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the book so far....
the book so far....
I’m Trona, I was born October 23rd on the exact moment of the cusp1969, this is a significant factor my life, mathematically the width of a single point in time or space is zero, nothing, unmeasurable, for example if you have a square that measures 60cm across and you draw a dividing line each half is exactly 30cm, therefore the line is nothing, I am a loud thinker so thoughout I will throw in my thinking patterns. So using the example I just gave, I was born in the split second between Libra and Scorpio, therefore right from the beginning, the time before I could know anything, I was nothing. So back to its significance, well seventeen years and 5 months later, at midnight on Friday March 20th 1987, I died in a tragic accident on the cusp of Pisces and Aries, yes that exact moment and was reborn.
I didn’t realise straight away, how would I? Fifteen days later on April 4th 1987, I woke up, alone in a room, with no idea of what was going on, but clearly realising I was in the hospital, I’m in no pain due to the massive amount of Morphine being dripped into me, but with what looked like a very painful leg in a traction of some description that was pulling me towards the foot of the bed. I had a few minutes in silent thought, gathered myself building up to a drama queen type speech, and in mock 1950’s style, raised the back of my hand to my furrowed brow and clearly yelled, “where am I, what am I doing here, what’s happened”.
Maybe 1 minute passed before a young nurse walked into the room issuing instructions to other staff that Mr Hartley should be paged and to find my parents. The rush hour of strangers into my room parted and become silent when my mum entered, a way was parted and she was there, beside me in the silent room. At this point I was thinking that maybe I was horribly deformed, how would I know if I was, I hadn’t seen my face.
Raising my hand, it was in a splint and full of needles, to my face, I was shocked and afraid when all I could feel was a huge swollen form with what I assumed were stitches. Yes my face had gone, what was there instead? My eyes filled up and my tears were only from fear.
Mum was holding my hand, rubbing my fingers, her face the only thing that that was right about this picture.
Mr Hartley arrived within 5 minutes, Mr Mark Hartley was a tall dark handsome man, in his thirties I guess, very distinguished looking. A kind face with eyes that searched for your answers before he asked the questions. His gaze on my face like he knows me, recognises me, my own face, although struggling with expression, would have been one of waiting to be introduced to this figure who had just entered, who was clearly respected by the others. Was he going start at the beginning or the end? I hadn’t been told what had happened yet, I did want to know, but the dream like state I was in confused me, was this real, if I spoke up and asked that question would everybody tell me it was real, if they did would I believe them. If this was my imagination, more real than a dream but such tragic realism that it could only be a dream then my dream audience would agree it was real, wouldn’t they?.
“Welcome back, Trona”, Mr Hartley smiled and his watery blue eyes told me he had seen pain and could see pain in me. I wanted to tell him there was no pain, that I was perfectly comfortable, to reassure him…..I didn’t though. The other medical staff filtered out and left my Mum, Mr Harley and myself alone and silent. My Mums lips were white due to the pressure she was holding them together at, her face was a mask of sad/thankful, happy/distressed and helpless. He remained standing although there was a free chair, he went to the foot of the bed and scanned the chart there, it was the only time he took his eyes off me, would he hold onto the chart or would he become more personal? He asked “how do you feel”, as I already said, I was in a cloudy haze of feel good heaven, no pain, nothing.
“I’m ok, am I ok, will you tell me the truth?”
“you had a car accident, do you remember anything?”
“you broke your leg, you will be here for a few weeks”
“I have to be out for 4th April, me and my boyfriend are going away for the weekend, it’s all booked, will I be out by then?”
“you may not be able to go, I’m sorry, I will be back soon, we can talk more”
Pre 4th April 1987 my life had been as blessed as could be, at age six I wanted to be a ballerina, my Mum had supported the idea and I found myself at a weekly class with a leotard, pink ballet shoes and a little pink case with the picture of a prima ballerina on the front. I was a skinny tall and accident prone ballet dancer and by the time I was six and a half I wanted to be a brownie instead. Goodbye ballet shoes, hello brown owl….I was a shy child and the whole process, of the induction ceremony, to the brownies was enough for me to want to play badminton instead….I only played once and was so humiliated by the coach, in front of everyone, I never played again. Aged 8, I found ponies, I started riding lessons and never looked for a different hobby after that, this was my life. Within the first year of riding my parents bought me a pony, Rocky. Two years after that, we moved from a standard 3 bed detached to a huge 5 bed bungalow in the countryside with a 4 acre paddock and stabling at the side.
