painting my nails, or talking to a friend on the phone, because, believe it or not, those things can make my day. Even doing something that I've been putting off and I'm all tense about can make me feel really good.

 

So, to that end, I'm sitting in the sunshine and fresh air (tick!), with a nice cup of tea by my side (tick!), and I'm writing (tick!) my idea down. It's definitely a more awesome choice than knuckling down right away and doing some work, that's fo' shizzle! I can do that later.

 

Part of the decision making process was because of my cruddy few days, and part of it was because I was physically struggling yesterday with what should be a relatively easy walk, and that really upset me and my foolish pride. I love being outdoors, and I love hiking, and it just seems so unfair that it hurts so much to do something I love so much. I can't pull the "I just had heart surgery" card for much longer, and I'm loath to make excuses for myself, even though I am at a physical disadvantage and fatigue much more quickly than your average person. I have to keep reminding myself that I actually live a fuller and more active life than plenty of people with fewer challenges set before them, and that slow and steady really can win the race. Well, maybe not win. But you can certainly participate in and enjoy the race. Hah, they should totally make a bumper sticker with that on it. It's super-catchy! ;-p

 

So now, instead of resenting my weaknesses, I will try to spend the next 100 days making myself stronger, both physically and emotionally. The emotional is being taken care of by this challenge because in theory I will be happy or satisfied for at least a small portion of every day, and I'm having the inkling that it will also feed my physical strength. Because doing a hard yoga session makes me happy. Going for a run makes me happy, even if it frustrates the hell out of me, because I've derived a sense of achievement from making myself do it. And going for a hike makes me happy, even if I have to stop every 500m (or less, depending on the terrain) to catch my breath, because I'm out in nature and that makes me very happy indeed.

 

I'm going to make yesterday Day One, and I will endeavour to update every night (although I can't promise that will happen... but I'm not going to beat myself up about it. If I'd rather paint my toenails, then so be it!).

 

WHY DAY ONE WAS AWESOME:

 

Well to begin with, I went hiking. I headed out to the You Yangs for the first time with my BFF Ness (yep, there's two of us) and did the East-West Walk a friend that lives in the area had recommended, and it was quite pretty. Plus it was a nice day, and I was outdoors. AWESOME!

 

We also climbed Flinders Peak, which is especially handy considering I've committed to climb something every week this year, and I fell behind during my stay in hospital. AWESOME!

 

(Wheee! I'm alive! And very, very sweaty. And wearing my very sexy, incredibly practical hiking shirt. Mmm, attractive...)

 

On my way back down the peak, the aforementioned friend rang to see how the walk was and we had a little chat before I decided I should probably pay more attention to where I was placing my feet than to the phone. AWESOME!

 

It was really good catching up with Nessa, too. We haven't really had much one-on-one time in years, so having a bit of girl-time was nice. AWESOME!

 

Then we came home and watched Pitch Perfect, which Ness hadn't seen (scandalous, I know). ACA-AWESOME!

 

Then we frocked up and hit the town for the three D's: Dumplings, Dancing and Drinks. First we had dinner - Peking duck and various dumplings. AWESOME!

 

Then we went for a drink at The Croft Institute, which I remember allegedly being super-awesome back at uni (I never actually visited in those days), and it was kinda eh, but then two things happened - one, my dad's girlfriend rang and said that dad was finally in hospital and getting help - AWESOME! - and my friend Harry showed up - AWESOME!

 

Haz took us to a more happening place over the road, where we danced the night away. AWESOME!

 

While we were dancing I somehow attracted the attention of a tall, fit guy who bought me two drinks and gave me his number. He was very sweet and quite shy, and therefore not a jerk. AWESOME!

 

Then we moved on to the Gin Palace for a nightcap, and were able to sit on the super-comfy couches and rest our weary feet there whilst we sipped real cocktails. AWESOME!

 

I also got the bartender to invent a cocktail for me, and I named in in his honour, which he seemed to appreciate. AWESOME!

 

And then my housemate Dave came and got us from the city, so we didn't have to muck around with taxis. AWESOME!

 

Day One, and I'm definitely off to an awesome start :) I hold no illusions that every day will be that awesome - after all, it was a weekend - but having read through that before hitting Publish I'm realising exactly how small the happenings and interractions that build up to make an awesome day really are. It's kind of just formally recognising and counting your blessings, and that's something I think everyone can benefit from.

 

So what made your day awesome? I'm serious! Tell me in the Comments section below!

Back In The Game!

A couple of weeks ago I was defeated by the 1000 Steps walk in the Dandenongs. It was two weeks and two days after the surgery to implant Zappy III, my new pacemaker, and I was pretty bummed out by having to admit defeat half way up. I was feeling kind of wonky, and I thought it best not to push  myself too hard and potentially screw things up for myself.

 

Yesterday afternoon, I decided it was high time I had another shot at it. After all, it had been a month and two days since going under the knife, and in that time I've done a couple of walks on the flat at a decent pace, plus a short walk down at Point Addis that involved quite a few steps going down and coming back up the cliffs to the beach. Plus shopping, which is basically an endurance event. Heh.

 

Credit where credit is due - my friend Brett put a bit of thought into whether or not those steps at Point Addis would be easier than my failed attempt at the 1000 Steps before suggesting it, and I survived. In actual fact, I barely struggled at all. I call that a win! (Let's ignore the fact that I barely struggled because I kept a pace akin to that of the proverbial tortoise the whole way up...)

 

This is the view of Point Addis from a disance, by the way. The cliffs we climbed are the ones towards the left of the picture, and are a little lower than the ones this picture is taken from. It's Brett's photo, not mine, taken another day. I was far too busy trying not to die to take any pictures, and I definitely didn't walk that far ;)

 

So anyway, I got to the 1000 Steps car park, and I got what could only be described as a rock star spot - five cars from the start of the walk. I imagine that had a little something to do with the fact that it was pouring with rain and only about ten degrees. This photo doesn't illustrate it well unless you realise that the entire windscreen is a slick of fast-moving water, and the little wobbles in the surface are huge, fat rain drops!

 

 

My brave friend Chay was the only other starter, and I sat in the car and waited for him. He eventually arrived and, unbeknownst to me, parked opposite me. I was so engrosesd in playing with my phone that I didn't see him pull in, and he was able to sneak up and scare the crap out of me by slamming his hands against the passenger window. That's right, Chay, scare the girl with the dodgy heart right before a hike! ;)

 

The walk went well. We didn't hurry up - I never do - but we kept a fairly steady pace and gossiped the entire way up and back down again. I guess that's a sign you're doing okay, and it also seems to help distract you from the pain a little. We stopped for a quick breather a few times, and I probably only noticed that I needed to because I was struggling to speak, and when we got to the top we went straight down instead of standing around, resting. Well, right after I took this all-important Proof Of Life selfie, anyhow!

