Hitting The Apex

OneGoodArm Swear Scale: Mild Curry

Firstly Husband made the podium last weekend racing. I know, amazing. But that is enough limelight for him. He might get a fat head. 🙊

This week I am now drowning in scotch was EPIC. 12 meetings, 2 x 18 hour days, 2 x 14 hour days and one boring 10 hour day. A 3am start, a flight to the Gold Coast, meetings, drive to Brisbane, meetings, present to a bunch of people until the late evening, into bed, drive to Sunshine Coast, more meetings, fly home, flight is late, arrived late when I should be asleep (with my work wife who also suffered through this itinerary) drive home and prepare to die quietly and slowly.

The week had two aspects, those with my sling:

“How did you did that?”
“How did you break your arm?”
“What have you done?”
“You cannot sit in row one on this flight Ma’am”
“AH EXCUSE FUCKING ME, I PAID FOR ROW ONE…………………” You can imagine how sorry that poor airline bird was she came to work that morning and pissed me off.

“It’s against policy to let you sit in row one”
“What policy?”
“It’s on our website”
“What is the name of the policy?”
“Ma’am it’s against policy”
“So the policy specifically says passengers with one working arm cannot sit in row 1?”
“You must be ready willing and able to assist”
“I am”
“But your arm”
“What does that have to do with it, seat 1F is not even next to an emergency door”
“Ma’am i can’t let you sit there”
“You don’t even know what is wrong with me”
“Well clearly something is” (PS touché)
“So I will remove my sling”
“Unfortunately I have seen it”
“So refund me the fee for reserving row one”
“I can’t do that, you need to contact head office”

NOTE TO HER: If you want an easy morning don’t rely on a policy to deny me something if you can’t name or produce said policy. And know your fucking aircraft.


And back to my original point the aspect without my sling (mostly to people trying to shake my hand):

“My right arm doesn’t work”
“My right arm is paralysed”
“I can’t shake hands”
“Can you please open | grab | stir | cut up | get that for me?”

Despite the whining I actually enjoyed the week even though I am very tired. My hard work resilience is not what it used to be.

My elbow is also giving me grief, even resting it on a pillow hurts after 10 minutes or so. It’s very frustrating. Perhaps I am spending too much time amongst pillows 😝. Perhaps I should harden the F up.

I am currently watching “Hitting The Apex” AGAIN. Other than the soothing dulcet tones of narrator Brad Pitt it is such an amazing film. Especially if you LOVE MotoGP as I do.

BUT the medical director says in the film, out of approximately 690 crashes he only saw 30 fractures. WHY, WHY I AM THE STUPID FUCKER WHO GETS DISABLED??!! Especially when I am riding 6000 grades lower than MotoGP.

Honestly of all the problems blotting my copybook this is one I cannot get past. Why didn’t I just break something? Or several somethings? Why a permanent life changing disability??

But then the movie turns to the death of Marco Simoncelli and I am reminded of how lucky I am. So lucky that somehow I did not die on August 1 because I was travelling faster than Simoncelli was when he died. To be fair I was probably going mildly faster flat out on the longest straight in Australia than he was cornering a hard right hander, but the fact remains I did not die. And he did.

A freak accident, just like mine.

Live on forever SIC 58. He was without question a rider I loved.

So the week is over, I am ok, it’s all good.

OGA Out.

NO MORE SURGERY, For Now, Just Waiting

OneGoodArm Swear Scale: Hectic

Do you recall i said in my last blog that i should expect the unexpected? That I should have learned by now that what I think will happen n e v e r happens. Well CLEARLY I did not heed my own advice because low and behold, once again, just as I predicted, life strayed woefully from the path and jumped up and bit me unexpectedly on the rear end.

Of course this time, quite unexpectedly despite the passage above, the deviation was a good one. Now that really never happens.

This time my surgeon prepared me for the worst.

And the opposite happened.


I find myself indifferent to such good news, perhaps emotionally fatigued from the mighty ups and downs that have foreshadowed this wonderful outcome – I should be spinning like a top – but I am, not.

