Auld Lang Syne

My name is Trevor
I’ve had a less than satisfactory year

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you will have some understanding that when I say that this year has been unsatisfactory, it could be construed as an understatement. It has, in truth, been pretty shit.

Don’t get me wrong. I am fully aware of a number of the blessings that I have received and I am truly thankful for them. The truth of the matter is that if this year was a set of justice like scales with good blessings on one side and bad shit on the other, I know which side would be heavier.

And heavier it has been. This year has weighed on my mind and body more than many in recent memory, and that is definitely saying something.

I got through this year with the help of the little things. Small events, blessings and realisations. These little handholds gave me a tenuous grasp in my life that helped to keep me… me.

I won’t list them all and there are a number that I have already written about in blog form; but there are a few that I will mention.

I performed in Merry Fecking Christmas earlier in the year.
I became a (semi) regular contributor to the YouTube channel Cheeky Moon which included me becoming a vampire, batman, a time traveller and concussed (that last one was in real life)
I was a regular performer at Underdog Impro and The Speakeasy
I perfected my mad scientist costume
I wrote a play
I played in a show of my own devising Henchman’s Anonymous

These are some of the few positives that happened to me this year. They have kept me going.

You may have noticed, these are all things. There have been a lot of people who helped me through, one way or another. These I won’t mention. You know who you are.

Sadly, there were a larger number of unpleasantnesses, either in quantity or scope. However, focusing on these doesn’t help anyone; so rather than dwell on it too much, I have made a small list for next year.

This list is not full of important goals or monumental aspirations. It is, instead, full of potential moments.

Enter Man in the Mirror into Short and Sweet.

I will follow through with this from this year. I was inspired by others and I owe it to both them and myself to finish what I began with it. 

Start and finish a Warhammer 40,000 army.
I have plenty of Warhammer gubbins. Rather than letting it sit around and gather dust, I will make it my hobby again, not my job.

Take part in a Warhammer 40,000 tournament.
Next year, I will be able to enter a simple tournament or two as a player without being held accountable as a staff member of Games Workshop. This means less pressure and I’ll be able to lose with dignity.

Continue with my fortnightly blog post.
It’s for me. Why shouldn’t I?

Celebrate my birthday.
The last two years, I was interstate. The year before, I was in Cairns. This year, I’d been in and out of hospital and wasn’t ‘in the mood’ to celebrate. Next year, I will. Even if it’s just a night out a restaurant or bar or something.

Audition for some theatre type productions.
I did this recently this year, and if I want to perform more, I need to get better at this challenging aspect.

Write a story
I have a few characters that have been developing with me. They deserve to be released.

Write another play
duh

Dress in an interesting costume
It could be for a show, or a party, or just because. I had immense fun in my mad scientist costume.

Take a swing dance class.

I did this about a decade ago. I really enjoyed it then. I know I will enjoy it now. It will also help me to get to a better fitness level in an enjoyable way.

Visit Carnarvon Gorge.
This location has a small place that is the most beautiful place in my memory. One of the waterfalls there held my heart in a way that has yet to be evoked by any other place that I’ve been. I want to see it again. If it’s the same or better, fantastic. If it’s not as good, that’s okay too. It’ll give me a brave new search quest. Besides, the place is plenty beautiful and that’s something I could definitely use.

Give my umbrella to someone without one in the rain.
It doesn’t hurt to look for opportunities to help others. This is one that I really want to try.

Visit the science centre
I’m still a child and I love to play with toys. That place has some fun toys.  

As I said, these are all things. This is not a new year’s resolutions list. They’re a bunch of activities that I would like to do. If I complete half of them, that would be amazing.

I recently rambled to a friend: Things, they’re just things, and events and activities, they’re just things too; But people, people is people.

 

What got me through this year the most was the people.

With the exception of writing a play, what made each of the events that I mentioned earlier as positives was the people. I got to play with some amazing people in both scripted and improvised productions. If I had to perform with people I couldn’t stand, I wouldn’t have enjoyed myself nearly as much. Even during some of the shit times, there would be positive people in it.

The list of activities that I have shared is just a list. What will make each of those events better, will be the people that I share them with.

My name is Trevor
I have a list of activities I want to do next year.
I look forward to sharing these experiences.

Missed Post

My name is Trevor
I skipped a fortnight’s blog post

I missed last post. I thought about putting it up late but I decided not to. The reason that I didn’t put up a post was because I was in hospital again.

