This feels like it may have been the world’s longest Sabbatical. But. I’m glad to say… My career break has now drawn to a close. Yes, it is the end of a Sabbatical. Yet as one adventure finishes, a whole new adventure dawns. And isn’t that really how life should be? I’m getting ahead of myself. My diary has gone dark for a full six months now, and I should explain. I’ve been in array of discussions on potential next chapters, and those might have been compromised by making a private diary public. But I’ve been (lovingly) nagged by multiple people about where the narrative has gone, so as promised (and even just for my own purposes), here I am to fill in the metaphorical ellipses left in the middle of 2023. I came back from my road trip last May with a very full set of rich life experiences, with an empty wallet, with a very badly busted shoulder, with a felt need for an income (being broke will do that), and with a yearning for a home of my own and a bit of “normal” life rhythm and community. Processing all of that needs a particular sequence, as most of us (including me) need an income to have a home, and a home to build a rhythm and community. So in the meantime I’ve been bouncing around between friends and family across three different Eastern Sea Board states – a week here, a few days there and just once a month the other place. It has been an incredibly sobering and earthy experience. I wouldn’t have said that my identity was rooted in either my job or my home. But take both of those away, for an extended period, against will and preference, and that’s a real test of where our identity actually lies! In reality, this isn’t the first time and doubtless won’t be the last time that identity question has been probed for me. An uncomfortable process, but probably a worthwhile one to be subjected to every now and then. I’ve kept my head up and mostly kept a smile on my dial, but it has not been easy. Before I’d really had time to reorient after the road trip and to start a job search, I fielded a request to explore purchasing a business (on money borrowed from the vendor). Before that conversation finished a second group approached me. After a decade building two businesses of my own, it felt natural to grow another business, so easy to lean into these conversations. I ended up declining the first, but then a third and fourth followed the first two – all initiated by others. I eventually declined each of those, not having found common ground on commercial terms and other matters of conscience. It might have made sense to “hedge my bets” and apply for employment positions in parallel to all of that. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d have to explain to an employer that their offer was my Plan B, and that I’d drop the employment in a heartbeat if I could consummate a business purchase. That didn’t feel like a great interview tactic! In fact it would have been quite disrespectful, and only slightly better than withholding that very material information from an employment discussion. So – wisely or otherwise – I put employment search on hold while first driving to ground those purchase discussions. In the end it was two weeks before last Christmas that I finally put to bed the last of the purchase discussions, and committed to myself I wouldn’t (couldn’t) entertain another. Nearing Christmas is, of course, the worst time of the year to go job hunting. But nonetheless I applied for two positions, both of which ended up in an interview… three months later. Meantime I was approached to run a tech startup business, and so ended up in three concurrent conversations. I actually prayed for precisely two of the three employers (no… definitely not all three!) to say “no thanks”… as I couldn’t find a rubric to choose between such distinctly-different opportunities. True to that prayer, I was offered the tech startup role and rejected for the other two. I’m now very glad I wasn’t able to make a poor choice and accept one of the other two. Having now just begun my first work in two years, it isn’t “just any job”. I now see that it fits better than almost any other conversation I’ve had over the last 9 months; both because of who I am and as a match with CV and experience. And it’s a great team I’m working with, which is an extraordinary blessing given the pressure I felt to “accept just about any job” that might pay, having been so very long between gigs. In fact it is now 2 years and 2 months since I was last properly employed. That’s kind of “long term unemployed”. Technically. But probably “not really”, as the Sabbatical etc took me off the job-search market for some of that time. The “meaningful” statistic is probably the 9 months of searching for income since I returned from the road trip. But still. That’s long enough to have a baby! I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams it would take that long to find work. Discombobulated. It’s a great word. It’s an awful feeling. (If you’re not already familiar, it’s worth investing a moment in getting so.) “Discombobulated” best describes the sense of such a long time of feeling between worlds, of being homeless, jobless, directionless. After securing a role, the next interesting conundrum was to find a home. It’s all well and good to have a job, but it would be difficult to hold that down when living on a park bench (usually no laptop chargers!) or when floating around other people’s spare rooms. While it is impossible to get a home without an income, it is conversely really difficult to
Sabbatical – take two
I’m sitting here as I write in beautiful accomodation in glorious country farming landscape. The afternoon sun is streaming in warmly through the otherwise crisp winter’s clean, clear air. A dozen tiny wrens are chirping lyrically, which is the only outside noise other than a car driving past perhaps a couple of times a day. The gentle breeze breathes a sense of vibrant energy into the portrait. I’ve been reading an inspiring biography while listening to some classic tunes. It is a stunning, peaceful, restorative, environment. I am so thankful for the generous hospitality here – and equally for those several others who’ve opened their homes since the smashed shoulder slapped a sudden stop on the Sabbatical two months back. And I’m waiting. Waiting for several (competing) “live” conversations to culminate in work and an income. And waiting for that income to facilitate accomodation of my own. And waiting for that accomodation to form one of the cornerstones in writing a next chapter, and building a new life in the burned ashes of marriage broken and family lost. Having exhausted a key pathway and ruled out a few other options in that first domino of the work/income