Growing a spine
You know those sayings: ‘he’s got spine’ or ‘she’s spineless’ or ‘grow a spine’? Yeah, well, tomorrow, Son will literally be growing a spine. Here is an animated version of what is going to be done during his scoliosis surgery (don’t worry, there’s no blood!)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WBIf4AQj5s0
This morning we left home at around 9am to get to the hospital by 11.30am for Son to see the neurologist, who glued electrodes to his head (these will be connected before his surgery tomorrow in order to monitor how his spinal cord is doing during the op.) The electrodes are multi-coloured so he looks very reggae-ish!
Then, because I was parked (twice!) in one hour parking zones, I left Son at the hospital to be admitted and drove to my hotel to check in. As it’s only walking distance from the hospital, I’ll set out in a minute to go back. He’s allowed to go out for dinner so we are meeting our friend, Nathalie at 6pm for a burger. Nat is the one who got me into blogging in the first place. She set me up (in a good way I mean!)
I just found out I’m not allowed to see Son before his surgery at 8am tomorrow because he’ll be getting prepped much earlier in the morning. Son is okay with this, but I’m not – I just wanted to see him off. Apparently he won’t be ‘see-able’ until around 5pm tomorrow so it’s going to be a long, waiting day in Perth for me.
Son is very up and very positive. That kid has a lot of (metaphorical) spine! He didn’t even baulk when he found out he would have around four surgeons, two anaesthetists, and multiple other specialists involved in the surgery – yikes!
My beautiful, spineful boy!
Scary!
Around the time we saw the first scary x-ray of Son’s scoliosis, he wanted to audition for a scary movie that was being directed and produced by a guy whose acting classes he’d attended during various Summer holidays.
“No problem,” I said, when Son told me excitedly that he’d been invited to come up to the movie ‘shoot’ (is that what you call it?) to be an ‘extra’.
So, on the designated day, we set off for the Perth Hills and, for the usual two hours it takes to get to the city, Son and I were happily listening to music, discussing his inevitable fame and fortune, and munching corn chips.
It wasn’t until I got past Perth, had to stop the car to read the map, and discovered that the setting for this movie was a lot farther than anticipated, that things became somewhat tense between Son and me. I will spare you the details of our conversation as I drove up and up and around curves and into forests and valleys and FINALLY, found the campsite where the movie was being filmed. It was, indeed, a very scary site.
One of the directors was very interested in seeing Son’s x-ray, because he thought it might be useful for advertising the movie. I guess that should have given me an inkling into the genre of the movie but I just blithely agreed to bring the x-ray with us. But after we arrived, this director said the producer wasn’t so keen on using real horror to promote fictional horror. And that’s when I understood what kind of movie this was – whoops!
In the hours and hours and hours of waiting for Son, and various other aspiring actors, to do the ‘extra’ thing – like running through the bush, running through the bush and running through the bush, I got VERY bored so, eventually, I went up to the parking lot (a fair way from the movie set, where you’re not allowed to even whisper, let alone talk) and chatted to two guys who I assumed were actors in the movie because they looked like psychos.
“So what’s the movie about?” I asked one of them.
“Not supposed to talk about it,” he said, his greenish teeth catching the sunlight.
“It’s a full-on horror movie about kids in a camp who are locked in cages and tortured. It’s R-rated,” said the other guy, biting into his sandwich nonchalantly.
“WHAT?” I said as calmly as I could. “So are you two the guards in the movie, or the prisoners?”
Greenteeth smiled and said, “We’re not in the movie – we’re just here to cook the food for everyone.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering if I had entered a parallel universe.
HOURS later, Son and I made the loooong journey home, with his x-ray safely in the back seat.
I can’t believe he is an extra in a movie I will never let him see. R-rated! Arghh! But when we were nearly home, he said this:
“That was one of the best days of my life, Mum – thanks!”
SCARY!
Late bloomers!
This morning I looked out the window to see three perfect moonflowers! I thought we would have to wait until next year (see my ‘moonflower’ posts), so this was a fantastic surprise. In the middle of the photo below you can see the brown shrivelled remains of the previous moonflowers. And, by the time it takes me to finish this post, the three late bloomers will have begun to close up, droop and fade. Their lives are so short and yet so full.
When I was younger and more prayerful than I am now, I used to look for signs all the time – like divine signs I mean. I soon discovered that if you spend all your time looking for divine signs, you end up tripping over your feet a lot! Nevertheless, these three late blooming moonflowers do seem like a good sign.
The fact that there are only three seems like a good sign is rather lovely too – one for Husband, one for Son and one for me. Well, why not!
We have another late bloomer here too – the Malay rooster. As you may or may not recall, he is the offspring of the Malay hen who was given to us months ago. He is now almost full grown and hangs out with the other two roosters, Tina Turner and No-name. The reason No-name doesn’t have a proper name is because, after the fox massacre of so many of our chooks, I stopped naming them.
No-name has a hell of a crow on him – he never stops crowing, day and night, and is much louder than Tina. Perhaps he is trying to prove that he deserves a better name than No-name because he will also sit on my lap and likes to be patted.
