Terrible, terrible things

Nine years ago today Jaq and I stood facing each other in Banff, torches stuck into cracks in the cliff beside us so we could see each other in the dark.

We'd hoped for a clear night so we could be under a full moon, but it had become overcast and was sprinkling lightly. It must have been chilly halfway up the mountain at midnight, with the mist from the waterfall and the droplets of rain falling on us, but I don't remember being uncomfortable. All I remember is how beautiful she looked, how warm her hands were when I put the ring on her finger, how her voice sounded when she said "I do."

Jaq rarely reads my blog, and this will probably scroll itself into the archives long before she gets a chance to see it, but it doesn't matter.

I love you, darling. Hearing you say those magical words in that magical place on that magical night was the most wonderful moment of my life. And every day together since that night has been even more wonderful than the last. Thank you for sharing your life with me and letting me share mine with you.

Happy anniversary, my sweetheart.

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I went to see my doctor about my back. He didn't tell me anything I don't already know. He's scheduling me for a CT scan some time later to learn more (or to learn that there's nothing new to learn), he recommended a physiotherapist (who can't see me until June 27th), and he refilled my prescriptions (which don't do much more than knock me out).

As it stands right now, I'm no longer working on the boats that are in, and if this thing doesn't clear up soon I may never work there again. At the shipyard, "light duty" work is pretty much non-existent. :(

It's only been a week tomorrow, but I'm already starting to lose patience. WTF is going on? Can it be fixed, will it heal on its own, or should I start shopping around for a cane and a scooter? If it's fixable, will it get better soon enough for Jaq and I to go on our hikes this summer? Damn, I hope so. We've been looking forward to this for a year. If it's not fixable, will WCB cover me? If not, what will I do for a living when damned near everything is painful?

Christ. I wish I drank.

I went for X-rays this morning. It's probably a more pleasant experience in the States, but here it generally means going to Emerg. and waiting.

After a long pretzel-sit in an uncomfortable chair, the nurse popped her head out and beckoned me inside in the usual way: "Scene? Sane? Scene?"

"It's Sean, ma'am."

"Right. You're in #1. Go sit in there for an uncomfortably long period of time while listening to the meth addict in #2 swear at the security guards. That'll keep you entertained until someone gets around to seeing you some time today between smoke breaks."

"Yep. I know the drill. But it's Canada and our medical care is free. I love it here."

Yes, I'm a patriot.

I waited, listening to the scuffling in #2, imagining the guards and the meth addict exchanging blows. That lasted only an hour or so before they escorted the creep outside. Then the doctor came in and poked at my back for a bit. Then I walked to the X-ray room like a Lon Chaney character. Then I walked back to #1. The meth addict was back again, this time with cops hovering nearby. They gave me a shot of some sort of pain killer/anti-spasmodic and a muscle relaxant pill, and I waited another hour for the doc to glance at the X-rays.

He came back and told me that nothing showed up on my films, and explained that this could mean anything from a pulled muscle to torn ligaments to a herniated disc to a totally screwed-up everything, but at least the bones are fine (except if they aren't and it just doesn't show on the X-rays). Things could improve in less than a week, or in six to eight weeks, or need surgery, or not be fixable even with surgery.

Whew! What a relief! Do I ever feel better knowing, er, whatever I learned.

They gave me a combination of pills (one pill to dull the pain and one pill to make me not give a damn if the first pill doesn't work) and sent me on my way, telling me to rest my back while working it. That made good sense to me, so I'll mime the action of hefting bags of sand, I guess. That should do it.

I'll talk to the family doc in a few days and see what he says. He may not have a clue, either, but at least he'll make me understand why he doesn't know. He'll make me feel better, anyway.

This would have been a lot more straightforward if I'd accidentally lopped off an arm. Easy diagnosis - "You seem to be missing a limb, and the X-ray confirms it." - Easy fix - "Use your other arm."

Yeah, I'm annoyed.

Y'know what's cute? EL Bradenabra started a Members Blog List thread on Worth on the 10th. Most of the people who posted to it said they only blog occasionally. But they all posted something new on the 10th, so they wouldn't look like total slackers. (Me, too.)

That's cute.

Oh, the back still hurts. I'm not liking it.

A guy gets lonely working on boats all day. Don't judge me because I have urges.

No, wait. That's for my other blog, the one you don't know about. This post is about work injuries.

I slipped and fell this morning, landing on my back. When I tried to get up I only made it halfway vertical before realizing I had a problem. The first aid guy poked at me and told me to go to the clinic. The doctor poked at me and told me to stay home for a few days and go for X-rays on Monday if it doesn't ease up.

It's not easing up yet. I still can't stand straight without gasping and turning pale. The painkillers only help a little.

I'm pissed at my oafishness. This is my second injury working for the same company, both of which were caused by my dumb feet not doing what I tell them to. I'm worried that the boss will pass me over when the next boat comes in. "Let's see, there's this guy or this guy. They both work hard, but one keeps falling down and getting hurt." Which one would you pick?

Still, I'm enjoying the weekend off, even if it means sitting here hunched over like Eye-gor from Young Frankenstein. It's a chance to catch up on my sleep. We'll see how it goes after that.

Oh yeah. I paid for all-day parking then went home two hours later. Now THAT pisses me off.

Boatfoot is like trenchfoot. Your feet start to rot from being wet all the time. It's not recognised medical terminology, but it should be.

I've been wearing these boots to work for five years. The first four years were fine, but they've finally given out. If you grab the toe and heel and push, you can see the steel sole inside. It's very shiny steel, so it's pretty. Still, every morning, within 30 seconds, my feet are soaked.

I came home last night after work and Jaq said "Guess what? It's Sean Appreciation Day."

I said, "Huh? What's that?" Actually, I said "uhwazza?" because I tend to mumble when I'm tired, but Jaq understood me.

"Sean Appreciation Day. Look in the bags."

Sitting on the table were two shopping bags. Inside one were six new pairs of wooly socks and six new pairs of underwear. Inside the other were new boots.

Jaq's sure swell. I wore my new boots to work today and all the other wharfies^* oohed and aahed at my spiffy (and dry) feet. I told them the Sean Appreciation Day story and they were all jealous. "My wife never does stuff like that!" was a common comment. I said, "You blow your paycheque on beer instead of on your family and go home drunk every freaking night. Then you come to work and bitch about your 'naggy old lady.' And you wonder why your wife doesn't appreciate or do nice things for you?" Okay, I didn't say that. But I thought it.

No more boatfoot. Yay!

I'm pooped, so that's all I'm going to write. Good night.

^* Jaq has an Aussie friend who says shipyard guys are called "wharfies" down there. I like the word. I'll do my best to spread it at work.