Wednesday, 19 September 2018

Typing With Torn Tendons.

Hi there!  Yes, it's me, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar!  You may have pawhaps noticed that my human dad, Gary, has done very little blogging over the past several months.  Well, it transpires that he has a very good reason for not doing much in the way of typing.

Yep, my human dad has finally found out that he has torn tendons in his left shoulder.  His silly shoulder situation has been happening since the beginning of January.  He was using his vibrator and noted he'd yanked something.  Oops, I'll rephrase that.  He was using a vibrating exercise machine and was a bit too enthusiastic with his exercise regime.  He then realised that something wasn't right with his left shoulder.

He had hoped that the pain would go away by itself.  Alassie, sorry, alas, it obviously didn't.  So, my human dad went and saw a doctor in early May.  The doctor sent him for some physiotherapy.  That didn't help.  The doctor had him get an X-Ray.  That didn't show any problems.  The doctor had him get a blood test and the results came back normal.  In fact, it took an ultrasound to reveal the torn tendons.

My human dad has now seen a consultant.  The consultant got him to do a variety of poses.  She even asked him to try and flex his biceps, "Just like Popeye!"  My human dad, being a bit of a poser, was, no doubt, well into doing that.  She informed him that it was best he continued to keep his left arm and shoulder as flexible as possible.  He's told me that it might take about eighteen months before the tendons have fully healed.  If the pain continues to be extreme, he has the option of a steroid injection.

Oh, I would also like to tell you that my human dad is going to have the surgical glove routine that relates to a certain dude-type problem.  He told me he's okay with that until he found out that the doctor with the surgical glove is an ex-pawfessional basketball player, famed for his gigantic hands and fingers....

Now then, I've observed that he hasn't been commenting on blogs very much.  I'll do my best to come and visit your blog.  Of course, I'll type one of my highly collectable comments that have been known to cause bidding wars on eBay. 

Please note that the comments section is switched off.  I mean, really, my human dad might struggle typing with torn tendons.  However, imagine what it's like for me to type.  It's kinda' like you trying to type whilst wearing mittens.

Pawsitive wishes, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar! 

Monday, 18 June 2018

Twenty Years Ago.

It was Thursday afternoon, June 18, 1998.  I was slumped on the sofa in my usual drunken stupor.  A frightened man barely clinging onto the last, fragile remnants of a shattered, battered and bruised dignity.  A frightened man waiting to die a sad, lonely death.

I heard a knock at the front door.  A sound so rare for I could go weeks without any human interaction.  My only interaction, the sharing of such a desperate time with Mr. Alcohol, my best friend, my lover, my worst enemy.

I stumbled to the front door.  A bedraggled mess of a man.  A man, bloated and heavily jaundiced.  I opened the door and there was my doctor.

He took one look at me and immediately phoned for an ambulance.  For, before him, was the worrying sight of somebody who hadn't eaten for three weeks.  The only nutrition, if you could call it that, was the consumption of three, two litre bottles of strong cider per day. Before the doctor, a man drowning in a sea of alcoholic despair.  I was stretchered away.  This would be my fourth alcohol-related stay at a hospital.

Near the end of the first week of what would be a five week stay, I had my ex wife and my nine year old son, Tristan, make a fleeting visit.  For they were about to go to Canada with her boyfriend and their baby boy.  Through tear-stained eyes, I hugged my son.  A hug that I cherish to this day.  A hug that saved my life.

After that, I had no visitors.  No visitors to note that during the first week I nearly died.  No visitors to be there for my birthday.  And yet, despite it all, despite me watching others having visitors and listening to the laughter, listening to the crying, I had time to reflect, time to change, one last chance to live.

That one last chance, further enhanced when a nurse came over to my bed and stated that I had a phone call at the ward's reception.  Very weak, oh, so very weak, I was taken in a wheelchair to the ward's reception.  It was my mother phoning from Vancouver.  Her words of comfort, resonate with love, twenty years on.

