In December I flew to Melbourne for a Music Festival called 'Meredith'. Meredith is a town in Victoria, located on the Midland Highway between Ballarat and Geelong. More info? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meredith,_Victoria
It's a great festival because its on private property and there is only 1 stage. That's right - the dilemma of Glastonbury not to be experienced here! People load the old couches into the back of their tray (if driving a Ute)/truck/van and later place place the couch anywhere in the outdoor auditorium/paddock. They would collect their cushions, and return with these when their chosen artists would perform, to their primed position. All spectators would take their chairs if they so decided, but more on that later.
I dropped my tent off to a mate's place who was working at the festival and therefore traveling up earlier than most. They had offered to set up a few tents as was the logical agenda. I drove up a few days later with some mates.
I had been working pretty hard and felt exhausted. The first night was awesome fun, but I was tired. I have been reminded by several friends that apparently I tried to retire but was handed another drink, until I eventually put myself to bed but wasn't very well.
Needless to say the next day took me several hours to fire up, and even when i did I wasn't firing all cylinders. But I had a good time, here you can see me with the street machine; it's a portable speaker, that you dock your ipod/iphone into, ensuring you have music at the tent, or (as it has wheels) anywhere you decide to take it! Want one? http://eurocosm.com/Application/Products/Music/outdoor-music-GB.asp
So Saturday was a slow day for me, but knowing me, I found my mojo. A day of heading out to dance with chairs, coming back with chairs, heading out in wellingtons and raincoats, coming back in wellingtons and raincoats, yadda yadda.
It was about midnight and we stepped back to base camp and I went to find the street machine. Knowing the campsite fairly well by then and having no more liquid courage than any other festival, I ran to a tent for the street machine and without a torch, didn't see that friends had returned their chairs and stacked them in a spot previously baron.
As I ran, my wellingtons got caught and I twisted and fell. I sat there unable to get up, giggling to myself. Friends offered me a hand after seeing I wasn't able to stand on my own and although I wasn't in pain it was obvious that something wasn't right. So I agreed that my friends should call on the St. John's ambulance (first aid). I feel for these guys as it took them 20 min to convince me i needed to go with them back to their first aid base. We took my Wellington off and could see fluid around the ankle. So two male friends, each on either side carried me to their van.
When I got to base they gave me this 'green whistle' to suck medicine through and proceeded to give me a half cast. There was no way I was going to a hospital now - we were all too drunk to drive and besides, I would only need to leave that hospital and go to a city hospital the next day. My friend returned, helped me to the bathroom so I could pee as they didn't have crutches and I couldn't put any weight on that leg.
I spent the night in my tent, leg elevated as best I could. With two panadeine forte from the first aiders and 2 mersyndol forte from my mate I did ok. Some dude played shocking music throughout the night so none of us slept great - but hey that's what happens at outdoor festivals.
The next day my friends packed up my stuff and took me back to the city where my mum, bless her, drove me straight to her private hospital where she had attended 9 years earlier for 2 broken ankles she endured on Christmas eve. They were impressed with the lack of swelling (sleeping outdoors) but sadly, cast number two was administered as they x-rayed me and found I had broken my fibula (only a small fracture) but had given myself a spiral fracture of the tibia.
My mum asked for her surgeon. He was on holidays but back the following day so they put me in a shared room and I waited for surgery. Half way through the night I was in so much pain and kept all other patients up, they had to move me to a private room (you'd think 'cool' but for the first time in 20 years, I had not re-instated my private health insurance from when I returned from London - lets just say this experience also 'broke the bank').
So surgery 1, and my third cast was up to my my thigh - it had to be split my first night as I was in terrible pain due to swelling. The prognosis was I needed to wear this for months. I hit rock bottom.
My surgeon ordered a CT scan for the days that followed and found my bones had moved more than the recommended 2mm. Without further surgery (fitting me with plates and screws) i was at risk of rheumatoid arthritis later in life.
