Open Heart gallery

I've just posted up a gallery of images from my recent visit to the States; the photography is of my mother's stay in hospital and recovery following open heart surgery in July. She is doing fantastically well (her doctor said it was a 'textbook perfect' surgery). 

I've more imagery from her time in hospital but some of it is rather confronting. I've a new compassion for people who have loved ones on long-term life support and know that their condition is critical or irreversible. Thankfully, Mom was only briefly on a ventilator and all the associated critical care machines. Click on the image below to go to the gallery.

Smaller Faith

A couple months ago I was visited by a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door (again). We had a conversation that really didn’t go where they wanted it to go (it rather dulls their efforts if the person they are speaking with has actually read and studied the Bible and already has some thoughts about its ramifications). However, they were pleasant enough and we had what seemed like the necessary dialogue. At one point, one of them asked if I was a person of faith. I said, “Yes, I’m a Quaker.” She paused with a bemused expression. It was a cross between now, who are the Quakers again? and we should probably make a hasty retreat down the street; he’s some kind of cult member!

As they left and I returned inside, I thought it must be a challenge to be part of a small marginalized religious community in secular Australia. Then the irony of that thought came to me; there are surely more Jehovah’s Witnesses in Australia than Quakers, yet I never really feel marginal at all. I think this comes from years of once being part of a church movement that placed such an emphasis on numbers in the pews. One sits in church surrounded by others who are of a similar mind and spirit; it’s reassuring to know that you are all there in an equal state of ‘rightness’ (I’m not saying that as a condemnation; it’s not just a ‘church thing’).

However, the Quaker focuses one down to the smaller confines of a very personal faith; back to the mustard seed. We are around others who share a common tone of the spirit; however it's not necessary to completely harmonise to one accord. ​On Sunday, one of the Friends spoke of singing in a massed choir here in Sydney. She said it is so uplifting to mix one voice with so many others and magnify it manifold (or, in my case, at least nullify my flat tonality). In Quaker Meeting, we sit in silence. Each silence augmented and shared by the gathered Friends; a quiet collective (I wonder how people would respond if we went door to door and just stood there silently when people answered...)

Full Video and Audio from PEF Awards

I excerpted video and audio from Tuesday's Public Education Awards in Sydney Town Hall today and posted up a YouTube playlist. It's great to see a system I built from scratch mixing and recording this kind of material (though there were a couple cutting mistakes live that were on me...have to get some more practice with further events at Town Hall!).

​Have a listen to Anja Nissen, a year twelve student with an amazing voice in the first video below then explore the whole playlist at this link.

Then you can also have a listen to just the audio on the Soundcloud playlist as well:​

Music from Public Education Awards

Last night's Public Education Foundation awards ceremony at Sydney Town Hall went off spectacularly ​(though my brain is always seriously overenergised when I do technical direction). I'll post up the video from the event tomorrow but here is the first of the audio recordings from the several bands and vocalists we had for the evening. This is the NSW Public Schools Symphonic Wind Orchestra. We had a very good audio engineer for the event who fed me a separate mix specifically for the live video feed and recording. I'll put all the music up here later as a playlist. 

The Angle of Light

Just came across this clip from an upcoming album; it reminds me of a book I read in university about tracking light across the face in cinema. So much of our perception is based on the angle of our view and the light that falls upon us.​

Remembering Pain

I've been thinking a lot about pain recently, physical, psychological and even what I would call spiritual pain. I've experienced all these in measure. In the late 1990's I had a procedure to correct a congenital defect in my chest wall (basically my sternum was crushing my heart and lungs together, which is not really a good thing). It's called Pectus Excavatum and used to be corrected by opening up the entire chest cavity, removing a portion of the ribcage altogether, reshaping this and then putting it all back together again (the Ravitch Procedure). This is, of course, a very invasive operation. However, were I to do this all again, it's what I would opt for. Instead, I had a newer, minimally invasive procedure (the Nuss Procedure). The Nuss Procedure has the benefit of only two small incisions on either side of the chest; much less surgery time, blood loss and all the related risks. The surgeon places a curved steel bar under the sternum and inverts it which pops everything into the correct place (sorry, 'pops' isn't the best word to use there; there are not a lot of good colloquial words to use when describing orthopedic surgery that don't involve some cringing). The bar then stays in place for a year and a half to two years whilst the bones learn their new shape. 

This all sounded well and good; but I was among the oldest patients to receive this relatively new procedure at the time (optimal age is in the early teens). In my 20's, the bones and connective bits had already hardened to their adult form. Unfortunately, this meant the procedure itself and the recovery following were painful...extraordinarily painful. 