I could go into the harrowing details of how I ended up as a mere shadow of my former self.  A paranoid character swigging back two litre bottle of cider down back alleys.  But, that's in the past.  A past that taught me lessons that through such a potential demise, I could become better, stronger, more compassionate.

I'd had a nervous breakdown twenty years ago.  So much had happened and I tried to numb the relentless workplace bullying, the collapse of my marriage, compounded by the fact my wife had gotten pregnant by another man whilst still married to me.  I couldn't cope.  I was scared.  I was going insane and the insanity was made all the worse with the insidious evil of the alcohol I consumed.

And twenty years on, I'm still fragile, still raw.  I battle with debilitating depression and chronic fatigue.  It impacts me so much that my blogging has been sporadic.  It impacts me so much that I've hardly the energy to be involved with one of my vital lifelines, the vital lifeline that be the blogging community.

Twenty years on, I do know that the day I left hospital,  I left as a free man.  A man, most importantly, genuine in his conviction that alcohol would never again control his life.
I choose to live for my son, Tristan 
I choose to live for our beloved dog, Penny.

I choose to live for my mother, my family and friends in Canada. 



And I choose to live for me.  I listened to the wisdom of my inner child. 

Friday, 8 June 2018

I Can See The Sky!

Finally, at long last and then some, I can actually see the sky outside my apartment windows.  I also noted just how filthy the exterior of my windows truly are.  Then again, that makes sense considering the window cleaners haven't been able to get to my windows for over fourteen months.  As of June 6, 2018, the scaffolding was removed.  Thirteen months to the day that myself and the two neighbours below me, had to endure this most unfair, stressful farce.
No more of this view, from my bedroom window with its sky full of planks.
No more feeling trapped in by this scaffolding monstrosity. 
I can now look out the windows properly from my top floor apartment.
The view from my bedroom window has vastly improved.

The past thirteen months, feeling like I've been imprisoned by the scaffold monster, has taken considerable toll on my mental health well being.  My apartment was constantly trapped in dark shadows and was very hot, very stuffy.  The light has returned and the air is noticeably fresher.  

I shall be seeking compensation and expect a full apology for treating me and my other two neighbours in such a deplorable fashion.  All because of an insurance dispute as to who was responsible for the shoddy roof on an almost brand new building. 

And yep, once again, I shall endeavour to visit other blogs.  I'm certainly feeling better now that I can see the sky!  If only my left shoulder would actually get better so I could type twice as fast......

Friday, 11 May 2018

Scaffolding! The One Year Anniversary.

As of May 6, 2018, the scaffolding outside my apartment window reached its one year anniversary.  I'm up there in the top apartment.  Instead of going on about how such a monstrosity structure has impacted on my mental health, has cloaked my apartment in continual darkness, has meant that the window cleaners have not been able to get to my exterior windows for more than a year, or that during stormy weather, the damned thing creaks and keeps me awake, I shall not bother to mention that, or that I'm feeling Seasonal Affective Disorder, or that it's making me feel claustrophobic in this heat-trapped apartment, nope, most certainly wont mention that, or the fact I've just done a run-on sentence.

Baffling beyond any adequate adjectives to describe how  totally unamused I am that an almost brand new apartment building has issues with the roof.  Yes, I have stains on the living room and bedroom ceilings.  And no, I'm not bragging about the stains.  The stains were caused by rain leaking in from the roof.  Thankfully, well, hopefully, the leaks have stopped.  In the meantime, I wait and wait and wait while they try to settle an insurance claim dispute.

Living in such dull surroundings made me try to get another place.  Unbelievably, when I actually got to check out another place via my housing association, the place was left in an awful state.  It would of taken me a few weeks and a whole load of cash to sort the place out.  This was most unfair and I had to decline what should of been a good opportunity.

