1999 - The Year My Arse Broke

1999 - The Year My Arse Broke.

The year was 1999 and Easter was approaching. Now Easter means two thirds of fuck all to me except getting a few public holidays and some paid time off work. I had some friends coming up to Sydney to visit from Melbourne. On the Monday before Good Friday I started feeling pretty crap in the guts and that night I enjoyed a profuse sweating and soaring fever. I enjoyed the same again Tuesday night with my guts hurting even more. By Wednesday I realized I hadn’t taken a shit for about 30 hours. Unusual for a guy who is pretty regular. "Bloody constipation" I thought. That’s what I wrote this episode off as even though I have never been constipated before I thought this is what it must feel like. So I took a few laxatives to get things moving again but to no avail. I blamed dodgey marketing for that.
Wednesday afternoon I rang the local Medical Clinic and said I want to see a Doctor pretty quick. I explained the pain I was in. I got in straight away as it was only 5 minutes down the road. I told the Doctor all the symptoms and where and how much it hurts. He scatched his head, takes my blood pressure, inserts a tongue depressor and made me say "UUAARRGGHH", Then he lay me down on the bed and pressed all over my guts while asking "does it hurt here?"
"YES",
"What about here?"
"YES"
"And here?"
"YES, YES, YES IT HURTS FUCKING ALL OVER THERE"
So his professional opinion was to give me some antibiotics and go home. All those years at Medical School and that’s the best he could do.
Wednesday night I had more fever, sweating and the occasional sharp stabbing pain in my guts. Thursday I left work early feeling destroyed. " I can’t get sick" I said to myself " I have a 4 day weekend ahead and friends coming up to get loaded" Thursday night involved being curled up in the fetal position in bed wishing I was dead and wondering when the fuck these antibiotics were going to start working and when I would shit again. I still put this down to guts being too sore to eat and constipation and the fact I didn’t want to be out of action for the Easter weekend.
Good Friday morning I got up at 6am. I took my antibiotics and more laxatives and got in the car to drive to Central Station to collect the crew who came up from Melbourne on the bus. I told them I was feeling like a science experiment gone wrong and they agreed I looked like one. Back at my place everyone crashed out after the over night bus trip and I went back to my bed and back into the fetal position. There were more sharp stabbing pains in the guts. "Fuck don’t tell me I’ve got an ulcer" I thought. That seemed like a better diagnosis than the Doctor’s
Good Friday afternoon saw everyone sitting around my living room drinking. I attempted a beer but can’t even finish it. Now I know I am sick!
Every time I was in extreme pain I would go upstairs to my room and curl up for a few minutes. I didn’t want people spoiling their weekends worrying about me.
Good Friday night I didn’t sleep. I groaned, moaned and writhed in pain. I sweated more than I ever had before, so much that you could see an outline of my body on the bed sheets.
Easter Saturday everyone is up early to go into the city. I said "Look guys I am going back to the Doctors. I will catch up with you in the City in a few hours." I called the Medical Clinic and tell them I need to see a Doctor straight away again. Three hours later I am lying there telling the Doctor, again, that it feels like I am being cut from within by a carving knife. He goes through his pointless routine of tortures, tongue depressors and prodding then contemplates my situation again and gives me 2 options.
Option 1: Change my antibiotics, go home and come and see him Monday…no wait Tuesday as the Clinic will be closed on Easter Monday.
Option 2: Send me to hospital overnight for a few tests.
"Well fuck it I thought" I have full private health cover through work and the antibiotics have been as productive as pissing into the wind. So he wrote me a referral to show the hospital when I get there. I drove home and packed a bag with a change of clothes and my toothbrush. I called my friends mobile phone and told them I won’t be meeting them in town as I am going into hospital overnight for a few tests .I let them know where they can find a key to let themselves in.
On Saturday afternoon I am in the car heading to the hospital. I can’t wear a seatbelt as my stomach can’t handle anything being pressed on it. I arrive at the hospital and can’t find any long term parking so I park at the Church next door. I figure that they will forgive me for parking there for so long and won’t tow my car.
Into casualty I walk feeling like the sword fight in my stomach is about to exit out of me. I show the nurse my referral. As she read it I tell her I feel like passing out. Next thing I know I am on a stretcher with nothing on but one of those highly attractive hospital gowns that shows your butt. A nurse says to me "Are you in any pain?"
" Well yeah I am in lots of it actually"
The nurse asks if I would like anything for the pain. "Hell yes" I replied
Now before she leaves to get me a pain killer she asks if I feel like vomiting. Now after being into hospitals before I know you can choke after eating if you go under anesthetic. So thinking I am being helpful I say "I could vomit."
She says "Ok" and walks off.
Now I know why I was asked that question. The nurse returns and asks me to roll over and face the other way.
"Rockin!!" I think. An injection. Super fast pain killer, bring it on.