question, there’s a curious hiatus in my activity. Not by design. At least not by my design. Not by my preference in any way, shape or form. That waiting is received only with my bated breath, with impatient fidgeting, and with anticipation of launching myself at something as soon as that road ahead has a map and compass. The “No Compromise” Keith Green biography I’m reading just now triggered a pondering thought about a key impact of the road trip forcing a change of (metaphorical) gears to slow down and feel the rhythm of the road rather than force my own pace. That thought naturally led to a comparison to how I landed afterwards, chasing after medical treatment for the arm, reconnecting with friends and colleagues, and starting the search for work. Although I can’t say the calendar has been full, it had nonetheless been a return with the energy of a metaphorical “bang” only matched by the literal equivalent that triggered said return. Noticing that energy and contrast has been all the chastising I need. In the same moment it occurred to me that the road trip perhaps has simply been the vehicle (dad joke – boom!boom!) to slow me down in preparation for the few weeks of convalescence. Perhaps it is this convalescence that is the “real” Sabbatical. Or at least the “Sabbatical – take two”. I’m certainly conscious of the risk of running too far ahead and unloading on “the first option” rather than the best option. And in theory I’d pulled back from that by taking my foot off the accelerator (metaphorically, to be clear 🤪). But there’s a dissonance in allowing impatience into that picture. So perhaps I need to reframe, and posture into this hiatus with the same approach as for the road trip itself. Take two. Perhaps that’s also a way to account for the trip’s unceremonious end, too. Maybe the value of the road trip had been achieved – an initial slowdown – and now the ask before me is to maintain that same open-handed, gently-hearted, curiosity-led willingness to let the road show the way (or at least the road’s Architect), back in Aus, as it was in Asia. That’s quite a reframe. Might go for a walk in a minute to process. I’ll have to deal with a bit of “feeling guilty” about relying on others’ generosity while I Sabbath through the days and weeks. Meantime, just quickly, the arm continues to heal apace. Every week – almost daily – there’s noticeable improvement by degrees. The one setback came 10 days ago at a physio appointment with Sam, who I was nagged into attending by a friend Alex. This is in addition to physio through the Box Hill (public) system, and I went more to quell the nagging than for any other reason (sorry, Alex!). It left me reeling a bit, however, as – for the first time since the accident two months prior – there was consideration not only of bone health but also of tendon health. Sam ultrasound scanned my shoulder, and has found that the main tendon is 90% torn, “hanging by a thread” of 1.5mm from the 1.5cm that should be supporting all left-arm lifting. The frightening part of that is that while I’ve been working on getting more movement and strength in my arm, it is exactly those exercises that could completely rupture the tendon. It sounds like that would have permanent consequences and be very difficult to repair surgically. So I’ve pulled right back on exercise, and look forward to a next appointment to check on progress. Eeesh. By a mix of both explicit message or simply lack of response, I don’t appear any closer to anything more than (very) sporadic contact with family. That really matters so much more than anything else here, but won’t feature in the word count as a bit of “redaction” is required in the publishing of these private thoughts. On another post-script note, I’d decided a day or so to write a “final” journal entry and close this “Ride For Hope” book, as the road trip is slipping into “history”. But this afternoon’s epiphany that perhaps I’m now in the “real Sabbatical” might put at least a short pause on that thought. I’ll percolate a bit. Meantime, the road is calling again – but I’ll do a Hobbit and take it on foot today.
Slowly
Things are moving. Slowly. It’s about 7 weeks since I smashed my shoulder in a bike accident. The bone bits will now apparently be mostly “cemented” – exactly where the accident redistributed them. Given that the gaps between fragments are all approx 5mm or less, the surgeons have agreed that letting them set in that new configuration is better than surgery to attempt to put them back where they were pre-smash. I am told that will limit arm movement, but that it is a better outcome for now than surgery could achieve. A shoulder replacement is apparently on the cards in two years or so. Meantime, I’m into physiotherapy as of about week ago. The arm needed to be kept still for the first six weeks to heal bone, but now needs movement to restore flexibility to frozen cartilage and strength to atrophied muscles. I’m to “push to the pain, but not through the pain,” as too much activity could still risk damage to bone and muscle. I’m pretty determined to get that arm back to full strength and mobility, but must take that caveat seriously. Target #1 is to get back to the 50 push-up rep I was doing twice most days pre-accident. I think I’m about ready to start running again, too. Swimming is apparently a valuable part of healing and strengthening, so I really should also attempt to work my way towards some laps – probably starting with in-water stretching exercises. I’m still living 50% in Victoria (largely in case my nuclear family reach out for reconciliation at any point) and 50% in Tassie, but about to shift the rhythm from weekly to every six weeks. Professionally I’m narrowing the field of options. I’ve declined a couple of employment discussions. Through the discerning process and Sabbatical journey I’m settling into a view that I’m better equipped to build a business than to accept a long-term line role within a team or a “maintenance” leadership position. I’d have no problems taking a team role where all concerned accept it was tactical and not as long-term, but at this stage I’m not pursuing short-term options. It has been useful to understand that this leads to “no thank yous” to rule out a range of otherwise-tempting possibilities. I’ll still very happily discuss short-term part-time contributions where those come looking for me, but will “receive” rather than “pursue” those. I’m looking seriously at two businesses. Both would be a matter of developing something new from an existing kernel. Both would be building fairly naturally on my last decade’s contribution, but with new context to keep me energised. It isn’t impossible I could arrange to pursue the two in parallel, but