Baffled Ape

Once there was Social Security, now there’s the Tories and their DWP (Pt.1)

From the archive: Reposted due to the crippling impact now of mortgage interest rate payments, energy costs, inflation etc. I realised there must be many disabled people like myself with a similar, depressing and scary predicament. We ‘were’ just about managing … but not now

I thought I’d write about my experiences with the DWP since turning to them for some help in 2012. I will start with a letter I wrote to my GP and others some 13 or so months later in 2013 …

A letter to; My Doctor. My MP. The DWP. The Courts Tribunal Service.

Over a year ago, mid August 2012 after several months of ever increasing pain & reduced ability to work I eventually booked an appointment with my GP. This was the first time I had seen my GP since 2004. Being self-employed, I had soldiered on with my aches & pains for 13 years since spinal surgery in 2000. In fact 33 years since 1979 when I had a rather nasty Road Traffic Accident that started all my long term skeletal problems.

My GP was great and agreed to get me to specialists for advice on any possible treatment for my long term ankle and more urgently, back pain.

Meanwhile being self-employed with no sick pay and a young family, mortgage & all the associated bills thereof, I contacted the DWP. It seemed there was something called ESA. An advisor at the JobCentre told me via telephone that this would be an entitlement given my contributions to National Insurance, income tax etc since starting work at 16 in 1976.

Despite the GP prescribed pain killers, my back pain worsened, my income trickled down to zero during the next couple of months & inevitably, my customers looked elsewhere. I was awarded ESA, contributions based at £42 per week. Not very much but every little helped. I had by now contacted my bank, credit card issuers, loan companies, mortgage company etc to inform/warn of my financial predicament as one is advised to do in such circumstances.

In November I was seen by a specialist regarding my long term ankle pain as a result of my 1979 accident. Luckily I have an orthopaedic splint made for me in 2003 by the Conquest Hospital via the then orthopaedic specialist, which along with the painkillers helps alleviate the pain. This made the updated diagnosis of traumatic arthritis of the damaged ankle a lower priority than my agonising & incapacitating back pain. I was placed on a list for some targeted pain killing injections in my ankle. Not a long term solution I felt but I went along with the consent.

In December I wrote to my GP asking for progress on the referral for my back problem. At the same time I was asked to attend an ATOS Work Capability Assessment (WCA) in Hastings. This I painfully attended under threat of losing my £40 odd pounds per week award. I was puzzled at not being asked to remove my surgical splint for the medical exam but then they are the experts, aren’t they? In January 2013 a letter arrived from the DWP, as a result of the WCA exam I had been placed in the Work Related Activity Group (WRAG) and would need to attend a meeting with a ‘disability adviser’ at my local Job Centre. This I duly attended (again under threat of loss of payment) and struggled up to the first floor (no lift) in much pain & discomfort only to be told that I was obviously unfit for any work. As this all seemed very illogical and with no sign of any appointment with a back specialist I asked that the DWP decision be looked at again and subsequently appealed against the decision.

February 2013 I receive a letter from ‘VirginCare‘.(Note: NHS Logo) With an appointment date to see an ‘Extended Practitioner’.

This centre in Hastings I attend and am advised to have an MRI scan. This took place in Eastbourne later that same month. At the follow up feedback appointment back in the Hastings Virgin Care centre I was told that I need to be referred back to the NHS to see a surgeon for severe damage to discs & nerve damage.

By this time my business is now gone. My financial problems are much worse with CAB advising Bankruptcy as my only option. I have constant pain & discomfort. On a visit to my GP (to request the DWP demanding ‘sick note’) I discuss further pain relief & Neuropathic tablets to help with the constant sciatica & feet pain. My blood pressure is very high. I very reluctantly ask for help with moods having recognised a return of depression which I had been treated for in the late 1990’s. My GP is again very helpful and supportive in prescribing antidepressants & drugs for the blood pressure.

July 2013. An appointment with a spinal surgeon at the Conquest Hospital. X-rays & exam. I consent to a spinal probe to establish disc damage. Further fixation surgery is mentioned. I expressed to the surgeon my fear of more spinal surgery as the surgery I had in 2000 seemed to have caused the permanent sciatica (in my ‘good’ leg). We agree to discuss this again after the probe.

As I write it is September 2013. No sign of an appointment for the probe. My mental health is deteriorating. I fear any surgery, even the probe. The pain is manageable with the assortment of pain killers I now have providing I do not do very much. And I do not do very much these days. I have watched, read & listened to the media destroying the reputation & integrity of the NHS. And I wonder if I will ever volunteer for any kind of surgical procedure.

My business has collapsed. I am not fit for work according to the Job Centre. And despite the DWP saying I should be in the Work Related Activity Group, I have not had one invite for a consultation to discuss possible work options.

I conclude now that my stoic attitude to my pain is perhaps my undoing. In 1979 at age 18 I suffered major multiple open fractures to my right leg. Breaks to the knee, severed artery & muscle & badly dislocated ankle. This is like major surgery on the roadside without anaesthetic, fully conscious throughout. There followed months on traction, bone grafting surgery etc, etc. Only someone like myself who has experienced this could understand any of the above.

