A Week To Forget

So, while I haven't posted in a long, long time (my previously published post is from November 7th, 2022, exactly three and a half years ago today), I have always enjoyed having this blog as a repository of events in my life. With that in mind, I return to catalogue one of the most emotionally exhausting weeks in my life, purely for posterity reasons. Strap in, this is going to be a long one. (Spoiler: All's well that ends well.) 

Last Friday, May 1st, I was home from work a little early. Claire was still running her DnD game for Ada and three of her friends, so I retired briefly to the bedroom to rest and relax before dinner. 

As usually happens once DnD is done, Ada and her fellow party members hang out and play games together. When it's a bit wet or cold out, that means multiplayer video games. Oh, Reader. How I wish this Mayday had been wet and cold. But it wasn't. It was glorious. Beautiful, clear blue skies, temperature in the mid 20°C. Outdoor time. 

Once the house was quiet again, I came out and settled in to watch some YouTube. The open windows meant I could hear all the kids having a great time in our courtyard area, shouting, laughing, racing about the place like kids should. 

After about ten minutes of this, Connor arrived in the front door, declaring loudly that he needed the washroom. Finding it occupied, he came over to see what I was watching. 

"Having fun outside with friends?"

"Yeah. Ada's crying." 

Now, I just want to mention here that my daughter is rather sensitive to friends being "mean". I don't mean bullying or being excessively aggressive. She can get upset if friends aren't playing the game the way she wants to play it, or if her little brother is being...well, a little brother. 

So, you'll forgive me when I tell you I didn't sprint out to the courtyard on hearing this update from Connor, so casually mentioned. I calmly put on my shoes, walked down the steps in front of our unit, and headed for the courtyard. As soon as I rounded the corner, I knew this wasn't just Ada being upset. 

Our neighbour was carrying Ada in his arms down toward me, and Ada wasn't crying. 

She. 

Was. 

Screaming. 

We sat Ada down on the low garden wall, and immediately she was shouting not to move or touch her left leg. She had soil from the garden on her head, all around her left eye, all over her right hand and on her pants legs. I tried to lift the leg of her pants on her left leg, as that was the only area I couldn't immediately inspect, but the slightest touch seemed to cause her pain to spike. 

What had she done to herself? Surely this was the result of some daredevil acrobatic foolishness of youth? Our gardens have plenty of trees to climb. Our housing blocks are three stories high, and we regularly see maintenance people on the tiled roofs. Did she climb out a first floor window and take a fall from there? If one of her friends had presented me with either of these scenarios, I honestly would have believed them. 

At this point, Claire was out of the washroom, and, rather than taking the time to question her here in the garden, we decided to get Ada up into our unit where we could look after her better. Claire and I tried to support her to walk the few meters to the door, resulting in much screaming. Our wonderful neighbour stepped in and once again scooped her up, carrying her up the stairs and all the way to the couch. Ada still screamed, but at least this way was quicker. 

With her leg immobilized as best we could and a cold pack applied, Ada was calm enough to explain what had happened. 

While playing with the DnD crew and a few other friends in our co-op, Ada saw a neighbour's cat out enjoying the sun as well. Her friends were elsewhere in the co-op, and she wanted to tell them. She started to run up through the back garden, but only made it a few meters. She tripped while running on a smooth, flat path and, apparently, landed very badly. 

Now that she was back home, we could clean the soil she had carried with her. Road rash on her forehead, wrist and elbow, but it was her knee that got the worst of it. Any attempt to move it caused Ada to scream. We left her to rest on the couch, moved our cat Shade to a better spot when his attempt to comfort her by lying on her legs was met with unexpected resistance, and let her watch videos on the iPad. 

We did not think we needed to take her to the hospital right away. I mean, how bad could it have been? No trees or first floor windows were involved in the telling of this tale. She slipped and fell on a path. A concrete path, yes. A concrete path that had been installed in the back garden area less than six months ago because the previous path, concrete slabs along a mostly grass walkway, was deemed a tripping hazard, sure. But still, just a trip. 

An hour later, the pain was just getting worse, and Ada was unable to take any painkillers we had on hand.  We made the decision to bring her to BC Women & Children's Hospital, just to get a professional opinion. Claire would drive over while I stayed home with Connor. BC Women & Children's is extremely highly regarded for its quality of care and quality of staff, and we are honestly blessed to live so close to it. 