 

I didn't make use of any of the seats on the trail, and, now that I think of it, I didn't even notice them. I guess I just wasn't looking for them because I didn't need them. Plus, the fronts of my legs were already wet. I didn't need to add a wet bum to that ;)

 

I have to say I'm pretty proud of myself, in case you couldn't tell by that photo. I almost look a little bit crazed with the success of it all! The fact I showed up in the pouring rain isn't such a huge deal - my determination means that once I set my mind on something I will do it, regardless of the obstacles.

 

I also don't really count rain as an obstacle. I've done enough hiking, and spent enough of my time outdoors in Tassie in seriously crappy weather for work, for it not to be an issue. And more than one friend said it was too dangerous to attempt on a day like that, but again, my judgement on "dangerous" is skewed, having pranced about a boulder field in the fog on a frosty morning (and you do have to prance, because the boulders are often spaced quite far apart!), with a rucksack packed full of Elliot traps on my back, all in the name of science. I'm such an Evel Knievel ;) (although luckily I have only broken four bones so far in my life, not 433!). Plus, I wasn't planning on running up or down the steps, so really it was a pretty low risk.

 

It took me a little over an hour to do the loop. Two seconds over the hour, in fact *shakes fist* But at least now, like when I failed to finish last time, I have a tangible goal to aim for. I'm a bit sore today - when I woke up, my legs were aching. And the wound site is pretty stiff, too. But that will get better. And sore is good. Sore means you're alive and you can feel.

 

I'm back in the game!

Admitting Defeat... But Not Defeated!

On Friday I tried for a slice of my normal life - doing the 1000 Steps walk in the Dandenongs. If you're not from Melbourne (or you are, and your idea of outdoor exercise is getting up to grab another beer out of the esky at a BBQ!), it's a walk in a national park in a cooler, wetter, higher-altitude part of the outskirts of Melbourne. It's nearly 1000 unevenly-spaced and -sized steps separated by occasional, short bursts of walking track up a narrow, treefern-lined gully with just enough room to pass someone. I believe it was once just a walk to a picnic ground and was built in the 1920s, perhaps by returned soldiers (I might have made that up), but has in more recent times been renamed as the Kokoda memorial track, to commemorate the lives lost on the Kokoda Trail during World War II. 

Anyway, until I landed in l'hôpital I'd been doing the track for fitness purposes every week this year (except one, when it was above 40 degrees and the Dandenong Ranges looked like they were at risk of going up in smoke!). I started out quite slowly, taking the opportunities to stop and read the Kokoda memorial plaques every 12.8 seconds whilst I caught my breath, but just before I ended up in hospital I was getting to the top with just one quick stop. I'd knocked about 15 minutes off my original time, and was feeling pretty pleased with myself. You can imagine what a let-down being trapped in a hospital was for me, and why I walked so many laps of the ward while I was there!

Well, I got back in the game on Friday...or should I say, tried to. Not to blow the punchline, but I didn't make it to the top. Sad face :(

I got a bit less than halfway up and decided I wasn't feeling great and that it would be wiser to turn around, rather than push myself and do some kind of damage to my heart or the new pacemaker leads. I don't even know if they are legitimate risks, but considering you only have one blood-pumper and have no desire to repeat the surgery any time soon, it's probably best not to roll the dice on that one at the ripe ol' age of 31. Although I guess you could probably buy a new heart on the black market or, like, lure a foreign student into your home, get them hammered, put them in an ice bath and then...I'm kidding! I'm kidding! I mean, everyone knows that foreign students are for selling into indentured servitude, and hobos are for harvesting organs ;) Plus, yaknow, to replace a heart requires more surgery, which, wahhhhh. 

Haha, anyway, I'm not sure how much of feeling weird was that my body is still recovering from surgery, or that my fitness has declined that badly over the last month, or that I have just totally forgotten what it feels like to push yourself and get your heart rate going, but like I said, I didn't feel great so I bowed out. Oddly, as I did so, I had a totally random thought hit me that maybe that's why the contestants on The Biggest Loser often quit or struggle mentally early on - they feel all these unfamiliar sensations when they exercise, and it's scary. I mean, it's not the same thing by any stretch of the imagination...but I guess I have a bit more empathy now. Well, empathy over the sensation and the fear, anyhow.

If you don't know me well, or at all, you may not realise how hard it was for me to turn around without achieving my goal. Yes, I'm normally slow. Yes, I have never been sporty or athletic. But I am one stubborn human being, stubborn to a fault, and when I decide to do something I rarely give up. Even if that means that other, less positive things then occur as a result. So this was a pretty landmark moment in the development of my emotional maturity!

I feel like I'm recovering a million times better from this surgery in terms of pain levels and mobility, but in terms of heart function I feel like I've taken a backwards step. I'm trying to cast my mind back six years to the first time I had a new lead put in my atrium (this time around I had two new leads and a new device implanted, one into my atrium and the other into my ventricle, but the previous surgery was just adding a lead to the ventricle), and figure out whether what I'm feeling is comparable. And I think that maybe it is.

I think.

I remember feeling breathless and weak. I remember it being a lot worse than this - weeks on end of walking no faster than about 2km/hr for fear of inciting those breathless feelings and irregular rhythms - but I'm not sure whether it actually was worse (possible, considering I was going through a period of abnormal cardiac activity - or a "storm of activity", as my EP at the time described it), or whether it was because I had just come through said storm, including being defibrillated several times, and it was all a bit new, so every time I felt a bit off-colour it was panic stations.

So I'm trying to consider that, and to be patient. Going in my favour is the fact that I haven't just come through one of those storms - I went into this surgery in apparent rude health, with ne'er an ectopic beat to be seen. I do remember one of the coronary care nurses at the Royal Adelaide Hospital telling me that new leads can cause a bit of irritation to the heart muscle until they settle in, and that can occasionally cause irregular heartbeats for a time. I also remember that, despite the fact that the part of the RAH I was in was remeniscent of the antiquity of the hospital in Cuzco (rural Peru!), the doctors and nurses at the RAH were exceptionally knowledgable, experienced and reassuring, and far, far better at their jobs on all counts than those at the Austin where my first ICD surgery took place, so I'm somewhat more inclined to take on board what that nurse told me. 

