Stuff

right now, right this very minute it is 11.20 pm and I'm sitting up in bed at my dad's place. I should be trying to sleep but well lets just say sleep is not my strong point on occasion. I'm tired though. Tired of being tired actually. Mum and Dad bought this place about 12 years ago, way after me and my siblings had fled the nest (or ejected from the nest as in my case) so the house itself has no attachment nor do I feel the least bit emotional about its sale. With mum in the place with long hallways wondering who it is getting her dressed for bed, Dad is having his second downsizing and moving to a cute little hugely expensive retirement villa. It doesn't have room for any stuff. They will cook him dinner for $8 or deliver it to the villa for an extra 65 cents! Who does that costing? I want to know how they come up with 65 cents for someone to bring food to my dads table. My big sister and I are here for a week doing the move as dad is just not up to it any more. We are doing 3 thing; packing up what stuff he takes with him, sorting out stuff that has some sort of value and throwing out the rest of the stuff. It really makes you realise how much stuff we accumulate. There is the lawnmower he only bought last year and then the toy lead soldiers he played with as child in the late 1930's. I love those soldiers.
As a child visiting my dads parents (grandma and Grandpa)  in Seaforth Sydney, the tin with dads toy soldiers was always in the drawer under the bed in the back bedroom. It was the first place I always went. There were boats too so the scenario was usually me, the soldiers and boats staging a massive crash in the dirt and invariably one of the little metal men being fatally wounded. I'm not sure there are many kids allowed to play with toys made of lead these days! they were grey and dirty and bare metal and just what soldiers should be. They were works of art. Machine guns drawn or the soldier lying prostate with his finely detailed eye looking down the barrel of his gun.
That was until one visit I arrive and peered into the tin. Imagine my utter horror. Who ever heard of bright green and brown soldiers? the paint so thick their tiny tortured  facial features now just glacier smooth. Grandma had decided to brighten them up a bit. Soldiers! Metal soldiers with guns and mangled legs from impacts with tiny lead ships now would not look out of place on a good xmas tree. It literally took the shine off for me but like any good soldier, never left a man behind and we continued to wage war on the ships. These very same toys are now subject to a decision. Keep or throw?
Dad has heaps of shitty stuff, don't get me wrong. Mum's taste was so 'individual' 99% of the decisions were so easy, I heard myself repeating over and over, Bin It! I also heard dad say a lot "get rid of it". Its the tiny things that make life hard though. Not the big lounge chair or the fridge, its the 2 inch high soldier that stabs you in the heart. It stops you dead in your tracks and makes you think about where you are and how you got here. Would I be a different man if the soldiers weren't painted? probably not, but I would not be the same man without having known my wonderful grandparents and their love for me.
I sold Grandpas printing press and wood cut knives today too. That hurt. firstly because they were so very grandpa and secondly because I lifted it by myself and nearly broke my pooper valve. Dad hid the hurt well but we both knew. Its all stuff and has to go but we get attached to stuff or rather the memories the stuff elicits. I wont be able to look at the printing press and remember grandpa any more  Its not as if I even lived in the same state as the printing press but it helped make my heritage, stuff helps form us like it or not. I'm keeping the soldiers though. only because they are 2" high and because its the tiny things that can mend a wounded heart.

Wedding Night part 2

OK, so you've read part one where we were left in the Emergency Dept of Wollongong Hospital. To say we were both devastated is an understatement. We were in shock. The pain was tremendous and even though pain killers were prescribed, it was awful to look at, to think of and to even contemplate where we were now. The hospital applied what can only be described as 'contact', to us. Adhesive plastic film. They were applied so that the skin could grow back underneath.
The hotel manager came to the hospital and offered to house us for the time being until we were ready to fend for ourselves. As newly weds, we did it the old fashioned way. We had never lived together. Jane was moving form her parents house into a house I had rented in preparation for married life. There was no way we could really care for ourselves, the burns on Jane were so severe, movement was to be avoided and my back was giving me grief as well. We discussed it and decided to retire to the hotel room to lick our wounds as it were, and not emerge for some time. We didn't want to have a bevy of people coming to wish us well so told no one at first. I know we did call our parents at some point but they were to think we were on our honeymoon so wouldn't miss us. I think we had about 2 days of darkness and room service. We cried and consoled each other but frankly, it was horrible. Even the thought of in room video was dashed as the titles on show at the time were Mississippi Burning and other just as pain associated  movies.
I remember having to call all the accommodation and car hire and what not to try to recoup spent honeymoon funds. Everyone was nice but to retell the same gory story over and over was not nice. We were still so very raw both physically and mentally.
After a few days, we emerged and it was agreed we would go back to my in-laws' house to recuperate some more. Jane back in her single bed with me on an foldaway bed on the floor beside her. All so very romantic and newly wed. I was caught between wanting to be the provider of care and not being in a position to do so. Her family were really great to us in our hours of need. At night, I'd wake to find Jane playing with the air with her curled fingers. Laughing and giggling in her sleep. I was quite amused and sat up to watch and listen to her having the dream. I never realised it was Jane playing with the bubbles in the spa until it was too late. Jane's screams of terror waking the house once the water main burst and her wild kicking in her sleep, at the water to stop it burning. I watched her relive that terror episode night after night for about a week. Each one just as bad as the previous.
Word came from relatives as far away as Brisbane that the media were reporting an "anonymous couple were scorched and were currently honeymooning in Queensland" and made all the typical low brow jokes and implications. It made us cry if they only knew the truth.
After a few days our dressings were quickly filling with fluid. The adhesive film trapping it all so that a bubble started to form. Upon good advice from my mother in law, we went to see her GP to check on the burns. The doctor examined us and then asked Jane to leave the room. The doctor explained to me and my brother in law that the dressings were only meant to be used when drains were fitted and you were in hospital. They had to come off and quite quickly. The risk of infection was great and the doctor was quite concerned they'd been on for as long as they had. Explaining this to my wife was very hard. My father in law and brother in law and I tried to allay her fears but Jane knew what those words meant. The adhesive films were coming off.
The doctors surgery was a converted house with the waiting room at the front and consulting rooms towards the back of the house, Jane was laying on the examination table with my brother in law on one side and me the other. We are both of similar dimension exceeding 6' and 100Kg each. 2 strong young men. The doctor had us place the palm of our hand on Jane's shoulder and push down whilst she removed the adhesive from Jane's shins. The pain of looking at this happen was unbearable let alone being the one on the table. Jane sat bolt upright lifting both of us off the ground as the adhesive peeled not only good skin but scar tissue and burnt flesh up with it. The pain so great, her screams heard past the waiting rooms and out to the street. I feel very sorry for those people awaiting their check ups having to listen to something they had no idea was happening. I firmly believe even child birth didn't come close to that day. After the first one Jane was pleading and crying for us to stop but the doctor stressed the urgency. We literally held Jane down. I still feel that today 23 years later.
This is surprisingly hard to write. If you saw me now, you'd understand how hard.
Once Jane had her hospital applied dressings removed, the doctor used far more appropriate ones but the pain stayed and stayed. I had to have mine removed from my back as well. Mine was smaller and less serious than Jane's but still was as close to passing out through pain that I've ever experienced  Jane sustained that 3 times that day.
Burns take a long time to heal. We eventually moved into our house and so the marriage that started out in such drama and pain, quickly turned into comfort and security for us both.
The hotel offered us a fully paid holiday in sunny Queensland as compensation but seeing as we were not to be exposed to the sun for some years, we politely declined. We would determine how and when they would compensate us at a later date. The trouble is, no one can possible feel what we felt that day and the months and years later.