No - not a racist term, but my vivid imagination running rampant.

So - a new nurse visited me at home today to change the gel and dressing at the back of my head...

Stan: "So - how big is the hole...?  I have a photo of it, but can't really tell."
Nurse: "Well, it's about... this big" [she indicates using her fingers]
Stan: "What - that big?  So you could stuff, say, that [I point to a Ferrero Rocher that was sitting on the table in front of us] in my head?"
Nurse: "Well - just about all of it, yes"
Stan: "Okay..." (well - what would you say...?)

Gah...!  The photo I had taken a few days ago (and blogged yesterday) made it seem smaller than that.  I'll have to get the nurse to take better-zoomed pictures tomorrow...!

(And once that's been done, I'll probably get bored of the whole head (no pun intended) thing and move onto something else.)

Right - as befitting my illustrious title of Technology Evangelist, I thought I had better do a bit of Technology Evangelism, as it has been a while since my last tech-related posting.

Ladies and Gentlemen (of the niche Tablet PC owning variety) - may I present to you a rather funky application that's currently doing the rounds at Microsoft Research: InkSeine!

Forgive the really cheesy intro scenario, but marvel at how functional this piece of software is!

I'll be downloading InkSeine sometime this weekend, and will report back on its use...!

Well - just to follow up on last week's report of living the life of luxury...

The honeymoon period is well and truly over.  After a "delightful" period of having my head knitted together courtesy of the NHS (photo here), I had the stitches removed on Tuesday.

Sod's Law very quickly ensures that the universe stays balanced, and that egotistical buggers like myself are punished for my sneering attitude towards others.  Thus, my comeuppance is head/skin burstage - leading to a gaping maw in the back of my head.  Being located in the rear, I had no idea what it looked like, or how big it was, of course.  It just, well, hurt a lot.  So - after contemplating a minty-fresh wound (my vivid imagination running rampant after being told you could fit a few Tic-Tacs into the gash by the nurse), I considered asking them to take a photo of it earlier today...

[For the squeamish: if you want a replacement keyboard at work, I'd wholeheartedly recommend you open the following image while having some food/drink in your mouth.]

Isn't it pretty?

Thankfully - I don't have this exposed to the whole world, frightening adults and children alike.  I have a giant plaster stuck to the back of the head.  The caveat is that the "gash" can't be stitched back up - therefore I have to visit a nurse every bloody day so that she can take the old dressing off every bloody day, pack fresh medical gel and surgical gauze into the wound every bloody day (with it hurting like hell every bloody day), and plaster it all back up every bloody day.  Yes - all this every bloody day for the next 14-29 days...  Joy!

Still - it could be worse.  The nurse could have used ye-olde style of healing (cramming maggots in there to eat the necrotised flesh) or something.  And hey - it's not a fatal wound (to the chagrin of many, I'd assume).

So yeah - life bumbles on...

(P.S. The very observant of you may have wondered about the URL to the photos...  Heh...!  I may perhaps have something up my sleeve which will be fully unleashed onto the world very soon... :)

Imagine, if you will, a cross between Red Bull and Irn-Bru.  Terrible concept / OK beverage.  Just... wrong branding.  I didn't feel like Jack Bauer afterwards...

Having spent the best part of today in the hands of the NHS, I can't imagine why people feel uncomfortable in hospitals...

I was in the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary today to get some work done to my noggin.  What can I say...?  What a fun-tastic experience:

