Insurance Company Conundrum - Make me Whole After the Accident

Am I the only one who feels that after a motor vehicle accident, the offending party's insurance company has the onus of being responsible for making the victim whole? Or at least trying to compensate for the hours and money spent trying to become whole again? And something for the pain the victim is suffering. I realize there is no way to pay for the pain - you don't have that much money.

I remember when the insurance companies petitioned the government  to allow capping of payouts on 'soft tissue damage'. I didn't think much about it at the time. I've never been hurt in a car accident before. I've only ever hit a deer on the road - she jumped out in front of me and I didn't have time to stop. Sure, my car got hurt and had to be fixed. But other than shaken, I didn't have any injuries.

So this soft tissue damage capping didn't' affect me, I thought. Sprains heal. Muscles heal. Right?

Well, it does affect me after all. Broken bones heal, they even get stronger where they've been broken. Pieces missing aren't coming back - you get prosthetics to replace a missing limb if necessary and there is a payment scale for the worth of that limb/digit. Insurance covers the whole enchilada.

But soft tissue damage? Well no one can put an exact finger on the spot or the problem. Or absolutely prove the accident caused this difficulty. So the insurance companies, knowing how much healing muscle damage can cost and how long a person might be an invalid - hey they have stats for all this you know - made some back room deal with the government to allow them to cap these pesky problems. Too many cases of long term overindulgence at the trough? Shareholders don't like payouts, bites into their dividends.

Anyone who has been reading my blogs knows I was in a MVA on November 23, 2011. I stopped at a flashing crosswalk, between a park and a residential district, to allow a pedestrian to walk unhindered across the street. The driver behind me, who I'd mentioned to my passenger son just moments before that she was following too closely, didn't stop. She hit me into the crosswalk.

Fortunately there wasn't a kid on that crosswalk, running across to get home for lunch. Otherwise I would have hit him. Thankfully, the old man, walking his dog, had waited till all the cars had stopped. He did not get hit. I still have nightmares about 'what could have been'.

My car was damaged of course. Not only did my bumper have to be replaced, but the steel plate under the bumper was mangled and had to be replaced as well. The auto body shop seemed surprised when I told them my airbags had not deployed.

But my son and I were damaged. We both sustained whiplash and concussions. I don't know what I hit with my head, or if it was the impact that sent my head flying forward and back into my headrest hard enough to break my hairclip and cause the concussion. My son did hit the window. Not enough to crack it, but enough that his head ached for months, and he had constant headaches. He also sustained side chest pains, probably from the seat belt clenching him. But, as a young adult male, he healed quickly, brushing aside telling the doctor about any further pain. He settled although he still experiences debilitating pain in his side some days.

Myself, well, I am a lot older. Almost 60. I don't heal as quickly. And I think, because I saw the car coming in my rearview mirror, I tensed. My mistake? Don't really know. I still suffer from my concussion and the whiplash injuries are ongoing. See, my neck muscles became injured from the fast forward and backward motion. And those muscles are attached to other parts of my body, namely my neck. My nerves go under those muscles. And the muscles haven't healed.

I still suffer from my concussion and the whiplash injuries are ongoing. See, my neck muscles became injured from the fast forward and backward motion. And those muscles are attached to other parts of my body, namely my neck. My nerves go under those muscles. And the muscles haven't healed.

I do know that before the accident I was a fit, healthy, middle aged woman. Other than some very mild arthritis in one hip and one side of my jaw, I didn't have a pain in my body. I walked every day with my dog, I sang, I puttered around the house, I worked at my different projects, I kept my house somewhat clean, I did laundry. And I wrote daily. In all I led an active healthy life. 


So now, I have pain in my jaw. I can't chew properly. I can no longer open my mouth fully. I can't talk for long periods of time, or often. I can't sing.

I have severe ringing in my ears. They call it Tinnitus. Never had it before the accident. But the ENT specialist maintained that my age and my smoking habit are the only reasons for this never ending noise. Can't possibly be the accident. Just because it only started then is no reason to blame the accident. Right?  But I did find, just two days ago, when my GP put me on steriods to take down the swelling in my injured muscles, my Tinnitus lessened. I heard again! Would that be a coincidence too?

