Red Shoe Diaries.

As usual over here when I go to training regularly, my feet get all soft on me and start shedding skin as if a new, bigger foot, is trying to get out. This means I'm left with all sorts of raw parts on the soles of my feet from the running and bouncing around in the ring. Not one to let this stand in my way I went out and bought a bright red washing up bowl so that I could soak my feet at night in salt water to dry everything out.

I went to the chemist to buy some Epsom Salts but, to my avail, could find none. There was however, something that looked like it might do the same. I took it up to the counter, showed them the scars on my knuckles, explained that I was going to soak them in water with whatever it was that I was holding, and asked if it would help. They assured me it would, so I bought three packs and headed home.

I put a film on my laptop, put my feet in the bowl, poured some water in, added a packet of the powder, splashed it around and settled back to watch some second rate thriller with Vince Vaughn and John Travolta.

After the first half it became painfully apparent that the film was complete toss, so I turned my attention away from that, and towards my feet.

Now the bowl I had was bright red, so it passed my attention that when I added the powder to it, it turned the water bright red, it also passed my attention that it was slowly turning my feet red. It passed my attention so much that after an hour of thrill-less thriller, my feet had turned quite the shade of rouge.

I jumped in the shower hoping that a firm scrub and warm water would fix this problem.

Nope.

Luckily it wasn't a bright bright red, it was more a strong burgundy. But whatever colour you want to call it, it isn't a colour that you want your feet to be. After scrubbing away with very little success I conceived that I might just have to wait until it wore itself off naturally. Up until that point though, I would have to wear shoes instead of sandals, which would soften my feet up again, which would cause more blisters and loss of skin, which would mean having to go through all this again. Not a route I particularly wanted to take.

I needed to do some shopping anyways so I put some shoes on and headed out to the supermarket. As I was buying vests, shorts and rubbing alcohol I saw something and immediately hatched a plan.

A kitchen scourer.

Now I know what some of you might be thinking. You might be thinking. Wardy, did you not try this in your second year of University when you dyed you forehead, ears and neck blue? And did you not end up with horrendous burns on your forehead, ears and neck from the experience? And did you not learn from that?

Well it would seem that I did learn, because this time I was a LOT more careful.

More effective than a speed limit.

Seeing a bike shaped dint in the side of a truck, along with a pool of blood on the floor, is possibly the most efficient way of making me slow down on my bike.
Just glad it wasn't me.

An old friend returns.

I ache.

A lot.

I finally got the all clear from my doc. My face is now only has the regulation number of holes in it. I'm waterproof again. This means I can now wash my face, swim, and get back into training.

It's been a while since I've been that physical though. My first training session was more a lesson in humility as I gassed out almost straight away and had to suffer dragging my sorry ass through the rest of the session. Luckily for me though, I've been here before, and I know that it's just a matter of time before my body sorts itself out and starts getting fit. Up until that point though, and I'll be the guy who's breathing sounds like a donkey and who has a look of sadistic amusement on his face.

My scar is also not half as bad as I expected. The bandages are off and now there's no swelling the scar has quite nicely gone and hidden itself under my chin. So while it's still there, it's not nearly close to being the overriding physical feature I thought it would be.

Looks like my nose is still in a job then!

Past week or so.

People have been dropping like flies around me. There is a bug on the rampage. The local pharmacy has been doing a roaring trade in tablets of every variety. I know of at least 6 people that have been taken ill. One of them went into hospital this morning and is yet to return.

However, happy old me, full of wondrous drugs anyway, has been walking around as if the air were as fresh as a summer meadow, with ne'er an upset stomach, sore throat or fever to hinder me.

I've been traveling to the hospital everyday to get my face checked out. It's healing nicely. Tomorrow I'm going to get the stitches taken out, and hopefully this time all will go according to plan. I've been wearing bandages on my face for what seems life forever now with the very strictest instructions not to get them wet. I'm looking forward to the time when washing my face and having a shave are not taxing procedures, but simply routine.