I say this because my attitude in life since has been to soldier on. There are folk much worse off. Keep working & because of that experience of pain, my 1 – 10 pain scale sees ’10’ as that on the road, bones, flesh, protruding. That level of pain.

But in August 2012 I tried to stop grinning and bearing it and ask for help. Both of the medical profession & the DWP.

My GP has been fantastic & possibly saved my life.

The DWP have been an incompetent nightmare and sole cause of my anxiety, stress and inevitable depression. The NHS specialists have been very good but I suspect they are frustrated by politics. And Virgin Care who have I bet presented their invoice!

I have tried to keep this brief. I cannot articulate face-to-face or via telephone my thoughts above unfortunately. I needed to get this off of my chest and out of my mind which is increasingly fragile.

Thank you for reading.

Mr Baffled Ape

The text in italics above is a copy of a letter i wrote to my GP, MP, DWP, Tribunal Service

So, my lovely GP called me on the telephone to see if I was OK and promised to chase up my Spinal Probe surgery. My GP also explained the directive doctors have now to refer people via Virgin Care who then when they see a difficult (non profit I suspect) case refer you back to the NHS. Before Virgin Care the GP would refer you directly to the specialist. Great work Cameron & Hunt!

I received a reply from my MP the Conservative Greg Barker, who said he’d passed it onto his colleague Mr Iain Duncan Smith. I was almost overjoyed with excitement at the prospect of such a letter ¡¡ (inverted exclamation = universal sign for sarcasm)

Meanwhile a 2nd ATOS Work Capability Assessment appointment arrived, despite many phone calls to the Newcastle DWP office explaining & reminding them of the pending appeal, I was told that I must attend or, you guessed, get sanctioned and lose my ESA award.

So, at this stage I was now 15 months on from asking the DWP for help. Despite paying income tax and having paid in the maximum contributions to National Insurance since starting work in 1976, I am having to fight every step to receive the ‘Social Security’ I am, according to the system entitled to!

End of Part 1

Part 2 coming soon. The Tribunal, more surgeons etc.

Published on

9/22/14 10:45 AM

Expecting The Unexpected – Musings on ‘Everyday’ PTSD …

What I wanted to talk about here is the stuff that’s present every single day of your life. It’s just there, lurking and then jabbing at your subconscious then invading your thoughts and sending that unexpected and most unwanted adrenaline rush. It’s just momentary, the thought itself lasting no more than a second, the raised heart rate and associated adrenaline buzz however lasting longer. There are days when this is simply exhausting, debilitating and I guess you’d say depressing. Some days overwhelming to a point where retreat to a safe dark room, and the perceived security of a duvet calls out.

I very rarely succumb to that literal security blanket, instead the mask goes up, the appearance of normality, though no doubt those nearest and dearest detect the ‘absence’ and strange distraction, vagueness or (to them) just plain strangeness I seem to be displaying. What should one do? Should one just announce boldly ” Look folks, I have this problem, stuff from the past hides around every corner, behind every door, at every road junction, as a possible consequence of every driving decision”, and it extends to loved ones, those I care about most, nightmare scenarios chattering in my head, ‘what if?’

PTSD is debilitating, exhausting, relentless, ever present, relationship harming, marriage destroying, barrier creating, socially isolating and just makes you ‘Appear Weird, Aloof’

Over 40 years of “Expecting The Unexpected”, ‘dreading’ the unexpected, ‘fearing’ the unexpected, always there, always present, like the chronic pain, the legacy of that ‘unexpected’ moment all those years ago.

Recently, my old friend or (enemy?!) diagnosed by various professionals as PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, has been niggling away at me. It happens, it has been happening for a very long time in my case, since 1979 in fact, but has only had an official ‘name’ (diagnosis) in the last few years.

A few years ago I put up my hand and admitted that I needed some kind of therapy, counselling, psychotherapy, talking therapy or whatever. I didn’t know what I needed but I acknowledged I needed something. I’d hit a low point, something was wrong, something I thought might be connected to grief, to losing my Father a couple of years before in 2016.

So, my GP referred me to therapy, I went through what seemed like a selection or filtering process of speaking to therapist after therapist asking different questions until I was placed with a psychotherapist, let’s call her ( ‘A’ ) and after a while, a whole can of worms was opened and each wriggling worm of dark and troubling thoughts from a lifetime led to an exploration of deep stuff that needed dealing with! After several weeks of therapy with (A), she said to me “I think you are suffering with PTSD”, she went on to say “PTSD is outside my field of expertise, but I’m sure you are showing symptoms, here at these sessions of PTSD”. She advised me to go back to my GP and ask for a PTSD assessment via a specialist in that field …

My initial response was “No Way!” You see, I’d heard of PTSD, who hasn’t? And there was no way I deserved that particular badge.

… My initial response was “No Way!” You see, I’d heard of PTSD, who hasn’t? And there was no way I deserved that particular badge. That’s how I saw it, to truly truly hold your hand up and declare “I have PTSD”, you must have earned it, gone through the ‘rite of passage” those veterans, firefighters, emergency service and rescue workers I’d heard about had. They deserved the PTSD Badge … I simply did not! But I learned it is not as clear cut and simple as that.