This started with me feeling particularly horrible one Monday morning. I was having a flare up of my eczema. My face was red and raw and there was more than a few cuts and scrapes. On top of that, I noticed a lump that was recently discovered to be a lymph node on left clavicle had gotten noticeably larger. I knew that this was not good. I knew it had to be dealt with. I knew that I didn’t have the motivation to do it on my own with my own state of mind.

After some help gathering the mental fortitude, I packed a small bag with some simple necessities in case I needed to stay there for a couple of days. I went off and, tea towel clutched between my teeth for a focus, caught a bus to the city and then to the hospital.

After a short stay in ED, I was seen by one of the dermatology team. He had me admitted to one of the wards and told me that I’d probably be home before the weekend. He said that there were a couple of tests that would be done including a CT scan and a FNA (Fine needlepoint aspiration) to find out the nature of the nodes. He also took me off my long term medication.            

And so the healing began.

At this stage, I didn’t feel the need to tell people what was going on. I didn’t make any announcement on Facebook, or make bulk texts or phone calls. I didn’t want the attention that it might garner. I wanted to get through this short admission and have the world none the wiser.

I was given some effective treatments to reel in my eczema. It took a few days for it to be at a point that it was possible to do the CT and FNA. Once it was time for these alphabetical procedures to happen, I was ready. New cannula in place and three poor tasting and foul after-tasting drinks later, I was wheeled down in my bed to have my first CT scan. This was Thursday.

This procedure was swift and easy. They warned me about a couple of the possible effects that the iodine can have when it gets put through your system. For me, it was like the warm sensation that flows through your body after the first glass of a fine scotch. Thankfully, I didn’t get the feeling of wetting myself that can sometimes happen.

After this, I was sent through to Ultrasound for the FNA. This one had me a little more nervous. I was going to get stabbed. Stabbed with a small needle, guided by an ultrasound sure, but I’m not particularly fond of needles either. A small amount of local anaesthetic and the procedure was done quickly and efficiently. It was over before I could really get stuck in to the nerves.

And so the waiting began.

That night there was the big storm. I didn’t take this as any sort of omen, but I do remember going to my window to look at the massive storm outside. Noting that I couldn’t see the car park and thinking, “This is a massive storm and you’re standing next to a window.” I got back into my bed, realising that if the storm came through the window, the bed was far from safe, but at least I’ll be in a position that they could wheel me wherever I needed to go. There was also a brown out, an evacuation alarm and all sorts of other fun.

On Friday, the doctor came and visited me. He told me results hadn’t come back from the FNA, but the CT scan had shown that all of my nodes were enlarged. He told me that the FNA results wouldn’t be in until at least Monday. He explained to me that one of the main things that they were looking for with so many elevated lymph nodes was Lymphoma. The dreaded C-Word.

Cancer.

He explained to me that one of the very rare side effects of the drug I was on was that it could cause Lymphoma. He said that if this was the case, that it was highly likely that if I was to stay off these drugs, it would go away. I realise that he was probably just trying to prepare me for the worst case scenario. But to me, the way that he was portraying this was that it was the likely explanation for my condition.

And so the waiting began.

This time, it was different. I still hadn’t made what was happening to me public. I didn’t want the pity and I didn’t want to worry others. This was my ordeal and worrying others needlessly would help no one.

My emotions during this time were blunt. I re-started and finished the book that I had brought with me, The Eye of the World. I had finished the video game that I had brought, Final Fantasy Tactics A2: Grimoire of the Rift, I completed over 150 Sudoku puzzles. It was all mechanical. I wasn’t feeling the impact of what was happening. My reasoning being, I can’t influence it now, so there is no point in worrying about it. Any mention of the C-word was pushed to the back of my mind.

The ‘funny’ thing about that it that ideas at the back of your mind are still there and have horrible ways of effecting you. I was tired, but I struggled to sleep. I couldn’t concentrate. I found that I struggled to be creative. Night time was the worst for it, despite being up all day, I had trouble sleeping.

Monday came around and the results for the FNA came back. The doctor’s told me that the FNA “couldn’t rule out” Lymphoma. He told me that they were going to do a core biopsy. He oversimplified it by describing it as basically the same thing, but with a bigger needle. Great. He told me that the procedure couldn’t be done until probably Wednesday.