So the basic situation is this:

• My arm is ruined (I think everyone is with me here)
• I had major surgery on it doing all kinds of repairs in December 2017 because I showed no recovery in 100+ days
• Surgery went well, except for them needing to cut off C5 at the spinal cord, but they then grafted the stump so onward and upward – or downward in this case
• Everything was grafted or repaired and my legs are now carrying some pretty cool battle scars and street cred from being ‘donor’ legs
• After said massive December surgery my neurosurgeon was not sleeping due to worry about my suprascapular nerve which could not be seen for love nor money
• Enter stage left multiple MRI’s and review of said magnetism
• No one including Waldo could locate my suprascapular nerve on imaging
• Enter shoulder surgeon who is to chop me in half to find said nerve and allow neurosurgeon to sew its ass to its face

But then…..

• Shoulder surgeon consults every shoulder | neuro | plexus | radiographer specialist in Gotham city and decides HANG THE FUCK ON A MINUTE before we chop said person in half lets stick a camera up her tailpipe and put out a search party for the nerve.
• Shoulder surgeon then explains this to me, AFTER i have fulled prepped for the big ‘chop in half’ surgery and accepted this fate and subsequently a FULL SPAZ was the encountered.
• After a full hour of shoulder surgeon talking me around the tailpipe investigation is approved by me.
• Tailpipe investigation is commenced.

Then low and behold

THEY FIND THE FUCKING NERVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! End to end, in complete totality, without separation, or any part absent, the stupid spaghetti resembling shoulder driver appears in all its glory. No one can tell if it’s working or not, but thar she blows all the same.

What the actual fuck. Or WTAF for my mum.

The tailpipe investigation was Thursday, it was supposed to take 60-90 minutes, it took almost 200 – minutes (that is over 3 hours in old money). That is a long time for some basic camera work. Apparently navigating around all the scar tissue, earlier body work and panel beating | repairs was quite challenging.

Then when said shoulder surgeon found the nerve, to his amazement, he had to call out to his mate the neuro to ‘come and check it the fuck out’ or words to that effect.

“You know that nerve we were all positive was severed??!! Well it ain’t, there is the dickhead right there”.

I picture a fair amount of tap dancing and high fiving then occurred over my drugged carcass. Or they all shrugged and went “huh”.

Let’s go with high fives.

So I wake up in recovery as groggy as an old drunk and take an eternity to come around. The recovery nurse actually said to me “we are taking you to the ward ready or not” like I was deliberately being slow out coming out of the drug fog.

I suspect I was particularly DF’d because the gave me enough midazolam to put an elephant to sleep. Midaz is the pre-med they give you to ‘calm the fuck down’ before the proper anaesthetic. It is like the best stuff on earth. Like swallowing warm and fuzzy. They gave me the normal amount and I remember saying to the theatre staff “I normally don’t remember anything about the theatre, why am I still awake?” At which point I saw the aneasthetist coming at me with more Midaz like a a hunter holding a tranquilizer gun and off to sleep i then went.

So when i was taken to the ward I then groggily laid in my bed like a space cadet all afternoon until i spoke to Husband who told me something that sounded like good news but made NO sense. I cursed him – naturally. Then our friends arrived (C&R) and I generously tried to spew like right on them, a code was then called after the then nurse found me sobbing and spewing on the bathroom floor and by all accounts everything was very exciting.

The surgeon then spoke to my face (instead of Husbands ear) the next morning when he inconsideratelty showed up at 7am and I looked like a bashed in shit tin – and he did not. You see my blood pressure was up to its usual tricks dropping to 81/45 overnight and any systolic under 90 requires a visit from the RRT and ICU Registrar. So the good nurses woke me up every 20 minutes ALL NIGHT and wondered why after a long surgery and no sleep I was a little ‘tetchy’.

Anyhoo the surgeon rubbed my back, told me I needed a shower (yes thanks for that I know) and that my drip should be removed immediately (the ICU Registrar made me do it) and that I should go the hell home, stat. Oh and that he had found my nerve. ALL OF MY NERVE, from the front all the way to the back.

So that means, no more surgery! Not until Christmas anyway. Now we are back to December 20 when my nerve repair surgery was over and the waiting game commenced. My nerves have all been grafted, including C5 which feeds this naughty one they just went on an expedition to find, and we now have to wait and hope all those repairs take.

So now we wait. 2 months down, 10 to go.

I am not going to bother wondering what will happen as I am always, always wrong.

OGA Out.