So I guess it's a waiting game. I've dipped my toe in the water, and I'm not feeling great but at least now I have something to build on. I have a tangible point at the steps to beat, and none of my friends had to kick my arse over me over-exerting myself! I also have experience under my belt, so I know that it actually gets better, rather than just vaguely hoping that it will. And that is a hell of a long way from the mindset of that distraught girl alone and at rock-bottom in the RAH, 800km from home, thinking "there's got to be more to life than this. It has to get better."

And I'm quite confident now that it does get better. Maybe that's why I was able to admit defeat on Friday - because I'm not defeated, and I know now that there's always another day. Defeated would be sitting on the couch, sulking. Also, I can't take credit for that philosophy - it came from a new friend, and hearing things like that from new friends sinks in a bit better because I know they're less biased. I'm sure that bugs the crap out of my old friends ;)

So I will be back, and soon. And believe me, you'll know about it when I am! But even if it takes me five more times to get to the top, well sure, I'll pout and whinge, but I won't let it get me down. Because admitting defeat in the short term beats the pants off being defeated in the long term. 

See you at the top! :)

Frankenstein's Monster. Or, Vanity.

MWARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS AN IMAGE OF A PARTLY-HEALED SURGICAL INCISION WITH OBVIOUS INTERNAL SUTURE MARKS AND EXPOSED FLESH. DO NOT READ IF THIS IS LIKELY TO UPSET YOU!

I can't believe that after everything I've been through over the past few weeks, that it has come down to a question of vanity. 

Ten days post-surgery, my friendly local GP removed the dressing and replaced it with steri-strips, as advised by the hospital, and I saw the new scar in all its angry, red glory. 

I was pretty upset when I saw it. To me, I looked like Frankenstein's monster, a cobbled-together hack job of random body parts. I am aware that as a young-ish and vain woman with a sound literary education, this is not a comparison that most people would draw...but here we are!

I'm probably this disappointed because the previous wound literally looked like it had been scratched on by a paperclip when the dressings came off, and this one is more reminiscent of a sausage on a BBQ, oozing its insides out of the holes  you've pricked with a fork. My expectations were high, and this has missed the mark by a long, long way.

It probably also doesn't help that I'm single, because to insecure ol' me, having this...thing on my chest, an area of the body that we as women are groomed to believe is our most powerful asset, just feels like yet another disadvantage. I know that's dumb, and I also know that if the scar was on my leg or my arm or my back, I probably wouldn't care. 

Also, I know that unless I actively show people, the only people likely to see it are unlikely to care, and the next lucky bastard that gets my shirt off will probably have put in a bit of groundwork to begin with, and is unlikely to be turned off at that point by an ugly scar in an unfortunate location after all that effort. And, as one friend helpfully suggested, I should think like a 15-year-old boy: scars are cool, and...boobs!

I've spent the last eighteen hours being a sad sack about it, and now I'm done with that. I'm going to focus on the good stuff.

I live in a country where this amazing level of medical care is available.

I live in an era where the technology to give me a healthier, safer life is available. 

I live in an era where I have the luxury of complaining about a scar that is less than 10cm long with very little functional impact, and where people listen to me whinging and say supportive, soothing, kind things. 

I found out I needed the surgery as a result of a routine check, not because something went horribly wrong and I ended up in the emergency department. 

I managed to land in the care of the leading specialist in the country. 

The operation went well, even though my deeply-implanted pacemaker/ICD was difficult to remove, and the leads needed lasers to burn off the scar tissue. 

I get to say "lasers". 

I didn't become the one-in-100 that needs their rib cage cracked open to stop the bleeding, or the one-in-800 who die because they can't stop the bleeding at all. And that's not considering the fact that I'm a high anaesthetic risk to begin with. 

My employer has been incredibly supportive, as have my workmates. 

My family and friends have been their usual, wonderful selves, and on top of that I've become closer to people I wasn't as close to, rekindled older friendships and made completely new friends with pretty amazing people. And I've seen more of all of these people in the last three weeks than I had for a long time before. Not a day passed without a visitor and a phone call, and the support has been overwhelming.

Today, I managed to get my shirt on, OVER my head, so my mobility is coming back.

I went for a walk in the rain yesterday, because I could... Although it did highlight to me that I have a lot of fitness to regain!

I was probably the fittest and in the healthiest mindset I've ever been when I was hospitalised, so, although this seems like a huge step backwards, really I'm probably at a pretty good level of fitness now.

My pants still fit (just!), despite having been locked indoors for three weeks. 

I've read heaps. 

I've become addicted to Game of Thrones, and my scar ain't got nothin' on Tyrion's.  

See, lots of positives!

Probably part of what got me is that seeing the new scar took me back to this image of myself, six years ago, alone and scared in a new city, thinking my life was over, not understanding what impact this heart condition would have on my existence, staring at a huge, purple scar and a flabby body in a fogged-up mirror,  crying my defective heart out. I was so unhappy, and so scared of what the future may hold. At that moment it felt like it held nothing. 

But a lot has changed since then. I've been to hell and back a few times, not just medically but also in my personal life, so I'm definitely stronger and can do and handle pretty much anything. I have more friends. I'm closer to my family. I'm the same weight as I was in that image I just mentioned, but more of me must be muscle because I'm not sad anymore when I look in the mirror like that scared girl was. Hah, or maybe I'm just older and wiser! I still don't know what the future holds, but none of us do, and I'm not scared of it anymore because I'm making an effort to live it and enjoy it every day. Even now, writing this, I made a conscious choice to move outside into the sunshine and the wind to write, rather than watching it pass me by outside the window. And when I think of it in terms of that horrible place I've come from, the scar seems pretty insignificant. 

I do realise that when I look at The Scar, it's 10cm from my face and occupies my entire field of vision. But when others look at it, it's in the context of a 6'1" body! So maybe my friends are right. Maybe it's not so bad after all.

So here it is. This is what upset me so much last night. Hope it doesn't gross you out too much, and that grown-up boys think that scars are cool, just like 15-year-old ones do!

Yeah. All this fuss, for that. Harden up, girl. Harden the f**k up. 

Day 6 - Surgeons are People, Too

Today was actually a pretty entertaining day. I had oodles of visitors, I did some laps, spent a bit of time on the phone, and moved to a different hospital. Which means that I got zero of those goals I mentioned yesterday completed! But that's okay, because I was able to forget for a moment that I'm not a productive member of society right now, because I was sorrrrt of productive, in that I entertained eight people in the flesh. Or so I tell myself!

In no particular order, I was visited by Ness, Jamie, Viv, Brad, Emma and Mark (plus Arthur), Kirsti and Alice. Must be some kind of record, and it certainly made my day go by faster.

