Blue Notes … and Some Not So Blue

7 January, 2025

2025 is a week old and it began with a challenge. A monitor that wouldn’t turn on (fixed with a new one, but now I wonder if the old one really is kaput, or was it the cable? Did I buy a new screen I didn’t need? Okay, so I end up with a spare monitor) … then, Dave gave Mike and me a major scare ― possibly himself too, and if so, it’s a Good Thing.

Everything that’s been done to combat the MND has worked so brilliantly, I’d have been prepared to state, categorically, he was in remission. (Did a purple flag just run up? Did you spot the word “was” there?) In fact, thanks to a lectin-free paleo diet, micro-nutrition, super-high protein, Kriya, Qigong, Kundalini, acupuncture, meditation … he was so good, I believe he became somewhat blasé about his health.

Me? No, I didn’t get complacent. I never will, but Dave ― yeah. He started taking it for granted. Being Dave, he had to go out and push his luck. (Anna, you knoooow whence I speak…) Long story short: on December 28, he rode up Old Willunga Hill with a huge group of mates ― a triumph! Not only did his body do it, but it didn’t protest loudly enough for him to hear it. No problem; huge fun. What an achievement!

But, but, but … the weather turned hot, and he couldn’t resist going out again, in a hundred degrees. The athletic high, the endorphin rush, is wonderful. Up to a point. Past that point, it has the potential to mask what your body is desperately trying to tell you. If you’re fully healthy, you can (probably) afford to ignore it and ride through. But I’ve no doubt Dave’s body was signalling frantically that it wanted to quit. That “pushing through” would do damage. Endorphins thoroughly masked the warning signs. He rode through when he shouldn’t have. Here’s the rub: overexertion over-excites motor neurons, and those little fellas can perish by the bushel. Huh.

Then came the downturn. He also hadn’t had acupuncture in two weeks. (A specialist is entitled to take a summer holiday too.) The hundred-degree ride was Saturday, and on Sunday, Dave scared the willies out of me.

What does it look like when remission ends? Do you get a second chance to stop the rot, patch over the damage, recover lost ground? All good questions, as yet unanswered.

Sunday was bad. Monday was about 15 hours of sleep, deliberate eating, copious micro-nutrition ― and acupuncture. Dr Lum is a magician. Every day, I thank my stars a lady down our street recommended him nine years ago for my own colossal migraines. Chinese doctors don’t advertise: patients find them through recommendation. Laser acupuncture had relieved the lady’s rheumatoid arthritis, and with Dr Lum’s magic, my migraines reduced from life-altering to “just” a nuisance I can live with.

Under his talented hands, Dave begins to recover at once. Tuesday, after a ton more micro-nutrition, Kriya, Qigong at al ― I see signs of recovery. Perhaps his remission isn’t shot to bits after all. As he says, paraphrasing George of the Jungle, “Dave just lucky.”

Bloody damned lucky, if you ask me. A dozen others would’ve played fast and loose with their remission, and blown it to smithereens. (Conventional wisdom is, “Use it or lose it.” With an MND remission, that should read, “Abuse and you will lose it!”) I think, hope, Dave has dodged this particular bullet. There’s excellent reason to.

MND research is about to take off like a SpaceX rocket. We just learned that a wealthy and comparatively young hedge fund manager has been diagnosed with this rotten, lousy disorder. He has opened the cash taps from his personal fortune because he wants his own cure. MND research is traditionally underfunded and consequently a decade behind where it ought to be. Now, pour the cash on with a fire hose … oh, yes.

 Today, Dave is down at Noarlunga, getting “a fitting” for his ebike ― 

― the device that’ll prevent any replay of what just happened. No more endorphin-masked overexertion piled onto a body with MND that does―not―work like the ordinary body. Or ―

This is the theory. The next piece in the micro-nutrition puzzle is royal jelly (thanks, Liam, for jogging my memory. I’d utterly forgotten this one), and it’s due to arrive tomorrow, I believe. Activated methyl cobalamin, taurine, arginine, choline, inosine, N-acetyl L-cysteine, Alpha-GPC, nicotinamide riboside, magnesium-BHB, ascorbic acid, Mucuna, Brahmi, royal jelly, and much, much more … it’s quite the witch’s brew. Powerful stuff, all under test in labs from Japan to Scotland, via India and Australia.