I’d need to think that through pretty carefully to make sure both have the best possible opportunity to thrive. Long-term accomodation is something I’ll only even attempt to sort out after I have the professional direction locked and loaded. That’s necessary for geographic and (more so) for financial reasons. That said, it will be a great relief to eventually have my own space once more. Not to diminish one iota my deep gratitude to those who have generously welcomed me into their homes for interim accomodation. (Thank you!) I often ponder what I could do even in a volunteer capacity while I’m working through the longer term options. But so far all my creative explorations have led to dead ends that either need two working arms or that represent activity without corresponding value. There are some valuable (screen-based) things I can do anticipating one of the two business options, which I’m just setting up to pursue on the punt that this business transaction completes. And I do still intend to finish editing the Sabbatical road trip videos, with Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand and Laos still to complete, which represents days of effort if I take it seriously. I’m still battling a constant darkness from missing my family. Every day they’re on my mind and in my prayers, but I still believe it is necessary to respect that the five of them have called as one for my absence, not presence. I yearn for reconciliation, but at this stage believe it necessary that mine would be response rather than initiation. My every previous attempt to reach out has failed to launch, but I remain more than ready to engage if asked. I’m confident that with God’s help I can rebuild a good, peaceful, productive, thriving life in every other respect – but it feels empty and pointless without being in service of my nuclear family. I still think my biggest task moving forward is to work out how to posture into life in this messy, difficult context. I still haven’t even begun to work out where to point myself on that journey. All I can say is “I want them back”, which doesn’t seem to facilitate my moving forward. I suppose I will eventually look back and fondly miss the current restful and non-busy context. So my best now is no doubt to simply try to enjoy this moment, and to put one foot in front of the other, practicing thankfulness for all my many blessings.
Improvements, feedback and what’s next
My smashed shoulder is improving daily, mostly only by small degrees. In aggregate that is still far more improvement than I had expected. My mood and temperament is bouncing hourly, much like a yo-yo. Overall that is I guess exactly as should be expected. I’m still very much in a transition stage coming back from a 6 month career break following a few seismic life events, with few anchors in my week and rhythm, and a yet-to-be-settled direction. On the good days I enjoy the positive energy and creative space, and on the other days I have the privilege of being able to simply let that “flat” emotion take its course and wash past. There’s no point beating myself up about it, pretending it is otherwise, wishing it away or even trying to suppress or otherwise “work it out”. Emotion is a good servant and a terrible master. I’m confident in the reality that better days are ahead, even when I can’t see how or guess at the shape of those. If I can average a forward-leaning, positive posture in the main, then that is probably a solid outcome. I’m confident that the general trajectory will shoot upwards as life presents something to get my teeth into. Meantime, there is actually a broad plethora of ideas surfacing for a next professional chapter and contribution. Many are quite left-field. A good number have come unsolicited from unexpected quarters. Nothing is certain yet, and at this stage most of these are nothing more than an idea. Perhaps in some cases “crazy” should be prepended to “idea” – but those wacky ideas are still a really important part of a healthy brainstorm. I can weed out impractical ideas where discussion lasts long enough for that to be relevant. Often a left-field idea will evolve into something workable before the original idea is swatted. In relatively mundane but actually quite exciting (to me) news, I’m planning to take a test drive today – testing whether my left arm is workable driving an automatic car. The schedule will certainly be a bit easier if I can get myself to and from coffee conversations. While a small thing, it will feature fairly significantly as an enabler of everything else that’s going on. If I “pass” on my own criterion. Life right now is a bit of a dance – on the one hand it makes sense and is necessary to take it easy and give my body time to heal the busted shoulder. On the other hand I’m keen to get back into it and get on with it. Whatever “it” is. Some days are busy pursuing “it”, and others are as laid back as you can imagine. Both the busy days and the laid back days are necessary, for separate reasons. But the lazy ones are those that risk emotion as low as the calendar is(’nt) full. I’m not built to be a thumb-twiddler, that’s for sure. Having a place to call my own will be amazing, when it happens. I’m beyond grateful for Rob, Bill, Hadyn, Raf and respective families who have given me a bed, roof, food and company these few weeks since I got back. But while it fits the original plan and securing a post-road-trip income was always needed before securing accomodation, the reality of living from a suitcase will grow old soon enough. That’s a key motivation for moving faster rather than slower through this transition period. On a different note. I think I might have had six people last week volunteer feedback that I’m “stubborn” – and I know of a fair list of others who would jump quickly on that bandwagon when they hear there’s a band anywhere in the vicinity of a wagon. All using even the exact same ugly word. Stubborn. I must carry target practice rings on my forehead with a title “please provide feedback here” – I’m sure I get significantly more than the average bunny! None of last week’s feedback incorporated any positive element to that “stubbornness” observation, nor – interestingly – any practical pointers for improvement. I personally prefer the “persistent”, or “determined” descriptors and acknowledge that like anything it can be constructive or destructive depending on how it is engaged. Still, (despite the rumours) I do take all such feedback seriously. [And if any of the six feeders back are reading this, please know that in each case I am honoured rather than offended that you take the trouble and risk to go out on a limb.] Neither business that I co-founded would exist without that tenacity (ummm… sorry… “stubbornness”), my marriage wouldn’t have survived as long as it did without that persistence (oh… yup… that was “stubbornness,” right?), and so much else that is good in life would not have surfaced or survived without a determination to push through where obstacles would have stopped many (most?) others in their tracks. So I know that throwing the baby out with the bath water would be unhelpful, even if it were possible to flick a switch and change the deep-seated character with which – my parents would affirm – I was born. But I also recognise that ol’ chestnut definition of insanity – doing the same things and hoping for a different result. Hope for a different result I most definitely do. So doing the same things (or taking the same approach) I most definitely cannot. (Thanks, Yoda). This is definitely the moment for change – a clean whiteboard, no expectations, an opportunity to reinvent, but with an armoury of capability and network of trust and people who care. Apparently I should simply reinvent “without stubbornness”. Sounds easy enough. Right? I’m not even sure that anyone would like the result if they succeeded in extracting and eradicating my stubborn gene. They’ll be quick to say I’m wrong about that, I guess, but I expect it deserves deeper thought than a first-glance response. Hmmm. I was hoping that writing this out might
Second opinions and coffee conversations
I saw a surgeon this morning, who is independent of the public hospital system that has seen me these past two weeks. That in itself seems a minor miracle, as I only spoke with a GP on Friday for a referral. Monday (yesterday) morning I then rang the surgeon’s rooms, wandering if it would be weeks or months before I was seen. The receptionist said he’d “review my file [the next day], and reply as to if and when he would see me”. But just one hour later she rang back and said “he’s had a look at the X-rays on your myhealth and he’d like to see you tomorrow at 11am”. She then rang around to find and book me a CT scan prior, so that I sat talking to the surgeon and reviewing the new scan late this morning, not 24 hours later. There’s good news from that appointment and… well… other news. The good news is that there is independent and confident affirmation of the “non-surgery” plan. And today’s surgeon really did express confidence, without a moment’s prevarication. Decisiveness alone set him well apart from the previous two week’s debacles. Furthermore he was not the least bit condescending, and explained things clearly and appropriately. That was a breath of fresh air. And building on the good explanations, I can now actually understand why surgery is not a real option. He also said he’d have said the same thing if he’d seen me the day of the accident, so the three weeks elapsed since then haven’t cost me treatment options. That’s all good – very good. So to the “other news”. What was described in week one as a “broken” and in week two as “smashed” was described today as “very, very, very, very, very smashed”. Yes – 5x “very”. I counted them. He said there are too many fragments of bone to fix, including many too small to get purchase for a screw or plate, and much of it was as fine as “dust” (his actual word). And the head of the humerus is compacted towards elbow, likely to have lost vascular supply, and is apparently fairly certain to “die”. I’m led to believe I’ll need a shoulder replacement in something like two years, which will be triggered when the pain of this dead shoulder gets unbearable. Subtlety doesn’t appear to be his strong suit; he (thankfully) just says it like it is. It has occurred to me that there must have been quite some force to achieve the “five verys”. It then seems extraordinary that the accident “only” broke my humerus. That my legs, back, neck, head are all fine – wow; that is such a massive reason for thankfulness. Apparently in time I should be able to get movement back so I’ll be able to raise my left arm “to the height of a low clothes line”, which judging by the corresponding show and tell was less than a full 90° up from hanging vertical. I think this clothes line expectation was pre shoulder replacement. I’m to see him again in a month, meantime doing gentle exercise to push as much movement as I can into the arm without causing excessive pain. He affirmed my discovery from just last night that sleeping partially upright on lots of pillows was helpful for positioning the break to minimise pain and mitigate pins and needles from circulation issues. So I’m upping that anti and sleeping in a recliner chair tonight. Hopefully that will mean I’m not frequently woken tonight with pins and needles in a dead arm from lack of circulation. If this works, I’ll explore a more sustainable equivalent moving forward. Meantime I’m trying to set a rhythm out and about that balances the income generating “project” with rest and time for recuperation. I’ve not booked in much for this week in Hobart, but my coffee schedule for next week in Melbourne is filling to near capacity. I’ll probably in time do a bit of the same in Hobart as well, just to cover all bases. A decade ago it was similar conversations that led to accidentally starting a now-thriving consulting practice (which subsequently had to be sold due to financial separation with my wife). I don’t really have much expectation of exactly what will come out of the coffees this time, but I think I have enough confidence that something worthwhile will emerge. Regardless it is all I know to do anyway. I do feel like a ship with anchor cut loose, without a job, nuclear family or even a road trip to cover over the lack of those two. But I must keep reminding myself of so many rich blessings including incredible people around me – family of origin, friends, church, networks – so keen to help, and a quiet confidence I’ll find ways to contribute that will be fulfilling and financially viable. It is a time I can reinvent, and while that isn’t the context of my choosing, I can see (with gritted teeth and a deep breath) that there is good in it. I know I need to practice thankfulness, and it is an excellent canvas on which to stretch faith and grow character. And I just can’t afford the alternatives, as falling in a heap now would have potentially permanent and probably devastating consequences. I can hear ringing in my ears the oft-repeated refrain to “be strong and courageous”, and know I simply must hold a positive posture and develop healthy rhythms through this next chapter. That doesn’t feel easy, but it is the only way forward. And – another point for “thankfulness practice” – although I’m feeling a bit flat, I am in the best mental state I could hope for given all this turmoil and flux.