Before I could even flinch she has parted my cheeks and shoved a suppository straight up my arse. It felt like a fucking golf ball had been belted up my rectum. "What the fuck…." Was all I managed to say before she said "Hey, if I told you what I was going to do you would have clenched up" Well no shit Sherlock. "I could have swallowed a tablet" I said.
"You said you could vomit" she replies. Shit she got me an a technicality.
Alright, round one to the nurse. Then this guy in a white coat comes to see me and introduces himself as Doctor Smart. "I fucking hope so" I thought. I asked if he was going to shove anything else up my poop shoot without warning. He laughs says he is a Surgeon and starts prodding all over my guts. "For fucks sake" I thought, I have been through this shit twice already and I still ain’t getting better. Within a few minutes he tells me that my appendix has burst and needed to be removed immediately. He also states that he doesn’t know what the problem is on the other side of my stomach so he is going to have a look. At least this Doctor seemed to know something.
Things get a little blurry from here but I remember being on the stretcher and getting wheeled into surgery. Why are these people always smiling and saying ‘Hello’? It isn’t a social call, meet and greet session. And before you know it someone has to ask the most stupid fucking question in the world. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh I feel a fucking million bucks that’s why I am here Einstein"
A mask then came down over my face. I turned my head and watch a needle go into my arm. "Oh yeaaaah now I am feeling good" I mumble through the mask.
"Count back from 10" the voice says.
I got to about 7…I think. Why do you have to count back? If you count forwards do you become more awake?
Easter Sunday I woke up numb all over. The pain inside my stomach was gone. There was pain on the outside though. In a morphine induced haze I try to work out just what these "tests" I was here for have done to me. I have a tube that goes up my nose and down my throat and into my stomach, a few tubes in my left hand and arm, all these little shiny silver things up my stomach and 2 bags hanging off my guts and a tube shoved down the eye of my dick.
My next conscious memory is when Doctor Smart was beside my bed telling me what happened. As they couldn’t work out why I had pain on the other side to my appendix they decided to open me up and go looking. They had opened me up from groin to sternum.
They found that my appendix had burst and got rid of the pointless organ straight away. No big deal there I didn’t eat grass anyway. After some searching they found a hole in the small part of my bowel. He said "When we opened you up you were septic". He stated I was being slowly poisoned from the inside and if I hadn’t made it in Easter Saturday I wouldn’t have made it until Easter Sunday. I made a mental note to ensure a life a misery for the Doctor at the clinic and his first year Med Student diagnosis.
The result of it all was they had removed one foot in length of my bowel and cut another hole in my stomach a few inches across from the naval and brought the bowel out there and slapped a colostomy bag over it. The other bag was a drain. The shiny silver things were the 37 staples they used to sew me back up.
The drips in my arm were feeding me fluids and giving me doses of morphine. The tube up my nose and down my throat I never worked out but it fucking hurt, especially when they pull it out through your nose and you feel it slide all they way from your stomach. The tube in my dick was a catheter so I could piss in a bag.
My first question was "Is this colostomy bag permanent?"
"No, you will have it for a few months then we will cut you open again and put your bowel back together" Doctor Smart informed me.
That made it a little easier to deal with. I have a friend who I have know since the age of 8 who has had his entire large intestine removed and after seeing what he has been through I didn’t know if I could handle that.
All I was permitted to eat for the next seven days was crushed ice. Plain crushed ice. Not even any flavouring allowed. I had the morphine connected to this little button and anytime I was in pain I pushed the button and off with the pixies I went. I had people come to visit but I was asleep most of the day and awake most nights. I thank the nurse who would come in on her break and watch the soccer with me instead of telling me to turn the T.V. off. The Ward Nurse’s were wonderful. They do a great job with very little credit and even less pay.
On day 8 a few of the tubes were removed. On day nine the staples were removed with little popping sounds and after 11 days I was on my way home.
Now dealing with a disposable colostomy bag isn’t so bad once you get use to it. They don’t smell. The charcoal filters take care of that. I got to the stage where I only needed to change it once every 24 hours.
Once I was able to travel my parents drove me 1000 kilometers back to Melbourne to be around family and friends. Of course my friends were full of smart arse comments as their way of saying "we care" They say that laughter is the best medicine.
"Now you have the bag all you need is the matching shoes.
"Now you can go to the football and never have to get up to go to the toilet."
"I always said you were a sack of shit Mick"
But having a bag can bring you some interesting times. My mother had come over and driven me to the shops so I could do some banking as I was unable to drive for a few months after surgery.
As we were waiting to cross the road I started to laugh.