In other news, I've been experiencing the irony of physiotherapy.  Yep, you go get some physio and the physiotherapist makes the pain even more excruciating.  I've been told the extra pain is a good thing.  I'm hoping this to be true because it's a nightmare to try and type.  I've been told that by the start of June I should just about be okay.  Which June of what year, I've no idea.  I'm so looking forward to the day when my left shoulder actually allows my left arm to raise above my head without me screaming out like some spoiled diva.

I realise I'm getting repetitive but, once again, the comments section is switched off.  I shall try my utmost to comment on other blogs.

In conclusion, despite the ongoing issues with my apartment, I do know how lucky I am.  For yes, I have a roof over my head.  Having worked with the homeless, the rough sleepers, I realise that my problems are minor compared to the plight of some very noble people.

Wednesday, 2 May 2018

Emergency Blogcast System.


Hi there!  Yes, it's me, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar!  You might have noticed that my human dad, Gary, has been rather absent from the blogging world.  Actually, I've been rather absent from the dogging, oops, the blogging world.

The reason being is that I've been looking after Gary while he's been subjected to the pain that can be physiotherapy.  Since he started going to physiotherapy, the pain in his left shoulder has actually gotten worse.

I paw this pawst whilst using the "Emergency Blogcast System."

According to the "Blogger's Information Hotline", which after pawing the several options to actually get through to a real talking human, I've been informed that while Gary and I have been away, IWSG aka, "I Was Seeking Gary", aka, "Insecure Writer's Support Group", was up and running last month.  I was also informed  that the "Alphabutt Barrage, 2018", has reached its conclusion.  We now wait for the dreaded reflection pawsts about reflecting back about writing about the Alphabutt.  I reckon that might well take up the rest of May. 
"Hey Penny!  Thanks for writing this article on my behalf!" 

"You're very welcome, human dad!  Soon, well hopefully soon, you can write about the scaffolding outside our apartment window that, as of May 6, 2018, will have been up for one year."

Once again, the comments are switched off.  I hope you understand that, what with looking after my human dad, I would struggle to comment back.

Pawsitive wishes, your way, Penny and co-starring my human dad, Gary.

Saturday, 17 February 2018

Off The Cuff.

Hi there!  Yes, it's actually me, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar's human dad, Gary.

Before I attempt to type any further, I wish to thank Penny for having taken over the blog whilst I've been trying to sort out my latest physical issue.  It's been an ongoing, frustrating time.  Having recovered from the "tit" growing on my right elbow aka, bursitis, I'm now contending with an even more aggravating situation.

I believe my even more aggravating situation stems from getting into an exercise regime.  I may well have been a bit too enthusiastic with the exercise regime which involved using a vibrator.  I'll rephrase that.  I may well have been a bit too enthusiastic with my exercise regime which involved using a vibrating machine.

For the last two months, my left shoulder has been putting me through agony.  Just when I thought the pain had subsided, it would come back with a vengeance.  Thus, last Monday I finally gave up thinking the pain would just magically go away.  I went and saw a doctor.  She told me, based on checking my left shoulder, it was very likely a dislocated rotator cuff.

I'm now waiting to see a physiotherapist.  That's great because right now it takes about a week to put my coat on.  A weird wriggling manoeuvre that involves me attempting to raise my left arm up and slithering said left arm in to what is hopefully the left arm on my coat.  Thankfully, Penny waits patiently as I try to get my coat on so she can take me out for a walk.

Speaking of therapists, I recall when I started working for a mental health charity and I was introduced to the staff.  I asked this one staff member what her job was.  She told me she was a complimentary therapist.  To which I responded, "Excellent!  So pay me a compliment."  Thought I'd chuck in this paragraph, what with this post being somewhat off the cuff and bordering on disjointed, rather like my left shoulder.

Of course, despite it all, I somehow know I'm going to be okay.  I just focus on how grateful I am to have adoring fans.  Here's one of my adoring fans in the above photo.