I wanted to talk about the relentless, ever present daily reminders, not so much the vivid ‘in detail’ nightmare flashbacks (though more later) but the constant, dripping tap like intrusions into every day, every hour sometimes, life. My own PTSD is all related to sudden surprise and shock. In my case it was a sudden, surprise extreme and catastrophically violent impact. And now, to this day, 40+ years later, daily, sometimes hourly, I experience the adrenalin rush associated with the imminent blow I am suddenly, without any warning expecting! This is normal to me. It is distracting, ever present, distressing, incredibly upsetting and absolutely exhausting. But here’s the catch, and I wonder how many readers here can relate, this constant fear, high alert state is endured in silence, in secret, in shame even, without saying a word, without telling a sole, a loved one, anyone … until those therapy sessions that is a few years back. And then it was (and remains) only discussed with a professional, a stranger and one-to-one during various sessions and treatments.

I’ve not had any therapy for a couple of years. To be honest I think I suffered from ‘Therapy Fatigue’ after what seemed like years of weekly sessions. I ended up seeing an EMDR (Eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing) Therapist. I was very sceptical, it seemed like Voodoo to me when first described, but I stuck with it and it seemed to do some good, it did help me to see and consider other perspectives. It was a strange but very revealing process and it helped me understand how I process other thoughts and experiences.

PTSD is not something you casually mention daily, like maybe some other niggling ailment. I experienced trauma at a relatively young age. Such an experience can ‘rewire’ the brain, and I believe it did for me.

In conclusion I’m now in my 60’s, I’ve always felt different, I really wish I didn’t for most of my life, but I am what I am, I am who I am. I’ve tried, I’ve researched, explored, reached out for professional help, and I’ve learned from that exploration. What seems insurmountable, and saddest to me, is my inability to maintain friendships and connections with individuals or groups of other people.

I don’t know if anyone will read this, or if anyone will relate? My hope is that it might help someone feel less alone.

Thank you for reading.

Zen and the Art of DIY Car Maintenance #03 …

There’s a stand out section for me in the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and it is the part where the author describes making, or proposing to make makeshift ‘shims’ for his friends John and Sylvia Sutherland’s new and exclusively dealer serviced BMW motorcycle. Pirsig tries to explain how shims made from a discarded Coca-Cola can would be perfectly adequate and functionally identical to those fitted by the BMW Dealer’s mechanics at exorbitant costs. John Sutherland could not see this or be convinced, so programmed was he that only the main dealer has the expertise, equipment and materials to carry out such a task.

“In the book, the narrator describes the “romantic” approach to life of his friend, John Sutherland, who chooses not to learn how to maintain his expensive new motorcycle. John simply hopes for the best with his bike, and when problems do occur he often becomes frustrated and is forced to rely on professional mechanics to repair it. In contrast, the “classical” narrator has an older motorcycle which he is usually able to diagnose and repair himself through the use of rational problem-solving skills.”

So, what has this got to do with the 3 old cars in my family you may ask? A short time ago I wrote about the dreaded ‘Engine Fault’ light, cheap DIY diagnostic tools and repairing the EGR Valve. In that post I discovered and pointed out a missing ‘gasket’, missing for several years it turns out, omitted by accident or through lack of care by a ‘reputable’ local garage of self proclaimed ‘Motor Engineers’. At the time, needing the car back on the road and concluding that one more week running minus the gasket while I source a replacement can’t do that much harm, I re-assembled, tested and had the car back on the road.

At the end of that previous post I even screen shot an image of the replacement gasket I’d found and ordered for what I considered quite a hefty price of £9.99! Anyway, gasket arrived but car was busy until this last Sunday when both car was available and weather favourable (yes I’m a wimp and have to work outside) for fitment, 1/2 hour, maybe one hour max? – Wrong! See below;

Gasket is the right material, thickness and most importantly – the centre hole diameter is correct. The problem is the pitch of the 2 outside holes which the clamping bolts pass through. In fact this gasket is correct for the other end of the connecting manifold, I ordered wrong, my bad!

I set about improvising a clamping arrangement to locate the gasket in the correct position so that I could use the clear bolt hole as a makeshift ‘jig’ and re-drill the clamping hole.

The gasket is in fact steel with some sort of sealing/fibre coating. Here it is after successfully re-drilling and re-positioning the first bolt clearance hole, 8.5mm diameter.

Using the first re-drilled hole I clamped the gasket to the manifold pipe so as to locate it correctly for the 2nd drilling operation …

… Using my trusty G-Clamp, a work mate bench, scrap wood and battery drill I proceeded to re-drill the 2nd bolt hole, again using the manifold pipe itself as a makeshift ‘jig’.

So here is the successfully modified gasket with bolt clearance holes now at the correct pitch. Not pretty but fully functional. I was hoping to be able to leave it in this form when re-fitting as the excess ‘ears’ would have been useful to hold the gasket in place while positioning the manifold and inserting the clamping bolts – but alas there was insufficient clearance so it was back to the tool shed for another modification …

… Out with the tin snips and OFF with those excess ‘ears’!

And here it is back in place, clamped, but most importantly ‘functional’.