I was an OK student, the same as most, If I had tried harder I would have done a lot better, but I loved my life and having ponies to look after took priority over homework. I finally left school with a handful of O Levels and some CSE qualifications. After a conversation with my father about my life, I agreed to go to college to study business for this I could keep my Show Arab and continue showing, my dad would support me, he would buy me a car and give me an allowance, I was sixteen, I just wanted to show and breed horses.
My life was on a very straight track, I had no problems or worries, a truly blessed life.
My dad arrives 45 minutes later, he is oily, he has a performance wheel and tyre business, he and my brother work together.
“I want to tell you everything I know, I don’t know if that’s what you want though?” My mum has come round at last, she was waiting for my dad, they want to tell me.
“What happened to me?”
“Do you remember anything?”
I haven’t lost my mind, I know my parents, but I really don’t have any idea what the last thing I did was, I don’t remember anything at all
“No, what do you remember, remind me what I was doing that day?”
Mum sits up straighter, licks her lips and looks at me, “you had been on the telephone in the morning booking into a b& b for the 4th April, for this weekend, you have a b&b booked for tonight and tomorrow night near Alton Towers, you and Patrick, she spat Patrick “
I was confused, I knew I was going to be away that weekend, I didn’t think I remembered booking it, although that adds up, but what of the 4th April, that’s todays date, that’s two weeks, what does that mean, have I been here for two weeks, where is Patrick, why isn’t he here?
“How long have I been here?”
“you were bought in on 20th March, Friday night, no Saturday morning, around midnight anyway, 2 weeks ago, you had a car crash”
Mum goes quiet, she is still holding my fingers, I can see this, but not feel it, I can feel the pressure but not the touch. I feel too weak, lethargic and too lazy to make any movement that isn’t necessary, I just lay there feeling happily numb. She only looks at me, she is drawn to me only, magnetism, no-one else is there, I know in this moment she would give up her life for me, I understand how and must think of a way to acknowledge this. It’s me though, I have to do it, I didn’t think I’m was afraid of the unknown, now I know I’m not. I feel passive, what will be will be.
“you came into the garage and begged me to let you use the car, this one last night, you wanted to go out with your friends” my dad said slowly “you were driving, you had a head on collision with a lorry, you were on the wrong side of the road, you’re friends are all ok, a few bruises”
Surely I would remember if I were driving my friends along and crashed, how can they be sure I was driving, I don’t think I was driving so that’s ok then, “how can they be so sure I was driving?” and I’m sure this question was accompanied with that look of complete belief in myself as not the driver.
“We know you were the driver, you were in the driving seat” he then raises his hand and touches my fingers, brushing my mums fingers, I look from one to the other, mum then dad, they only have eye for me, I feel so loved, so complete. I still feel that I wasn’t driving, I was such a careful driver, could there a conspiracy, could one of my friends have been driving recklessly, drunk and stupidly crashed and because I was knocked unconscious they all plotted together and moved me into the driving seat because I didn’t do drugs or drink when I was driving. That’s it, it’s so clear, “I really don’t think I was driving, I would remember if I was driving, I don’t remember driving, I need proof” I gulp for air, my god I’m so weak, so light headed, I’m, spinning not a dizzy sicky spin a slow swirl, seeing everything so clearly, yet can see nothing.
I hear a far away voice a slow down version of my dad “we know you were driving the car because you were in the front driver seat when the paramedics arrived on the scene, your friends were outside of the car but you were still in the car, the reason you were in the car was that you were trapped, you were trapped so tightly that the car had to be cut up to get you out” he then sat back and folded his arms across his chest and I took this to mean he had finished, I had been awake for well, I don’t know, for ages I think, I’m knackered, the room is very quiet but if facial expressions had voices the room would have been humming, both my parents were trying to express themselves, but were struggling. I need to sleep, I feel so sleepy, I’ll just lean back, wow this is so comfortable.