And so the waiting began.

If I thought my emotions blunt before, now they were bordering on numb. I didn’t want to deal with people; or more accurately, I didn’t want people to have to deal with my nonsense. I kept my problems to myself.

So here I was, alone in a hospital bed, worst case scenarios going running marathons in the back of my mind. Concentration was beyond me, replaced with repetition. Creative difficulty replaced with creative impotence. Difficulty sleeping with inability.

Never underestimate simple kindness. One night, at about three in the morning, I got up and went down the hall to the bathroom (the one that I was connected to my room was also connected to and being used by someone with greater contact restrictions than I had). On my walk back to the room, one of the nurses saw the state that I was in. She asked if I was alright. I told her that I was just having trouble sleeping. A couple of minutes later, she came to my room and asked if I wanted a sandwich and a cup of tea. I gratefully accepted.

A sandwich and a cup of tea was what it took for me to take my mind to a place where sleep was possible.

On the Wednesday morning, I was visited by another doctor who told me that they might not even go ahead with the procedure. Telling me that it probably wasn’t anything bad, that they were probably just reactive to my eczema and sign of infection. That he’d call his boss and discuss it with him and let me know.

At about 11:30 I was fetched to go to Ultrasound. There was no warning for this, I was just told that I would be going, now. When I was in the room, the Doctor who would be performing the procedure started it by scaring me silly. I understand why it is a requirement to tell patients of possible complications with a procedure, but if you have an active imagination, it can be truly terrifying. I then had to sign a piece of paper saying that I understood that some theoretical risks involved included such wonders as a collapsed lung or death, with the most likely complication being bleeding. I had to sign to say that I not only understood, but agreed to it.

I was scared. I was lying on my bed, blue paper over my head so the doctor could lean on it. Cloth in my hand as a focus. Local anaesthetic in the area again. It was an unpleasant experience with the doctor is constantly switching between talking to me and talking to the assistants.

There were a few things that I was sure of. He took seven different samples from the area. I could feel the pressure applied to the area. It took more local anaesthetic than was expected to numb the area. There were moments when I could feel a liquid running down my chest, and realising that it was my own blood. I had a huge rush of naturally produced adrenaline. Overall, it was an unpleasant experience.

When it was finished, a dressing was placed over the wound. I was told that I would end up with a bruise there and given ice to put on it to reduce this. I was sent back up to the ward, with the promise of pain when the local wore off.

And so the waiting began.

I was visibly shaking after the ordeal. I know that there would be a large number of people in the world who could go through something like this unfazed, there would be some who would be accepting of it all. I was not one of them. My body’s reclamation of itself from the adrenaline surge made it even harder to focus on anything.

I was in no place to talk to anyone, so for the most part, I kept it to myself. Part of it was that I didn’t want to see anyone, I didn’t want anyone to see me in the weakened state (both physically and mentally) that I was in and I knew that I would be poor company and didn’t want to force that on anyone.

When I was in uni, I remember finding out that a friend of mine had been cleared of the possibility of cancer. At the time, I was angry that she didn’t think enough of our friendship to tell me what was going on and letting me help her. I now have new perspective on what she was going through and I can see just how truly selfish I was being. This was her fight, not mine and how she decided to fight it was her choice.

It was the Thursday afternoon when I was seen with the results. It turns out that the nodes were only reactive. Chances are I had some form of infection that my body was fighting. It was nothing serious and I was allowed to go home. They said I could start back on my medication. I caught a bus home and that was that.

I didn’t have cancer.

It was only eleven days from admission to discharge. But it was eleven days of uncertainty. Eleven days of shutting myself out from the world as a whole. Eleven days of healing. Eleven days of fear.

There were a number of things that I missed. I missed four impro shows, including a graduation show for a bunch of new players (I really like to support the new, fresh faces), the final show of Underdog Impro for the year where I had to pull out of being the backup performer. Due to my state of mind, I didn’t go to an event planned by one of the cast of Merry Fecking Christmas the Friday after I got home. I missed a Christmas dinner for our trivia group. I missed a bucks night for a mate. As well as a number of other smaller things. I missed posting a blog post last fortnight as well.

This tale isn’t very inspirational though. There is no magical discovery or revelation that I have as a result of this experience. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t rewarding. It was unpleasant and scary.

It’s been a little over week now and I’m starting to get back into the world. One step at a time.