I managed to push the bandages off my face last night while sleeping. Boy, was I ever in trouble when I went in for my appointment. The sentence ?Why you take off?? managed to question and berate in one fell swoop.

In other non face related news: I'm moving house again tomorrow. I'm going to be living near the pier and I keep having visions of me running up and down it at sunrise. I see myself getting up early and embracing the day with a hearty jog and some good old fashioned exercise. I'd even thought about throwing in some pushups or some sort at the far end to really get the blood pumping.

Hmmmm, I now rebuke the whole second paragraph. With visions like this maybe that fever really is coming back after all.

Gotta love the drugs.

I love general anesthetic

I've only had it twice, but both times I've thought it was awesome.

I like the way your arm goes numb before you go under. I enjoy the challenge of trying to think ?I'm going to go under . . .NOW . . . no . . what about NOW . . . no . . what abou?

Before they knocked me out they said I'd be kept downstairs for an hour after I woke up just to keep an eye on me. Can I remember any of that. No. Can I remember the journey back up to my room. No. Can I remember getting back into my bed. No. Can I remember getting changed. No.

I can't remember getting changed, but I'm almost certain that I did do that myself. I have a vague image of me getting dressed, but I can't pinpoint when it happened. The first thing I remember is trying to make myself a coffee and managing to get most of the coffee, creamer and sugar on the table rather than in the cup. How I didn't burn myself with the hot water I'll never know. After that I remember a nurse coming into take my blood pressure and looking at the mess I'd made. I pointed at my head and made swirling motions with my hands, international sign language for 'crazyness'. She seemed to get the message, and after doing her stuff, made me another coffee.

Ahhh, bless.

A matter of decency.

It's time for me to go down to theater. I go to the loo, put my slippers on and sit on the bed to wait for the nurse. She comes in and asks me how tall I am. Six foot I say. She looks me up and down and comes back later with a gown for me to put on. ?Get changed? she tells me, ?no underwear.?

So I go into the bathroom, strip off and go about putting my gown on. Another nurse comes in and asks if I want help with the gown. I'll be alright I say, I'm nearly done. You'll do it wrong she says. I think I've got it I say. I bet you haven't she replies.

And she was right.

I come out the bathroom and she gives me her best ?I told you so look.? then tells me to take it off and let her do. ?I'll not look? she tells me in her best 'sincerity for beginners' voice. I figure what the hell, shes a nurse, it's not like she hasn't seen hundreds of naked guys and luckily for me my only disfiguring feature is on my face ( wow, there's a sentence I never imagined myself typing and being proud of! ) So I turn the gown around, she ties me up and I take a look in the mirror.

Whoa there.

So when I said ?six foot? and she went to get me a gown, she must have become confused and thought what I actually said was ?the tiniest gown possible please.? This was the most minuscule hospital gown I have ever seen. If you have watched Anchorman, it was like Ron Burgundy's dressing gown. Only just long enough to cover your butt. I stood there looking at myself in the mirror and started to blush. I mean, I can't remember the last time I blushed at my own embarrassment, but here I was. It was such a ridiculous sight. And it gets worse.

The porter came to my room with a clever bed that collapsed down into a wheel chair. I walked out my room to him, turned around, sat down . . .and jumped back up like I'd received an electric shock in my ass. There was just no conceivable way that the little material I had below my waist was going to keep me modest. It didn't even pretend to cover me. It didn't even try. I was out there for the world to see, a rolling peep show. Now, one nurse, in the privacy of my room I can deal with. But being wheeled through a hospital, and knowing later that I'm going to have to lie flat, and my limits were reached. I turned to the nurse who has just witnessed me leap out of the chair and somehow managed to blush even more as I said ?Nurse. . . I'm really going to need a blanket.? She laughed her ass of at me and then handed me one. I sat down again, somehow finding it in me to go even redder as other nurses joined in the laughing. I couldn't help but think that this had been orchestrated for their amusement.