But, we had to get there first, and that meant getting Ada back down the stairs to street level and the car. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth, as well as demands to be let go home, because she didn't "want to be a problem for the doctors and nurses" with just her sore knee. But once on the sidewalk, she calmed down. I helped her gingerly into the passenger seat, kissed her and reassured her she was not going to be a problem for anyone, and kissed Claire, wishing her patience and a quiet ER. Then I waved them off and went back to get Connor ready for bed. 

By the time I was struggling to stay awake any longer, we knew that Ada had fractured her tibia and was to see an orthopaedic specialist. They added the possibility of a "small ACL tear" to the injuries. By midnight, they had x-rays to confirm the fracture. The orthopaedic specialist informed us it is a very common fracture in kids, especially during the summer as kids get outside and get more and more active. 

A CT scan was ordered for the morning to further inform what would be needed, and so, Claire and Ada's quick trip to the ER turned into an overnight stay. Ada's leg was immobilized in a big splint and she was given a room for the night. She finally managed to take some painkillers, and that and a mixture of anxiety and stress got her to sleep for a few hours, at least. Claire did not. 

Having crossed off "Get a CT Scan" on Ada's list of Things to Do Before You're 30, mum and daughter were home, weary and sore, just before noon on Saturday. Ada was going to need surgery. The hospital would be in touch on Monday to schedule a visit to the orthopaedic clinic and lay out the battle plan. In the meantime, she would not be able to go to school for the coming week, as she should not put any pressure whatsoever on her leg. Recovery time would be about six weeks. 

Thankfully, I had booked that Saturday off work, as we had gotten tickets to see the Vancouver Pops Symphony Orchestra play music that evening. Instead, I spent the day letting Claire catch up on sleep and caring for Ada, helping her learn how to get around with the help of her shiny new crutches and making sure she was as comfortable as I could manage.

I had work on Tuesday, but with Connor at school, Claire was free to take Ada to the orthopaedic appointment, back at Women's & Children's. At least there were no surprises to be had on this trip, we joked. Which was why when Claire sent me a photo of Ada with a cast on her right arm, covering everything from her palm to just below her shoulder, all I could muster was a resigned sigh. After speaking with the orthopaedic surgeon, he closed with the standard classic "Do you have any other concerns?" Usually this is practically a rhetorical question at that stage of the conversation, but Claire mentioned that Ada had a bit of a sore arm. The surgeon took a look at it, asked her to do a few motions, and immediately sent her for an x-ray, confirming the fracture at her elbow. No surgery needed on this one, but her dominant hand and arm was now out of service for at least three weeks. It also significantly increased the difficulty of using crutches. 

But before all that, the plan for Ada's leg was laid out for us, and that would start the following morning.

Claire dropped Ada and myself outside Women & Children's a little before noon on Wednesday. Probably suffering from not a small amount of PTSD at the sight of the building at this point in the week, she pulled up in the drop-off area, got us a wheelchair, and disappeared again. We headed to General Procedures and were brought straight to her room. Ada was extremely nervous, but every single member of staff was so kind and patient and understanding, and she was never pressured to do anything. We had a visit from our lovely surgeon, who again reassured us that this was as close to routine as a surgery can be, and the wonderful anesthesiologist, who demonstrated how the IV patch that needed to go on her back of Ada's hand would work, as well as several nurses, each making us feel safe and heard. 

Ada got changed into her gown, and they wheeled her bed down the corridor and into the surgery. She was still very stressed, and the anesthesiologist explained all about the Magic Glove, gently massaging Ada's hand and arm, getting Ada to contribute details of how the glove looked and felt and moved, and suddenly, without feeling anything, the IV patch was in her hand. They administered the sleepy medicine to Ada, and I watched as her eyes closed and her body relaxed. A nurse invited me to give her a kiss, and that was the moment I broke and tears started to wet the neckline of my t-shirt. 

I was lead back to the room we had started in to collect our things. I could leave most things in a secure locker near the waiting room, and I was encouraged to take a walk outside and get a coffee or some food, which I did. The procedure, I was told, would take about two hours, with about an hour more for recovery before she would start to come around. 

Almost exactly two hours later I was reading a book in the waiting area, when Ada's orthopaedic surgeon came in and sat beside me and told me that the surgery was a complete success. He showed me how the fracture on the tibia had the ligament attached, which was pulling the bit of bone up and away from the tibia and interfering with movement of the knee. The surgery had gone in, cleaned up the wound, and installed two pins. He showed me some x-rays of the pins in her knee, which looked enormous, and like they were sticking way out into the gap behind the knee plate, but he assured me that the x-rays made them look a lot more alarming than they really are, and they only appeared to be sticking out far beyond the bone because I can't see the cartilage that they are actually embedded flush within. 