When I was ‘on my tools’ in Heavy Engineering working as a Millwright, we used to say “the art of our trade was not when things went right, but how we overcame and resolved issues when things didn’t go right“. The little episode above reminded of that saying.

Please note: No Green ‘Recycling Wheelie Bins’ were harmed during the execution of this DIY Car Maintenance session 😉

Thank you for reading.

Mindful Domestic DIY #02 – Project Hedgehog House …

Making stuff to encourage wildlife and nature from scraps and surplus materials. Here’s something I knocked up back in the summer from bits and pieces that I didn’t know what else to do with, including that off-cut of roofing felt that’d been kicking around for years!

#Hedgehog, #HedgehogHouse, #Nature, #DIY, #MindfulDIY, #Mindfulness, #Wildlife,

Zen and the Art of DIY Car Maintenance #02 …

The dreaded ‘Engine Fault‘ light that tells you nothing apart from “Brace yourself for an automotive industry scam that could relieve you of a a huge wad of £CASH£, because the nondescript ‘Engine Fault’ light commands you to seek ‘Professional‘ advice ASAP!

Your friendly local garage will then charge you anything from £25 – £45 to ‘Plug in the special Computer‘ and diagnose the fault. You then find yourself at the mercy of ‘Mr mechanic’s interpretation of whatever highly technical data only he and his specialist diagnosis tools have been privy to!

The great Automotive Industry Scam – The Engine Fault Dashboard Warning Light!

Our family car is a 2007 Toyota Corolla Verso, Diesel 2.2 litre ‘D4D’, with over 100,000 miles on the clock. We’ve owned it since 2015, 48,000 miles and at around £5,500.00 purchased from a local dealer, the most expensive and youngest car we’ve ever bought!

I wrote in a previous post about the mindful, ‘Zen’ like qualities of DIY Car Maintenance – and certainly, this past year alone I have saved many £000’s by carrying out my own servicing, brake replacement and other fault finding and repairs. About 6 months or so ago, I saw and purchased the OBDII gadget below from ALDI’s on-line portal, I thought at the time, this is probably a waste of £15.99 but hey, it might just come in handy?

£15.99, ALDI and may have just paid for itself many times over

….So, the gadget above sat in my tool shed for a few months waiting for one of my families 3 old cars to present the dreaded ‘Engine Fault’ instrument cluster warning light! Then a few days ago in the Toyota Corolla mentioned above, while nearing the end of a 120 mile round trip – ON comes said warning light along with belches of black exhaust smoke and reduced engine performance … Oh SHIT!

Next day, in daylight, I plugged in the yet unused OBDII gadget, followed the instructions, and Error Code ‘P0400’ presented itself along with ‘P0400 P’ (See Below)

The cheap & cheerful gadget came with a booklet of error codes and their meanings. As you can see from below ‘P0400’ is an EGR Flow Malfunction.

Now, I knew a little about our friend the ‘EGR’ – ‘Exhaust Gas Recirculation’ valve, because, a few years back (and without a fault code reading gadget), I reluctantly dropped the car and illuminated ‘Engine Fault’ light at my local garage of ‘Motor Engineers’, set off back home and awaited their call with diagnosis and estimated cost to rectify/repair. Nerve wracking, when there’s no budget for unexpected car repairs! When that call came it was my introduction to the term ‘EGR’ and the options of repair open to me;

(i) Replace the EGR Valve £260.00 + labour (unspecified) or (ii) Remove and attempt to clean out the EGR Valve, about £150.00 labour & sundries.

So I went for option (ii), collected the car next day, thanked Mr mechanic for saving me over £100.00 blah, blah … no more warning light and the car seemed to be running fine. Result, of sorts, Hmmm.

This time however I had my own diagnosis and error code. Half an hour’s ‘Googling’ and an excellent amateur YouTube video later, I was ready to once again practice ‘Zen and the Art of DIY Car Maintenance’, documented below in the form of iPhone photographs taken during the exercise …

This is the ‘EGR Valve Assembly’ with solenoid on the right.

The only tools required are a 12mm socket & extension plus screwdriver & rag/kitchen towel (see later) 1st step is remove the ‘L’ shaped pipe that connects the valve to the engine block.

The 2 bolts here are the trickiest to get to, obviously care is needed not to drop the bolts as they are removed. Also take care not to loose the gasket (What Gasket?!?) as the 2nd of the 2 bolts is removed.

About now is a good time to unplug the multi terminal electrical plug/connector from the solenoid part of the EGR Valve.

NO GASKET! – And evidence of gas escape everywhere but adjacent to the bolts. So much for ‘professional’ mechanics eh? As mentioned earlier, I have previously paid a garage who claim to be ‘Motor Engineers’ to do this work … Sigh.

View down into the black clogged port that is the top of the EGR Valve. Remove the two remaining bolts above and …

… Lift the whole unit up off the 2 studs that remain. A little fiddly but not at all difficult.