I'm going to post below an extract from a letter I wrote to friends a couple weeks after the surgery then follow up with some other thoughts on the nature of pain and recovery. I'm thinking about this for some other reasons now that aren't related but there are a lot of things that I haven't shared about this particular procedure that might be useful for people in the same situation I was in.

I'm beginning to taper off on the meds now and can actually sit down and concentrate for more than a few moments. After eating only narcotics for a week and coming home to the same, one's mental state is altered slightly left of normal. I had planned a reading list for the hospital stay but found I was unable to concentrate at all on words (actually, in the hospital, the words would not stay still for me to read them.) If some of this letter makes no sense, I place full blame on modern medicine.

It is 9:36 a.m. right now; two weeks ago today I was in the O.R. having a fourteen inch steel bar run across the width of my chest under the sternum. Within the hour I will wake up in the recovery room in an extraordinary amount of pain. Fortunately, I remember nothing from the recovery room. Apparently I woke up and began violent convulsions; they gave me pain medication called Demerol (Pethidine) which I reacted to and went into respiratory depression (my breathing slowed way down). A couple hours later I remember waking up in my room with the doctor standing over me saying that the surgery was successful and he was pleased with the results...and, yikes, I was still in a lot of pain!

I had an epidural tap to reduce the bulk of the pain. An epidural is similar to an IV but it is inserted in a space along the spine. It has to be placed very precisely. When I woke up, instead of my chest being numb, my arms were asleep. Somehow the end of the tap had been misplaced after the surgery (perhaps when I was trying to launch myself out of the recovery room) and the drugs weren't reaching the right set of nerves. So the pain team (led by Dr. Napoleon Burt--if you need pain management, he is the man) set me up in bed (aaaaarraraaag!) and repositioned the tap. They were pumping a morphine derivative called Dilaudid (Hydromorphone) in the epidural. I was a little concerned about having narcotics pumped into my system but am exceeding glad of them. I had 10cc/hr. through the epidural and whatever else I needed for "crisis pain" injected through my IV of some other form of morphine. Even after that I was really in agony sometimes. The first few days had some gruesomely painful episodes. On the first day Dr. Burt told me that I had chosen one of the top three most painful surgical procedures to undergo (somehow nobody mentioned that bit-o-trivia beforehand.) It was not the movie kind of pain where a hapless character has his legs bitten off by a creature from the 8th dimension and screams out the big cinema cry of pain. It's this pain where you can't cry or scream or move to release any of the psychological pain that the mind is going through as well. I found names for the different kinds and levels of pain. There was the always the sore tightness across my chest (almost as if someone had gone in with a metal bar and stretched out all the muscles and bones). The most frightening time was the ten minute window I had before the onset of crisis pain. There was a certain pain that would begin and build into the feeling of someone carving off my chest with an old electric turkey knife. Once that pain began, there was no going back to the base level without a lot of drugs. I'd call for the nurse immediately and she would shoot a dose of morphine into my IV. Oftentimes that was not enough though and I'd just be there in bed writhing. The next step was a heavy dose of Dilaudid; as this is a really powerful opioid, it would knock out feelings of anything for an hour or so. The problem with that drug was, once it was administered, my breathing rate would slow down to 10...7...4...3...LOUD ALARM...breaths per minute. It begins to shut down the involuntary reflex centers of the brain. So my pain was gone but I would have to think "breathe, breathe, breathe." If I dozed off the LOUD ALARM would sound because I was forgetting to breathe.

After a few days the pain team was able to generally regulate my discomfort and it came time to remove the epidural tap...perhaps we should have left it a bit longer. By the way, it was a little celebration every time I had another tube taken out. I had the regular IV, the epidural, a catheter for (well, you know), a tube in my chest to drain out extraneous fluids and air, and various sensors attached for monitoring cardiac and respiratory function. Once I could get up, it took several minutes to disconnect me from everything and go to portable mode. Even then I was trolling around with the IV stand in one hand (the IV and epidural pumps were these hi-tec computerized deals) and this clear bag-o-pee in the other while all these wires from the sensors trailing behind.

This is the bar that was in my chest; there was a smaller stabilising bar running vertically as well  .

This is the bar that was in my chest; there was a smaller stabilising bar running vertically as well  .