My name is Trevor.
I had a scary experience in hospital recently.
And now, the healing begins.

What's in a good story?

My name is Trevor
I like a good story

Regardless of the source

I enjoy a number of different sources of fiction.

I enjoy playing all manner of board games, but there is a special place in my mind for Warhammer 40,000. I first was introduced to this game through a roundabout fashion. My family had a game that we played called Heroscape. It had a number of different characters that you chose and pit them in battle against the other players’ teams. The set came with a large number of critters, but soon, I wanted more. In particular, one of the larger monsters made reference to a bonus that it gave other orcs, which were absent from the set.

I decided to go out and purchase some more models for the game and if I couldn’t find the right ones, I would get something close and make up the rules myself if I needed to. I went to my local toyshop and unsurprisingly couldn’t find any Heroscape models but I did find a box of Ork Boyz. I purchased these (in an odd moment of serendipity, I purchased them off my future sister in law).

I enjoyed assembling and painting these figures immensely. I decided to make a splash into the pool that was Warhammer 40,000. I purchased the starter set, Battle for Maccrage, and a battle force. The Toyworld that I was at had a decent selection of battle forces. I had a good look at all of them and with my non-existent knowledge of the background or factions that were available to me, I had to decide for myself in what I truly believe was the most honest and fair way possible. I chose the ones that looked the coolest. I chose the Space Wolf battle force and by coincidence, started myself down the pathway of heroics in the 41^st millennium.

I dived into this world without caution. I discovered large bouts of background and character. The Space Wolves are a group of Space Marines who are probably the most arrogant and glory-hungry that defend mankind. They see themselves as superior to all others. I picked up the needed materials and discovered that there was a local Games Workshop in Carindale. I went along and discovered that there was a group of people who were incredibly passionate about this hobby.

It was here that I played my first game. The gentleman that I played against was the perfect opponent; friendly, forgiving and fun. In fact, over the following time as a customer there, we played more than a few games together. Each time we did, the game became a story. We didn’t just play a game, we created stories and events. The different characters we ran developed background and rivalries.

This was where my passion for the hobby began to burn. The powerful stories. The characters that etched their way into my mind. I read all of the novels about one of the Space Wolves, Ragnar Blackmane. I followed on with many different stories from their world. The strange thing about it, is that none of these stories were quite enough. I was always preferring the ones that I created in my games. I found that the simple input that I had gave greater depth. Sure, I wasn’t always describing what was going on in the world around them but I was forging the narrative of my game.

This may be one of the reasons that I have more character models made than anything else. Each of them has a story. When playing games, I, all too often, stick to the traits that embodied these models, sending them into the fray when common sense would have held them back, or perhaps they would stick to the high ground to be better able to survey the battlefield, or they might even only stick around the same group of warriors to help them achieve greatness, to carve out their own saga. This was a habit that my opponents could (and often would) exploit. I still had fun.

It was the stories that truly interested me. The stories of great heroism and tragic falls. I read a lot of Black Library novels (the publishing company associated with this universe) and at first, thought they were the greatest thing ever. They were jam packed with action. The characters were larger than life. The action was only interrupted by ‘we’re not going to make its’, ‘we made its’ and the occasional one liners. They were big pew-pew space battles. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

My taste buds for novels changed over time.

I made a friend at university. We met in Chemistry class where I was forever distracting her and we shared a number of laughs. She moved away and then back to Brisbane. When she was back she introduced me to her partner and the two of us hit it off pretty well. At one point, I got to talking about my desire to increase my range of novel reading. He lent me a number of books on the spot. These books were still science fictiony type novels. They ranged from Frank Herbert’s Dune to Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game to Brandon Sanderson’s Legion.

These books introduced me to ‘new’ concepts. Characters who were neither good nor evil. Situations with no right answer, or wrong answer, or sometimes any answer. They were great.

I began to devour books a lot faster. The fact that I had an hour plus trip each way to work helped fuel this habit. I read comedies, drama, fiction, non-fiction. I was known by a few people as book a week Trevor.

