Back on the water

I fly to Sydney 5pm Christmas Day for the 1pm Boxing Day start of the 66th Sydney-Hobart.

I figured if I can drive again, I might ease back into some offshore racing.

Bowman on a Syd-Hobart entry (Geomatic Joker, sail number M9000) probably isn't easing back in after five years out of my sea boots ... but do 'bucket list' items get scheduled for year 3 of some 5 year plan when my learning is that there is in fact fuck all guarantee of any year 3 or 4 or 5?

I think not.

Hoping to make it this time: 2004 on Outlaw turned horrendous, the experience from Gabo Island to our pullout point 70 miles south, head into 5 metre chaos, is best described as a 16 hour car crash.

And should it be the same again or worse, wouldn't miss it for the world ... this is living.

Bass Strait hurts.
But it's hospitals and couches that kill.

Back on the roads II

I've been up and down the Arthurs St Rd 6 times in the past 36 hours, stopped for a magic late spring arvo bay swim on the way home from the hot springs Thursday evening, then swung by Budgie and Cheryl's magnificent new place in McCrae for a glass on the deck and a wander in their beautiful garden.

I'm designated driver for Monday night's Vic Tourism Awards dinner in Melbourne, off to Mark and Ginny's wedding at Phillip Island today ...

Seems I have a life back. Out of it all I have great empathy for the 15 year olds hanging around the general store, or the 80ish year olds shuffling the Rosebud shops strip in their Grosbys - both groups' worlds constricted to a 2km radius, and wholly dependent even within that bubble.

Took to the freeway yesterday to do a photo shoot for a restaurant client ... I'd forgotten just how fun driving is: picture Zeppelin's Ramble On turned up to the ear bleed sort of level that threatened to lift the poncy Peugeot's front end off the bitumen, me with Cheshire cat grin in the passing lane (with an exaggerated point and laugh for the wanker in the BMW who I caught picking his nose) and the door panel being flogged as though it were in a photo finish for the Melbourne Cup.

I've compiled a playlist of 44 hitting-the-road tunes because, with licence reinstated, there's even the option of running another US hire car out of oil.

Now, might just slide down to Ray's bakery at Flinders for brekkie; because I can.

Anyone need a lift?

Back on the roads

Licensed to drive again as of this afternoon

... 18 months and 25 days after the falling down thing.

Road trip.

(But in the meantime it'll be huge just to get myself to work tomorrow, maybe grab milk, check out the beach, get coffee, perhaps even visit people again.)

... liberation. Normalcy.

Found my feet

Down from the mountains now (eating from one end of San Francisco to the other).
Pulled out at 18 days, 350ish kms.
One icy blast - the rest blue skies and superb September in the Sierras. Still the summer's wildflowers were out, cascades, waterfalls, streams and what seemed a million lakes were hypnotic after a wet early summer, rainbows, Spielbergesque snow flurries, cascades, eagles, deer ... and not so much as a blister.
Time, after about day 7 or 8, to let the mind freewheel, to muse on much, and not a lot of anything at all.
A perfect plod.
Every big walk brings its realisations, tangental ideas and rejuvenation as the trudging enables back rooms to open and creativity to seed - but this wander in what are surely some of the world's most inspiring vistas also came with a big green tick on my own recovery card.
This blog is peppered with references to the healing powers of the sea - but it's been in the mountains that quite literally I've found my feet again, and feeling hardy (though never again boyish invincible) for it.
The falling down, the acceptance of absolute vulnerability and feebleness that goes with scalpel in skull, the hideous weakening of mind and erosion of fortitude that goes with each hospital visit; up and over and around mountains each day these past nearly three weeks was a rebuilding not merely of the calves and quads.

Solid and strong comes from the granite and shale hours; the endurance demanded by days of switchbacks also reconstructing a self image of enduring.

John Muirisms I am fond of articulate it far better than I ..

"In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks"

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”

... a couple of fine crafted post plod ales in the autumnal Berkeley sun with Dave and news from Scotty, Sarina and Cailean of young Ash's arrival: it's a beautiful world ... again, and I'm standing sturdy in it ... again.

The hills are alive

Still can't drive. But I can hike.

I'm making long overdue walk happen.
Can't afford to, but can't afford not to.

Rough route: Yosemite to Donner Lake(ish) , 20(ish) days.

Fly to SF Aug 25.

Wildflowers and redwoods, diamond and burgundy tarns and that joyous Ansel Adams rounded granite.
First three days may well be cartwheeled the way I'm feeling.
A bit over a year since the shake-up, there's much to celebrate. Sierra Nevadas are one of the grandest places on earth to reflect, and sing.

