between a rock and a hard place

Greetings from the stranded beetle.

The post OP cast has been removed, revealing impressive bruising and nicely healed stitches.

(Don't look if you are of the squeamish type.)

There is an equally impressive surgical suture on the other side of the foot. Inside is a shitload of metal.

And this is the new cast, I had a choice of black or pink.

And so I am now counting down the days (28) until this rock solid beauty will be removed and I can - hopefully - progress to a moon boot and some form of walking. For now, imagine me bum crawling and one-leg hopping with various helpful contraptions, twisting and turning my way from chair to walker to knee-scooter, wriggling my toes per instructions and doing a silly looking work-out to look after muscles and strength - if the dog lets me since he remains ever hopeful that I will just get up and do the stuff he thinks this granny should do and jumps for joy ontop of me when I lift my good leg and my arms.

 

This is the good story, the health recovery story. And I am feeling hopeful.

 

And then there's the rock and the hard place scenario.

 

I am in my daughter's home, I am looked after with love and care and all the attention I could wish for. I could stay here until I can use both legs at least in a way that will make it possible for me fly back home on my own  (33 hrs, two stop-overs). We think hope I will reach this stage by mid June the latest. That's one option.

 

The other option is that R comes here (yes, he remained at home in Germany for too many reasons to explain) and we both return together earlier than June with him as my travel support, probably mid May.

 

And then there are these factors to consider:

 

• daily, in fact hourly increasing airline ticket prices, especially on the best long-haul route via Singapore (the safest and "shortest" route for travel between Europe and NZ and Australia and SE Asia), I will definitely not fly via US for reasons and via Canada or Japan/Korea/China will take several days and while we are not poor, it irks and feels dramatic at the same time
• as airlines react to jet fuel shortages, flights have been cancelled already, especially on this route and booked tickets have gone into the nirvana
• once my renewed visitor visa has been approved, I will be able to stay until end of June without a chance to renew it - unless WWIII breaks out
• I will be running out of my immune suppressing medication by mid June, and as even world wide courier services are affected by reduced flight options and jet fuel prices/shortage, no guarantee of getting it in time and no it's not easily available here
• while all treatment costs of the fracture are picked up by NZ accident compensation, my international health insurfance cover for anything else that may hit me health-wise will run out by mid June

 

So we are back and forth throwing the dice and no doubt, we'll come up with something. We've lived this across-the-world life for long enough to trust that there will be a way. 

To be continued.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

on my way to the fascinating new territory

Greetings from the secret den of the stranded beetle. 

I was booked to fly to Singapore this week, imagine. I got a nice refund from Singapore Airlines and now have neither a date nor a booking to get back home. Also, I am nowhere near the F2F (fit to fly) certificate that would allow me to even book a return flight.  

As expected, we are losing the usual fight with the travel health insurance company. It happens every time I have a claim and they find some clause on page 529 that I overlooked or maybe not or a signature that's missing. Life goes on. 

I could will be here for a while.  

Meanwhile I continue with elevating the cast for 23 hrs a day and freaking out when hopping on the good leg whenever the spirit moves me as I am still in the total NWB (no weight bearing) period and have nightmares of slipping and accidentally using the cast leg. Six weeks of it I've been told, one week down, five to go.

The extremely efficient health services have supplied me with a selection of mobility aides and shower stools and handle sets for bath- and bedrooms and tomorrow I shall try the snazy knee scooter that was delivered today. The hallway is so crowded with all the gear a visitor could think we run a rehabilitation center - oh wait, that's what we do.

On Friday, the Wellington Free Ambulance Service (another example of a visionary community service) will collect me with their amphibian device to transport me down the 43 but feels like 500 steep stairs in my daughter's front garden so I can get to my next outpatient appointment. I have been told that a physiotherapist will come to the house from next week on to show me how to maintan or if necessary regain muscle power and whatever else for a decent recovery. All this is part and parcel of New Zealand's accident compensation scheme as I mentioned before.

Now, before we get carried away praising this free health care (only after accidents), let me explain.  New Zealand is a small country, most of it remote, wild and with poor access to amenities, add to that earthquakes and tsunamis, erupting volcanoes and landslides. In such a setting, regardless of life skills and community support, accidents do happen and the country would go bankrupt if every person who fell down a path or was knocked down by a falling tree in a nature reserve or got hit by falling rocks on a public road starts to sue the state for damages due to poor maintenance and lack of care. Instead, the country decided to provide free health care and rehabilitation after accidents. Cheaper in the long run. 

I feel very old. Really old. The last two days, I tried to take the photograph required for my visa renewal and no matter how I turn and what light or angle I chose, the result is of a scared looking old hag with scrawny long hair and I delete it immediately. One of these days, I'll have to face it.

The grandchild meanwhile thinks this is the best of times and joins me for long reading and singing and talking sessions, preferably before bedtime and before school. I treasure this time. 

But while physical recovery is a given, I now have enough metal in my ankle to keep it together, mobility will most likely never be again what I had taken for granted. I am working on getting my mind ready for this, preparing for the inevitable dark hole I will eventually fall into for some time and the (I hope) recovery of my mind and soul as I prepare myself to take on yet another of these fucking life challenges.