I clocked up 50 laps of the ward whilst on the phone to Rachel; discovered that my prickly old Site Superintendant was actually really stressed about me being in hospital; talked to my supervisor for a bit; and spoke to my aunt and my cousin, my dad and my mum.

I was visited by my surgeon this morning, who confirmed that the operation will go ahead tomorrow. He caught me tying the laces on my Asics up for my laps around the ward this morning, and asked if I was planning to go for a run. We got talking, and then we started comparing walking and running apps on our iPhones. It turns out he has a really good bedside manner, and I found myself laughing and joking along with him. When he's not being all serious and surgeon-y, he has quite a twinkle about him. And we all know that I like twinkly people! So I guess I'm in good hands.

I was transferred to the Coronary Care Unit at Royal Melbourne in the afternoon, and Kirsti came along for the ride. She'd made me white chocolate and raspberry brownies, so if that's not an incentive for y'all to visit, I don't know what is ;) (But call first, because they may transfer me back to Melbourne Private for recovery.) Probably the best thing about having a huge stash of brownies is that I will be Nil By Mouth from midnight, just in case they actually get me into surgery first thing (which is a possibility, considering I'm not actually on the list, or else they'll send me in whenever they can squeeze me in), so I can eat a brownie at 11:59pm and not feel like I'm totally famished. Not that I'm about to fade away to a shadow!

I was here in the CCU a couple of years back after my little cardiac episode during a hike and subsequent helicopter ride, so I know my way around the place fairly well. Weird how different this place is to Melbourne Private, but at the end of the day the staff are still good, just busier. Oh, plus there are obviously budget restrictions. Little things like at MPH, they have little disposable fabric bags for the telemetry units. Here? Snap-lock bag with string. If that's not tragic I don't know what is, and I'm seriously contemplating sewing them a bunch of fabric ones like they had last time I was here. I have no idea what happened to them, but seriously, snap-lock bags??  I've had to fix my bag with tape twice already to stop it from ripping!

The food here is also crapola. My initial thought - that RMS shared the same kitchen with MPH - has now well and truly been lead out to the paddock, shot in the head and buried, and the grave jumped up and down on several times with great energy, all whilst performing some kind of smoking ceremony. Seriously. I was served my favourite meat of all time - corned beef - and it was served with rice. Rice! Who the hell serves rice with corned beef?? It should be potato, preferably mashed! Everyone knows that! Sheesh. Way to ruin my last supper, guys. Although, I have to tell you, corned beef is my "last supper" meal of choice (yes, really)... but it's with mashed potatoes, peas and carrots and is chased by apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. This was corned beef with rice, carrots and beans. And I'm believer enough in The Universe to take comfort in the fact that there was no mashed potato on my plate. I know that sounds silly, but you grab on to what you can when you're feeling as insecure as I am right now.

Anyway, I'd better get going. I have to wash my hair tonight, seeing as how it's the last time in a couple of weeks I'll be able to easily lift both my arms above my waist, because they're not sure whether or not I'll be whisked off to surgery early in the morning, and I certainly won't have time to rinse and repeat if they do!

If I am first cab of the rank, rather than at 3pm like the surgeon thought, my mum will crack it and mayyyy even have some kind of breakdown. She wants to be here when I go in, and, frankly, I'm kind of scared of the prospect of being alone and of not seeing my family, on the offchance that something does go wrong and I don't get to say goodbye. In the unlikely (touch wood) event something does go wrong, though, I've written a post that is sitting in my Drafts folder that I will get Kirsti to publish for me. She has my password and everything so, worst case, it's there. Hopefully none of you ever see it.

Well, that's it. Hopefully when I next write to you I will have had a successful surgery, and it will have all gone very straightfoward-ly and they won't need to have cracked open my ribcage, and I will be as high as a kite on huge doses of Endone or similar. That should be amusing for you.

Argh, I don't want to stop writing. It's like while I'm writing I'm still connected by the filament of the internet to everyone, and I'm scared and don't want to be alone tonight. I know I'm scared because when I hugged my friends goodbye I started to lose my bundle a bit. Totally doesn't count if nothing runs down your cheeks, though! And although I have always been stronger when I am alone - because then I have to be - sometimes you just want someone there to hold your hand when you're terrified.

But if all the good vibes and positive thoughts and prayers that have come from those I know (and even those I don't) are what will get me through tomorrow, then I know I will be absolutely fine. I have had such an incredible amount of support and love from so many people, even people I barely know, and I just wanted to say thanks for that. It helps me believe I'll be okay. There are a lot of people out there with big hearts, obviously hearts that are somewhat less faulty than mine, and I'm feeling the love.

Right. That's it. I'm out. I'll see ya when I'm looking at ya.

Day Three-Point-Five and Four - Ask And You Shall Receive

When I left you yesterday, I had been visited by the pacemaker technician and was still waiting to be brought down to Radiology for a second attempt at having a venogram. It had left my arm already looking kind of like a bruised pincushion after four sustained attempts over about an hour and a half, so I wasn't much looking forward to a repeat performance!

 

Lunch included jelly and ice cream, and I have to say that the ready availability of jelly and icecream is what makes hospital bearable. This one was lime, and didn't taste like fake lime! But, as I said to Kirsti, I'd have to add vodka and soda to it to be truly certain whether it tasted like natural lime ;)

I ate the jelly just in time, because the orderly showed up to wheel me down to Radiology. This time I made a special effort to stay warm - it's as cold as a morgue downstairs; and, quite frankly, had me wondering whether there were a bunch of ghosts wandering about the place putting a bit of chill in the air. It was a totally different team doing the procedure this time, which I was kind of relieved about - apparently they had booked more experienced staff in because they knew it was going to be tricky.

They capitulated to my request for a local anaesthetic to take away the pain of the bruising (hah, I'm so soft!) which was good of them, and one of the nurses did an excellent job of distracting me the entire time by talking to me. Except for the bit where I watched the X-ray up on the screen, which was so awesome it didn't allow me to focus on anything else. You could see the radioactive dye go into my vein, and light the whole vein up, and you could see the pacemaker and leads with perfect clarity. You should YouTube it. I'm sure it'll be there! 

 

In theory it shouldn't be much worse than being canulated, but I have crappy veins, and I think they must have used a different type of needle this time - a bigger one - because there is actually a small hole in my arm, kind of like the vampires at the Blood Bank leave. They went deep, and they were totally confident, and despite the fact that it is still really sore today it was a calm, smooth procedure. Just the way you want them to be! I'm annoyed that the below graphic that I so carefully annotated for you has inexplicably rotated and shrunk itself, so if you want to read what I wrote more easily then you'll have to zoom in and tilt your head...