Surgery 2, I was given a smaller cast (under my knee) and told that later, when the stitches came out I would switch to fiber-glass.
I spent the next 2 months living at my parents, working fro their lounge room. I couldn't do anything for myself, and if i could prepare a meal, i couldn't carry it into the next room. I am indebted to my parents. I don't wish this experience upon anyone.
It was easy though compared to the rehab. Learning to walk, exercising an ankle that wont rotate, tears streaming down my face, I have only now, 11 months later begun jogging again, and yes there is discomfort. But although I have been told my ankle will never be the same again I now, finally have the strength to overcome such nonsense!
So I learned through priority, exhaustion and rehab (for my ankle, silly!) that I needed to take it easy. My lifestyle has since changed a little to say the least.
For my birthday, as I was starting to be more mobile and feeling stronger, I rented a house down the coast and had a wonderful weekend away. It slept about 17 so there were those who stayed the Fri night, those who stayed the Saturday night and about 30 people came for my actual b'day BBQ on the Saturday - it was just lovely to be surrounded by such wonderful friends.
When I started going out again I met someone. I was so convinced, like so many of my Aussie friends before me, that when i returned home I would fall in love and the next one would be 'him'. Well he wasn't but I got caught up in my fantasy. I believed his complaints and ignored the arguments and bought into all the times he told me I was the one and that he wanted to marry me. So I kept believing even though my gut said otherwise. I am still unraveling the truth from the fantasy both in my conscious mind and in my heart. I have wonderful friends, in so many of you, who patiently listened to me and helped me through it without judgement, all the while commending me for continuing to put myself out there.
The tell tale signs came in many forms; the constant 'indulgences', the regular arguments and also from his temper. This flashed warnings to me - wasn't the last guy in London like this?? His accusations also had familiarity. I have since sought expert advise which helped me identify the kind of men I choose and why they act out in this way. It has taken some cognitive changes but I am now on the right path. I cant help him which makes me sad, but I can wish him happiness and health (love and light if you are so inclined) and focus that energy on the person who deserves it the most - me :)
Don't get me wrong. The world is a dance and it takes two to tango. But I have walked away with certainty, that empathy is a quality we all need to have and we all need to share and show. Those who can't - well, i wish them luck in their relationships cause I fear they may not succeed without it.
The wonderful thing is we met recently and had a brief discussion. I now have a comparison of walking away completely (my previous relationship) and seeking closure. There are benefits in closure but essentially time really does heal all wounds.
In the interim the dream job I had returned home to went from bad to worse. Changes of strategy meant I was relegated to running a remaining project. I wont go into detail but to say that wonderfully here also, I now have a comparison of choosing not to renew (a job I hated in London) and hence being stuck without work for months, versus staying employed because I didn't want to walk away (for many reasons) but wanting to also not risk being out of work again. I don't know which option is better or worse - money is one thing, but pride is quite something else.
And sadly about a month ago I lost a dear old fried to cancer. She was my age; I had known her since I was 15. Due to living overseas I was unable to attend her recent wedding and as time had passed we hadn't spent as much time together but it didn't matter. We had been in touch somewhat regularly, and some things, thankfully just don't change all that much :)
I learned before returning to Sydney she wasn't well, but she was a fighter and this is not the outcome I expected. None of what has happened, was supposed to happen. I have never gone through this and I hope at this age none of us ever do again. When I think of her ordeal over the past 18 months and I re-read all that I have written here, I think 'Big Fucking deal' to all of it. But life really is all relative. We really do have to live every day as if it's our last, but also invest for our future. Sometimes its all just too confusing and often unfair...but it's a gift. Life is not perfect, because it is a gift. It's how we receive it that matters.
In the last 12 months I have had highs, lows and I have learned and grown.
I was hoping to have visited by now - however the next break on my agenda (haha is not a broken bone!) is a vacation for me, with me :)
I look forward to sending you much brighter, periodic updates. And I look forward to seeing you in person, soon.
Much love.
xox