Whether this had been preplanned or not, the laughter was contagious and I couldn't stop myself joining in. As the lift doors closed on me to the sound of the nurses station in hysterics, I couldn't help but be glad that soon, somebody was going to put me under, and I might finally stop blushing.

More questions.

I was intrigued by this whole general anesthetic thing so while on the table getting cleaned up today I asked my doc a few more questions.

Why do you need to use a general, last time I got stitched they just used a local.
There will be a lot of pain because of the tension.
Tension?
In the wound.
Eh?
I had to cut the dead tissue away so there will be tension when I close it.
I thought the dead tissue was the lump.
No, that was full of puss. The dead tissue was around the edges of the wound.
So you cut the edges away.
Yes.
And when you close it, there will be tension.
Yes.
And you need to use a general because of the pain.
Yes.
Ok. I'll see you tomorrow then.
Yes, don't eat anything after midnight.
Deal.

I haven't looked at my chin since I came in here more than a week ago. I tried once but there was just a lot of gauze that I didn't want to mess with. I now have no idea at all what it looks like, or what he has done to it. He cut the edges away? How much? Did he make it bigger? Tension???

Guess I'll find out tomorrow. I signed the forms today to say I don't mind going under. The price for the operation is about 600 pounds. Here's hoping it's worth it.

Because of the pain.

Conversation I had with my doctor yesterday

On Monday I will close the wound. I will use a general anesthetic and then on Tuesday you may go home.
Ace! Do you mean a local anesthetic, like when I came in, with needles.
No.
A general. You're going to put me to sleep.
Yes, I will have to.
Why?
Because of the pain.


Aaaaallllright then.

Honestly don't know where to start with this one. This is the doctor that on my second day in here did away with anesthetic when cleaning the crap out of my wound. He pushed plastic tubes into my face, digging them deep into my jaw, with little or no regard for this previously mentioned 'pain'.

Now, when it comes to closing it up again after 8 days of prodding and probing, he wants to knock me out completely. He doesn't want to numb my face and get to work, he wants me out cold. Like a slab of meat.

If I've learnt something in my time over here, it's that Thais are hard as nails. I mean, these people don't complain, they don't moan and they sure as hell don't make a big deal of a little thing like pain.

So when he goes straight from no anesthetic ( this may hurt a bit but get over yourself ) to knocking me out (this is gonna hurt like hell and I don't wanna listen to your white ass crying for half an hour) I feel I'm quite within my rights to be ever so slightly concerned. Although not that much, 'cause lets face it, I'm gonna be sleeping like a baby through the whole horrid process.

When menus lie.

The food here is good. Really good. The scrambled egg has the perfect slop to cheese ratio. That ratio being no slop, and a lot of cheese. I have eaten salmon and duck since being admitted. The mashed potato had spring onion in it ----

I feel I should take a moment here to give a special mention to the woman I was once serving in a bar that repeatedly asked me for Champ. You know what lady, it's called mashed potato, put all the spring onion in it you want, it's mashed potato, and when it's painfully obvious I don't have a clue what you're talking about, saying Champ again doesn't help in the slightest. It's the word I don't understand, not your pronunciation.

---- it's called Champ when you do that by the way. The noodles are tasty and the food is always hot. My one and only qualm, and it is not a big one, is the labeling of the desert they call 'mixed fruit'.

The caramel sundae was delicious. The coconut cake sublime. The jelly wobbly and did I mention just how good the caramel sundae was.

However, they should replace the entry 'Mixed Fruit' and instead it should read:

'Another Fucking Orange.'

If anybody wants an orange cling filmed to a plate, mail me. I've got four of them here just taking up space.

Beard dreams.

While lying down today for my regular cleaning session a nurse informed me that my 'beard was getting in the way'. I'm still unsure which pleased me most. Someone calling the wistful fluff I collect on my chin a beard, or the nurse shaving me with a single razor blade.