Re-entry
The rhythm of the road was such a different energy to the sudden and unexpected return to Aus. It’s quite a slap across the face to suddenly be back in and around familiar places, culture, people. Not at all in a bad way, obviously, but even though it is very good it is still a bit disorienting especially with an arm immobile and sore. I’ve now been to Box Hill hospital twice – exactly one and two weeks after the accident. The first time I had just emerged from a flight half way from the other side of the world, and I was in no condition to ask good, probing questions as my place was all over the head. The second time I was in a better posture to engage, but not really prepared (despite a warning, thanks Josiah!) for the extremely condescending engagement. I was a bit taken aback at being treated like an idiot and spoken to like a child. Oh well. Notwithstanding, I did get a bit more context. Two key facts emerged: This week’s surgeon described my bone not as “broken” but as “smashed”, which was offered as the reason that surgery is not preferred. He gave a word picture – if a plate of window glass was cracked, he suggested it may work to glue the cracked piece back in place. In contrast, if a sheet of safety glass was smashed, it cracks into tiny fragments with very little utility in glueing them back together. He further explained the body will produce its own “glue” anyway and that the shoulder ball will hold it in place while that happens. The surgeon affirmed that if I were “ten years older” there’d be no prevarication or question, but surgery would be simply out of the picture. I didn’t quite catch the logic behind that statement, because I was too busy filling in the blanks and hearing what he wasn’t saying (but was clearly thinking) – that if the patient was ten years younger I’d have been under the knife the moment I first presented. Perhaps I’m jumping at shadows. Regardless I’m working towards a referral to a surgeon a. who went to my school a couple of years below my grade, and b. whose dad repaired my broken leg from a motorbike accident 32 years ago. If another independent pair of eyes agrees with the no-surgery approach then I’ll just focus on recuperation and physio, otherwise I’ll likely follow the bouncing ball through the new care. Meantime, I’m beyond grateful for Rob and Bill and respective families who have made me welcome at their homes last week and this week while I sort myself out. I’m heading to the South Island this coming week for a bit of time with my brothers, and will then float between Hobart and Melbourne while I a. recover and b. pursue an income, with gratitude for that care and for Haydn and family who have also made space available for my next few Melbourne weeks. I suspect that income will need to look a lot like my recent professional contribution, as I don’t have time to prepare or pursue more “left field” ideas. Some of the headline options therefore include: “Director of Transformation” or CIO (head of IT), perhaps for a large Aged Care or other NFP organisation Joining a consulting company In the prefect world I’ll take on one of these as a half time role, so that I have capacity to also build something myself. I’d love to have a go at building a third business, and bring some of the lessons learned from the first two to that new endeavour. I’ll give “part time” employment a shot, but I’m not sure how that will fly as the roles I’ve targeted above really are both “full time plus” contributions. While I’m imagining a (probably impractical) best case, I’d also invest time in regular exercise rhythms and a few creative pursuits – perhaps with more writing, and some lessons in creating art and music. Meantime, I’m still chasing options and quotes to freight the bike back from Laos. Just because there isn’t enough going on otherwise. In all that, I’ve had to throw myself into “full project mode”, without much time to really reflect on the road trip. A colleague Peter was asking about that reflection over coffee this morning, and it occurred to me I’ll need to deliberately carve out some reflection time not to miss much of the possible upside of the Sabbatical. That’s a work in progress, given the focussed activity that seems to me to be necessary at the moment. I’m relatively at peace, given all the turmoil and uncertainty. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other and take each day as it comes. Even though I can’t see much past my nose, I do have a sense there’s purpose and design in the twisted and unexpected path. For that I am thankful. And I am constantly conscious of love and support and a circle of people cheering me on which gives enormous strength and courage into the unknown. Thank you. Now; time to pull up stumps tonight and I have the privilege of a day with a few different friends tomorrow.