So, we soldier on. I think Dave may have dodged the bullet ― and that hedge fund manager wants his cure. So … optimism! Good thoughts make good molecules, right? Right. Here I am being optimistic as we launch into 2025. Working on my own health and peace of mind at the same time. Hey, I’ve become a meditator! I’ve come to swear by it and look forward to it. So ― 2025, here we come.

Take a deep breath. No, I said a deep breath! And again. And be calm, be peaceful, be positive. Let optimism be your watchword and let the New Year's resolution be to seek, and find, grace in all things. So ... caaaaaaalm. Yes? Like this:

Crash. Seriously. CRASH.

It was going to be a marvellous day. With a total fire ban announced for Mount Bold, Dave changed plans and took his brand new mountain bike, "Groo the Wanderer" to Sellicks Hills, to play off-road as he's wanted to for ages. And the day did start out wonderfully --

Everything was great ... the weather, the bike, Dave's riding legs; not a problem in sight. But, as so often happens, there's a small element called luck. And when luck decides to run against you, there's no way to predict what will happen; certainly no way to prepare for it. If you could, you would, but the inevitable is highly likely to jump up and bite you, when you're not looking.

This, at left, is almost the last photo Dave took before it happened. Not just a crash, but a crash of epic proportions (he never does anything by halves), at 48kph, halfway down a two kilometre mountain road. There's no clue as to what caused the crash ... everything was fine ... but the next moment he's flat on the rocks, and the damage is dire.

Fortunately, he didn't break his phone; and it's one of those shockproof, waterproof jobs that could take an impact and still work. He was riding alone (thank you, Covid!), so the first thing you do is post to Facebook and see if anyone is "on," and can they help. Luck was still on Dave's side, because loads of people were on, and he could indeed make contact with a riding friend Tony, who was able to pick him up at the gate at the top of the hill ...

Now comes the amazing part. He managed to get up on his feet and climb up a kilometre, at 10% gradient, in order to meet Tony at the top. That's a major enough achievement, when you've just come off a bike, but it became more and more astonishing as hours went by, and the Emergency Department at Noarlunga scanned him, and began to reveal the injuries.

Eight broken ribs, two of which are broken in several places each. A broken hip, and the shoulder socket is cracked. And then there's the knee, which has had surgery to clean and stitch it, and which may need further surgery. And with these injuries, he was able to walk out, up at 10% incline, on a lousy road.

Part of me is amazed; part of me is proud, yes ... and another part of me is appalled. There's no way to prepare for this, no way to guard against it. Nothing you can do, but ride to the best of your ability, aim the bike downhill, let gravity take its course, and trust to luck. Maybe it's just me, but that last part, the "luck" factor, is the one that freaks me out.

This was Groo the Wanderer's maiden flight down a mountainside. Three days later, staff at Flinders Medical Centre are still monitoring Dave for signs of collapsed lung, pneumonia, infection, though the risk of neural damage has been discounted. He has two neural blocks in his backs -- tubes delivering industrial-grade drugs direct to the ribcage...

Despite all this, he's in good spirits, expecting to make a full recovery, though it will take quite some time; and yes, looking forward to getting back on the bike.

So, maybe it's just me? Because at this moment I have to say that the prospect terrifies me. It's not bikes that scare me: he's always ridden, since before we were married. It's not riding on gavel roads -- he's been doing that on Groot for a couple of years now, without incident. No, it's mountain bike riding. It's bombing down hills at 50kph, were a foot-high boulder could be right in front of your front wheel at any moment, and at those speeds you can't see it coming soon enough to do anything about it.

I do understand how it's a major thrill. I really do. But I ask myself, how much risk can I live with? How much insurance should the rider carry, to cover a long, long recovery after a crash like this? What about permanent disability? What about death? 

And here's the bottom line. Sure, Dave will walk away from this -- eventually, after physiotherapy and months of healing and help from a whole support crew. But if the crash had been 2% worse, he wouldn't have walked away, not with all his limbs functional, not to mention his brain ... and I have the stone-cold feeling that he should be dead right now. He dodged the proverbial bullet this time.

Next time? That's what worries me. 

And at this moment, there's no answer to this.

He'll be in FMC for another week or so, till they can taper off the drugs, take the neural blocks out of his back, get him up on his feet well enough to move under his own steam. Then the recovery process can begin; and obviously I'll do everything I possibly can to help, make it happen. But what about next time? I can't get that thought out of my mind.