Here is the view into the choked underside of the EGR valve – there should be 3 ports visible (see below)

… The 3 ports now visible and clear after copious amounts of Carb Cleaner, poking with screwdriver and soaking/removal using kitchen towel (I have that blue workshop equivalent)

Maybe not absolutely necessary but I wanted to remove the solenoid so that I could check the actual moving parts of the valve. The solenoid is held on with 3 Cap Head Allen screws 5 or 6mm (Sorry I didn’t check size) – I improvised a clamp using a G-Clamp and protective wood sheet scraps to hold the valve body securely while unscrewing the allen screws. (Note: Good idea to mark the mating parts for re-assembly) – You can just see the 2 scribed lines I made in the aluminium with a screwdriver.

Once loosened the 3 screws can be removed without the restriction of the clamping arrangement.

Here is the EGR valve body with the solenoid removed. The movement of the valve (Bottom protruding plunger/spring) and the solenoid (Top protruding rod) can be checked by hand. In this case both were moving freely and full stroke after cleaning out the muck.

Re-assembly is reverse of disassembly, here is the EGR Valve assembly replaced in the engine bay with the now clean port and clean operating rod visible.

All back in place and bolted securely, electrical multi connector refitted.

Moment of truth! – Engine restart, and NO Engine Fault light! Phew!

I was going to say here that ‘Cost Of Repair’ = £0.00, however I guess I have to factor in 1/2 can of Carb Cleaner + £9.99 for a replacement gasket the ‘Professionals’ left out! But still …

£Priceless sense of achievement, reward and Mindful Wellbeing.

Update 09/11/2021: That gasket above was great BUT the wrong one, my mistake – See how I applied a little ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance‘ to a solution Here 🙂

Thank you for reading.

Tibia Nonunion – Closure (or not) of sorts …

Have you ever doubted a memory? Have you, many years later come to the conclusion that you must have been mistaken, surely that didn’t happen. But then you stumble upon something, (and I’ll tell you at the end of this post) that confirms that old memory – and in this case it has made it even more shocking for me!

Back in August 1979, I made a real mess of my right leg. 3 months later, after 6 weeks or so in hospital, bed ridden on ‘bone traction‘ and the dreaded ‘Braun Frame‘ … then home with a full plaster ‘big toe to bollocks‘ as it was known and weighing in at 14lbs! I couldn’t walk without crutches as the plaster (and my shattered leg) was deemed ‘non load bearing’, indeed the occasional experiment (or slip of a crutch) resulting in ‘load bearing’ was a very unpleasant and painful experience!

So, here I was in late November that same year, at the orthopaedic out patients department, dropped off by a good samaritan, long time friend of the family called Alf Challis. I limped my way on those two old style full length wooden ‘armpit’ crutches to the plaster room where that evil one stone dead weight, hard as your house walls, heavy cocoon was split by an electric reciprocating saw blade that was not at all pleasant as it buzzed its way passed the many scars underneath. Into a wheelchair with injured leg resting on outstretched supporting board and onto the x-ray department, then back to the waiting room to await the call from Mr Ahmed, the orthopaedic surgeon into who’s care I had been placed some 3 months earlier.

Now, here I was, just 19 years old, 3 months of hospitalisation and unable to walk, work, do anything much fun. Eager to move on, put this thing behind me etc, etc. I’d watched the progress of many others like me who I’d met on the ward while I was there. I’d seen how these things progress – Full length non load bearing plaster to ‘below the knee’ and load bearing, get that knee joint moving again, actually start to walk again, albeit with a plaster cast but hey, actually walking again. I’d dreamt of not having that solid mass constricting my leg at nighttime when simply rolling over in your sleep resulted in a harsh and painful awakening as the plaster crushed my good leg or worse – my balls!

So, I was expecting good positive news, then in I went to Mr Ahmed’s consulting room. Mr Ahmed was not known for his pleasant bedside manner. He hardly spoke, and when he did it was in a thick accent. He in no way invited questions. As I was wheeled in there he was standing, facing away from me, staring at the x-rays clipped onto one of those old school ‘light box’ units fixed to the wall. He turned to look at my outstretched leg, looked back at the x-rays then walked over to me. He placed his left hand just under my knee and gripped the top of my shin bone (Tibia) above where the fractures were, he looked at the x-rays, shook his head, looked at my leg, placed his right hand below the fracture sites, looked again at the x-ray as if to get co-ordinates and locate what he was looking for. He then tightened his grip with both hands and proceeded to twist in opposite directions and my leg snapped! I nearly went through the ceiling!

“It is no good … It is not healing” he said, “you will have bone grafting … I will take bone from your hip and if in 3 months time it’s the same I will take bone from the other hip, then if no healing after 3 months, a rib”. He was talking about a timeline consisting of 3 month increments, no end point just a 3 monthly cycle punctuated by surgery.

So, there I was alone in that room with Mr Ahmed, in shock from the pain, but more so from the devastating news that I was back at square one! Back in the day we didn’t question or challenge these people, they were ‘surgeons’, pretty much god like, the attending staff nurses on the ward rounds would look at you sternly with a ‘speak when you are spoken to’, silent, compliant respect had to be shown. I said nothing. But I was devastated, and I felt sick at the prospect of Bone Grafting because I had witnessed the post operative and 2 week hospital stay recovery during my first spell in hospital.