It’s dark, darkisk, when I open my eyes, I’m in a strange room filled with a hazy green light and somewhere in my peripheral vision my minds eye me thinks really, the eye I can see with even when I’m asleep, so am I dreaming, no no no, I’m not dreaming I really see this, I am really in a hospital, it is later than before, it is very quiet even though I know that the nurses are awake and doing things, I am alone, I’m scared, why am alone? I feel that the situation is too surreal to cope alone, hold on, I’m not in the hospital room at all, I’m in the Chinese restaurant, the one with the tropical fish and the red lanterns, yes, I can see the chairs, the red light is from the lanterns, the bedside counter is the shop counter, they want my order, how long have I been standing here for?
“KING PRAWN CHOW MEIN AND CHIPS PLEASE WITH A CURRY SAUCE” I shouted, I knew I had shouted that last bit, I had actually shouted it. I feel kinda confused I know I’m in the hospital room, but I was sure I was in the Chinese take away, am I living parallel lives?
“are you ok love, are you feeling any pain? The nurse was talking to me, she heard me, she must have, another nurse, very comely, “are you ok sweetheart?”, I was now, I was no longer alone, I held on to one of the nurses and cried, I was scared, I didn’t understand what had happened, how could everything change so dramatically, I can’t handle it, I don’t want it to change, “is my mum here” I needed my mum.
My mum enters, she is sleepy, she is warm, “I was asleep in the waiting room, I was here all the time” she holds me, if a hold could have changed our places magically, like in that film “Big” and she could have magically become the broken one for me, well, that hug would have done it. “I feel more aware, I think I could understand better now, you can tell me, what did I do?” I do feel more aware, I think I need to hear it all again, to cross check my memory of the previous conversation with the facts again, because I’m more aware and I can’t decide if I made some of it up.
She has confirmed my worries, I had heard it all now, again, the same, so I was really here, I had indeed hurt myself, thank god no-one else was hurt badly, If I had been asleep for 2 weeks, was that a coma or a ventilator or life support, have I survived a real bad car crash, why am I feeling no pain, nothing?, I’m feeling nothing, I’m numb, my body, my mind. I am so tired, the nurse has just given me a little blue tablet in a little plastic beaker, she hovers with a glass of water, watches me swallow, smiles and leaves, my mum is talking about my brother and my dad and her voice is so familiar and safe, I am soothed off to sleep
My eyes are still closed, I’m pretending to be asleep, the sounds, I know where I am even though my eyes are still shut, I am more aware. They are discussing me, should they wake me, well I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want them to make me remember things, I don’t want to have hours ahead of me, remembering and seeing what has happened, I’m not ready to face it yet, I must will them to leave me alone, I squeeze my eyes a bit and chant in my thoughts, “do not wake me,”, would it work, I live in everlasting hope that I can influence people with my concentration. Enough time passes for me to think that maybe they will leave me and I settle into my one and only sleep position.
I am having an out of body experience, I am next to me on the bed, I can see me from angles that are impossible for you to see of yourself, my body looks awkward my left leg is very bandaged and raised up on a metal frame, the back support on the bed is at 45’ to the bed, my whole upper body is leaning on this support, I am sore on my coccyx, I can see why.
“wake up, breakfast” a gentle tug from a strong hand, wake, up, not wake up, wake up, “Hello, I am not hungry”, I am not even slightly hungry, have I eaten at all in 2 weeks?
I suppose I have been drip fed, this is quite exciting really.
“ok lovey, we’re just going to change the bed” at which point they begin to torture me, lifting me, wanting me one way, then the other, my body was screaming out, my leg felt heavy, my arms were like lead, my sense of balance was gone, I was going to be sick, the air was too thick with disinfectant the sad, oily smell of hospital breakfast going cold, the speed at which the nurses required me to move in order to beat the world record for speed making beds, “I’m going to be sick”, out of nowhere, with no fuss whatsoever, a blue kidney shaped bowl appeared right under my face, in exactly the right position to catch. I was feeling really tired now, I wanted to drink, when did I last drink, my eyes search for a glass of water, there is none, how long is it since I had a drink?