Surgical prevarication
After finally being allowed to board the Bangkok-Sydney flight, getting to Melbourne was relatively uncomplicated. A mate Rob collected me from the airport and we drove straight to the ER room at Box Hill hospital. The rest of the day was a bit of a blur, with lots of the waiting around that comes with medical processes. A physiotherapist did the first real assessment of my condition, making a thorough and rigorous study of the story and the impacts. Although the upper left arm is the main focus, we checked out my chest, abdomen and left leg as well, all of which are still sore. It was agreed there’d need to be X-rays, which took an hour or so to line up and execute. There were probably a dozen images of my arm and chest taken. The results came back uncontroversially confirming a significantly broken shoulder, in the ball of the humerus as the Laotian hospital had suggested. However the treatment plan was apparently not as uncontroversial. The portions of broken bone are apparently sitting close enough to the main bone that from the X-rays the surgeon wasn’t clear on whether to advise surgical or non-surgical treatment. So a few hours later a CT scan was added to the data set, and the waiting game resumed. By about 9pm – 10 hours after admission – the nurses decided that there wasn’t going to be news from the surgeons that day, and sent me “home”. Home for now is a room that’s very generously been made available at Rob’s, by virtue of a couple of his kids bunking in with each other to make space for a broken bikie. A few minutes out from my new temporary home, the surgeon actually made contact. He explained that both the X-ray and CT scan had shown my situation to be in a grey zone where either surgical or non-surgical treatment were potentially valid. He had spoken with his boss to confirm the approach, and was calling to tell me that the way forward was simply to keep my broken arm in a sing for 6 to 12 weeks. I have to say that still doesn’t resonate for me, and I feel like surgery is a necessity from the level of pain when I move, and from the level of bruising. But I’m not a medic, and have come 9,000km to get expert advice, so probably should be careful being too quickly dismissive. I’ve been given an appointment in a week for the surgeon to check on progress. He explained that there’d be several other surgeons present, and that if there were new perspectives there would still be time to change course. It sounds a long way from a confident and definite way forward. The prevarication about surgery hasn’t filled me with confidence. But I guess it is better to be slow than to be hasty in grabbing for the surgeon’s knife. I’ve considered getting a second opinion on it all, but have in the end settled that this would just increase the mess and reduce clarity. Meantime, it really is good to be back in my home country. I’m delighted to put milk in my tea, to fill a drinking glass with water from the tap, to have confidence that every toilet will have a seat and loo paper and not a squat setup and a hose, to have a long list of great cafe options, and endless other small familiarities. I’ve also loved having a change of season and enjoy a bit of cooler Winter, since I’ve been in something close to “Summer” for six months straight. Most of all it has been so, so good even in these early hours to have a (gentle) hug with people I know and love, to look in the eye and shake hands with old friends, to share a bit of family time. With my own people. Whatever richness there is in travel (and there’s lots of it), and however much joy can be found in engaging with people from different backgrounds, it is good to come home. It is good to be home. I’m now on the lookout for ways to “buy time” before making too many significant decisions about where to live, what my professional world should look like, etc. I’m yet to get clear on what “buying time” looks like, but am not quite ready yet to really rule options out quickly. I’ve also found that my pain and weariness levels have waxed and waned, and am simply allowing that to wash past without fighting it. If I’m sore I’m taking pain killers. If I’m feeling ok I’ll appreciate the moment. If I’m tired I’ll have a snooze. If I’m awake I’ll stay up. I still don’t really even have a plan for tomorrow, let alone the weeks or months ahead. But I do expect to get a haircut and get rid of the ridiculous beard that was only there to minimise my “westernness” in the Middle East (and particularly Iraq) which is not super-friendly to the US and allies. Now that’s no longer necessary, I’ll see if I can find my chin. Other than that I might do some reading, resting, and gentle “pre-planning” of next steps.