A short while later a nurse came in asking for Ada's family, this time to take me to see her. Ada was just coming around and I arrived to find a dazed and confused and high-as-a-kite kid feeling very confused about who was in the room with her, and asking why they all looked like potatoes. When I said "Hi Ada", she looked at me and said "You look like a potato too, dad!" and proceeded to call me Potato for the next several hours. They had given her an ice lolly to enjoy, and she choose blue, because "the white one was boring and the black one was too dark". At one point she asked if I wanted a lick, and when I said "No thanks, you enjoy it. You deserve it" she looked at me seriously, and thrust the lolly towards me saying "What if I want you to have some!!" Hospital grade painkillers are a wonder. 

Pretty soon we were both on the move again, this time, to our final destination. We met the new nurses that would look after Ada in recovery, and her surgeon stopped by two or three times that evening to check in on everything. We also got to meet her physio team that would help with moving about, and give tips on how to proceed now that the crutch was an issue due to our recent broken arm discovery. And we met the pain management team, who were there to ensure that Ada was comfortable, pain free with not too much meds, nor too little. Just the Goldilocks of medication dosage. 

I ordered food before the kitchen closed, and Claire and Connor arrived soon after with snacks. All the beeping from the various machines hooked up to Ada started to make Connor nervous, and he started asking if Ada was going to be okay, and how we can stop the machines from making noise. Claire took him home, Ada and I settled in for the evening. 

We were woken almost every two hours throughout the night with check-ins. "Can you feel this?" "Push your foot against my hand.""Do you have any pain?""Have you peed yet?" But Ada was a trooper, never complaining, always ready to do so she was asked and then drift back to sleep. 

We were both awake very early Thursday morning, so I went out to hunt for some food. I found a coffee place that had waffles and grilled cheese sandwiches, so that was how we started our day. Thursday saw the same teams checking in several times throughout the day, with everyone impressed by Ada's recovery. As the day went on, each of the teams signed off on Ada going home, until she was officially discharged just before 6pm. 

Ada still has about six weeks of recovery time ahead of her. Over that time, the amount she is allowed to move her leg will slowly increase, but, for now, it's stationary, with strict orders not to put any pressure on it. She's hoping around home, using her one good arm to steady herself against anything she can reach on he way to wherever she needs to be (mostly couch, bed or toilet). 

Connor is being a superstar little brother, carrying stuff for her, or racing to bring her what she wants, from stuffy toys to freshly filled bottles of water. 

And Claire and I? We continue to be amazed by our daughter, so strong and capable and smart. Nervous when facing the unknown, sure, but once it's known and understood, nothing will stop her. Not a broken arm. Or a broken leg. Our even, a broken arm and leg at the same time. 

Real Life Virtual Friends

Today I had the pleasure to showing two friends how far virtual reality headsets have come in the past 24 to 36 months. Both actually own slightly older VR systems, but it is a mark of how the technology has advanced rapidly watching their reactions. 

I've owned the Oculus Quest 2 since early 2021, and I love showing it to people who have never tried a VR system, or even play video games regularly. The shock and laughter of that first experience is already fun to see! Whether they're life long gamers that own a modern PC or the newest console but never had the chance to try VR before, or complete video game novices who's last experience with a game is on the Amiga, the reaction is always great! 

But showing the Quest to two friends who have played VR, and each own their own sets, but admit to not turning them on in over two years, it was really amazing how much they were surprised by this experience. 

The first thing was the freedom the Quest gives. As a self contained, all in one device, not having wires hanging off you of refreshing, and makes setting it up and getting into a game a snap. I could bring it over to my friends place, without needing anything extra, and share it with them in a long as it took me to sign into their WiFi. They were seriously impressed by that. Both lamented that one of the reasons their headsets are gathering dust is the effort it takes to get into a game, when they don't have a dedicated space to leave everything set up. 

Then there's the variety of play experiences. In the past two years, VR game development has lead to some truly astonishing experiences. I got to share a few rounds of mini golf, which is a wonderful introductory experience. People know how to play mini golf, so there is an absolute minimum amount of onboarding. It was so fun seeing my friends just losing themselves in a colourful, relaxing world for a while.

And then I turned on my newest purchase, Iron Man VR, and my friends were laughing and whopping with exhilaration! Flying through the skies, blasting drones is thrilling! But even that first time you suit up, setting the various armour pieces come forward you, instills such a childlike joy, that it's hard not to just laugh! 