My right  hand somehow got injured during the accident. Not the whole thing, just two fingers. The inside of my ring finger and my middle finger developed this pins and needles sensation all the time. I complained. It didn't hurt, but it annoyed me no end. And I found the outer part of my palm cramped if I used the hand, like when I used scissors, a knife, utensils of any kind, including my crochet hook and knitting needles or needle and thread. Cramped so badly I needed help pulling my hand open and needed the cramp massaged out.

I had no energy. me, a type A personality who always had at least four things on the go. I only wanted to lay down, covered as I felt cold all the time. Those effects still hamper me. I find myself unable to enjoy a swim in the heated swimming pool near our summer place. I haven't worn shorts for two summers now.

For 6 months after the accident I couldn't even concentrate on reading, let alone writing. I am a writer. I had two books almost finished. Just needed to self-edit and tweak those stories. I couldn't concentrate enough to finish them or write other stories. Not that my right hand was going to allow me to type much anymore, or my head concussion or whiplash would allow me to sit upright.

I have traveled over 6500km for specialist appointments, investigations with MRIs and CTs,, physio therapy treatments and massage treatments. I have spent hundreds of dollars on medications and more massage treatments, because the insurance companies have this rule that they only give you a set number of treatments regardless of how many you need. You personally pay for anything more and hope your lawyer can recover those expenses during the settlement. So, with the gas prices as high as they are, I have covered all my expenses except those first few, myself.

The accident was not my fault. If I had caused it, yes, I would consider the expense part of my consequences.

Oh, I forgot to say I lost my job over this accident. Of course that's not how my exit letter states my firing. No, I've been deemed not able to fit in properly. I've never been fired before! Of course, I hadn't worked for the company very long when the accident occurred; just 5 days. So I have no medical or benefit coverage.  I can't get unemployment because I don't have enough hours and I am unable to look for other work in my field until I am healed. I was told I should look to the offender's insurance company to recover lost wages. Catch 22 anyone? I can't win here.

I had a plan for my retirement. I never planned to be useless. I am very much an A type personality. I always had at least four projects on the go. I like to keep busy. I'm happiest when I've got many things on teh go. So whenever I get bored with one project, there's another ready for me to take it up and continues to work on it.
See, I am an artist. My art takes many forms. I am a writer. I have many short stories out in magazines and I have two books published now. I am also a master level clothing designer, tailor and construction and master level lacemaker. I had planned to start sewing again, this time sell my wares at rodeos, advertise costume and wedding dress design and construction. I have a line of stuffed toys I planned to market as well. And probably sell my lace. Real, well constructed, handmade lace is very expensive. Any one of those arts could keep me in tea and toast for years. A planned supplement to my meager old age pension.

My husband also lost his job due to my accident. He couldn't concentrate on a big work project when I was badly affected by this accident. No, his termination letter doesn't tell him that, it says he's been made redundant. After 20 years! But his boss did tell him while they were alone of the real reason. So no medical coverage at all. And he'll probably never find another job. He's over 60. Too old to hire.

I've been to many specialists. Only the neurologist came right out and told me she would not attribute my injuries to the accident. She said she didn't want to get involved in a court trial. The other specialists are very careful not to write anything saying the MVA might have caused my problems. None of them had the courage to tell me the real reason, though they did imply, in person, that the accident probably caused these.
Aren't I lucky?

We are now down to the two year mark, where my lawyer has to start the settlement process.

You can believe the insurance company is not going to settle any amount that might cover all the extra expenses I'm going to spend my life covering because of this accident.  They cannot make me whole physically again. Only time will tell if I heal. And they aren't going to pay for a 'maybe'.
I think insurance companies have forgotten their roots, their reason d'etre. Aren't they supposed to be the middleman, the stopper between feuding for the victim's family and the perpetrator's?  My lawyer isn't sounding very positive about any real compensation without lots of facts, glossy pictures, arrows and printing, doctors willing to testify, and x-rays showing the damaged bits,  telling the whole story.

So now, my poor GP, the only one with the collection consult letters and investigation results, the whole picture, only he can put the threads together and write my lawyer a letter stating the accident caused all these problems. Only him.  He doesn't have any time to spend in court if the insurance company won't settle. He's a busy GP, with lots of sick patients.