- Pic isn't Pacific Crest (John Muir trail negs from 93 are 'archived' somewhere in my shed, a far more risky trip in there than any above-the-treeline foray!) it's from the Rockies - Grand Teton NP more specifically, 04.

The clinical summary ...

This gets the ball rolling to get life back on track ... it's also a clinical view of the past 13 months, stripped of the emotional rants, life questions and pleas for more time by the sea ...

A fireside Guinness, with a 'stable' tissue mass

'Stable'. Again.

Not me, it.

It's not getting smaller, but it's not getting noticeably bigger.

Neurologist is writing his assessment to VicRoads - which kickstarts the process of lobbying to get my licence back. The small 'vague out' TLE episodes don't bother him - and I've been driving 19 years with about a half dozen of them a day and a perfect driving record. He's still concerned about me forgetting the Tegretol or by some other manner getting a 'more significant' seizure behind the wheel. But it's been a year. And I haven't fallen down again.

Time to get life back on track.

Neuro is still thinking some sort of chronic inflammation at the root of it all. But seems to have moved out of diagnosis mode and into monitor/manage mode. "We'll see in another three months, maybe another MRI in a year, or perhaps 6 months."

To me there's not enough being asked or said of 1991 - he's drawn the direct link between 19 years of epilepsy and this mass of tissue. SO, what else might have happened in 6 months of Asian wanderings (other than the tapeworm theory and various other parasites since ruled out), what about the original Lariam hypothesis?

Lots of medium term/longer term questions like, if it's taken 19 years to get to about 20 mm, that's potentially another 10mm by my 50th, and that's surely a size to seriously mess with functioning ... they all remain unanswered. There is no diagnosis, and I've got to live with that for probably quite a bit longer.

Anyway - it's Friday night. A couple of weeks of serious stress are starting to subside (I had steeled myself for the 'getting bigger' result), I don't have to go back to hospital until August ... and a fireside Guinness with some smiley company awaits.

Wouldn't be a true B Grade drama if we didn't drag it out for another year or two would it?

Waiting

Waiting


Waiting


There's something Machiavellian about an 18 day wait to receive the results of the eight brain scans taken in the MRI session last month.

Something very daunting about those machines - like sticking your head in a big bread maker/microwave hybrid. Then getting your head strapped and locked in place by two or three mask things - like a hockey goal keeper held down by his mask. But, once inside and perhaps because of or despite the cacophony of bizarre noises, I again fell asleep at times through the 40 minutes of scanning - maybe a defence mechanism.

But the hurt for me this time was seeing the family of a two year-old trying to go through the same thing - a two year-old not long for this world by the look in the eyes. Inconsolable very sick child in the big bread maker, strapped down by the head. It must be an evil machine for children to cope with. Mother of child hysterical in the corridor, the dad doing his best for both. Witnessing the paediatrics is the heart wrenching part of hospital visits. Kids and brain tumours - just isn't fair.

I find out if the mass is getting smaller, 'stable' or growing on Friday.

The great ocean walk is calling me whatever the outcome. Alcohol didn't help last Tuesday week (ouch), so a few days ambling alongside the Southern Ocean might, and I might have a few obscenities to scream from a cliff top. (She's a good listener).

Got to meet John Francis at the Healthy Parks Healthy People congress. Gave me great spark for taking on another stroll soon. Gotta walk.

http://www.theartofwalking.com.au/welcome/

planning for winter

View of the girls filling comb 7.45 this morning. Early autumn, they're busy planning for the winter.

My photo exhibition opens at Noel's Gallery tonight for a bit of fun:
Saltwater and Orchids (with thanks to Emma)

Neurologist visit last week - first in 2.5 months.
Nada. Rien. Fucking nothing.
No new ideas. No new plans.
Blood test. Another MRI in April.

Still experiencing TLE vague out most mornings within 10 minutes of waking - and the occasional other one, usually late afternoon. Much better than the half dozen or so I was having a year ago, and severity much less so. Now on 800mg of Tegretol a day in four 200mg controlled release capsules, two in the morning, two at night. No real side effects of the tegretol really, except that I'm conscious of looking stoned for the first half the day sometimes - an issue raised with the neuro. Not his department apparently.

Unless you're 'Category 1' and about to peg out in the next month these guys aren't in much of a hurry.

At the patient end the not knowing doesn't get a lot easier - whether this thing's growing at a critical rate or a matter of (how many?) years, answers are still key to a good night's sleep.

Key too is fun - and a night of guitars, sticking a few prints on canvas on the walls and surrounded by good friends and family oughta help through this week.

The invite is attached.