In two short years, VR has changed so much, and the next two years look to be equally as huge! Eye tracking and face tracking are becoming standard. The new Quest Pro is just beginning to tease the possibilities of its full colour passthrough capabilities, a system that allows you to see the real world around you, while still playing a game. And the games themselves are just getting more and more imaginative! 

I can't wait to play with a friends headset in two years, and gasp at where things have progressed. 

You Smell Like Pixels!

 For reasons I don't feel like elaborating on, I wasn't feeling great this evening, so I excused myself and focused on trying to do some drawing on my iPad. A friend recently made some awesome pixel art, and I had asked for some tips, so he kindly streamed an hour long tutorial on Twitch. 

Unfortunately, I arrived into the stream minutes after he had wrapped the pixel art tutorial portion, but thankfully, you can save the videos on Twitch, and he kindly did for me. 

I watched the VOD a few weeks ago and had wanted to doodle around with something to practice, but just never set aside the time. Tonight, I decided to check the video again and try drawing a pixel portrait for a brightly coloured character.

I chose Bear, from the Henson Company's extraordinary puppet based series, Bear in the Big Blue House. Bear is a full body puppet with astonishing facial expressions, entirely from control over the eyebrows, nose and mouth. 

So, I grabbed two photos of Bear, one standing tall in a well lit promotional photograph, the other a screen shot of Bear happily smiling open mouth, but his colours are a little muted. 

Using both photos, I built a bright and varied colour pallet from the promo, and sketched the basic form from the screen shot, on a teeny tiny 64x64 pixel canvas. To put that in context, a canvas that is just the size of my iPad screen is 2388x1668 pixels, and my tablet can handle much bigger canvases than that with ease. 64x64 is really, really small. My brush for painting Bear was a single pixel, or as close as you can get on Procreate, the app I use. 

Below are my versions 0.1 to 0.3. 

V0.1 is very flat, just using a very limited pallet to set down the overall colour and form. 

V0.2 adds highlights and shadows, with gradients of colour. I achieved this using a Screen layer for the lighter tones, and a Darker layer for the...well...darker colours. 

V0.3 is where I stopped before writing this post, and mostly just tries to adjust Bear's eyes to less sad out sleepy, and more excited, or at the very least, happy. 

Not bad for a first attempt. 

In The Palm Of Your Hand

When Star Trek originally premiered in 1966, voice controlled, pocket sized super computers were wild fantasy for the far distant future. 

Even in 1987, with the arrival of The Next Generation, handheld touch interface tablets were seen as science fiction, belonging in the 24th century. 

Yet right now I'm writing this very post on my phone, a tiny super computer that lives within my arms reach at all times. This device has access to the entire knowledge of humanity, and has over 100,000 times the processing power of the computer that landed the first men on the moon (and over a million times the RAM, for that matter). 

My phone has a camera capable of recording HD video at 60 frames per second, or snapping photos in almost any lighting condition in the time it takes to get it out of my pocket, and can send them to anyone on the entire planet I have contact with at the speed of light. 

And what do I use all this astonishing power for most of the time? Photographing my kids a dozen times a day, doomscrolling on Twitter and texting my wife. Occasionally, I'll set an alarm by shouting a command at it, which is supposed to feel like Michael Knight talking to his wrist watch, but never manages to feel as elegant. 

Recently, I've been wearing down my battery playing a mobile card game, and I've been known to hunt imaginary pocket monsters on this wondrous device too, but I overall, I think I'm vastly underutilizing this incredible package of microprocessors that just 40 years ago was unimaginable in our lifetime. 

What is to come 40 years from now? 

Kindergarten Kid

Connor started school this September past. Although still only for years old, his birthday is this calender year, so he falls in the 2022/23 intake. We had the option of holding him back one year, but he's ready. If he'd been our first, I certainly would have spent more time debating the benefits of keeping him home another year. He's so sociable and confident, and he's watched Ada for his entire life. 

He's been doing super, as expected. He's making lots of new friends, the first without his big sis. Up to now, Connor has mostly played with kids that we met when Ada was a baby. Covid means that Connor never really got to go to Family Place as a toddler and develop those friendships. 

So far, his only real difficulty with starting school is learning how snack works. During the first two to three weeks, we had to pack him more and more lunch each day, as he would eat everything he had and get hungry again later. Our boy is a healthy, growing Irish kid, who can eat and eat and eat. At one point, we were packing two full lunch boxes with him. Thankfully, things have settled down a bit over the weeks. 