Home for hospital
I can’t say enough how strengthening are all the messages of support and encouragement. It is only ever the briefest of moments I’ve felt the least bit lonely over the last six months on the road, and much of that strength is from the sense of community I’ve derived through your engagement with my quirky little story. It has been unexpected, but really lovely and actually quite powerful. Thank you. And although my intention has been to write first for my own private purpose and only with corollary benefit for interested others, it has been fun to have that well received. Among a wide range of lovely feedback, a teacher from my own high school days recently said “you are still a wonderful writer, Daniel”. That caught me off guard in what must have been an emotional moment anyway, as it caused an eruption of “leaking eye syndrome”. I am a bit susceptible to blubbery impact from such compliments, maybe partly because it is rare. Can I encourage you – if you have a complimentary thought about a friend or colleague, do share it with them! You never know what impact a genuine, simple, unadorned compliment might have for them. Enough of that. Life has been a bit of a tumble dryer since the Friday X-ray. My left arm and leg continue to waver in a cycle that I can imagine to be improvement, followed by definite deterioration. Sleeping is a problem. Getting in to bed is difficult, and getting out of bed takes minutes of careful, painful contortion. Putting a shirt on is a nightmare. I briefly went through an equation of avoiding the latter altogether, but you’ll be glad the “no” case won and as a compromise I’ve settled for my first ever public appearance in a tank top. I’ve decided that the massive arm holes are actually designed for shoulder-break victims!! Decision processes have felt complex, as each separate decision’s output seems to form an input to other decisions, in something of a cycle. Do I get medical attention locally in Laos or travel for it? Do I keep the bike in Laos or send it home? Is this the end of the road trip, or just a pause? Each option for those choices has required research and exploration, and the matrix of possibilities (and of incompatible combinations) has had my post-trauma head spinning. I’ve had a dozen or so leads for dealing with the bike, many of which have felt very promising – and each of which has then evaporated. The most interesting came from the China tour group with which I was booked. Another couple Dale and Raphi were planning to ride on two bikes from their Laos home to Europe, also through China. But one of the two bikes had been smashed up a couple of weeks ago. So as a plan b they’re riding “two up” on the remaining bike. When they learned that my bike was stranded where and when they happened to be pre-China, we met up. They were very interested to borrow my bike. Once they’d finished their road trip in Germany, they’d send it home to Melbourne (so much easier from Europe than from Laos) as “their part” of the “deal”. Wow! Sounds like an incredible fit of two problems into one solution. And to add to the perfection, I think it’s fair to say that Dale and Raphi and I felt like we could become great friends (we’ll definitely stay in touch). So Dale took the GSA for a spin, and unsurprisingly loved it. But they had to make a lightning decision, and there were a few too many variables to land on a “yes”. So they’ve headed off through China on their “two up” plan b. And my bike sits sadly still in remote midlands of Laos. With no plan and no road. A couple of explorations are yet to come to either fizzle or fire, but it may well require a lot of work yet if the bike is coming home. If the bike doesn’t come home and I don’t return to complete the trip, the only path forward is to surrender it to Customs – and that is an ugly outcome. On the medical question, I’ve taken the local hospital’s advice… to fly home to Australia for treatment. When the local system tells you they don’t trust their system and advise I use my own (Aust health care), it doesn’t feel wise to disagree. There are of course a host of other Asian options, which would make returning to the bike easier and quicker. But it has landed in my “not this time” pile to convalesce for potentially three months without anything to do and without deep community physically close in time of physical need. So after waiting 24 hours to connect with Dale and Raphi, I sought out Laos-Melbourne flights. Luang Prabang is really fairly remote, and even with an international airport the remoteness does limit flying options, so that any of the choices require multiple airlines. I didn’t want to risk screwing up a multi-airline trip and end up stranded mid journey through some own-goal of booking incompatible flights, so chose to pay extra to book through a third party leaving them to own the problem. A dozen different options showed “no flights available”, and only Flight Centre came to the party. Two main options presented: a cheaper trip with three separate legs and 31 hours duration through Hanoi and Sydney, and a more expensive option at 17 hours and two flights through Bangkok. My arm decided to spend the extra cash. After 20 minutes or so of wrestling this through, the Flight Centre website then said – instead of a payment screen – they’d need to put my booking in a queue for a person to complete. What?! There’s no time for that! By then it was well past 1am, since the discussions with Dale and Raphi had gone on into
A chip on my shoulder
It’s been said of me before today. But never before was it meant literally. I do now have a verified chip on my actual shoulder. An X-ray this afternoon has confirmed that I did in fact break my humerus in Tuesday’s crash. Not funny. It seems the hospital to which I was taken on Tuesday didn’t have the resource or skill to properly diagnose, and released me to a guest house alone to recuperate. It continues to be quite a struggle to get in and out of bed, and putting a shirt on takes ages and a few indrawn breaths. At least now I know why. This morning I decided that the “wait and see” approach was going nowhere, at best. I made a call. I’ve cancelled my China tour (and am thankful for the gracious way that was received despite messing the group around). I’m extremely grateful for Chris’ Laos Adventure Tours who have mucked in to help get me and my bike from the village to the more established Luang Prabang. Andrew on Chris’ team gave up his entire day to help a group of locals push and shove my bike and gear onto and off from a small truck, to cart me to hospital, to help me navigate the tricky hospital process around diagnosis and payment, and to deliver me to lodgings for the night. The bike and gear is stored under his house until I work out what to do with it. Just amazing, Andrew. Thank you. I need to now book flights back to Aus and find myself an Aus surgeon, but I have a couple of questions to resolve beforehand: Is this a comma or a full stop? It sounds like the shoulder will probably require 3 months recovery time, before I’d be able to ride again. I don’t think I can put the trip on a 3 month pause (the metaphorical “comma”) and then take the 6 months to complete the Laos-London leg. If that’s right, then this is the end of my road trip – a “full stop”. I need to confirm that thinking, perhaps with fresh perspective in the morning. What do I do with the bike? The “Carnet” conditions require the bike comes home to Aus. When I inquired about alternatives given my current difficulties, it turns out all I can do is “surrender” it to Customs here and give up ownership. Not ideal. So if this is a “full stop” then I need to find a way to get it from Laos to Aus, and compare that cost with the value of the asset (less repairs). Not a happy pair of options. Where do I plant myself post surgery? It sounds like I’ll be less mobile in my left arm for 3 months post surgery, which has implications for where I live for that time. It will probably make sense to align the geography of the surgery and the post-op accomodation. Those three practical questions are now urgent, but the underlying “what do I do with the rest of my life” questions still lie underneath all this mess. Still unresolved. Now I guess I’ll have a recovery period to think that through, rather than the literal journey for processing a metaphorical one. Maybe a change of approach will help? Who knows. I’ll get some rest now, and perhaps that will help surface some clarity tomorrow.