Then the epidural was removed (Saturday). The idea is to put the patient on the medication he is to go home with and see how he does. I didn't do well. The first line up of medications made me really nauseous (I say really nauseous because they we giving me an oral anti-nausea medication along with one in my IV and a patch behind my ear--I was still vomiting up the works.) Also note that I hadn't really eaten till then either; I was puking Canada Dry ginger ale and Jell-O. I didn't realize that one can actually projectile vomit (launch vomit with ballistic force across the room). I soaked down Dad and a couple nurses more than once. Of course, it was exceptionally painful to vomit; it felt like somebody punching my right in the sternum. So we got on this cycle of medication, nausea, vomit, pain, medication...at some point someone inadvertently ordered another dose of Demerol, the painkiller that I reacted to in recovery. My skin turned red up the vein that my IV was in and I began breaking out in these fiery blotches all over. We couldn't figure out exactly which of the meds was causing my nausea; we kinda found out when I took a 400% dose of one and had an upchuck frenzy. So we switched around several of them and tried this anti-nausea medication used for cancer patents taking chemo (Zofran, take one pill every 4-6 hours as needed...5 pills, $148!).

I didn't leave the hospital till one week after the surgery. Even then I was still sick (I don't remember the ride home) and uncomfortable all over (my bowels went to sleep--ever go a week without, eh...). I don't remember a lot of what happened during the stay; I was heavily medicated most of the time. For several days afterward, I could taste medication and was still hallucinating (whoa, had some wild times with that too). Fortunately, I'm tapered way down now on the medication and have a voracious appetite. I'm back home in WV at my parents for now. I'm still generally sore and can't lie down flat but every day marks an improvement. I have breathing exercises and am gradually going up to my expected capacity (I'm at about 1/4 right now). The lungs have to be trained to use the extra space now provided. The bar seems to have stayed in place; except I can occasionally hear a click-click where the metal and ribs are still making arrangements for living together. And, of course, I no longer have this big dent in my chest. I'm still rather slim but much more aerodynamic now.

There is more to relate about coming to terms with the everyday pain I experienced over the next year and a half with the bar in as well as what medications can do and how that can effect one's perception of pain and recovery. I'll write more about that in the coming weeks. 

TAFE Announces Major Rebranding

I drafted this several weeks ago to release on April First; however, for some reason, nobody was very keen on posting it as an official press release at work. But here it is as an exclusive on edgeofsomewhere:

Today TAFE NSW announces a major rebranding and refocus of its educational mandate. TAFE NSW Director of External Communications, Angelo Moriondo, says that TAFE acknowledges the changing landscape of education in the 21st Century. "We've examined growth industries across the state and country as a whole. We're looking at the places where almost everyone in Australia interacts and the businesses they encounter everyday." With that in mind, TAFE NSW will expand its reach with a new concept in education, TAFé. Moriondo continues, "We aren't dropping any of our current courses, instead, we are revitilising several of them with a coffee themed curriculum that, we hope, will draw in a new generation of students. In fact, we plan to reach out into demographics we don't traditionally cater to with new satellite campuses in several urban neighbourhoods."

The first new campus will open September 2013 on Crown Street in Surry Hills; it's an experimental concept campus housed entirely in a swish café (or TAFé, to use the new terminology). "The current trends in technology encourage distance learning and online collaboration; our field research noted scores of people wandering around Surry Hills with powerful laptop computers and seemingly little use for them other than checking Facebook and fashion weblogs. They aimlessly roam from café to café drinking coffee all day. That's a potential student population who we can help educate and give some purpose in their lives; they can use that time in a TAFé to build skills and develop into productive members of society." TAFé 'campuses' will be wholly staffed by specially trained students and teachers equipped to speak fluent Hipster and function in that environment. "It's already acknowledged that TAFE educates tens of thousands of Australians at a high level every year; however, we are leaving out a whole segment of society that need practical skills beyond the ability to find someplace with Wi-Fi."

The TAFé concept was developed in conjunction with Brothers, Sons and Oswald, the American firm behind last year's highly successful Megamucil brand launch. Pierre Laxitif, branding manager for Brothers, Sons and Oswald explains, "When Metamucil realised their product image was limited in scope, we considered that their traditional demographic was much less sedentary than thirty years ago. At the same time, brands like Mother and Red Bull were mostly marketed towards youth. So we developed Megamucil, a highly caffeinated, high fiber drink targeted to the Boomer generation. So far, 'Megamucil, You'd Better Run' has been our most successful campaign. Likewise, TAFE has traditionally missed out on the I'm wearing a trendy t-shirt with tiny coffee in hand market and we think the TAFé concept will help draw them in." TAFé will offer themed beverages that pay homage to past great shifts in education such as the Frothed Whitlam in honour of the former Prime Minister's efforts to make higher education accessable to all Australians. "We'll offer a free round of Whitlam's every day for whomever is in the room at the moment, but they'll gradually increase in price after that. We've got the very strong long black Midnight Oil as well and, of course, the Piccoli."