“Can I have a drink please”, this address to anyone that could hear me, I was not able to focus, I sip at the water they gave me, luke warm and not very fresh tasting but I was enjoying it so much, strictly sips or I might be sick I’m told.
I can’t even remember them being here now, it seems that only seconds have passed, but I am alone, with new sheets and a glass of water. I have no idea what the time is, I’m just scanning the walls for a clock. I’m beginning to feel quite sore at the base of my back. Where is that buzzer, the nurse showed me last night, where did she put it, ow, hurts to turn like that, oh no, I am feeling pain, I need painkillers, I’m not able to feel, not yet, please “NURSE NURSE” I know I’m panicking, I can’t get my breathe, I need someone here quickly, what is happening to me, am I choking to death, drowning, I know I’m going to die.
“I’m here, what is it honey” the nurse shocks me, I can breathe again, my chest hurts, my hand is trying to rub it, I can feel my face hurting, my back is sore and my leg is throbbing, like a toothache. “I need something for the pain, I can feel pain all over me” they give me 2 small white pills that I take, they will be working in 20 minutes, I can relax and wait, I can wait patiently I think. I wish I was tired, I could try and sleep, the pain is becoming very bad, the pain killers are not helping.
My doctor is called, he is very quick, his eyes care, he smiles to see me, I know he knows me better, but he is so familiar. He prescribes a pain killer and a doseage and is gone.
My mums voice in my dreams is the reason I open my eyes, I know I’m in the hospital, I know what happened and I feel a bit sore but no pain. My mum has noticed I’m awake, she smiles and whispers hello, I lie still, she looks at my face and begins to rub my fingers, my eyes are fully open and I make that eye contact with my mum. I take a sip of water, touch my face with the heel of my hand, it feels so different, my mum is so honest she told me that my face was swollen, and yes there were many stitches, but the swelling would go and the scars were really very small.
“I want to see, do you have a mirror?” I bet they won’t give me a mirror, I bet no-one will have one and they are going to keep this pretence up, I bet I’m horribly disfigured and I’ll be one of those poor souls on the TV, that after a tragedy has left them so hard to look at, get the chance to try and convince the world that they are just people after all.
“I don’t have one, I’ll bring one later, I have to go home anyway”
“what happened?, to my face?”
“the steering wheel hit you under the chin and then broke your nose, the window screen smashed, cutting you a little, I really don’t have a mirror in my bag, I bet you think this is a plan to stop you from being able to see yourself, is that what you think?”
I don’t know how she knew that. I will have to test this, I close my eyes, mouth I’m sleepy.
“the surgeon is here” my mums warm breath wakes me. I am no longer unaware, I now wake up in hospital every time I open my eyes.
“How are you feeling today Trona?”
Exactly how am I feeling, I feel like shit, my body is not my own, I have no control, what can I say that he doesn’t already know? He is checking my chart, he asks about drinking water and when I want to try and eat something.
“I want to get the catheter removed, get you drinking and eating” he is writing something on the chart, a nurse enters and he has a quiet conversation with her, she turns, looks at me, smile sympathetically and says she’ll be back.
Terror grips me, it was hard enough having the bed changed, they want to do more to me, I remain silent, I pretend to be brave. I smile and nod, she’s gone already.
“You need to have an operation, in fact you will need more than one”
He sat down and told me a story, it was about me. I had been rushed into the hospital over two weeks ago, he was supposed to be going home after some surgery he had performed, and had been caught up in the interest of a screaming teenager, a senior professor had taken my case and was debating amputation of my left leg, Mr Hartley had been asked to confer, his opinion was different and he had asked to be allowed to try and save the leg. I was taken into surgery for some emergency work. During the operation I had had breathing difficulties, my right lung had collapsed. This in itself was bad he told me, but then when they put me on a ventilator and investigated my breathing disorder they saw that my left rack of ribs, which were all broken had punctured my left lung. The emergency surgery was stopped and I went to the ICU, I was alive thanks to a life support system. I had been in a ward where every day the young and old passed away. Then 14 days later I woke up, my lungs had healed, I pulled out all the support tubes and exposed my naked and torn body to the ward, earning myself the page three model nickname. My mum had not left the hospital in all that time, she had apparently rubbed my hand for so long that she was afraid she’d rub me sore.