Chocolate Heaven since quarter to eleven.

I went out and bought loads of chocolate tonight. I found out I'm gonna be stuck in here till Tuesday so I thought the least I could do was gorge myself. I asked the nurse who has been teaching me Thai if she wanted anything and set off downstairs to the mini-mart. I bought quite the quantity of chocolate, a phone card, had a look around the foyer of the hospital with various bodies strung out in the chairs, and made my way back upstairs.

I found my nurse measuring up some syringes and gave her two large bags of chocolate with the instructions that she was to share them with the rest of the gang. The nurse next to her took no time in pointing out that although I had bought 2 bags of chocolate, there were 5 nurses. This is a person who's responsibility's involve sticking sharp objects into me and making sure I'm not too horrendously disfigured after all this is over.

I smiled sweetly and said I would buy more next time.

However, like every silver lining has a cloud, and every Bruce Dickinson album has filler tracks, there is a moment of woe in this story of chocolate exuberance.

It is now half past one in the morning and I'm wide awake.

I decided to do some more writing to pass the time and sat down on my leather sofa bed, perched my laptop on my knees and began. But wait I thought, after mere moments. Am I not paying over a hundred pounds a night for this room. And does this room not come with an adjustable bed. And do I not have a table that I can wheel over the bed.

Thrice yes was the answer, and so I am now sat in a slightly supine position, legs raised, laptop held in place inches above my legs and feeling utterly relaxed . . . and . . if I close my eyes . . rather suave.

Hey folks.

Sorry for the long time it took me to get this thing going. I'm in hospital at the moment and only today did I find a computer that I can use for free. I tried connecting with my laptop but they wanted to charge me 20 pounds for 3 days use.

Scroll down to read all this in order, bottom to top.

Chicks Dig Scars.

I've been hearing this a lot recently. And I too used to think it was true. And it is. But there are guidelines.

Saying ?Chicks dig scars? is excatly like saying ?Chick dig musicians?. Both are true. But in the same manner girls like guys that can play the piano, girls like scars that are 'bedded in'.

Example.

If I was living with a girl and learning how to play the piano, I would annoy the hell out of her. Playing 'Summer Fayre' over and over again while practicing will surely make you better. However it will make the girl want to stab you in the fingers and/or eye with a particularly pointy metronome.

I currently have a scar on my chin. It is brand new, not vastly attractive, and the shade of pink that I came here to dispel from my body. Rather than attracting girls, it will only act as more of a deterrent.

Fast forward a year.

I can play Wonderwall on the piano, I have learnt the John Mayer version and hearts literally melt when I perform. I can also throw out the Gummi Bears theme tune on demand. It is surprisingly effective at raising a laugh.

My scar is nicely settled down. It is no longer raw and pink, but a story laden gash in my tan that tells stories of my past. It is a very personal tattoo of where I've been and what I've done. When people ask me how I got it, I lie and tell them it was from boxing.


Sure it might end up helping me. But like growing your hair to look cool, it's going to take time.

(any comments about my once long hair not being cool will be met with the shaking of my head and me imagining you with the word 'infidel' in four foot high neon letters above your head)

Day 5.

One of the nurses has taken it upon herself to set me a strict regime to teach me Thai. She now calls me Student and writes down words and phrases for me to learn. I then get tested on these the next time she comes in to inject me. Suffice to say I learnt numbers in about half an hour and I now have to read out my blood pressure each time it is taken. If this keeps up I'll probably triple my vocabulary by the time I leave.

One of the nurses asked me why I never leave my room. I asked her if there was anywhere for me to go in the Hospital. She said no. Kinda stands to reason then.

I've got a television in my room, I've got my computer. I get a daily paper, I get my meals delivered. If a press a button a get a hot nurse come into my room. I have unlimited coffee. I can pick up the phone and get Oreo cake delivered. I can adjust my bed to raise my head and feet as I see fit. I have a nice view and air con. Why, I ask you, why would I want to leave.