I was assuming/hoping that all of the (recently) missing hens were hiding somewhere, sitting on eggs but it’s now been way too long since I’ve seen any of them which can only mean that they have been ‘foxed’. I live in hope however that one day a zillion little chickens will emerge from underneath one of the many sheds. After all, I never expected to see another moonflower this year.
I’ll leave you with a picture of Malay. Isn’t he beautiful! I have decided to call him Moonflower. It’s worth the risk….
Giggling grief
Grief is a very strange emotion because it comes and goes. One minute it is like a punch to the throat and the next minute it’s like a memory tickle. Yes, grief does giggle – well, at least mine does.
For example, I have just recovered from one of those sobbing onslaughts – you know the kind? You are cooking dinner, or on the phone to a friend, or feeding the dogs/birds/pets/whatever, and suddenly your voice stops short and you are crying and, no matter how hard you try to stop it, your crying becomes sobbing.
Okay, when this happened to me this afternoon, I went straight outside, and there were the guinnea fowl again! So my grief got the giggles!
Yesterday
Yesterday, a friend said we had made a good decision in ensuring Husband’s permanency in the nursing lodge.
Yesterday, a friend said we had made a terrible mistake ‘putting’ Husband into a ‘nursing home’.
Yesterday, a friend said Son’s spinal operation was the best thing we could possibly do, and our only option.
Yesterday, a friend said spinal surgery was a bad idea, that Son might become paralysed and that, at the very least, he would lose flexibility.
Yesterday, a friend said that everything would be all right.
Yesterday, a friend said that things would be very difficult.
Yesterday, I wanted it to be Today.
So I went outside to see Pearl … because she doesn’t say anything.
Son’s surgery
Son used to be a mighty football player and, at one time, he had dreams of playing professionally. The following photos were taken by one of the dads around four years ago.
Even though we knew Son had a scoliosis, it had only ever been visible via X-ray, and not to the naked eye. He was undergoing various treatments for it, and intensive personal training to prevent it from getting worse, so, one day, after a football game, when he took his shirt off, I got a nasty shock to see his crookedness. With a shirt on, you see, it was unnoticeable. A subsequent X-ray revealed that the scoliosis had increased dramatically in just a few months to a 73% ‘S’ curve. Thereafter we proceeded with every therapy possible while we awaited his first appointment with a spinal surgeon to discuss options.
We were not prepared for the strict advice given. “You will require surgery and will need to quit football immediately – you will never be able to play again,” said the doctor. “This is your spine,” he continued, showing Son the latest X-ray which I hadn’t had the guts to show him myself. After that, the doctor left the room briefly to allow us some space to absorb this verdict. My heart cracked as Son sobbed and sobbed and I wanted to kill the doctor for his abruptness, only realizing later that there was probably no other way of saying it.
This is the latest MRI of Son’s spine. Its curve had increased to nearly 75% in just a few months. I took the photos against the veranda window, so they’re not works of art!
Husband, Son and I have all come full circle in the sense that, instead of resisting the idea of surgery, we now embrace it and Son cannot wait! After all, now that his spine is causing him discomfort (pain and no stamina) and is squishing one lung and one kidney, we have come to accept that there is no choice any more. And we are so lucky to be living in a country where this surgery is available, with one of the best surgeons in Australia.
I am grateful, fearful and excited. Son will be okay. He even said, “Mum, just drop me off at the hospital and go home again; I’ll be fine.”
No way! I am going to have two nights in a luxury motel near the hospital so I can come and go and be close by.
Roll on next Tuesday – how weird that Son’s day of surgery is Valentine’s Day – good omen, I reckon!
“You care more about the birds than us!”
Guilty as charged.
When Son accused me of this a few months ago, I explained to him that (a) the birds were to cheer Husband up; (b) to keep me sane; and (c) to keep us happy….
“And to drive me crazy!” Son growled.
Point taken!
The real point is – and this has now been extensively discussed with Husband, who is totally supportive – Son is now THE priority with his scoliosis surgery happening next week. I should be able to stay in Perth for two nights with my good friend, Colleen, looking after the birds for us. And Husband is safe in the nursing lodge, so all is well.
I feel awful that Son thinks that I care more about the birds than I care about him and Husband, but I understand how he may have gotten this impression.
Son hasn’t really changed that much in his 18 years, has he? He still has a relentless determination to be a STAR!
And he is! 
The girl with the bleeding eye
About twice a week, during the night, Husband used to see the girl with the bleeding eye. She was always lying on her back in the single bed adjacent to his, even though that’s where I sleep now. Her left eye spurted blood in a projectile way, up towards the ceiling, then – like a waterfall in slow motion – fell, the droplets somehow evaporating before they reached the white counterpane underneath which she lay silently.
Husband used to say that this particular hallucination didn’t bother him because he knew that the girl with the bleeding eye wasn’t really there.
“What do you do when you see her?”
“I say hello.”
“What does she do?”
“She just smiles and the bleeding stops.”
BTW hallucinations are often a symptom of Parkinson’s disease and/or (paradoxically) the medications used to treat this condition. Husband has developed an heroic ability to dismiss his hallucinations as hallucinations. He’s become clever at telling the difference.
Husband also knew, from when we first got him, that Tina Turner was not a hen, but a rooster!
jmgoyder 