Why was a broken leg causing so much trouble? Surely they could stick me in a plaster cast, give me a pair of crutches?
I was awake, I don’t know how long I had been awake, I was alone and feeling peaceful. The young nurse, the one who was coming back, was here, she was going to remove the catheter, she came in wheeling a stainless steel trolley that housed all manner of shrink wrapped sterile paraphernalia, weighed down also, with a huge smile.
She is going to remove the catheter, be brave, be brave, I can’t be brave, I’m terrified, what if her smile was an evil smile, what if she was like one of those twisted nurses that tortures her patients and gets sexual gratification from it. What if she enjoys looking at womens genitalia, what if she touches me, normal procedure for her, but what if I think it’s inappropriate, how will I know, I’ve lost control, shit I can’t breathe
“are you ok? This will only take a few minutes, you may feel a little discomfort, are you ok?”
Why me, shit, why me, you’re a nurse, can’t you see I’m being suffercated, I can’t breathe, I can’t be looking normal, I’m sweating and struggling for breath
“ok now, big breath in, hold it, hold it, and slowly out, again, big breath in, hold it, and out”
It’s working, I can breathe again, how did she do that, so I have to be brave
“I’m scared, I’m sorry, I’m going to cry” the nurse moved in closer, put her arms around me, soothed me and wiped my eyes”
I wonder if my tears, my fear for the removal procedure had changed her mind, maybe she would leave it there and I could just keep using it, till it falls out? She is reading some of my get well cards, there is a whole stack. I haven’t read any of them myself, she laughs and nods towards the card, obviously funny, but she doesn’t share it with me. Who doe’s she think she is, they are my cards, I can’t stop anybody doing anything, I am out of control. She puts the card down, turns towards the stainless steel trolley, looks at me
“Come on, it’s a bit uncomfortable, but the sooner we start the sooner it’s over. I’ll be a gentle as possible and as quick as I can, I promise”
I accent, I lay back and close my eyes, she motions through the procedure, pushes my leg out of the way. Silent tears wash my face, I hate this total helplessness, this feels sore and hot, it’s pinching me and I’m so so sorry for myself. Something cools me down there, I open my eyes, it’s done, she swabs and makes small talk as she leaves the room.
I am coughing a lot more, I can’t swallow, the gunge from the back of my throat is bright green and red, I have to deposit in a jar at the side of my bed, two physiotherapist visit me every three hours, one rolls and holds me, the other hits my back so hard that my head bangs against the edge of the bed, it lasts about 10 minutes, then I cough up for a few minutes, they collect my sample and leave. I am feeling aware now, I know more, I have began to understand more, I have to have my dressing changed this morning, a nurse used this information to introduce herself to me, she didn’t tell me her name, I didn’t ask, she is just the nurse who will be changing my dressing, which dressing? I forgot to ask.
I am worrying myself into a panic, I don’t want to have anything else done to me that hurts, why can’t they just leave me alone. I seem to be crying all the time, tears that are hot and angry, I don’t want to cry but I can’t seem to help it. A sad programme on the TV, a card from someone I didn’t expect and the frustration of being here, is a hospital room that can only measure 4m square. Every cloud, however, does have a silver lining, my silver lining in list form is
1. I haven’t bitten my nails for nearly 3 weeks and they are beginning to look long
2. I haven’t smoked either (forced rather than willpower though), I can’t get out of bed and I can’t smoke in the room as there are oxygen tanks in the wall behind my head.
3. I must be losing a ton of weight, I haven’t eaten anything
The smell of lunch reaches my nostrils, I feel sick, please don’t bring any food into my room, I said this morning I didn’t want anything and that still applies, I don’t think I could even put food in my mouth.