"What’s so funny she asks?"
"Nothing" I replied "Just having a dump!"
The next few months consisted of doing not a hell of a lot besides sleeping and learning what foods not to eat with a colostomy bag. Mexican is bad news all round. I thought the bag wasn’t going to be big enough for that pay load. Peanuts just plain hurt on the way out.
Melbourne became boring after a while. I wanted my own big queen size bed, not the tiny little single size excuse I was using. I wanted to be around my music, my sofa, my computer, my TV.
A number of weeks had passed and I decided to head back to Sydney.
There was more lying around doing nothing but at least I had my records and other material possessions.
I used to get my colostomy bags home delivered. Now that’s service! I even became a member of the Colostomy Association of New South Wales.
About 2 weeks before the 4 months since my first operation was up I went to see Dr Smart. It was x-ray time again. I had to prepare for these x-rays. I went home with a kit containing Epsom Salts and Barium Drinks, Enemas and an instruction booklet.
The x-rays were to be at 10:00am on the next Wednesday. But I had to stop eating at 5:00pm Monday afternoon. All I was allowed was what was in the Kit and water. Nothing else. Now I like my food so this was a test. I soon worked out that the purpose of the contents in the kit where to flush me clean so nothing would block the x-rays. The problem I had here was I was going through bags like there was no tomorrow. I decided to have a shower. This is usually the best time to change the bag. So I was in the shower and everything I have put into my body starts to kick in. Now having no sphincter because my arse exits through my abdomen means I have no control over stopping what comes out and how fast it moves. Well I felt the pressure build up and before I knew it I resembled a Police Water Cannon. Looking down and seeing water fly out from your belly just has to be one of life’s amazing wonders and highly entertaining. The more I laughed, the more pressure was on my stomach, the more water squirted out. Once I was sure there was nothing left in me a slapped on a large bag and fell into bed.
I was sure I was delerious from not eating.
It was x-ray day. Now I was pretty damn hungry by this stage and my sense of humour hadn’t clocked in that morning. I was concerned that they would find something wrong and the bag wouldn’t be removed. Once again I was stripped down and put in one of those fashion conscious butt showing gowns. I lay down on a steel table. A really fucking cold steel table. Now they had to fill me up with a blue dye so everything would show up on the x-rays, so that meant one tube up my butt and the other into my temporary butt in my abdomen . Let me tell you this for free. When you have part of your bowel removed they also take your dignity. And don’t think you get it back anytime soon.
So the tubes are slid into place and they began to fill me up with blue dye. I groaned in pain. The nurse said "is it a little uncomfortable? "
"Have you ever had tubes stuck up your bum" I reply. It looks like her sense of humour had a day off also.
Anyway the news was good. Everything had healed well and another stay in hospital was booked in for Dr Smart and Crew to cut me open again and sew my arse back together.
I checked in and was wheeled off to surgery.
When I woke up it was pretty much the same deal. A few less bags but another 37 staples and self administering Pethadiene instead of Morphine
I have been asked one question a few times after coming that close to dying. "Did I find God?" The answer once and for all is NO!! Religion has never played a big part in my life and if I did find God I would have swung an almighty left hook into him and called him a prick for letting this happen to me in the first place. I did find the animated version of Alice in Wonderland while on Morphine fucking frightening though!
Is coming that close to dying scary? Absolutely, but you don’t know it at the time. I knew I was ill but didn’t know I was dying. The human brain has an incredible coping mechanism I believe that almost puts you on autopilot. I only found out how close to death I was when told me after the operation. What happened was no fault of my own. It wasn’t caused by me being stupid or reckless. Which I admit surprised me. It was just one of those things. A possible cause could have been some thing I ate by accident like a small chicken bone. But going through this you do realize you are not here forever and that you can check out at anytime.
So I did reassess my life in a few of the following ways.
Spend less time working and do a job I enjoy, or at least less time at a job I hate. Spend more time living for today and doing the things I want.
I laugh about it a lot these days and have a great thick scar from my groin to my sternum to show at parties. One thing I did notice about this whole saga is when talking about it to people is their reaction to the words "colostomy bag". Tell people you have one or have had one and the look of horror and disgust in their eyes never ceases to amazes me. It is about this time I lift my shirt and show them the scars. "This is where my arse was for 4 months" I tell them as I point to the second large scar next to be belly button. I may as well have the bubonic plague.
Within 4 months of the second operation I was back doing everything I use to do and anything I wanted. Life goes on.
Message to everyone who reads this. Always get a second opinion
It is scary that Doctors call what they do…. Practice!