One-handed diary entry
CONTENT WARNING In fact I genuinely wish you wouldn’t read this. I don’t want to even write it. But this diary is first for my own purpose and if I leave out the bad bits it won’t do what it is designed to do. Feel free to go watch Netflix though, and come back next time I have something happier to write! “Nothing to see here…” Yesterday I set off from Luang Prabang after a lazy watermelon juice on the Mekong with my China visa in hand, for an unknown destination vaguely in the direction of the China border to which I’m headed. I need only to be there by the 23rd of May, so had 8 days to travel a distance that could be done easily in just 1. The plan was to camp somewhere en route, ambling north as the mood took me. Yesterday’s road was wide, straight, well paved, and with only a few other vehicles. I was well rested, relaxed, as content as I could hope under the circumstances, and riding maybe somewhere between 40km/h and 60km/h, on a road that would have safely sustained 100km/h or more. I’m not completely sure what happened next, but I it clearly must have involved a lapse of concentration. Probably just a bit too long gazing at the view. Although even the briefest lapse is never recommended, that’d be not so much of an issue if I’m riding according to plan – with plenty of margin. But yesterday’s lapse found me at the road’s gravelly edge. A “twitch” of the handlebars would course-correct well enough without the gravel, but with gravel and my adventure bike’s high centre of gravity I calculated that as an unwise choice. Slamming the brakes on would likewise simply lose all traction in the rough, but I no doubt tapped them as much as I could for the suddenly-gravelly, road’s-edge conditions. None of that would have been more than a few heart-beats of adrenaline, except that there was no verge on the road, and it immediately fell away possibly two meters on a steep, rocky, shrubby decline. For a slow-mo millisecond that felt like a full minute, it seemed like I had the bike kinda slipping around under something like manageable trajectory down the unavoidable slope. But the inevitable happened and I came to grief. Pause just a second. Somewhere over the last few days on social media I’d seen a clip insisting that a rider must jump clear of a bike in a pending accident. It is very good advice. I remembered that in the minutes that followed, but not at the moment that mattered. Although I’d probably have to fight a tendency to push on regardless hoping against the odds to pull through. Back to the accident. The wheels slipped out from under me away from the road to the right (right-hand lane driving in Laos). And because I’d not hit that eject button, I was still wrapped around the metal as it ground to a halt on the rocky decline. Somehow that ended up twisting my left leg over my right. And my left arm over my head and right arm. I was pinned. Completely. The full 282kg of bike and gear was pressing down on four pressure points – my legs, my left arm (which in turn had my right stuck), my helmet, and my chest. The most I could move was a finger. Adrenaline is quite useful at times like this, and slowed the onset of pain. But the weight of the bike was oppressive, particularly on my chest and extended left arm. It felt like my ribs would crack, and then I was scared it would puncture my lung. It was really very awful. I wasn’t sure if my left leg and arm were broken or not, but either way they were useless at the time. I couldn’t budge an inch. I took the deepest breath I was able, and talked myself into an attempt at staying calm. “Someone will have seen it happen and lift the bike off in seconds,” was my first thought. But as one car and then two and then three zoomed past without slowing, my calm dissolved to panic. My chest, arm and leg were in pain. Lots of pain by now. I had no hope of shifting the bike myself. ”OK so no one saw it happen, but someone will see the aftermath and stop in a moment,” was my only next plea. I resumed counting. Four cars. Five… This was a quiet road with a good period of time between each vehicle, and time was dragging on. When I got past two dozen, I stopped counting. It was not doing my mental state any good. At this point I suppose I was catastrophising, but I began to wonder if this was my end. That didn’t worry me in the moment anywhere near as much as the slow, agonising, despairing way it would play out. Would the rib crack and puncture my lung, leading to suffocation? Or would I eventually black out from pain and simply not recover? I suspect it was the scariest moment of my life, pinned in pain with nothing I could do to influence the outcome. Absolutely terrifying. While recognising that my perspective may have been skewed, I’m pretty sure it was at least 15 minutes – and maybe longer – before someone did stop. There’s no way that the young, alone, slight Laos man who did eventually turn up could have pulled that bike off me. But he hailed a couple of others and in a few more minutes a handful of people had gathered. The bike was lifted above me but not away, as the only way to avoid crushing me further was just to hold it up while I slipped out from under. But I could not move. My legs and my arms were immobile, and in pain. Eventually another couple of people yanked my legs and