A guy arrived called Keith, he was on crutches, non load bearing, he was put in the bed next to me and explained how he’d broken his leg some time before and it wasn’t healing. He was to have surgery, a bone graft the following day. Keith was a Fireman, early 20’s. A really nice bloke, down to earth and obviously tough as nails, no wimp, no soft touch, not afraid of pain (and believe me we met some men that were total babies in that ward) … Part of my shock and fear in that consulting room with Mr Ahmed, was the flashback playing in my head of Keith a couple of months earlier, Keith was also under the care of Mr Ahmed, and Keith really suffered post operatively, and I remember the nursing staff comforting him and explaining just how painful bone grafting was. Keith took it like a man, he was indeed tough, but we could all see how he was suffering … Would I be able to take it?

… I started this post asking if memories can be wrong, imagined? The account above is from way back at the end of 1979! To be honest, I have doubted myself so much over the whole “He broke my leg again” account I’ve told (some) not many people over the years, but then;

Just a week or so ago at the time of writing (August 2021) some 42 years later, I was watching a YouTube video posted by ‘Talking With Docs‘ … they were talking about Tiger Woods injuries and I was interested to hear that his fractured Tibia was not unlike my own injury back in 1979. Then they used the term ‘Nonunion’ to describe the ‘not healing’ comment Mr Ahmed had used as a laymen’s term for me back then. I’d never heard that term and went ‘Googling’ … There’s an image below illustrating a ‘Test’ for ‘Tibia Nonunion’ … low an behold, there in that illustration is precisely what old Mr Ahmed did to my leg that day, without warning, no numbing, no pain relief, no apology!

… Why did I find it so shocking? Because it confirmed my recollection was correct. I’d rather hoped and decided internally long ago that I was mistaken.

But no!

This ‘Bone / Skeletal’ traction confines you to your hospital bed – in my case for 6 weeks!

The Braun Frame for 6 weeks bed bound, and with Bone/Skeletal traction pin through the ankle in my case.

And here in the image below, top left is the illustration Google presented me when searching ‘Tibia Nonunion’ … and what prompted me to compose this post as some form of ‘closure’ on my own experience of ‘Nonunion’ which is ironically failure of bones to ‘close’ !

Top left the ‘Shocking Twist’ in my own story!

I may talk more of my experience of ‘Bone Grafting’, I may not. I’d like to talk more about how the 19 year old me was affected psychologically at that time, I think in many ways that is more important. For instance – I was given no explanation as to why my bones had failed to heal, and I felt like a failure myself. I had taken the calcium pills, the iron pills (as i’d been diagnosed as ‘anaemic’ due to the massive blood loss) and I’d stuck to the ‘no load bearing’ so as not to disturb those re-knitting bone pieces. So here was another revelation and explanation after 42 years, in the YouTube video, the doctors spoke about soft tissue damage and compromised blood supply hindering the bone healing process, and I had suffered both, including a severed artery. At 19, I had chastised myself for not healing faster, I’d seen others back walking 6 months before me. I was very hard on myself and have been ever since, but thanks to the Talking With Docs video I’ve finally learned that something else wasn’t really my fault, and that is ‘closure’ of sorts.

Thank you for reading 🙂

Bone Graft Harvesting – For the non squeamish;

Make the most of those School Runs, you will miss them one day …

Another one from the archives – and I do miss those early years school runs.

Smart phones and Disconnected Parenting:

I see it everywhere, in the cinema, in the restaurant, in the play park, at school sports days, at the zoo etc. All places where for years, generations even, parents & children have spent time together. I see fathers at the Saturday morning cinema with their young children, get seated & comfortable then out comes dad’s phone, many phones can be seen glowing from the rows behind, kids ignored while misbehaving noisily while waiting for the film to begin. The big cinema screen request to ‘turn off your phones’ has been translated to ‘set it to silent’! No talking to the children, no interaction just staring at the annoyingly glowing device.

But by far the worst is on the school run. Would you not agree that Simple Pleasures are just The Best aren’t they? Like the sight of 30 or so, 4/5/6 year old children exiting from their classroom at the end of the school day in an orderly fashion, uniforms all dishevelled, one sock up the other down, coats half done up, proudly clutching their latest art work creation, then spotting their Mum or Dad and hopping, skipping, with beaming, often toothless grins up to meet them. But how sad when Mum or Dad misses this moment, just seconds long but an eternal memory, because they are staring at their phone at that moment! I see it daily, such a shame. Enjoy and cherish those Happy, innocent, beautiful young minds and for goodness sake Interact, just for a few seconds 🙂

How does that meme go? “Get off FaceBook Mum and Feed Me!”

Originally Published on

9/6/14 12:43 PM

Mindful Domestic DIY #01

Boiler Filter Service …

“How much?” … “about £100 + ‘Special Additive & Treatment £25-30’! What! … That was something like how the telephone conversation went. How hard can it be I thought?