When something "Tastes Like Chicken"...

Just what kinda of chicken is it being compared too?
Is it a live wild chicken?
A grain fed barn chicken?
A steriod filled factory chicken?

Or is it referring to the way cooked chickens taste?

If so how was it cooked?
Poached, deep fried, BBQ, charcol slow cook, steamed, grilled?

Does it have 11 heabs and spices to be compared to?
Tandoori chicken prehaps?
Chicken Masala?
Moroccan Chicken?
Cajun Chicken?

So many unanswered questions could be the reason why everything 'tastes like chicken'!!!!

The Next President...

Why does the media feel the need to say "who could be America's first Black President" in relation in Obama in every news bulliten?Shouldn't they just be stating "who could be America's next President"?Whilst it may be historical in terms of race, skin colour etc, shouldn't that all really be irrelevant in this day and age?I am not trying to be overtly PC but you don't here John McCain being referred to as he "who could be the 44th White American President" do you?

The Kiwi

The Kiwi
Sometimes you meet people who you are sure are put on this earth just to test you. Now I believe I am a pretty easy going kind of person and make acquaintances fairly easily. But then you meet someone who just becomes so annoying that the only solution is strangulation.
When I was backpacking in Indonesia I came across a person who fits perfectly into the mold of a person that annoys me. It started one night when myself and a group of other backpackers were sitting around the bungalows we were staying at swapping travel stories, talking about where we were from and of course who scored the beast purchase through the crazy barter system they have in Indonesia. A guy from New Zealand, I will call him Kiwi, joined the group. Now Kiwi talked so slow it was like a Zen Buddist chant. On top of that almost every sentence ended in the word “Ay”. Pronounced like “Hay” without the ‘H’. He started telling his story of bartering with an Indonesian Carver for a hand carved chess board and pieces. I can tell you these sets are pretty impressive. So after a piece by piece description he got to the all import barter section of the story. He slowly retold the events along the lines of.
“And he told me his price ay. But I thought that was too high ay. So I offered him a lower price ay”
To make a long story short I asked “So how much did you pay?”
“Well ay” he replies “He told me another price, higher than I what I offered so I increased my price a little ay”
“Yeah, so how much did you end up paying?” I tried again.
“He didn’t like my offer but he reduced his price slightly ay”
Ok as far as I was concerned this story was taking far too long and no one around the table needed to be explained how bartering works. Especially in increments of Rupiah. The Indonesian currency. The Swiss Couple were just staring at him like he was mentally disturbed.
After about thirty minutes he finally got to the part where he and the Carver reached an agreement on price. Hoping to get a result on the story I said
“So that’s what you paid huh?”
“No” he says” I didn’t buy it because I don’t play chess”
Well there were moans and groans all round and I am sure more than half the people sitting at the surrounding tables heard me loudly sigh “Oh, for fuck’s sake”. I have to avoid this guy I thought. Either he will shit me to tears or I will kill him.
The next day I leave the bungalows as I am leaving Lombok to stay a few days on a small Island to the North West called Trawangan. I enter one of the many places offering transport to the port. I buy my ticket and the lady informs me that the bus will be about half an hour and to come and sit down out the front. She offers me a ‘complimentary’ Coca Cola which ‘costs’ me 1,000 Rupiah?!
