CABG surgery plus four months

CABG surgery plus four months

It’s 16 weeks since 20.5.11 when I published the post before this one. In that time the blogosphere hasn’t been a major focus for me. I don’t know why. I seem to be tuned in to other matters. But today being the 4-month milestone since my CABG surgery, I feel the need to record some thoughts at this time. So here goes:

When I look back over the past four months I can remember everything, or at least almost all of it, in great detail. Yet I can’t really believe, and accept, it’s happened to me. Frequently I look at the long scar on my chest or the one on my left forearm to confirm that, yes, it did happen, and those memories haven’t been somehow artificially implanted into my brain.

Nowadays I am well – physically and psychologically/emotionally. I walk, and run, up hills as well as I ever did. Using a pedometer I ensure I walk at least 10,000 steps each day. (Since I started on 16.7.11 I’ve walked 562,728 steps total, at an average 10,231 per day.) Due to this walking, I’m up to date listening to the podcasts I subscribe to. For weather reasons I haven’t started riding my bike yet; though now Spring’s here I’ll start soon. I have no pain, no shortness of breath, no ankle swelling, no irregular heartbeat. In short, no cardiac symptoms. No, that’s not true; I have two, i.e. my heart beats stronger than before, and my resting heart rate’s 10% higher than before. Also I’m about 4 kg lighter. I’d like to put on 3-4 kg, but the 10,000 daily steps and the low fat/low sugar diet I’m on has so far prevented me doing so.

I take three prescribed medications each day, plus aspirin, fish oil and vitamin C. I still have a couple of medication issues; but they’re minor and, in the greater scheme of things, inconsequential. Anyway plans are afoot to sort them out.

I had blood tests on 19.7.11 and I saw my Launceston cardiologist on 4.8.11. He suggests review blood tests just before 24.11.11 when I’m due to see him next.

On 1.8.11, i.e. exactly 12 weeks postoperative, I resumed work in the clinic. (Before then, some work paperwork reassured me my brain was working properly.) During August I gradually built up my work, and from the start of September I’ve been back to full work. I’m content with the quality of my work, but (pun intended) my heart’s not fully in it. Having been on death’s doorstep, work’s less important to me these days. I’m curious to see if that’ll change in future. I doubt it will.

My darling family is my focus and my inspiration. Sweetheart Vivienne has stood by me and supported me – early on, literally on occasion. And my darling daughters and grandchildren have showered love and concern on me when in truth they don’t owe me anything. My darling sister Sue has been there for me too. Not to mention my friends and work colleagues. To offer you all my thanks is both insufficient and trite. But I do so anyway.

So, in summary, four months on, so far so good. Very good. When I wake each morning I consciously think how lucky I am to be waking up. And that the expertise and technology to save my life was available; and I had ready access to it.

My main aim for the next few months is to continue with my postoperative rehabilitation. I don’t know when it’ll be complete. But at some stage I’ll reach maximum improvement. I don’t think I’ve reached that point yet. Also, hopefully as the months stretch on I’ll become less obsessive about my health.

Other aims are to sell our Mole Creek property, and to begin planning our Musk Vale house which is across the road from darling Kate and her family. I can't wait to live there.

When will I post next on Farmdoc’s Blog. When I’m ready. Hopefully soon.

P.S. I should tell all those who’ve asked me, that my wedding ring was returned to me by hospital staff before I was discharged. I was so happy, and relieved, to have it back.

CABG surgery plus 11 days

This morning, in bed, I had another run of AF – the second since my hospital discharge. Like yesterday’s, today’s was not severe or long. And it responded quickly to Sotalol. As soon as my heart rhythm reverted to slow and regular (i.e. sinus rhythm) I had a shower. My first since being home. And I was strong enough to shower standing up. (In the hospital post-operatively I’d had two showers – both sitting in a shower chair because I didn’t have nearly enough endurance to shower standing up.) Minor progress – but progress nonetheless. Today Sweeetheart Vivienne, darling Meg and I went to a nearby café: Rue Bebelons [1]. Only 150 metres from our Melbourne home, but my first outing since hospital. It felt so good to sit there and drink coffee like a person who’s normal, i.e. not one who’s 11 days after CABG surgery. Otherwise my daily exercise and walking programmes continued. Late arvo darling Meg left us to travel home to Daylesford by train. Her 1½ day visit was a gem. As she is.

CABG surgery plus 10 days

Late yesterday afternoon I had a run of irregular heart rhythm due to AF – the first since my hospital discharge. I felt it in my chest. It was nowhere as severe or long as previous runs. And it responded in 10-15 minutes to a Sotalol tablet [1]. I wondered if a walk around the Melbourne Central shopping centre [2] a couple of hours earlier, had been too much. Especially as yesterday was a very emotional day for me. Anyway how wonderful to sleep in my own bed. With Sweetheart Vivienne beside me. And none of those mysterious nocturnal hospital noises. I slept through until 6 a.m. Then sporadically. The rest of today was a quiet day. I did my rehabilitation exercises. And I did my required daily 30 minutes of walking by gently treading the 35-metre corridor outside our Melbourne apartment – in two 15-minute stints, whilst simultaneously shortening my list of unlistened-to podcasts. Late morning darling Meg, laden with fresh produce, arrived to spend a couple of days with Sweetheart Vivienne and me. What joy for her dad. After dinner we watched a DVD movie called Bandidas, and then an episode from the third series of In Treatment. I can’t imagine a more enjoyable rehabilitation programme than this one.

CABG surgery plus nine days

Final blood tests done. Discharge medications received. X-ray films too. Outpatient cardiac rehabilitation (at The Royal Melbourne Hospital starting in a week) organised. Review appointments by cardiologist and heart surgeon fixed. Final physiotherapy and dietitian sessions attended. Patient Cardiocard received. Discharge Instruction Summary signed. Big bag of chocolates plus a card bearing Sweetheart Vivienne’s heartfelt (pun intended) words To the amazing team on the 5th floor. From Ross and his grateful family. Thanks! presented to the staff.

So…Farmdoc leaves the hospital. Reverts from a patient back to a person. Deliberately. Eagerly. Meaningfully.

Due to a 2 kg lifting limit, unable to carry his bags. So his long-time friend Peter – Melbourne’s best physician – carries them. Poignantly.

Met in the Admission/Discharge Office, then walked to the car, by darling Kate. Unforgettably [1]. Met beside the car by Sweetheart Vivienne [2] and darling Indi. Lovingly.

Home Sweet Home. A cliché. But a welcome reality too.

The first day of the rest of my life.

CABG surgery day

Yesterday mid-afternoon darling Emily drove Sweetheart Vivienne and me to the Melbourne Private Hospital [1]. A few minutes later, the paperwork had been done and we were in the ward. I had a chest x-ray and some blood tests. Then in the late afternoon we met my surgeon Mr Goldblatt. For the first time. In a gentle, unrushed and authoritative way, he explained to us what happens before, during and after the surgery. I quickly decided I had confidence in this man. Soon after, Sweetheart Vivienne left – with darlings Sue and Jeffrey who drove her home. Later the anaesthetist visited. During her stay the information flow was almost all from me to her. After she left, my arms, legs and chest were shaved. Then I showered, during which I scrubbed myself with iodine antimicrobial foam. Then I donned my pyjamas – the final symbol of my conversion from person to patient. Then I hopped into bed.

Today was CABG surgery day. I woke early. After a good sleep – courtesy of tablets. I had another shower including a further iodine foam scrub. And I donned one of those awful hospital gowns. No breakfast for me, of course. I was in the pre-operative fasting stage. The perfusionist (who was to operate the heart-lung machine keeping me alive when my heart would be stopped during the operation) called by. To bid me g’day. I remember saying I hoped he was in top form. And that he replied he was.

I was warmed by the thought that all day, three of our darling daughters would be physically with Sweetheart Vivienne. And the fourth – in the USA – would be with them in spirit.
Farmdoc’s Blog readers know my dad had clinical heart disease since his early 40s, and a heart attack killed him at age 56 [2]. (Then, in 1969, CABG surgery wasn't available.) Funny thing. All morning this morning I wasn’t Farmdoc. Nor was I Ross. I was Inigo Montoya – hero of the 1987 film The Princess Bride [3]. And continuously, as if on a tape loop, was Montoya’s oft-stated threat: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. [4] The heart disease that killed my father, and that was afflicting me, was about to be conquered. Not by Montoya’s sword. But by Goldblatt’s knife. (That Sweetheart Vivienne’s my Princess Bride's also relevant, of course.)

Late morning a nurse came to give me a morphine injection. And that’s my last pre-operative memory.

CABG surgery minus one day

This afternoon at 2 p.m. I’m being admitted to hospital. Currently my world’s small. Focused in on myself. Which isn’t something I relish. But I suppose in the circumstances it’s inevitable. Beyond my solipsism, today’s Mother’s Day in Australia. So I’m especially thinking of my own mum, and the nearest and dearest mums to me. Not least Sweetheart Vivienne – who’s one of the best. Today’s also the first post Bin Laden Sunday. I can’t help but think our little planet’s a tad better off for that fact. Otherwise all else continues: football matches, political intrigue, celebrity worship, global warming, and more. Including the federal budget next Tuesday evening. But for me, it’s hospital. Speaking of which, I know that while hospitals are necessary institutions, it’s best to be a patient in one for as short a time as possible. Which is my aim in the days ahead. I don’t know when my next Farmdoc’s Blog post will go up. Hopefully soon. Stay tuned, folks.

CABG surgery minus two days

A quiet day today. A stroll to Victoria Market with Sweetheart Vivienne. A long chat with Sweetheart Vivienne and darling Emily over brunch. A look at some surveillance video then a quick 2-page report on its content and implications. A skype video conversation with darling sister Sue and brother-in-law Jeffrey. Then a visit to long-time friends Peter and Vonne. Busy, busy. So not much time to think about my hospital admission tomorrow let alone the surgery on Monday. It’s hard to know if I’m getting closer to these events or they’re getting closer to me. Whichever or both is so, I feel strangely calm about it all. Why ‘strangely’? Because I reckon I should feel anxious. What’s about to happen is big. Bloody big. But my mindset remains positive. Optimistic. Which is strange for the cup-half-empty bloke that I am. Tomorrow? That’s another day. Today I’m okay. Really okay.

P.S. Thank you to those who wrote such supportive and comforting comments on yesterday’s post. It’s trite to write it, but I’m sincerely grateful to each of you. Also to Sweetheart Vivienne [1] and darling Kate [2] for blogging about me so lovingly. What a support team I have. I am a truly blessed man.

Farmdoc rides again.

On Sunday I’m being admitted to the Melbourne Private Hospital. Then on Monday I’m having coronary artery bypass graft [CABG] surgery. It’s major. Seminal. Existential. For me. And also for my darling family and my friends. Even in some way for my acquaintances. So I need to write about it: to consider it. To weigh it. And of course to record it. What better way to do all this than Farmdoc’s Blog. So the journey begins. Actually, no. It began a year ago when I began feeling an ache behind my chest bone. It was exercise-related then. And it’s remained so since. At first I thought the cause was the hiatus hernia I knew I had. So I took Nexium. It helped. But not totally. Long story short, on 14 April I had a treadmill exercise test which showed I had a heart problem. Then on 27 April an angiogram revealed severe disease of all three main coronary arteries. Indeed so severe it wasn’t amenable to angioplasty. Therefore it’s CABG surgery for me. Given my family history, I’ve long thought coronary artery disease was in my future. For decades I’ve been trying to avoid it by attending to all the known risk factors. I may have delayed it. But I couldn’t outrun my chromosomes. With Sweetheart Vivienne I’ve been walking: 3-4 km each day. So I’m physically ready for surgery. I’m psychologically ready too. I’m focused and determined. Oh I expect rough times ahead. But I know I’ll get there. And so, it seems, do all the people mentioned above. I’m overwhelmed, and humbled, by their love, care, wishes, and in some cases prayers. I’m ready. Bring it on.

P.S. I hope to put up daily posts. The first few will be retrospective. They’ll cover medical matters. But more so my thoughts, my anxieties and hopefully my triumphs. I invite you to share my journey. If you’re up for it, to paraphrase the bumper sticker: Log on, sit down, buckle up and hang on. We’re going to hell and back. Farmdoc rides again!

The last post

Dear Farmdoc’s Blog followers and readers

The first post on this blog was way back on 21 April 2008 [1]. Three years ago tomorrow. Since then I’ve put up one new post each day. So today’s post is number 1,095. And for the time being at least, and maybe forever, the last post. There are three main reasons for this:

1. A post a day’s a big undertaking. For me anyway. I’ve enjoyed doing it. But in recent months it’s become more arduous. And less fun.

2. Last week I received some not-so-good health news. Currently I don’t know its full import. But whatever it turns out to be, I have much thinking to do. And I know I’ll think better without the pressure of a daily Farmdoc’s Blog post weighing on my mind.

3. Because of that news, Sweetheart Vivienne and I have decided to sell our Mole Creek property as soon as we reasonably can, and then move to Victoria near our darling ones. So we’re starting work on a new blog – as yet untitled – aiming to attract a purchaser. And most definitely I can’t maintain two blogs simultaneously.

In that first post I wrote that writing Farmdoc’s Blog would help me find out about myself ‘And if it also helps others, in however small a way, then that can only be a good thing’. I know I’ve achieved that first aim. The second one I don’t know about.

On 27 September 2009 I wrote a post about the Last Post. In a comment on it, darling Meg wrote ‘FD you gave me the fright of my life! I saw the words last post and I thought that you were henceforth taking leave from your blog’ [2].

Friends, the time’s come for me to take leave from this blog. I plan to put up one more Farmdoc’s Blog post in the next couple of months – when our new blog goes live. After then, who knows?

So there you have it.

Thank you for accompanying me on my journey.

Farmdoc.

P.S. I remain contactable at the email address in my Blogger profile.

Call Yachol - a wonderful business

Today’s ‘Positive and Optimistic Sunday’. Indeed today’s the sixth consecutive ‘Positive and Optimistic Sunday’ post about Israel. No apology from me for that. All six topics are clearly positive and optimistic. None more so than today’s. Call Yachol is an Israeli call centre and outsourcing company [1]. Set up in 2008, Call Yachol’s the brainchild of psychologist Gil Winch. It’s unique in the world – because it employs disabled adults (aged 20-65 and with no cognitive impairment). Including more than a few Israeli Arabs. In Hebrew, Call Yachol means ‘able to call’, and also ‘able to do anything’. Which is precisely what the more than 100 disabled team members do. Conscientiously and effectively. Whilst having some fun along the way. And providing them with a sense of teamwork and accomplishment, and a boost to their confidence and self-esteem. This 4-minute YouTube video explains more about the aims, ethos and achievements of this inspirational enterprise [2]. Call Yachol competes for work on the open market – apparently very successfully. A society is measured by how it treats its weakest members [3]. Judging by Call Yachol and the international interest being shown in it, Israel measures up well. Exceptionally well. How positive and optimistic is that.
H/t Sweetheart Vivienne for alerting me to this wonderful business.

Review Tuesday: 'My Afternoons with Margueritte'

Today’s ‘Review Tuesday’. My Sweetheart Vivienne won two free tickets to My Afternoons with Margueritte [1, 2, 3] – a 2010 subtitled French film starring Gerard Depardieu. We saw it last Thursday evening – at the end of my ‘4-hour delay day’ [4]. It’s the story of an improbable friendship between Depardieu’s character Germain (a 50-year-old uneducated, minimally literate and seemingly oafish builders labourer) and Margueritte (a cultured, bookish, prim 90-year-old lady). By chance the two meet on a park bench. Germain counts the pigeons, and he’s named all 19. Margueritte’s fascinated by them too. Their friendship blossoms. Each gives; and each takes. But we see him develop more. Maybe because his baseline’s lower. Though this movie’s a hybrid of My Fair Lady, Being There and Tuesdays with Maurie, it benefits from its intergenerational dimension. At its end – which comes unexpectedly without being unexpected – tears were streaming down Sweetheart Vivienne’s and my cheeks. We both felt cheated of a few more scenes – to show us what happened next. And that, I reckon, is the hallmark of a fine film. My view, as a semi-neoluddite from backwoods Tasmania, is that the current plethora of so-called social media contributes little if anything to our ability to form meaningful relationships and develop them over time. My Afternoons with Margueritte is a model relationship case-study: sensitive, languid and joyous. Though I saw it gratis, it gave me so much it would’ve been worth the admission price. It’s a wonderful film. I rate it four stars.

Four hours: not a long time, but not short either

There’s no compendium today: I’m in Daylesford – with Sweetheart Vivienne and darlings Kate and Meg and their families.

Four hours. Not a long time. But not short either. I couldn’t stand on one leg for four hours. Maybe not even on two legs. Four hours. That’s the time my 9:45 a.m. flight from Launceston to Melbourne last Thursday was delayed. At 8 a.m. before I left home I checked the airline’s website. It showed an on-time departure. But when entering the terminal I saw it’d been delayed. By 75 minutes. The check-in man said the plane was still in Melbourne, With a technical problem. Drat. I hunkered down in the Qantas Club. To wait. I phoned Sweetheart Vivienne. I attended to emails. I reduced my podcast backlog. I wrote blog posts. Time passed. Then another announcement: a further delay. Due to a Melbourne airport security breach [1]. The airline offered lunch vouchers. Thanks for that. My iPod battery drained. I finished the New Yorker issue I’d brought. Time slowed. As if the plane would never arrive. Or leave. But it did. Both. Four hours late. What’s four hours? Not a long time. Better to be delayed by a fixed technical problem than on time with an unfixed one. And better to be delayed by a detected security breach than on time with an undetected one. Oh the delight of commercial air travel. The sheer joy of it. Ho hum.

Finally, I wish you, dear Farmdoc’s Blog readers, a wonderful week.

List: 'Top Ten World tallest skyscrapers'

Today’s ‘List Friday’. Sweetheart Vivienne and I share many likes. Including Freudian theory (even though nowadays its popularity’s waning). So when we see a man driving a big car, we pontificate about the size of his – er, how shall I put it – male member. I’ve no idea if size is everything. And I don’t care. But I suspect size matters to lots of people. And, I dare surmise, most of them are men. And so to today’s list: from thetoptenlist.net it’s ‘Top Ten World [sic] tallest skyscrapers’ [1]. Wikipedia says there’s no accepted definition of a skyscraper; to be a skyscraper a building has to be habitable; and. interestingly, the word ‘skyscraper’ was originally a nautical term [2]. It’s instructive to contemplate that from 1873 to 1974, 15 skyscrapers were sequentially the world’s tallest. And all 15 were in the USA [3]. Since then all the successive world’s tallests have been in Asia or the Middle East. The current number one (pictured), in Dubai UAE, is a massive 828 metres (2,717 feet) tall [4]. In other words, over half a mile high. And almost 10% of Mt Everest’s height. Man’s ingenuity building a skyscraper that high is awe-inspiring. Moreso as it’s a massive 319 metres (i.e. 62%) higher than its predecessor. Of the nine other contemporary tallest in the list, five are in China, two are elsewhere in Asia, and two are in the US. I don’t know how many of the ten were conceived and designed by men. My guess? All of them. Ho hum.

No more lumpy jaw

Today’s ‘Positive and Optimistic Sunday’. On our Mole Creek property, at the highest point on our roadway, near our header tank, is a spot we call Hoppers Crossing. We named it after the Melbourne suburb [1]. It’s a frequent crossing point for hopping wildlife including wallaby, pademelon, bettong and potoroo (collectively called macropods [2]). The number of hopping marsupials varies with the environmental conditions. This year, with ample rain and thus plant growth, they’re abundant. Healthy, too. But under less favourable conditions macropods (and other animals too) are prone to diseases. Including lumpy jaw – which is an infection by the bacterium Fusobacterium necrophorum [3]. It affects the soft tissues and bones of the jaws, and abscesses can form. Because it restricts eating, weight loss and debility occur, and death can result. Lumpy jaw’s rare in free ranging animals. It’s more common in zoos – due to multiple factors including confinement, diet and stress. Until now it’s been hard to treat. But collaboration between dentistry, pharmacy and veterinary scientists in Israel, of all places, has resulted in a topical, slow-release, one-time treatment [4]. Apparently zoos world-wide, including in Australia (!), are keen to obtain the preparation for their own animals. I love seeing healthy macropods around our property. Conversely, no doubt zoo staff are distressed by macropods stricken with lumpy jaw. The Israeli varnish’s a major breakthrough. How positive and optimistic is that.

H/t Sweetheart Vivienne xx

Birds, cats and turbines: in perspective

I’ve written [1, 2, 3] of the two windpower turbines being built for the community co-operative Hepburn Wind [4]. Last week the two towers and their blades were erected [5, 6, 7] on Leonards Hill [8] near Daylesford. Sweetheart Vivienne and I support windpower. So we’re Hepburn Wind members/shareholders [9] – as are all our grandchildren. But not everyone’s a windpower fan. A main objection’s birdkill. The US Fish and Wildlife Service estimates US wind turbines kill 440,000 birds per year – likely to more than double by 2030 due to more windfarms. Though 440,000’s no small number, it’s dwarfed by the number of birds killed by cats: The American Bird Conservancy [ABC] estimates cats in the US kill 500 million birds each year – half by pets and half by feral cats. Further, the Journal of Ornithology recently reported a Washington study finding cats were easily the main bird killers: nearly 80% of birds were killed by predators, with cats causing 47% of the 80% [10]. My cyberfriend Chrows25 and I have been in cyberdialogue about cats and birds [11]. The authorities (and maybe the population too) in Canada are more attuned to the problem that we are here. Which is not to belittle the extent of wind turbine birdkill. I agree with the ABC that windfarms should be ‘bird smart’, e.g. positioned to avoid major migration paths and breeding grounds; and with their powerlines buried to prevent collisions. I hope Hepburn Wind’s two turbines meet these criteria. I really do.

Potato growing - a giant conundrum

In Mole Creek autumn’s here. Well and truly. And this morning Sweetheart Vivienne flies to Melbourne. So two days ago we harvested our potatoes. Mostly from two 5-metre long patches we’d put down in our orchard – sown between a thick layer of newspaper below and straw mulch on top. These potatoes were small. Disappointingly so. Our sharefarmer neighbour Sharon said that even after their above-ground stalks and leaves have died down, potatoes left in the ground continue to grow in size. I don’t know if she’s right. And this year I won’t know – because our entire crop’s in the box (pictured). The same day Sweetheart Vivienne and I also harvested the last of the potatoes we’d grown in a stack of car tyres – in soil enriched by compost. Included were, as you can see in the photograph of the combined orchard/tyres crop, two giants. They’re the biggest potatoes we’ve ever grown. How did we do it? Beats me. Both were near the tyres’ rubber. Maybe it was warmer there. Wetter, too. Or perhaps it was the variety of potato. Or even, given Sharon’s theory, leftovers from last season. Or all of the above. Who knows? Like many things in my life, food growing’s something I’d like to improve incrementally and iteratively season-by-season. But so many variables are involved that it’s impossible to know what works – and what doesn’t. Anyway it’s fun. As it can be. Because it’s not my livelihood. Ho hum.

George is 'Back on the Floor'

Today’s ‘Positive and Optimistic Sunday’. Dancing. I’ve never been able to do it. Talk about two left feet. I have four. But I admire dancing. And people who can dance. Last 24 November I linked [1] to Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing to ‘Pick Yourself Up’ [2]. Pure virtuosity, eh. I identify with tap dancing and old-time dancing. Modern dancing I understand less. Though I still appreciate, and admire, the athleticism it requires. And so to a young Haitian man: 28-year-old George. A professional dancer, in the 12 January 2010 earthquake he sustained severe injuries to both his legs. His right leg was amputated. Was his dancing career over? You’d think so. Then George met an Israeli rehabilitation team helping out in post-quake Haiti. The result? Play the video (titled Back on the Floor) [3] and judge for yourself. A year after the earthquake, and following intensive rehabilitation in Israel and Haiti, you’d hardly pick that George is an amputee. How positive and optimistic is that.

H/t Sweetheart Vivienne for bringing George’s inspirational story to my attention.

Review Tuesday: 'Inception'

Today’s ‘Review Tuesday’. Sweetheart Vivienne said she recommended I watch Inception [1]. She wasn’t sure I’d understand it, she declared, but I needed to be able to say I’d seen it. As of last Saturday, I can say I’ve seen it. And as predicted, I didn’t understand it. Inception’s a multi Academy Award winning 2010 high action sci-fi thriller starring Leonardo DiCaprio (as Cobb) and directed by Dark Knight director Christopher Nolan. What’s it about? Great question. It is, I think, to do with planting ideas in other people’s minds by inserting people into dreams within dreams within dreams. So Cobb assembles a team of such people. Each team member has unique expertise. Don’t ask me what their expertises are. I can’t remember. And I don’t care. Anyway there’s much action in Inception. It was made for the big IMax screen. I saw it on Sweetheart Vivienne’s 15 inch MacBook Pro. Which may have detracted from the cinematic experience. But it didn’t affect my understanding of the plot. Which I found unrealistic and silly. In the end, they plant the intended idea into the intended man’s brain. After which Cobb goes home to his children. Or does he? The film’s big conundrum is whether his homegoing was reality or a dream. Who gives a …? I don’t. Inception’s been very well reviewed [2, 3, 4]. It’s lucky to get one star out of me. But at least I can say I’ve seen it. So thank you, Sweetheart Vivienne.

Alvin Wong: the real-life statistical composite happy man

Much of last Monday’s College session was devoted to reflective learning. I still don’t know exactly what reflective learning is. But I know it’s contemplative and introspective. Yesterday I returned home after a week in Victoria. Coming home always causes me to reflect on my life: what’s okay, what I should improve, how and when. And so on. A key aim of mine’s happiness [1]. I think I know when I’m happy. But I definitely know when I’m unhappy. Happiness is a worthy aim. It must be. Because it’s the topic of much research. Each Monday morning I send a ‘happy week’ email to Sweetheart Vivienne and our darling ones. Responding to last Monday’s, SanFran daughter sent me a link to this NYT article titled ‘Discovered: The Happiest Man in America’ [2]. It describes a statistical composite for the happiest person in America: tall, Asian-American, observant Jew, at least 65, married with children, lives in Hawaii, runs own business, household income over US$120,000 a year. And, lo and behold, the NYT located a man meeting all these criteria: Alvin Wong (pictured). Is Alvin a happy chap? He said he’s very happy. I hope that’s so. For his sake. And for the researchers’ sake, too. Me? I already know I’ll be relatively unhappy until next Monday morning – when I’ll be meeting Sweetheart Vivienne at Launceston Airport. Ho hum.

P.S. H/t SanFran daughter. You knew I’d love this NYT article. And you were right.

Gender: know and tell?

There’s no compendium this week. The reason? We have house guests – Sweetheart Vivienne’s brother Harvey and his wife Reva – so I haven’t had time to prepare one.

In Australia at least, almost all pregnant women undergo ultrasonography. This means the gender of each human foetus can be, and is, diagnosed before birth. So parents-to-be have two decisions to make: Do they want to know their unborn’s gender; and if yes will they tell family and friends. Sweetheart Vivienne’s and my youngest child was born sufficiently long ago that we didn’t grapple with these decisions. So I’ve never had first-hand experience with the pros and cons of knowing and telling. Not to worry. I don’t feel I’ve missed out in this regard. Yesterday we and our house guests visited Ben (pictured). He’s eight months old old and from Tasmania’s West Coast. His mother was killed by a car. He now weighs 8kg and he’s said to be ‘a wombat toddler’. The plan is that in late 2011 or early 2012, when he weighs 12-15kg and he’s ‘a wombat teenager’, he’ll be ready for release into the bush. Our bush. So there. Though not prenatally, I know the gender of our next ‘child’. And I’m thrilled to bits about it. Not only am I glad I know, I’m delighted to tell you.

Finally, I wish you, dear Farmdoc’s Blog readers, a wonderful week.