A quick ‘Google’ and (see link at the end) I was in ‘DIY Mode’;

A couple of years ago we had a new boiler fitted and specified (as advised by the plumbing firm) a ‘System Filter’ which will increase the warranty on the boiler to 10 years! But of course that requires an ‘annual service’ … of course

Following the boiler manufacturers own instruction video I proceeded …

Blimey! Yes, it really does work and was very clogged with magnetic debris! (Black Sludge)

I poked a finger into the sludge to try and indicate the depth …

… And re-fitted, bled & checked for leaks

Here’s the ‘Protector Fluid and filter treatment (£17.49)

Total cost materials £17.49 Labour £0.00 Mindful value, sense of achievement and job satisfaction = £Priceless

Zen and the art of DIY Car Maintenance …

Keep your old car running, especially if it is fuel efficient — It’s the Green Option

Source: Is keeping my old car greener than buying a new EV?

In my family we have 3 old cars. The newest is a 2007 model with over 100,000 miles, and after its recent DIY service returned 66.1 MPG on a long run;

66.1 MPG from a 2007 2.3Litre Diesel with (now) 100K Miles on the ODO – Not Bad!

… the other 2 are 2003 models with 125,000 and 100,000 miles on their clocks respectively;

60.8 MPG, 2003 Toyota Yaris, 998cc Petrol over 100,000 miles on the clock and DIY serviced.

There is something very satisfying, rewarding (financially too) and I find ‘mindful’ about maintaining and repairing your own vehicle(s). I realise it is not for everyone, and care must be taken to do work properly and safely. I guess I’m fortunate to have a Mechanical Engineering background, I served a 6 year craft apprenticeship and worked with my hands ‘on the tools’ for many years. I was then promoted to a desk/computer and found myself organising the work for others to do.

Now, in my 60’s I have dug out the old tools, bought a couple of new ones, and primarily to save money on extortionate mechanics (with dubious skill levels and ability) labour fees, but then discovering the mindful benefits of ‘doing a good job yourself’, getting stuck in … I discovered an almost meditative experience, losing myself in the task at hand, rediscovering and re-applying those old skills and enjoying the benefits of wellbeing possibly more than the substantial financial savings.

Here are a few images taken while practicing ‘Zen and the art of DIY Car Maintenance‘.

Removed, pistons freed off, cleaned and re-assembled – Cost £0.00 just some mindful effort

A seized rear brake (slave) cylinder on my Daughters car.

The pictures below are of my DIY annual service of our family car. Engine Oil, Oil Filter, Fuel Filter and Air Filter;

… There it is, disconnect a few pipes and electrics and …

… the fuel filter housing is out, now to strip it down

… drain the remaining fuel, in this case diesel …

Inside the old filter fitted for less than a year

… And of course while I was there I replaced the Air Filter, again slightly less than one year old!

Cost of parts £26.04 (Local Garage Quoted £140.00) Mindful value, sense of achievement and job satisfaction = £Priceless 🙂

Same car as above, Toyota Corolla Verso 2.3 Diesel, inspecting and replacing rear brake pads;

Caliper swung clear, g-clamp used to push piston back ready for new thicker pads …

Old pad (left) against new pad showing ‘tell tale’ wear indicator spring strip

calliper/pads sliding surfaces thoroughly cleaned and lightly coated with ‘copper slip’ compound, new pads installed.

Same car front brake pad replacement;

Car jacked, wheel off and steering turned full lock for easier access to calliper …

Calliper swung clear and trusty g-clamp used to push piston back …

Both new pads installed in cleaned and ‘copper slipped’ guides

My Daughter’s 2003 Toyota Yaris with over 125,000 miles on the clock developed an idle problem. It would hunt and stall at tickover, in traffic, at traffic lights etc. Perfectly fine starting and driving, but at idle something wasn’t right.

So I ‘Googled’ and searched YouTube and it seemed (as it often does) that this is a common problem that many makes and models of petrol engine cars of a certain age suffer from. And the culprit is the ‘Idle Control Valve’ located in the ‘Throttle Body’ … so I went in search and found the little devil;

Above is the engine with the Airbox removed, the airbox connects to the Throttle Body which is that circular opening you can see near the top centre of the picture …

Close up of the Throttle Body with the butterfly valve (operated by the throttle cable) closed …

There are several electrical plugs to unplug, also 2 rubber pipes that run coolant to the throttle body which may leak a little coolant so be prepared …

The Idle Control Valve is held on with 4 screws …

… Here it is removed and I’d have liked to have removed the Idle valve itself but it is held on with these tamper proof ‘5 point star’ type screws which I do not have a tool for … oh well …

… The valve itself is a cylindrical shape with a cut out and is turned by a servo motor controlled by the ECU. As I suspected, it was filthy and clogged with oil and gunge! A good spray with Carb Cleaner, an old toothbrush and some patience and persistence had it a lot cleaner!

More Carb Cleaner, cloth and toothbrush action had the Throttle Body itself nice and clean, ready for re-fitting.

Re-assembly was just the reverse of the disassembly seen above. With all pipework and electrical plugs replaced, coolant level checked, it was time to start the engine — Yay! Success! The idle is good, no more hunting or stalling 🙂

Cost of parts £6.05 (for can of Carb Cleaner) £0.00 for Labour, £Priceless sense of achievement, reward and Mindful Wellbeing

RIP Dad – A Truly Great Father …

May 26th 2016 marks the sad day my father passed away. Between that day and the day of his funeral a few weeks later I sat and wrote down my thoughts about my Dad. The things I wrote down were the same things I said to him when I sat with him, holding his hand the evening that I last saw him alive.