1. I see that they treat you with proper care - no expense spared!  Need some local anaesthetic...?  Why, they'll apply it as liberally as I'd heap spoonfuls of Beluga caviar onto my crackers.  They must have injected the back of my head, what, around 10-12 times.  Although they were lovely and accommodating, I'm sure they must have misunderstood me - I believe that I intimated that it was fairly painful to have needles stuck into the back of the head.  Just to make sure, and in a further show of the "no expense spared" attitude, as the needle was constantly being retracted and plunged in again, they kept a constant feed of the fluid, so much so that I could feel some amount dribbling down the neck.  They did mop up the excess, though, so that was nice... :)
2. How considerate it was of the staff to keep me distracted as the operation was taking place.  When I was moved into the prep room, I was expecting a cleverly shaped bed with, you know, a hole where the face would be so I could lie flat on my stomach as they operated on my head.  Rather, I was presented with a typical bed with a lovely fluffy pillow - strange, I thought, as surely this would be uncomfortable when I had to lie flat so they could cut into the back of the head.  Silly me for doubting the strategic planning power of the surgeons.  You see, they applied great pressure on my head at all times, pushing my face right into the pillow - this certainly made breathing a challenge, and certainly preoccupied me for most of the procedure.  Which I'm sure was their intention, as the half-hearted attempts at smothering me certainly distracted from the pushing and pulling sensation at the back of my head - I was too preoccupied with alternating breathing between the nose, mouth, and trying not to lock my jaw up.  Glee!
3. Keeping me warm was yet another priority of the surgical staff - and my, how resourceful they were.  When you're lying flat with the back of your head, neck and upper body totally exposed to the operating theatre, you're certainly going to feel a chill.  How very nice of the staff to try and keep me warm at all times.  And how very resourceful they were too - they had to work with what they had, and used copious amounts of my own blood to keep me nicely warmed to body temperature.  After the first two incisions, I could already feel a very warm and runny fluid tricking down my neck and shoulders, and could feel quite a lot of it congealing into puddles at the top of my chest.  By bathing me in my own blood, they certainly kept me nice and cosy for the duration of the operation.
4. Variety is the spice of life, they say.  And this mantra was certainly evident in the operating theatre.  After, what, 15-20 minutes of operating on the back of my head, I was beginning to get a bit weary of the tedium.  I've been brought up in the MTV generation, and have an immensely short attention span.  So, after more than a few minutes of fending off attempts of smothering, the prickling sensations of a surgical scalpel being plunged into the back of the head, and the tickling sensation of being covered in my own blood - the staff tried their hardest to keep me preoccupied.  This they did by slapping massive cold packs onto both of my legs.  Shockingly cold was an understatement...!  A very nice lady with a strong Irish accent explained that this was to slow the flow of blood in my body (I believe I was still bleeding profusely at this point) - however, I suspect they did it to keep me entertained - what a new sensation to totally unrelated body parts!  Brrr...!
5. Exercise is key to a healthy lifestyle, they say.  Even when lying flat on my stomach in the theatre, the staff's ingenuity knows no bounds - they managed to ensure I did at least a small bit of exercise in order to keep healthy.  The main aim was to stem the bleeding, of course (apparently the head has lots and lots of veins that have a tendency to just bleed when cut).  What better way to do this than by cauterising the wound with electric currents?  So - the surgeon spent probably a good 5 minutes searing the flesh closed by passing an electric current through the wound.  Of course, this occasionally had the comedy effect of making random limbs twitch.  A side effect, they claimed, but I know that their hearts were made of gold and this was an effort to make me exercise a little.  Bless them!
6. New experiences - everyone knows I'm always a proponent of new experiences, especially those of the culinary kind.  I've always encouraged people to eat a variety of foods, try a variety of drinks and savour a variety of aromas.  Indeed - I half-lectured a good friend only two nights ago about trying a wide variety of beers - to enhance one's vocabulary of taste, you see.  So it's great that the surgeons had considered even this with my hospital experience.  As the main surgeon continued to sear my veins shut with electricity, I could begin to catch distinct whiffs of a slightly burnt smell.  At last - I know what burning human flesh smells like.  One more aroma ticked off right there...  Mmm-mmm!
7. Talking of taste and aromas, I'm also appreciating the art of being gassed.  Once the hole in my head was cauterised and stitched up, the lovely Irish lady sprayed the wound with what felt like liquid nitrogen, but was probably something a lot less potent.  Don't breathe the gas, the surgeon says, as Irish lady squirts copious amounts onto the head.  Too late, I think!  Smells like very strong glue - certainly made me light-headed, which I enjoyed.  Irish lady concurs "I quite like the smell", she says in mutual agreement...  I don't think her dose was quite as high as mine, though, as she puffed it directly into the back of my head and face...!
8. Comfort is king.  Everyone knows I appreciate comfort - it's why I have no qualms paying exorbitant rates for high-quality hotels.  Well - today was an experience in comfort, let me tell you!  The staff were so considerate - not only did they change my surgical gown after the procedure (what a strange sensation to feel a mixture of gown and half-congealed blood being peeled off your back), but they also made sure my immediate surroundings were comfortable.  The lower half of my pillow was, by this stage, soaked in my blood.  But lo... - what service!  "There are two sides to every pillow", a wise nursing staff quipped.  And he promptly turned the pillow upside-down.  Excellent - my neck and chest were feeling nice and dry, and I had the benefit of now being able to see exactly how blood-drenched my pillow was, as the damp side was now at the top, enabling me to catch a glimpse of the redness.

So - that was my day.  What an experience - like being on an immensely luxurious, if somewhat short, holiday resort!  If I were a squeamish person, then I may have had cause for complaint, but frankly - the sheer care and attention that was illustrated above certainly made my day!

Alas, like all great holidays or late nights - the "day after" hangover kicks in with some force.  It's not even the day after yet, and already I can't move my head much (the great amount of bandages and gauze prevents much neck movement).  Also - the anaesthetic appears to have worn off, and it feels like someone is using the back of my head as an interim voodoo-doll.  Oh yeah - I also have copious amounts of dried blood on my neck, shoulders and blood - I really should wash up (I'm scared to wash, though, as the wound isn't waterproof until Thursday - wound and dressing must be kept dry until then).  See - the experience never ends...  I don't really get hung-over on alcohol, but I imagine this stabbing sensation is exactly what "the morning after" feels like...

Still - could be worse...  Oops - actually, I'll need to wait for the results of the biopsy before I say that.  But I'm sure, touch wood, that it's all rather benign.  :)