I looked back at some of the best books that I have read and realise that I probably enjoy them as much as I do because I am an empathetic person. I could truly imagine Lerris learning that every piece of disorder he created, including deception, caused him physical pain in The Magic of Recluse. I empathise with Motley as he put on his Harlequin facade to hide the extreme concerns he had while trying to persuade Morr to do the right thing in Path of the Incubus. I felt the hopelessness of Anton’s choices in The Night Watch. I sensed Thorslax the Blighted’s fatigue in Blood of Asaheim. I struggled with the moral consequences of the protagonist of The War of the Worlds. And many, many more. In essence, I delved heavily into these books. I walked alongside these characters.

This, however was not the only source of fiction that I have enjoyed.

Some of the greatest video games I have played have been the ones with the greatest storylines.

There you are, you’ve just been told that you are being sent on a special mission to assess whether or not you’ll be the first human recruit in the galactic version of MI6. The mission goes unexpectedly (not really) and horribly (definitely) wrong. The assessor is killed, the artefact you needed to recover is destroyed beyond repair, one of your team members doesn’t make it back, the human colony is destroyed by a race of sentient machines with many of its inhabitants transformed into zombie like husks and you need to go back to explain this disaster to the politicians.

This was the opening level of Mass Effect. Pretty standard stuff for a video game. You’re the hero, something goes wrong and you need to fix it. What makes Mass Effect such a great game (and quite possibly my favourite) is the characters and choices that you have to make.

Every companion you can have has a full story. They all have wants and desires. They won’t always agree with your decisions. They will often voice their concerns. You get somewhat attached to them. Some of them die. Tears may be shed (I did and my eyes will still well up in some scenes). There will be favourites. There will be those that really aren’t. These characters drive the story just as much as the plot and they often give you moral dilemmas.

This was another fantastic thing about this game. Do you let the last queen of an alien race thought extinct go free, given that they nearly destroyed the galaxy, she promises they won’t do it again; or do you commit genocide on them? Would it help if both of your companions give you compelling arguments for different decisions? Too easy. What if you had to decide whether or not to catch a terrorist OR try to disarm the bombs he has planted in the rooms with the people you are trying to rescue? These were just a couple of the decisions that you might encounter in the first of this trilogy.

The game itself is fun, but more importantly, it has a great story. It’s an interactive story. One where you get to make the key decisions instead of the protagonist. The decisions you make impact how the story unfolds. In that, the game lets you think about your decisions and why you are going to make them.

One of the greatest elements of what I believe makes a great story is that it can make you to think, or even rethink something.

From some of the books I have mentioned:

Dune: The contrasts between the two houses, in particular the physicality of Paul Maud-dib and 

Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. It also presented future telling as part power, part self fulfilling prophecy.

Ender’s Game: Games are not always just games. What is the cost of victory on the individual? What are the repercussions, both moral, ethical and physical on moulding a child for a specific role?

Legion: What would happen if each of your skills were a separate entity in the world? How would they interact with you and each other?

The Magic of Recluse: Order and Chaos instead of Good and Evil. The concept of balance in the world, ie an equal amount of Order and Chaos, just distributed differently.

Path of the Incubus: What is the cost of personal honour in a world focused on the pursuit of power?

The Night Watch: The illusion of choice when trying to impact the consequences of our decisions.

Blood of Asaheim: Sometimes the bad guys don’t want to fight anymore and the heroes are really the bloodthirsty ones.

The War of the Worlds: What would a person be capable of in the worst possible situations? What would mankind?

As the character Hoid said, “A storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.” If a story can make me think, then it’s probably a good story.

Each of the above books and many other stories (movies, games, plays, the list goes on) have left me pondering something. Whether this something was intended by the author or a connection that I made, it doesn’t matter. It has enriched my mind. It has had an impact on my life. It has helped to shape my thinking in some way. Sometimes small, sometimes powerfully.

I want to achieve that.

In grade 12, I wrote a short story in a QCS practice. I put it up on a website on the interwebs. Here’s a link if you’re interested: The Mind's Work. I hadn’t written much for a long time and as a result, my skills got rusty. I have recently started writing more and more. So far, there is almost nothing that I would show anyone. But each time I pen something creatively, I’m getting better. I’m making better choices. I’m throwing characters that I like into situations I don’t. They’ve not always escaped. Sometimes they have but wished that they hadn’t. I’ve written despicable acts of cruelty and unexpected moments of compassion. I will keep writing until I get something I’m happy with. Then I’ll show people, who knows, one day I may get something published somewhere.

Then I’ll write some more.

My name is Trevor
I love good stories
I’m beginning to write some myself