It started with an elbow tit
I must admit
It continued with a wrecked-up rotator cuff
Aint that tough
I've had enough
I feel rough
From all this stuff
Physiotherapy
I shall see
If it works for me
I should mention
I've switched off the comment section
I hope you understand
Hard to type using just my right hand.

Sunday, 4 February 2018

I Took My Human Dad For A Walk.

Hi there!  Yes, once again, it's me, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar!  Although my human dad, Gary, has just about recovered from the trapped nerve in his left shoulder, I told him, after he begged me, that I'd do another pawst.  So, here it is.....

When I took my human dad for a walk yesterday morning, he ended up chatting to this lady who was out walking with her very young Dalmatian dog.  I could spot her dog a mile away. 

"Gary", the lady stated, "I have some excellent news.  Our furry friend is becoming very obedient.  He can roll over, sit, stay, beg, shake a paw and the really great news is that he's no longer crapping on the carpets!"  "That's wonderful", my human dad replied.  "Enough about your boyfriend.  How's the dog doing?" 


Thursday, 1 February 2018

Inner Child Meets Inner Puppy.

Hi there!  Yes, it's me again, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar!  While my human dad is still not quite recovered from the trapped nerve in his left shoulder, I've taken the liberty to put up another pawst. 
Keep listening to your inner child as I keep listening to my inner puppy.

My doggy heart beats with the hope that humans learn the lessons we animals try to share.  The lessons that teach of non-judgemental, unconditional love. 

Pawsitive wishes,

Penny 

Tuesday, 23 January 2018

Oh Nos To Schmackos!

Hi there!  Yes, it's me, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar!

I asked my human dad, Gary, as to why he hasn't done another pawst this year.  He replied, "Oh Penny!  Please, please, please, would you be so kind as to do an article?  I've got a trapped nerve in my left shoulder, Penny.  It's starting to feel better after nearly two weeks of feeling like I have a toothache in my left shoulder!  However, it's still difficult to type something."

Thus, my friend on the other side of the computer screen, here I be.  I don't mind taking over the peeboard.  Start again, I don't mind taking over the keyboard and pawblishing one of my must-read pawsts.
No automatic alt text available.

About a month ago, Gary was sitting on the chair in the living room.  He was munching away on some snacks.  "Oh yuck!  What the hell!?", Gary yelled.  This was followed by him making a mad dash to the kitchen sink.  I can vividly recall the ensuing puking type sound.

About five minutes before Gary freaked out, he had gone to an unlit kitchen and had grabbed a snack from the counter.  He thought the salami tasted kinda' odd.  Ah yes, human dad, Oh nos to Schmackos!  






Thursday, 11 January 2018

A Sobering Thought.

I sincerely hope that you are settling in nicely to the year that is Two Thousand and Eighteen.  It has taken me eleven days to actually concentrate enough to do a posting.

This year is a milestone for me.  Or, if you speak in metric, a kilometrestone for me, I suppose.  For, as of June eighteen, it will be exactly twenty years since I last consumed alcohol.  Twenty years since I got stretchered out of my home and rushed to hospital.  But hey, who's keeping track.

On the actual date of my twentieth anniversary, I shall put up a harrowing yet uplifting post to mark an occasion that I hope may well give hope to those who think it's hopeless to even attempt to combat addiction and the underlying causes.

Even now, after all these years, I'm still raw with the pain I caused to others and to myself.  To this very day, I'm an extreme combination of fragility and resilient strength.  I've spent nearly twenty years trying to compensate, to prove to those that I love, to myself, that I could seek out and find the good man that had been hidden away during those frightening days of alcohol abuse. 

If somebody had told me, as I lay in a hospital bed, on the verge of death, that twenty years later I'd be writing about how I defeated alcohol, I'd of never believed them.

When I left hospital, I had two choices.  I could of chosen to continue drinking and die a painful, agonising death or choose the exhilarating freedom of being sober.  I chose freedom.