 

Back on the ward, and I begin to grow bored. I stare out the window at the buidling where my friend Rachel works (the one who visited the other night), and I slowly become aware that all the men walking in and out of the building are really fit, quite good-looking guys. Now, there's three possibilities there - one, I'm incredibly bored, and any tiny stimulation is amplified. Two, I've been single for a while, and anything on two legs looks mighty tasty. Or three, these guys are actually pretty hot! So naturally, I hit up Rachel's Facebook wall to share this observation with her:

 

 

So Rachel responds:

 

Aaaand of course, because Rachel had tagged Matt in her response, seeing as how he's a workmate and a Facebook friend, he saw it!!! *squirms* 

 

(I've blocked out his pic because I figure I should respect his privacy a little bit (er, so hopefully telling you this doesn't, like, not do that...), so if anyone's stalking him on Facebook, being able to see his photo would make it easier for randoms to send annoying friend requests. Not sure if it makes a difference to him but I figured it was the right thing to do.)

 

So I thought, I can sit here and be a little bit embarassed about the fact that this pretty hot guy has actually become aware of the conversation and bought into it, or I can roll with it. After all, I've never met this guy, and probably never will, so it doesn't really matter what he thinks of me. So, being my usual, flippant self with pretty much no shame (well, not when there's nothing to lose, anyhow!), I posted the following:

 



Yes, I really sent that.

 

Nobody's surprised, are they ;) Like I said, I have no shame... and I wonder why I'm single!

 

So that kept me entertained for a little while.

 

And then my friends Sarah and Dave showed up in between Matt's message and my response, during which I moved rooms to a smaller one with just two beds in it. I'm sharing with a 39-year-old woman who has had a heart attack, and, watching her try to process all the fear, I really feel for her! Especially because she has four kids.

 

Anyway, Sarah is good to have around because she's a coronary care nurse and has been involved in a lot of surgeries like the one I'm going to have. She was actually my first nurse on the ward when I was medivaced from a hike a few years back, and after that, separately to me, she met my friend Dave. They eventually moved to Tassie for work while I was on a job down there, and so I got to know Sarah down there over many a glass o' cider and wine, which was awesome.

 

Anyway, talking to her helped cement a decision I had pretty much already made about my surgery, but it's nice to be reassured. I've had a doctor friend do the same for me (who I incidentally met in ICU in Peru when I was diagnosed), so I'm hoping that all the positive vibes and good medical mojo will get me through :)

 

After they left my dad showed up, and then my friend Sara from uni had chocolates and a windmill delivered, so now I have something to look at on the foot of my bed. That will come in handy when the surgery finally happens and I can't move. Cute!

 

 

It was all happening yesterday, it really was. I wrote my response to Matt's comment while my dad was there, and I was chuckling as I wrote it. I had to kind of explain Facebook to dad, but I think in the end he got it, and was amused by what I had said to Matt.

 

He was even more amused about half an hour later when Matt Witkowski, runner-up Cleo Batchelor of the Year 2013 showed up!!! (And I saw the guy that won, and WTF!!! NO idea why Matt didn't win) He actually, really and truly showed up! Dad made himself scarce pretty quickly, which was nice of him :D

 

Matt wandered in quite confidently and flashed me this big, friendly grin, pretty much exactly like this but less posed (this is his profile photo, stolen from the Cleo Batchelor of the Year page. I think I can get away with stealing it because it's clearly for educational purposes...):

 

Yep, that's his real smile and does not appear to be photoshopped. *reaches for sunglasses*

 

I was dazzled by his smile for a moment, and then confused for a split second, until I realised who he was. I figured it out from the friendliness of the grin, not because I recognised him... although I did vote for him in the contest, because Rachel ran a really good campaign to drum up votes, so I probably should have remembered his face a little better!

 

He stayed and chatted until the surgeon showed up, which - sadly for me - was about ten minutes, and he was absolutely lovely. He has bucketloads of personality, he's really intelligent, and it was just so sweet of him to actually come and say hi. It nicely capped off what was shaping up to be a pretty good day (as far as hospital days go, although I think this might have raised the bar on even an average day!).

 

Of course, since I met him I've done a little bit of stalking Googling to find pictures for you (hah, I'm such a philanthropist!). In the process I have discovered that in addition to being sweet enough to visit me and alleviate my boredom, he is also a PhD candidate, is researching childhood cancers and was an ambassador for Light the Night last year (which is where I stole the below picture from). Sigh. And I imagine that if he's the kind of guy that shows up when a stranger in need jokes about it (albeit a friend of a friend), then he probably has a big heart and a cheeky sense of humour, too. Cute, smart, tall, sweet and apparently generous with his time. Don't ask me how he was single for long enough to win Bachelor of the Year! As I said, he's absolutely lovely, and my friend is lucky to know him. And I feel lucky to have had a visit from him, too.

 

Here's that other picture for good measure, before I finish gushing about him and stop making a total dick of myself!

 

 

You're welcome :)

 

So now that I've gotten that out of my system, I can tell you about the rest of my afternoon, and then my today. I know this is a long post, but I've realised that I should be posting at the end of the day, not half way through, because obviously a lot can happen in an afternoon! Plus, yaknow, most days are going to be borrrrrring. No hot randoms visiting, that's for sure!

 

So the surgeon came, confirmed that my subclavian vein was clear enough to do the lead extraction and replacement, asked if I still wanted to do it (being the riskier option), I said yes, and he said he'd try and get me in on Tuesday on the emergency surgery list. It has to be done at the hospital next door, you see, because he needs their equipment including lasers (I just wanted to say "lasers", Dr Evil style!) and also needs a cardiac surgeon on standby in case the needs assistance. Like I said, it's a riskier procedure so it's good to have backup there if it's needed. And if I get bumped from the emergency list then I'll be stuck here until the 4th of April waiting for the op!!!

 

My dad, who had kindly vacated the room when Matt arrived, came back while the surgeon was there and it was good for him to hear about the risks, and for him to back up my decision. Dad stayed a little while after the surgeon left and then left.

 

Later in the evening my friend Al visited and had a good ol' chat, and stayed until about half past nine. Which totally proves that hospital visiting hours are an absolute crock! I guess if I was sick, or my roomate was sicker, it might be a different story. But the nurses pretty much let me get away with whatever I want, because all they have to do for me is check my blood pressure maybe four times a day, hand out medication every twelve hours and change my sheets. Walk in the park!

 

So that was yesterday.

 

This morning passed quietly enough, although I did have a good chat with my roomie, so after my shower I put on my awesome dinosaur pyjamas and went for a quick stroll around the ward.

 

Okay, a long stroll.

 

Okay, four medium-sized strolls.