Nothing arrives for me to eat, I’m feeling a bit left out because of this, how odd.
Mum arrives just in time to hold my hand for the dressing change. The nurse is washing her hands in a very theatrical way, she empties the contents of the medical packs on her trolley and stands by my bed brandishing a pair of scissors.
“We need to change the dressing on your leg, I’m going to cut the bandage, then soak the blood stained area, remove, clean and re bandage”
I am watching what she is doing, I can’t feel the scissors but I can feel the cold, the pain begins when she pulls the bandage a little to asses how stuck down it is, I wince, and cry out, I feel so dizzy, I want her to stop, she doesn’t, she starts to soak the bandage in saline, pulling at the stained dressing bit by bit.
I haven’t seen my leg, or much thought about what I might see, there is a lot of blood and it is so thickly padded that I couldn’t see anything at all. I’m really nervous now, but then, how bad can it be, it’s just a broken leg after all. It’s taking ages and the pain is becoming the most unbearable pain I have had to suffer so far.
“Getting close now, I think the worst is gone”
The smell is the first thing, then I sit up and look, on the lower front shin of my left leg there is a big open wound, it is bloody and swollen, with black and green slime, unidentifiable as a leg, my foot drops, I have no control over it, I can’t even move it on my own. I don’t speak, I look at my mum, she is holding my hand, “What happened?” I really hadn’t expected to see anything like this, this is proper wounded, I can’t imagine what did this.
“is this the first time you have seen it?”
“In the car accident you were staked to the floor, by the clutch pedal, it entered here” she is pointing to the front of the wound, “and it exited here” she points to the underside of my leg. I hadn’t even seen the gash on the other side, I can’t quite get my breath, the emotional turmoil is so huge, I can’t imagine what the pain must have been like, I am thankful I don’t remember.
The nurse begins to soak some gauze, she wipes away a little of the mess, I scream, I can’t stop, I feel like she is digging at it. She stops and tries more gently, but it’s no good now, I am not calm and I don’t want to hurt. She gestures a nurse who was walking by, they speak in hushed tones and then my nurse returns to me.
“we are going to make it less painful for you, my colleague has gone to get some gas and air”.
I am in no pain and have been given the life line of a magical gas that will stop the pain, I am calmer, I breath slowly and try to instruct my brain that I have to go through this, so I will not create anymore, I will be brave and stand it. I have no choice, I am at the mercy of the staff here.
A three foot gas cylinder is wheeled into the room, the outlet is attached to a nose and mouth mask. I am wearing the mask, and as instructed I am taking long slow breaths.
The feeling is of almost immediate light headedness, I am tingling all over, after a few more breaths I am having another out of body experience, I’m going to watch what they are doing very closely. I don’t feel anything but the weight of the swabbing. My lag looks in a really bad way, this isn’t just a broken leg, you don’t need to be a professional surgeon to see that.
Ten minutes later my mum and I are discussing the fantastic power of laughing gas. The cylinder has been left in the bathroom of my room, this doesn’t bode well, how often are they planning that I am going to need it.
Mum will be back later, she left about an hour ago, the tea trolley is on its way and I am deciding what to have to drink. A shadow covers the doorway of the room and assuming my drink choice is required I look up ready to order a cup of tea, only to be dumbstruck. The beautiful man standing in the doorway with a lovely arrangement of flowers and a bunch of flowers that look a bit sad is Tim.
Tim is a handsome 21 year old guy I have been seeing him on and off for about 18months. We have never been girlfriend boyfriend so to speak and I had frequently had dates with other men. One of the men I had been seeing quite a lot of was Patrick, the bloke that was in the car with me when I had the accident.
He walks in, passes me the sad looking bunch of flowers, tells me how he was used as a courier by the front desk to deliver the arrangement while he was here. Thoughtless receptionists, surely they could see how this would look.
“I heard on the radio, I’m sorry, how are you?” he was clearly uncomfortable, “I heard you were with your boyfriend in the accident”
What could I say, even though our relationship was never exclusive, I guess hearing I was with another guy, and the possibility of all his family and friends hearing was not how I would have told him.