I am only one.

Love 'n Lies - I have my Book in my Hands

I hold my book in my hands. My very own book. That I wrote.

I haven't the words to express the joy, the astonishment, the disbelief of seeing my very own book. I hold it. I stroke it. I smile as I look upon it.

See, I did write this book. And I had it accepted for publication - thank you Sirens Call Publications.
That by itself seemed unreal. Bits swimming in the ethernet, never to be seen. Understand?

But, by being hardcopy, bound in a format I'm more used to seeing. Now that's real to me. Absolute. Definite. Whole.

This I can hold. I can touch. I can smell. Flip the pages. It is a concrete representation of my hard work. As the bits in the cloud can never be. It feels REAL. Like my dream has come true.

I'm looking at it now. Love 'n Lies. By me. Stroking it. Loving its weight.

I worked with my publishing house to fashion that cover. I had ideas. Nina had ideas. Together, we designed that cover. It pleases me. 
I wrote all the pages. Then I worked with editor Gloria to tweak it into the best it could be. Believe me, I quailed when I opened the first edits. It hurts to be shown how you've screwed up. But she encouraged me to see it as just small touch-ups, like the proper shoelaces to set off the whole outfit. And, believe me, I learned from those hints.
I turn the book over and reread the blurb, the catch. Yes, I wrote some of that. It's catchy, I think. I'd read the book based on that back cover.
Now I flip through the pages, sniffing to catch that new-book smell. Better than new car any day. I haven't read this copy. I'm not sure I can. I'll cringe if I try, knowing where I'd change it if I had another chance.
I check my name on the net and find the book listed. My publishing house, my publicist Julianne, made this happen.  

But I know I wrote it.

I learned a lot about writing, going through the full publishing process of this book. I will be a better writer next book. Because I can now see where I must grow, write stronger, write better. I will Make, not show next book. Make the scenes blossom where they need to be seen, Make the character strong where she needs to show strength, Make the action flow with a series of drivers.
See, David Farland? I learn from your Daily Kick in the Pants. 

I have grown as a writer. I hope to keep on growing as I try to write all the stories that have queued up in my brain.

E Readers - to buy or not

I do not have an e-reader. Not yet. I won't until I can find a reader that doesn't have a shine, so like magazines, that I find hard to read through. My old eyes cannot take the medium, cannot find the right slant or position so that the words flow into my brain properly.

Hey e-Reader manufacturers! Listen to me! Build one that opens like a book, that feels like a book - well maybe not quite so heavy. Make it nostalgic. Call it Retro. Or some kind of Punk.  Advertise it as the whole reading experience.

To me, e-Readers don't feel right. Their single page format offends me somehow. Not that I dislike it. Maybe if I had to open the reader I'd be happier. It would look more like an old-style book to me then. Able to hold the memory of reading, properly.

Call me old-fashioned. I grew up with books. Lots of books. My father taught me to read.  He encouraged me to read books beyond my ability, knowing I'd learn those hard words easier in context, within good stories.

I have good memories of old books' smells. Of hours escaping into whatever land they built, whatever story they developed.

I don't have any such memories with  reading books on the computer. Sure, I try. I download something, open the file and start to read. Somehow it feels so impersonal, too clinical. It has none of the personal zones I associate with a story worth reading.

Now I can write for hours on the computer and not feel any lack of comfort. My memories don't have that kind of expectation. See, I've worked for years on computers, in an office setting. No one expects comfort at the office. We're there for a set period of hours, to work. Not feel good.

My home computer, where I now work, isn't a comfy spot where I can squirm around until I've just the right position, tuck my blanket over me, set my tea in an easily available spot to grab without looking. No. It's a functional spot where I sit and write. Next to the telephone, under a skylight. Functional. My chair is comfortable to sit and type. I don't mind losing myself in my worlds in that place. I barely notice my area once I'm building my worlds.

Now reading, for pleasure? That's a totally different ball of string. I need creature comforts. I need to be able to immerse myself in someone else's world. I like handling their book, smelling that paper and ink smell that, to me, spells reading. I have a very comfortable chair, with a light over my shoulder, a shelf for my tea, a footstool and an afghan to snuggle up in. An awesome place to cuddle up with a good book. All I need is a fire for perfection.