If that's the worst we have to deal with this year, I'll be a very happy dad.

30 Posts For A Buck Fifty Apiece

It’s that most wonderful time of the year again when I post 30 times in a single month, and never again for the other eleven, despite promising to do better this time in the last post! I’d hate to break tradition now. 

I have much to discuss from this year. Life has thundered along at a blistering pace for everyone in my family. Along the way I have made cryptic notes in my phone to remind myself of things that at the time I thought would make for interesting posts. At one time in my life, I didn’t have to worry about that, as I would come home and write up the post that evening. That time, for now, has passed. 

Reviewing those notes, I have factual life stories, funny and fantastical short stories, follow-ups to previous years posts, and at least one post that I am completely convinced I’ve written at least twice already, yet cannot find any evidence of in my searches! 

It’s November. It’s Buck Fifty! An avalanche of typos and spelling errors are coming your way!

Enjoy the chaos. 

Short Story: Dead Days

 I was dead. That much was sure. On the bright side, it must have been painless. I couldn’t recall how it happened, and looking at the body, it was fairly recent.

“Mr. Crayne?” 

I jumped out of my skin…so to speak. I turned to see a rather average looking woman. Not “average looking” in terms of attractiveness. She actually looked pretty nice. But no wings or horns. No spectral glow or ethereal smoke. Just a regular woman. Standing in my office. 

“So… are you my guide to the afterlife?” 

“You could say that.” She looked at the office door, then her watch, then my body on the floor. “What do you remember?” 

I took a moment to try to recall what I had just been doing. “Nothing unusual. I was waiting for an appointment. The last thing I remember is checking Twitter. I think the client was running late.” I walked closer to my body and leaned over. The skin was still fairly pink and flush. There was a wet mark on the carpet by the desk. Wow. I really hope I didn’t piss myself. “Do you know how I died? Was it a heart attack? Dammit. All that healthy living and exercise and Eddy outlives me on a diet of burgers and fries and Netflix marathons. He is never going to let me live this down.” 

“Yeah. Ah. Look. I just need to confirm a few things. Are you Thomas Crayne, Licensed Private Detective in the district of California?”

“That’s me, formerly at your service. I’m going to haunt my doctor for missing whatever got me.” 

It was dawning on me that I was taking being dead remarkably well. When Carla Friedman dumped me for Manny Keisic in fifth grade, I cried for the entire weekend and ate a whole two litre tub of salted caramel ice cream while watching Jurassic Park on cable. That was a rough night hugging the toilet bowl. I wish I could say at least I enjoyed the movie, but it was the third one, not the original.

“Do you recall working with a Mr. Miguel Park?” The woman hadn’t moved from where she was standing. “It would have been several years ago.”

“I don’t know if being dead voids confidentially agreements, but until I know for sure, I can’t discuss anything about past clients.” I stood up and looked around the office. My phone was in its charge cradle. There was an almost full glass of water on the far side of the desk. The rim had a slight smudge of lipstick. I touched my lips, and looked back down at my body. Nope. Definitely not me. 

That’s when I saw a second glass on its side under my desk. 

“How did I die, Mrs. Park?”

“Your expertise is required, Mr. Crayne. The situation is…complex. I had to expedite the initial requirements of your employ. Time is a factor in this case. It’s already taken you longer to materialize that I was told to expect.”

“You killed me? I don’t recall agreeing to that, as a requirement for my employ or otherwise. I enjoyed being alive. I’d been practising for 38 years! I was just getting good at it.” I lunged at Joanna Park, but was abruptly stopped by a very solid, very invisible, very firm wall. Pain must have a psychological aspect. I was pretty sure all my nerve endings were lying on the floor, but my present form still felt like it had just run full speed into a brick wall without inhibition. I bounced back and found myself on the floor of my office, gasping for air through apparent pain. My face was right in front of me. 

I was breathing. I mean dead me. My body. My body was breathing. I wasn’t dead. Maybe?

Mrs. Park looked down at me. “I really need you to calm down. You’ll be returned to your physical body once the contract is complete, regardless of outcome. My team will be here in a few minutes to remove and store your body. Your consciousness has been discorporated and tied to this device.” She held up her left arm, showing what appeared to be a smartwatch. 

“Yours has a bigger memory than mine, it seems. I hope it has a better battery too. I have to charge mine every night.”

She turned towards the door at some noise from the reception area. Glancing back over her shoulder at me, she tapped twice on the watch. A green circle appeared on the screen. “Remember when I said time was a factor?”