He didn’t kiss me, he didn’t sit down, he just hovered. There was nothing to say.
“I’m getting married, I wanted to tell you, I had to come and see you to tell you”
What? You’re getting married, the fact I was going out with someone else forgotten, how could you do that to me, I could feel the bile of humiliation rising in the back of my throat, on top of all of this I’m being dumped by a man who has been having a relationship for long enough to be getting married.
He had come and gone all within the space of 10minutes, I would have sobbed I think, but compared to all the other stuff I was having to cope with, it seemed very minor. I wondered if I should just forget it happened, not tell anyone, mum would pity me, I didn’t need it.
I can’t imagine what he must have thought of me, I haven’t even seen myself yet. My roots must need doing and the pink and purple streaks need to be bleached out. A passing nurse just drops in to see if I’m OK, I strike while the iron is hot, “do you have a mirror please, I have something in my eye.
She comes back a few minutes later with a compact, a tiny mirror, but a mirror all the same, I make to look only at my eye, she makes her excuses and tells me she will call back in a while for the mirror. As her back disappears I begin to study my face……I can’t believe what I am seeing, no wonder I wasn’t given access to see myself before, I am bruised black and blue and green, I have too many minor cuts to count and two five inch long gashes, that have been sewn together by a five year old and my nose is squashed into my face, I don’t look anything like me and the shock is just too much to bear, I try to stay calm, I’m reaching for the buzzer, I need a nurse, I need to see a doctor.
I’m crying when my mum walks in, she is so concerned, I don’t like to say I tricked a nurse into giving me a mirror, I show her the mirror, saying nothing, mum knows straight away, she tries to consol me, telling me that the plastic surgeons couldn’t do anything before with my face as I had life threatening problems which had to be a priority.
Why is it that in the face of adversity, I can still be so vain?
3/17/2006 3:13 pm
Sophist52 here (call me Olly). Just read the book so far. A pleasant, interesting read. I take it that it's kind of autobiographical, though not necessarily to the extent that your name is Trona. But, I mean, it says something about what you're like, your character, your experiences as a child, adolescent, adult, how you get on with your parents. I've watched you on the webcam having a mad time and a laugh; your novel/blog gives some of the hinterland. More power to your wrist...I mean for typing, though maybe not only typing. Will look in again soon. I you wanna send me a message, I'd be glad to hear from you. Olly...
3/17/2006 3:15 pm
Stupid me...your not called Trona, it's Kat (Katrina? Katriona?). Keep on blogging.|
3/18/2006 4:37 am
Just read your book so far. It's an interesting read and I think you may be on to something. Having survived an MA in Creative Writing I do have a bit of experience with reading new work and trying to offer guidance and constructive crit although here is not the place to do it.
A couple of things you may want to think about tho. Who is your prospective audience for the work? If you're aiming to get the novel published this is a vital question. At present I was unsure what the genre was you were aiming at. Also I was unsure if writing in the first person was the best way, it's a notoriously difficult way to describe action. Have you thought about how it might work in the third person?
Anyway, if you want to hear more thoughts drop me a mail and I'd be happy to offer my opinion, FWIW.
3/18/2006 9:13 am
hey kat just read the rest ofwhat you've written. have enjoyed it so far, quite a bit actually. i look forward to reading more. cptaintripsd|
3/19/2006 6:13 am
As much as we all love you and your book.... if you keep pasting in on here, the other people will not buy it.....
ps I will buy your book even if they won't
3/21/2006 6:24 pm
self centered twaddle. did garry birtles write it?|
3/23/2006 12:51 pm
Very interesting tale/bio and I guess such an ordeal would would cause trauma within the mind and it sounds as if the pain is still present. However I guess the story still in progress so i would be curios to discover what lies a head will she hold on to the pain from the the past or grasp for tomorrow's pleasure.....?|
3/24/2006 3:08 pm
Nice one, you novelist you! I sent an encouraging comment before and I send another now: keep it up. It's a cracking good read!!!
Sophist52, aka Olly.