Normally a major rebranding comes at significant cost, however TAFE NSW was able to strike a deal with a Czech company also in the midst of rebadging. Angelo Moriondo explains, "They are dropping a couple letters out of their name and, because of this, will have a significant amount of surplus accent marks. It's really beneficial for us as, with the current round of budget cuts, we can barely afford to hire permanent staff, let alone purchase a bunch of apostrophe things. All we'll need to do is go out and affix these to our current signage and we'll just have everyone use a pen on their business cards and stationery. They also had a bunch of háčeks which we could have used as well but we figured that nobody would be able to pronounce TAFě."

Theresa Rasputin, spokesperson for the Government Office of Rebranding and Door Signage voiced support for the change, "We are eager to see TAFé innovating with the changing face of education. We are especially keen to see students gaining the skills needed to work in café environments as we feel that will probably be a necessary step for many of them as we restructure funding for higher education."

Surry Hills Hipster, Johann Strauss-Strauss seemed eager to give TAFé a try, "I did a double major in Art and English Lit. in uni then went on to do postgraduate work in Anthroposophy. If I could learn something useful at TAFé, I'd be willing to give it a go." Strauss-Strauss went on to enquire whether TAFé would do it's own roasting and whether the beans would be organic.

Also, TAFé will simultaneously release an Android and iOS app as well as a special Gestetner machine for every TAFé campus. This will allow teachers (or Baristeachers as they will be known) to distribute assignments in the most advanced--or excessivly retro way possible. Students (or 'denizens') will, in turn, submit work via a wiki or typed out on manual typewriter.

Latching on and liars

I have an ability to define my own space in the city; I can stand in a crowd of thousands and still maintain my own boundaries. However there is a particular form of boundary interruption that tests my limits; I’m not sure what they are actually called, but it’s the people on the street who are attempting to get you to join…something. Unfortunately, I seem especially unable to avoid encounters with them. I’m not sure if it’s that I look approachable (or perhaps gullible). But these people latch on to me and won’t take no for an answer no matter how much I protest I’m not interested in even talking to them. Unfortunately, my work is right next to Central Station in Sydney and there are usually a phalanx of them standing at the entrances waiting for passerby possibilities.

I am just not good at turning people away in these situations because they are often smiling and pleasant and I don’t want to seem rude (I am seriously trying not to obtain the permanent ‘do not interact with me in any way’ city scowl face). However, today, I was approached by a fresh young faced representative of [well known Australian not-for-profit which I shall not name]. I made clear to him that I didn’t want to stop and speak and kept on walking. He walked with me. I said I really didn’t want to speak. He persisted; ‘Haven’t you heard of XXX?’ ‘Yes’ I said, ‘I am a member’ (which, in fact, I am) and I walked on. As I walked away, he said, ‘Well I know that’s a lie.’

I stopped. For a moment, I’m sure there was some deep desire to unleash righteousness upon him, but I just quietly said, ‘no, really; I’m a member already.’ Then I walked away; I walked away truly hurt. I wasn’t so much hurt for myself, though I had just been called a liar by a complete stranger on the street. I was hurt at just another evidence of the ‘civility drain’ that seems so evident all around. Smokers blow smoke into the crowd at crosswalks. The loud music listers on the train. The people who do…all the other things…on the train. Why did that at all seem like an appropriate comment for him to make? Why, in the first instance, was it not my right to say that I did not want to stop and talk? Who is he to define what boundary choices I make?

As I came home, I reflected on what effect this same scenario might have on others. Were I a violent person; I might have reacted aggressively if challenged. I might have attacked this fellow for calling me a liar. What if I rarely went out and had issues with being in public to begin with; I might have completely withdrawn for weeks from an incident like this. I did come home, call the organisation he was representing and cancelled my membership. I realise that it’s a large organisation and that one voice on the street does not represent the whole. But I explained to the membership rep on the phone what had happened and why I was withdrawing my support.

Organisations cannot harass people into support; I do wonder how many people on the street just delight in the approach of someone attempting to garner their dollars as they go to the train at the end of a busy work day. I am sure that insulting the potential (or current) member is not a good strategy at all.