 

Wearing these.

 

I clocked up 80 laps in four goes, which is about 6km. Go me!

 

It's kind of funny doing it, because the first few times that staff and patients see you they give you a big smile like they think it's great, and then like it's funny... and then it gets a bit awkward, and everyone avoids eye contact. They probably think I'm crazy, and they'd be right - I'm going nuts here, and no wonder. Check out the awesome view on my walk!

 

(Okay, looks like the video isn't loading on my laptop, so hopefully it's loading on yours. It's a video of a lap of the ward, which takes approximately 57 seconds and involves grey carpet and white walls.)

I haven't breathed fresh air in four days. By the time I get out of here it will probably be closer to ten days, and I'm probably going to get a bit high when I get outside!
 

In between walks I had a couple of visitors - Deano, Kaye, and Ness (Dean's twin). Ness brought me some PJs that I needed (now that I know I'll be here for aaaaages!), and Dean brought Trauma Ted with him, who shows up every time a friend is in hospital, which is nice.

 

And now, looking at Trauma Ted has reminded me that it's bed time. All that walking has tired me out!

Hopefully tomorrow brings something good and equally exciting as the last day and a half. I'm not sure whether the good things would be green jelly, or a visit from another tall, good-looking, lovely, intelligent guy like Matt (and hey, if any of you fellas reading this fits the description of at least two of those four things, come on down!). Hopefully I get jelly AND hotties :)

Day Three. Waiting...

So I thought I should start to document my super-awesome hospital stay, as the days begin to melt into one another and I feel the need to find a way to mark time.

I'm counting today as Day Three, as it's the third day I've woken up in hospital. 

Day One - Wednesday - I saw my specialist (hereafter referred to as The Prof., on account of being a Professor and, so far as I can tell, The Grand Pooh-Bah of Electrophysiology in the country), who explained I needed to see another specialist - the Lead Removal Specialist. I saw the pacemaker technician, too, then The Prof. pulled a few strings and they kindly moved me out of the noisy hellhole of ICU after lunch and down to the cardio thoracic ward. 

My brother Saul visited (and met The Prof. and the technician), my dad visited, my friends Emma and Mark came with baby Arthur (who stole the hearts of nurses and patients alike) and with chocolate while Dad and Saul were still here, then everyone ate chocolate and then left. 

The second specialist finally showed up, ordered some tests for Day Two, and my friend Jamie showed up part way through that and I'm kinda glad he did because it's good to have people to bounce information and thoughts off. Especially because the specialist went through the risk statistics of the version of the procedure that will have a better medical outcome, which was quite confronting and gave me plenty to think about. I'm not going to tell you the stats until after the surgery, by the way. I won't do anything stupid but I also don't want people worrying unnecessarily!

Then Rachel, childhood friend of a uni friend who I haven't seen in years, popped by to say hi. It never ceases to amaze me the random people that check up on me when I get sick. Although I am essentially alone in this, I truly am surrounded by a big cloud of awesome people :)

So that was my first day. It was busy but in a good way - bear in mind that I'm not actually sick, I'm just here under observation whilst I await surgery because I am at risk of having a cardiac episode. Which means that the nurses got a bit nervous when I walked ten laps (750m) of the ward and my heart rate went up!

I had an alright sleep - much quieter than ICU. Day Two was supposed to be The Day of Tests and Answers. It started well - got straight into X-ray and then into the venogram lab...and then they spent an hour and a half actively searching for a good vein. Sterilize, tourniquet, ultrasound, needle, bleed, bruise, release, retreat. Rinse and repeat. I have four holes in my arm, and bruises to go with it. Fun times!

My Superintendent from work called to check up on me, and he sounded worried about the failed tests. I turned it back on him and told him to actually go to his own damned checkups. Men!

So back to the ward for more waiting. Note that I hadn't showered since Tuesday and was feeling stinky, so it was good of Dad, Saul and Em to not mention it when they visited ;) Mind you, little Arthur was objecting to something, and it may well have been that! 

Saul had shaved, too, presumably less for me and more in case the pacemaker technician was there again (she's lovely, and a total hottie, and next time I see her I'm going to ask what exercise she does because I'd really like to replicate what she's got going on there! Is it creepy to ask??). Nawww :)

After they left The Prof came by, expressed sympathy for my bruised arm (unusual for one as high up as he) and said I'd basically have to wait until that was done before we could make any decisions about surgery. Boo. 

My old boss texted, which was sweet. And my current manager called to make sure I wasn't too bored, which was lovely of her.

And then I had a shower, and it was better than sex. I wouldn't be surprised if I'd been moaning with the sheer enjoyment of it, either ;)

I had a good chat with my night nurse and slept alright...until about 2am, when alarms started going off, telling the nurse that my heart rate had dropped quite low to the kind of rate it sustained pre-Zappy II (despite the fact I'm being paced and that shouldn't happen). So I freaked out and wrote my Will, then emailed the appointed Executor at about 4am and told him where to find it, if it came down to that. 

As I wrote in the email to him, I know it was irrational of me to worry, even if Zappy had stopped working, because it was essentially no different to how I had spent the first 29 years of my life...only without highly trained medical staff around me, as I do right now. The fear does your head in, it really does.

Anyway, I eventually fell back asleep but now, on Day Three (they tell me it's Friday), it's more waiting, plus now I'm kinda tired. My tests haven't happened yet, and I'm trying to stay warm and super-hydrated to make finding veins easier...but of course that means I have to pee every two seconds!!!

The technician came back and apparently there is nothing (else) wrong with Zappy, probably just the telemetry, so all that late-night worry was for nothing. Still, it's good that I have a current Will now!

Other highlights of my day have been decent cake, watching a highschool softball match from my window, checking out hot tradies in the car park, witnessing a rather random sausage sizzle in the same car park, and rocking out to The Foo Fighters. I probably look odd all wired up, in my little short PJs, headphones in, drumming on my bare thighs! But hey, I look odd at the best of times so there's nothing new to see here ;)

Well I guess lunch will be here shortly, and who knows who or what the afternoon will bring (besides, yaknow, being stabbed in the arm again). Although I did hear a whisper that I'm being moved to a smaller, private(ish) room...

Sorry it's not scintillating reading, but my world is obviously a bit restricted right now. Feel free to come visit if you're in Melbourne!

Happy Friday, y'all. Enjoy your weekend and your freedom and your health :)

PS - being in here makes you think about what you want, and I've decided that I want to learn drums, thanks to the Foo Fighters. Gets me going every time. I wonder if they'll give me a private room all to myself and they'll hook me up with a drum kit or practice pads while I wait for surgery ;)

Pissed Off... Actually, Scared.