For his funeral I needed to speak about what he meant to me. I’d never done anything like that. It was out of my comfort zone, but I felt I had to speak for him. It wasn’t that I wanted to speak, it was a duty I felt I had to perform, as a father myself, honouring a truly great father.

So, here is the tribute I wrote for my Dad in June 2016. And as a further tribute to my Dad and to mark the date of his passing I have decided to publish that tribute here, exactly how it was written and nervously delivered then by me at his funeral …

As a father myself, I felt it My Duty as Dad’s son to say a few words about … “The measure of the Man who was my Dad” … and to celebrate all of our good fortune, to have shared our lives with a man who was a ‘Truly Great Father’ ….

So, I will start, way back before I was born, Dad joined a very special ‘Father’s club” … one in a hundred fathers are members of that exclusive club and it is indeed special, for it proves beyond doubt a man’s chosen commitment to the role of Father, and a little boy in need of a father gained one of the best,

…. That was the measure of the man who was my Dad.

My earliest memories of dad are him supporting me in my obsession with all things technical. As a little boy, as far back as I can remember, dad would bring me home all sorts of paraphernalia to explore and experiment with. These were the days long before ‘hobby electronics kits’. Dad would present me with anything he thought I would be interested in taking apart to see how it worked, he was encouraging my creativity to the full. That was being a good father and …

… That was a measure of the man who was my Dad

As a teenager, my obsession with all things Mechanical turned to cars. Dad loved his cars and loved tinkering with them. I would be there with him at weekends, watching, learning and helping out practically, learning skills I still use to this day…

Dad taught me to drive at age 12, taking the car to the Ford factory’s enormous empty car park by the Thames to practice, that gave me status and earned me respect amongst my peers, ……. and for that he was my hero…….. That also showed the rebel in him, it may not have been strictly legal, but if he wanted to teach his sons to drive, no one was going to stop him, and I loved him for it …

…That was the measure of the man who was my Dad.

I Have NEVER heard my dad use bad language, never seen him drunk … But I did see him regularly coming home late from one job, eat a tepid, saucepan reheated dinner, (no microwaves in those days) then off out to a second job, I’d be asleep long before he came home from the second job and he’d be up and out again long before I awoke the next day. Selflessly providing for his family, year after year …

… That was the measure of the man who was my Dad.

Dad was a great craftsman. He encouraged me to serve an indentured trade apprenticeship, , … and when that five year apprenticeship required me to have transport, dad suggested and passed on his skills, love and knowledge of motorcycles to help me with my first motorbike, …. And when that bike broke down, miles from home, it was Dad who came to my rescue, got me home & got the bike running again for my next days work,

Five years later My very official looking ‘wax sealed’ Tradesman’s Indentures certificate was signed by my Dad, …… seeing his handwriting there whenever I come across that document, will fill me with pride for as long as I live …

…That was the measure of the man who was my Dad.

In my 20’s, and first house, Dad spent hours and hours, making and fitting new Windows … I was ok with the wires and pipes but useless with wood and brickwork, without dad I could never have got that and subsequent houses into shape. Dad was a true ‘grafter’ I remember, he put me to shame when I was in my mid 30’s, helping me to install a velux window in a loft conversion with his strength, stamina and ‘can do’ attitude tackling that job, …. despite him being around 70 years old at the time …

… That was the measure of the man who was my Dad.

As I became a father, dad became a grandad and he turned his craftsmanship to spending hour upon hour in his workshop crafting unique and priceless toys, models, dolls house’s and beautifully turned and inlayed hardwood furniture and jewelry boxes for his grandchildren, so much time spent, so much effort and skill invested into those unique personal gifts, which will outlive all of us here today and hopefully be passed down to Dad’s descendants for generations to come.

I’ve heard the saying that LOVE is spelt T. I. M. E. ……., Dad gave so much time, helping, advising making & fixing things for his sons and grandchildren, so if you ask yourself how much did Dad or Grandad love us? Just look back at how much of his TIME he gave to us all …

***** And, talking of love, Dad was a loyal and dedicated Husband to my Mum, together for more than 70 Years, and recently, the only photographs found in his wallet were of Mum, which he carried with him right up until the end.

… That was the measure of the man who was my Dad

Ironically, I saw this quote just recently, it reads …

… “I don’t think there is anything that can prepare you to lose a parent. It is a larger blow in adulthood, because you are at the point where you are actually friends with your parents. Their wisdom has finally sunk in and you know that all of the [stuff] you rolled your eyes at as a teenager really was done out of love and probably saved your life once or twice.”

… What was My Dad’s greatest achievement? Right up until the end, despite (as we have just recently learnt) being under attack from the most horrendous cancer throughout his body, … Dad spared his loved ones, the burden and worry, instead, until just a few weeks ago, fighting literally until he could no longer stand!

So, I’ll end by asking that question as a father myself, ‘what is a good father?’

My Dad. That IS a GREAT Father. If I only do half as a good a job, I will be happy.

………………………..Thank you Dad