The bus trip was relatively uneventful and I arrive at the port. I go to the hut that was the booking office for boats across to the small islands. There are a few options they tell me and offer me two.
1. Find three other people and pay 16,000 Rupiah each and charter a boat immediately. Or
2. Pay 1,000 Rupiah, put your name down on a list for the public boat.
I took option 2.
Now the public boat requires 20 people to sign on before it will depart. I spy a bar and decide I will wait in there. As I walk to the bar entertaining the thought of an ice cold beer I hear.
“You catching the public boat too ay?”
You fucking kidding me I thought. Shit, there in the flesh was Kiwi with that shit eating grin on his face waiting for the same boat to depart. Thankfully it wasn’t too long until they had twenty names so I downed the beer and headed to the boat. The boat was a long, high sided canoe kind of thing with a home made motor. I sat on my pack to get comfortable as I could. This made it difficult because the boat is supposed to carry twenty people and two crew. In fact it carried twenty back packers, two crew and eighteen locals. Then Kiwi started droning on about the different ticket prices for boats.
“You can pay 16,000 or 1,000 or I think even 10,000 Rupiah ay” he started. “You can charter a boat, go for a day trip. But I didn’t want as day trip I am staying longer ay, I wonder if you can get a boat on your own ay, I wonder how much that is ay”
I said “You got the cheapest possible ticket what is your issue?”
“It’s just amazing ay”
“Yeah fucking mind blowing” I sighed.
I noticed on the boat that there were only four lifejackets and they were secured to a beam with thick wire that would require bolt cutters to remove them. I asked the crewman why was this so and he dutifully informed “So they don’t get stolen”. Fair enough I thought. I turned to Kiwi with a sly grin and asked.
“Can you swim?”
“Nar, not too good ay” was the reply.
He looked at me confusingly and I couldn’t help but laugh.
The Island called Trawangan is only three kilometers square and almost pancake flat except for a hill at one end. One morning a group of us decided to walk around the island before it got too hot. Kiwi came bouncing along like a puppy off its leash. On the far side of the island you could think you were the only people on Earth. Uninhabited, peaceful, silent. Then Kiwi starts up with his “Chess Board” story as he has a new audience. It crossed my mind that I could drown him here and the chances of being caught were minimal. It would be a mercy killing anyway. Over the next few days he managed to annoy the living shit out of everyone who came into direct contact with him. Most of us were heading off the island the next day and he asked the group what time boat had we decided to catch in the morning.
There was a slight silent pause.
I jumped in and said “The 9:00am boat” A few people went to correct me but then wised up real quick. The next morning everyone but Kiwi was on the 7:00am boat to peace and quiet.
I traveled for the next two weeks without crossing paths with Kiwi. It was getting near the end of my stay so I headed back to Bali for my last few days. On my last day I was heading to a little place that does the best fried noodles with veggies on Bali to have one last feast before going home. I was about to walk in and heard “Hey ! I slept in and missed the boat ay. Didn’t manage to catch up”
“Gee shit that’s bad luck we thought you left before us” I said. Before he could talk I pointed to another food place and said “Hey there is a bunch of us about to have a feed around the corner at Poppy’s. I just have to change some money so I will be there in a few minutes “. He wandered off in the direction of Poppy’s looking for people who weren’t there.
I collected my pack and caught a bus to the airport to get my plane home.
As it drifted down the runway I thought “I bet he will haunt houses when he dies”