Your youth evaporates in your early 40s when you look in the mirror. And then it becomes a full-time job pretending you’re not going to die, and then you accept that you’ll die. Then in your 50s everything is very thin. And then suddenly you’ve got this huge new territory inside you, which is the past, which wasn’t there before. A new source of strength. Then that may not be so gratifying to you as the 60s begin, but then I find that in your 60s, everything begins to look sort of slightly magical again. And it’s imbued with a kind of leave-taking resonance, that it’s not going to be around very long, this world, so it begins to look poignant and fascinating.

Martin Amis 

It’s a Steal

Seema Jilani

March 19, 2026

attention investors / fixer upper oasis on the Med / erected
_________on remnants of sacred souls / complimentary essential
oils / purge the stench of rotting flesh / chef’s kitchen / maqlouba
_________still warm / backgammon mid-game

savor morning kahva / private balcony / overlooking
_________corpses / alarm clock / ocean of weeping mothers /
vintage carnage / plantation shutters / no sage tea burnt /
_________secret passageways / clandestine graves / tick tock

cat cafés / no kittens / fill the hot tub with leftover blood / still
_________warm, frothy / a shattered tibia / found in the
childrens’ playroom / bury the skulls deeper / floor boards
_________don’t lie / DIY skeleton hospitals / schools included

paint the baby room cyan / we have enough red / save the dolls /
_________pink booties too / plant the all are welcome sign / slim
rainbow font / local orphans / available for landscaping / will work
_________for wheelchairs / countertops with genuine human bone inlay

private olive grove / roots endure / relentless / undaunted / inexorable / extermination ongoing

listing price_________30k children_________digital keys only_________non-negotiable

and then this happened

The beautiful, messy, buzzing and welcoming city of Wellington is covered in many walkways, some are easy to do, an hour or two, always with a lookout along the way, others are longer, with much climbing and stepping up and down through housing areas and deep bush, all with birdsong and amazing vistas along the way.

Yesterday, I almost completed the Southern Walkway. As I was slowly making my way down the last meters of a steep path in dense woods, the wide open southern beaches beckoning at every bend, I slipped and fell and broke my right ankle. That day I had spent three blissful hours hardly meeting a soul, just many many birds. And now I was on the ground trying to take in the odd way my right foot was hanging sideways when I heard voices. They came from a playground downhill across a large meadow at the foot of the path. And when I called out, the first person running towards me happened to be an emergency doctor on maternity break, toddler twins in tow, followed by a firefighter who had taken the day off and his partner, who both had just moved into their home across from the play area. Within the next hour or less, I was carried across the field to a bench, where I passed out briefly, was given two paracetamol and much back rubbing and comfort while the firefighter managed to bundle me in his car, drive me to the A&E where my daughter was waiting with a wheelchair. 

The triage nurse saw me 15 minutes later, followed by an X-ray to confirm bimalleolar ankle fracture and after my foot was cleaned (some nasty looking cuts punctuated the heavy swelling), I was given iv antibiotics, a cup of tea and more iv painkillers plus propofol, which meant that I was in dullaly land while the bones of my foot were straightened and plastered in place. When I was back in the real world, the orthopedic surgeon handed me a bowl of lemon icecream, more tea and detailed the coming scenario, a couple of days for the swelling to go down before surgery, hopefully Monday and then several weeks of recovery. All medical staff, from receptionist to surgeon were female and we were on first name terms as is the custom. My wonderful daughter who stayed with me throughout was given a bowl of passionfruit icecream. I only found out later, so missed my chance to taste it.

By 10 pm I was on a bum crawl up the many stairs to my daughter's beautiful house. Where I am now resting with the leg elevated, crawling on all fours to the toilet if need be and otherwise being looked after in splendid luxury. Alfie, the dog, slept by my side all night. I spend my hours dozing off the propofol (vaguely thinking of Micheal Jackson), watching training videos on walking with crutches - I am looking at six weeks of cast and no weight bearing - and marveling at New Zealand's accident compensation scheme which states in the official paperwork: It doesn't matter who you are, where you're from or what you were doing when you were injured, you are covered.

The grandchild is slightly overwhelmed but looking forward to painting on the cast and promised to read me stories. The rest of the family is serving snacks and excellent coffee, sorting out visa extensions and travel cancellationns/changes, while I pray to the gods of the expensive comprehensive flight insurance I bought last year.

It hurts like hell, I could complain a lot about living like a stranded beetle but I leave that for - maybe - later.

 

 Just last week I read this here somewhere and I can confirm that nothing is boring right now.

People have different comfort zones. You can think of it like an onion: inside, in the core zone, you feel comfortable, life is running smoothly, but it's also a bit boring. Around it is the zone of learning and challenge, where you feel challenged but not overwhelmed. And on the very outside is the panic zone.

 

Alfie

 

I think it's a sea horse

bath time

 

along the way

 

about 30 minutes before I slipped and fell

 

brief reminder along the way

t