I'm pissed off.

 

I'd decided that I wasn't going to write about emotionally-draining, negative things here anymore. That this blog would be a happy space for cupcakes and pie and regaling you all with witty tales of grand overseas adventures, instead of using it as an instrument to help me navigate my way through the quagmire of health and relationship issues like I have done in the past.

 

Best-laid plans and all that.

 

So here I am again, boring you senseless with my pathos.

 

I'm pissed off because I'm using this forum as my outlet, and ruining all the happy cupcakes and puppies and unicorns with rainbows shining out of their arses. I like unicorns. Magical horses that can toast marshmallows. Awesome.

 

I'm pissed off that I need an outlet to vent this stuff at all.

 

I'm pissed off that I'm only 31 years old, and I have to think about things like when I might die or what my quality of life might be like in the future, despite the fact that there is nobody in my life that depends on me or who would lose half their heart if I wasn't around anymore (That's a fancy way of saying "if I died", by the way.), or whose life would be seriously affected if I were less able-bodied.

 

I'm pissed off that I'm going under the knife again so soon. It was supposed to be another five years yet.

 

I'm pissed off because last time I went under the knife, and my former fiance chose not to be there (huh, well apparently that still bugs me!), I was so sure that the next time I would have someone by my side. True, I had assumed it would be him, but... stuff and things happened. And I mean, my family and friends were wonderful last time, but it's not the same. Not even close. You couply people have no idea how good you have it. Don't ever take having someone you can rely on, and who relies on you in return, for granted.

 

I'm pissed off that I was finally - FINALLY - getting back on my feet again, and was really enjoying life. I'd been dating like crazy, and although I'm still single, dating has introduced me to some wonderful people.

 

One guy single-handedly undid most of the damage my ex did to me and helped me believe in my own value and trust men again, just through talking about it (mostly after we stopped dating, by the way - I'm not a total psycho!), so I was actually enjoying dating rather than treating them as job interviews or risk assessments.

 

A second guy showed me that I wasn't broken as I had feared, and made me realise that I should wait for that person who I click with and who puts a big, goofy grin on my face like he did, and not just settle for "kind of a nice guy" because I'm lonely. Unfortunately he wasn't in the right headspace for a relationship himself, which sucks because I really liked him. He was tall, intelligent and hot. The trifecta - almost as rare as unicorns farting rainbows whilst toasting marshamallows. And yeah, I know the headspace thing could very well just be a line... but it could also be the truth, and it doesn't really matter anyway because he gave me something very valuable - confidence in waiting for something better - and for that I am grateful. My point is, I now feel like I should draw back from dating, because it's not fair to drag strangers into this mess. No matter how tall or intelligent or hot they are.

 

On top of that, I had found the courage to hike and to run again - alone - after six long years of letting fear rule me, and was watching my fitness improve week by week. I was looking forward to seeing what my body can do. Heck, I ran 2km on the weekend and was on track to run 5km in a fun run, but I assume that's off the cards now.

 

So now... *sigh*

 

If you're new here, you probably don't know that I have a heart condition called Long QT Syndrome. It has caused me so little trouble in recent times that it has receded further and further into my consciousness, so that it barely affects my everyday life. I'm not going to rehash it because I've spent so much emotional energy on it in the past, and I don't want to let it get me down, but you can read about it here. If you have several hours, that is, because the posts about it are pretty waffly! Sorry about that. Read or don't read, I don't care, but be warned there are a couple of pictures of surgical incisions and also of X-rays of pacemakers. Grossssss. (Unless you dig that kind of thing!)

 

So today, I had an appointment with my electrophysiologist (or "EP", as they call them in the business), and they did some tests and discovered that one of my pacemaker leads has a crack in it. It's basically a miniature, plastic-coated, wound gal rope cable (but made of titanium rather than gal), so a few of the filaments have apparently suffered a stress fracture, but not all of them. This causes "static" and means that there's a chance of it tricking the device into believing there's a potentially fatal rhythm happening, and so it will deliver therapy. Which means it could defibrillate me unnecessarily.

 

So that's pretty crap.

 

So the EP said that I'd need to get the lead replaced, the sooner the better, probably in the next couple of days.

 

And that's pretty crap, too. I mean, it's great that the medical facility and technology are available, but it's crap that I need to use it.

 

The EP also said that they will need to speak to the "lead removal specialist" (because such a thing exists) about whether to remove the lead, or whether to leave it in there and junk up my heart with a second lead. Completely removing the lead can damage the heart, because the end of it has this little spring-like thing that embeds in the heart tissue to stop it from slipping, and that would come out with the lead, but because I'm so young they have to toss up the odds of damaging my heart tissue, or junking up my heart with multiple leads, bearing in mind that I will need several lead changes throughout my life unless the technology changes quite significantly, and soon.

 

So that's crap as well.

 

I'm waiting on a phone call to tell me when the surgery will be, and I'm trying to get some work done because I have an audit tomorrow, but my brain has turned to mush and I'm spending most of my energy trying not to freak out or burst into tears.

 

What I should really be doing is putting my energy into writing a new will. Depressing, but sensible.

 

I was kidding myself using the phrase "pissed off", though. Let's not lie, I'm scared. I'm really frigging scared.

 

I'm scared that a second lead will inhibit my heart function, and I won't be able to be as active as I am now, or ever find out what I'm capable of.

 

I'm scared that removing the first lead will damage my heart, ditto the issues mentioned in the previous sentence.

 

I'm scared of the scar being worse than before (although I guess that's only a problem if I get my kit off in front of someone, and ain't no signs of that on the horizon!).

 

I'm scared because last time I was on the operating table I tried to die, and in doing so racked up the 9th defibrillation and 11th resuscitation of my life.

 

I'm scared that something will happen during the surgery and I'll wake up a vegetable.

 

I'm scared of being alone during the whole process.

 

I'm scared of the pain (although the drugs are pretty good...).

 

I'm scared of becoming addicted to pain killers (it happens easily, and it's almost happened to me before).

 

I'm scared of how long this stuff takes me to get over psychologically.

 

I'm scared of being alone after it, forever, because it has literally just hit home that if I'm wigging out this badly over it, and I've had six years to become comfortable with the concept of death or a limited existence, then why on God's green earth would any man of sound mind choose to put himself in a situation where he may have to deal with a partner that could die young or not be able to be their best, awesome self, or maybe never even have the chance to see the best that they can be?? Far out, that's a big one for a stranger to swallow. Although I guess they'd never really know what they were missing...