Maybe, when I find the right kind of e-reader, I will be able to sink into a comfortable position in my reading chair, tune out the world around me and lose myself in that kind of good book.Only then can I build sweet memories with an e-Reader.

In a State of Disbelief

Maybe one day I can be blasé when I hear I have a book ready for print. Maybe.

But right now, upon hearing that my publisher is nearly ready to print that first copy, I find my self trembling.  This is the most exciting moment of my life.

The second most exciting part is hearing I have time in the When Words Collide writers/readers festival in Calgary Alberta to read excerpts from my book and offer to autograph. Yes, I am to read on August 9th at 6pm and August 10th at 10am from the pages of Love 'n Lies.

My very first finished book. Ever!

The Owl's Nest, a book store in Calgary, will have copies of the book available at the festival. Well, hopefully. I might have jumped the gun here. See, I have no idea how long it takes a book to go through the whole publishing process.

You cannot imagine how wonderfully exciting that is to me! I can't either. My feet haven't touched the ground since I got that email from the Owl's Nest. I knew I would be reading excerpts, I volunteered to do that. But to have my book available as well. Oh my goodness!

Now I have to think about how I am going to be able to autograph this book. I have blogged about an accident I was in in 2011. Well...my hand still does not work properly. I have enough problems typing for any length of time.  I cannot hold a fork for long.  A pen is almost an impossibility.  So this could be an issue.  Would I be allowed to use a stamp?  Can I sign something so that a stamp maker can get a decent imprint to use?  And will my fans allow me to use one - supposing I have any fans.

No. I will not let anything bring me down. Not now. Not when my dream is coming true!

Previously Owned building materials - not for sale

Boy are we ever becoming a consumer society.
I went out the other day, not wanting to travel into the big city, so I chose the closer smaller city. Just to buy used fencing, hinges, lumber scraps. For my garden.
I didn't want to spend lots for it. But I needed enough supplies to keep cats out of my garden.
Not so easy to find. In fact, impossible.
I drove into the dump. Not a dump anymore. No, now it's called a recycling centre, transfer centre. Can't salvage anything there. Not from the mound of skids, sitting whole just waiting for someone with a small SUV, strong back and inclination to pick up a load. Nope. Not allowed.
I even saw a set of kitchen chairs needed sanding and another coat of varnish. A whole pallet of glass bricks, almost new. One of those wire gazebo frames, standing up, looking fine. Half hoop structure perfect for plasticizing for a greenhouse. Plastic barrels galore. Doors without frames. Old windows in frames. Can't pick them up. Can't have them either. This is a transfer site. Only. All the stuff in here gets hauled away to another site to be crushed (and sold as chips), burned or piled in another garbage site far away.
I asked at the recycling centre - where we take out milk jugs, cardboard, cans and the like. Nope. They only handle the small stuff. Once its there, can't take it away either.

I know there are Re-stores in the big city. But have you ever seen their prices? The cost of a dented, well used appliance, with no guarantee it'll work, is sometimes over the price of a new.  Furniture I wouldn't put in my basement has a dollar value of over the new store prices. I know that's for a good cause.  But really?

So, needless to say, I ended up with new fencing, only a couple of posts as I scrounged enough days before from ditches around our place to make up the difference. For a garden.

I remember as a kid one of the Saturday treats was going out with my father to the salvage yards. Not for car parts, though we did that too. No, these were small acreages loaded with rows and rows of slightly dented appliances, dirty toilets - not used, just dirty or chipped - leftover countertops, sinks, bricks, windows, fencing, wood pallets. Pretty well everything you could imagine, and then some. We kids had a lovely time trying to figure out just what some things had been used for. I know the parents bought a lot of the cottage necessities from these fields. For pennies on the dollar.

I do frequent second hand stores. I love them. Drapes and curtains, sometimes needing just a new seam here or there and I get good value for my buck. I love to find vintage clothing, half-finished skeins of wool, boxes of scrap material, old patterns, books. You name it, I can find those things. