Tour of Britain week

This week has been the Tour of Britain. It's like the Tour de France but not as good. No, I don't really mean that :) Anyway, you will recall from my witterings on this blog, I rode the Norfolk section a few weeks ago. Today is actually that section of the Tour, so we're off to watch the finish at Sandringham.
Watching this race on TV reminded me of Shuttleworth Ward. This was the last ward in Lincoln Hospital I was placed and so spent many hours watching shit TV. Apart from enjoying the Tour from my bed, other memorable programmes included The Professionals, Randal & Hopkirk Deceased, The Saint (Roger Moore version) and The Champions! My God I watched some REAL retro crap! And the other thing that unfolded during this stint in bed was the Chilean miners being rescued in the tubey thing... Remember?
This week I also saw a new shrink. I was passed onto her by ICU as she has an interest in ICU cases. This day I get told that I was in ICU for 42 days.... Hang on, I thought I was in there for 4 weeks!? No. It was 6 weeks. 6 f**king weeks. What more stuff have I yet to discover? To you, the reader, this probably sounds like nothing. To me, well actually it makes a hell of a difference. Just when I think I have the whole episode ordered in my mind, something new comes to light to change it all. Some days it's all consuming. Some days it's not. Most days I think about the fact I nearly died. For the last few weeks I've not slept well. Don't get me wrong, I think I'm ok. Not getting flashbacks, just waking up at 430 and not able to get back to sleep again: irritating rather than a problem.

Geraint Thomas with a decent cyclist!

Cav at the start of Trentham, Stoke stage

Fans at the finish line

Cav finished and not happy!

Thor Hushovd being interviewed

Lars Boom winning the Stoke stage

Ben Swift by the Sky bus

I think I reported earlier that July/August was a difficult time for me. Flashbacks and quite bad mood swings. I delt with it- sought help, you know, all the right things. Within the family, all was not completely right. Where communication was supposed to be, it seemed there was none. I thought I'd said my piece and everyone else thought they knew what it was BUT didn't want to say anything due to fear of me shouting. Thus creating a stalemate. It doesn't take much to sit and chat. Having the balls to do it and the nouse to spot it is another thing. And it's all obvious stuff. After a good 'airing' of all things, the house atmosphere improved. Nurses, for example seem to just spot the physical stuff... they don't really see patients after they leave hospital so there is not necessarily any knowledge of the Post Trauma side of things. For our family, this is kinda important and now, communication has reached a new level for us all. Because of this, I [think] am calmer and returning to how I should be. On Facebook recently, I've called myself "Nearly Phil Crow" cos, well, I was not all there. I'm now in a way better place mentally and I think my family are calmer for it- no eggshells to walk on in this gaff! And so to anyone out there reading this who knows someone going through PTSD, talk to them. Understand them. Get them to open up. It will not be easy but it is worth it. You really have no idea what's behind our eyes and we are racked with guilt for all sorts of illogical reasons that, actually, we DO want to talk about. It's shit. But there is light at the end of the tunnel- I know, I'm cycling towards it at a rate of knots :)