 

I'm scared that I won't see Invincible Ness again. She's the one that has a shot at anything, by the way, and believes she can do anything if only she puts her mind to it. I lost her for a long, long time, and she's only been back in the last six months or so. I don't see myself as a cripple like I did when I was first diagnosed - the diagnosis was such a stark contrast from the life Invincible Ness lead - but I'm scared of having to go through that rebuilding process again. It's such a huge blow to your confidence, and it's exhausting fighting crushing fear every single day of your life.

 

I'm scared of not having a fair chance to live my life. That's not to be mistaken with being scared of death. I don't think I'm scared of death, but I am scared of missing out on all the living there is to do, all the places there are to see and the people there are to meet. I want to get married and have kids, just like everyone else, only now I'm questioning how fair that is on people I probably haven't even met yet.

 

I'm scared of not being able to do what I love, which is being outdoors, mostly hiking. Sure, what I've been doing is a pitiful excuse for hiking - it's not fear that gets me anymore, or my fitness, but the excrutiating muscle pain and rapid fatigue - but I do it anyway, and it has shown me that I have some very tolerant and patient friends. I hate seeing able-bodied people not using their bodies, just sitting on the couch watching TV. It makes me angry that they are wasting the blessings and opportunities they have been given, and I'm scared of losing courage and not being able to see the silver linings anymore and joining their slothful ranks.

 

So I'm going to wallow a little while longer, while I wait for the phone call that tells me when I will be sliced and diced and possibly further damaged. And I might (re-)write my will - seems wise. I might also clean my room up in case something happens to me - I wouldn't wish that job on anyone, and nobody wants their family to find their sex toys ;)

 

In the meantime, I feel like this:

 

 

 

But on the bright side, I like my meals all compartmentalised on a tray, so a trip to hospital won't be all bad. Yeah, I know, I'm a freak. But hey, if there's jelly in a little cup, I'm happy!

 

And it's better that they found out now, rather than when something bad happened.

 

Gotta be optimistic about something.

Birthday.

Another year has passed. It went by so quickly, and I don't know how. So much, and yet so little, has happened. I'm not sure whether it's birthdays or the turn of the new year that makes me take stock more, but both seem to have a similar effect. Last year I was freaking out about turning 30 and it turns out there was nothing to be afraid of. It's actually a little bit liberating when you're smashing up all the expectations people have of you this age. That keeps me entertained enough to stave off my fears about it, anyhow!

 

So what happened last year?

 

On this weekend last year I was motivated enough to particpate in the Run Melbourne 5k event. I raised $1080 for the Victor Chang Cardiac Reasearch Institute, and if I'm honest, I ran very little of it. But I had trained, which was a big step for me. In hindsight, less than 16 weeks post-pacemaker implant it was a little ambitious.

 

In September I took some time out to find my mojo, and spent nine weeks travelling. Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, then Vegas, Pensylvania and New York, the UK, Kenya and Tanzania. Wow. I saw so many incredible things and met some pretty incredible people. I'll tell some stories here, once I get around to sorting those photos out.

 

I went back to work up on the Murray after I got home, only to discover that I had left my mojo stowed safely in the overhead compartment of the plane, some place in the world... but that's probably because I felt more or less redundant when I got back. Partly my own doing and partly not, but that's old news.

 

In March I moved down to Tasmania for work and, Tassie jokes aside, I actually quite like it here and there are no signs of a second head growing. I like the people I'm working with; the job is challenging without stuffing with my head too much; I've made some friends *neglects to mention they're mostly somehow attached to my favourite bar*; and the scenery is beautiful. Yes, even the sub-zero starts to the day and the snow are okay. Which I guess is easy for me to say when I spend a lot of my day in the car! I found my work mojo down here in the arse end of the country and it has given me the opportunity to develop some new skills.

In mid-May my personal mojo started to come back, too, and I started looking after myself a little better. Things seemed more managable. Life got a little bit more interesting.

 

In June I joined a gym, and have actually really been enjoying the challenge. It makes me think a little bit harder about making healthy choices, and about what I want for myself.

 

And those healthier choices are not to say there hasn't been an abundance of food, good food, yummy food! I'm just mostly making smarter choices outside of meal times, and smarter choices in what I choose to do with my time. The obvious exception is that tonight I'm going out for Mexican to celebrate, which probably isn't the smartest choice but it is certainly up there on the list of delicious choices! For now, I'll leave you with some pictures of things you will see in the coming months - both places I have been and recipes I have cooked whilst the cobwebs have been growing here on my blog.

 

In the meantime, I'm off at the end of next week to visit the very sweet Carole and her niece Tiffany from Toot Sweet 4 Two and spend some time warming up in San Diego as they celebrate their first Bloggoversary. I met them in Vegas last year on the last night of Bloggy Boot Camp, and last month Carole invited me over for their party on the offchance I could come. Seeing as how I need to thaw out a little, I said sure, why not! I'm super-excited :)

 

As to the next year, well who knows what new adventures await me. I figure, for all the negativity I've waded through in the last year I've also made some new friends, reinforced old friendships, been to all sorts of places, seen all sorts of things and learnt all sorts of things about myself and about people in general. So if the next year has even a fraction of that positive stuff from the last year, I'll still be doing okay. Here's to 31!

 

Harba Tasting Plate for 2, Harba Oyster Bar & Grill, Mornington

 

Loch Ness Monster topiary in one of the mazes, Tree Surfing, Mornington Peninsula

 

 

View across Arthurs Lake, Tasmania, from my work site

 

My first Pho, Springvale, Victoria. At least I think that's what it's called...

 

 

Beach near Binalong Bay (I think!), Bay of Fires, Tasmania

 

 

Sang choy bao (or however you want to spell it this week)

Coconut-crumbed fish soft-shell tacos with salsa and creamy honey-cider dressing

 

 

Tiramisu. Sort of. Let's just say there was a failed sponge cake involved and it seemed a waste not to use it!

 

 

Pea and ham soup

 

Earthworks cake!

 

Hand-painted frog biscuits!

 

 

Macaroons. That's macarOOns, not macarOns. Accidentally coffee-flavoured but they turned out really nicely!

 

 

Losing my venison virginity!

 

 Cataract Gorge, Launceston, Tasmania

 

Roasted pork shoulder, The George, Kyneton, Victoria

 

 

Belgian Chocolate Somethingtrulydelicious, The George, Kyneton, Victoria 

 

 

My birthday cupcakes!

 

 

Schnitzel - a birthday gift from my Austrian friend. And now I know the secret to a great schnitty!

 

 

Also, I'm a little freaked out right now. Google just said happy birthday to me... which would be because I'm also logged into Blogger right now so it has my details, but it still freaked me out!

 

 

 Happy birthday to me :)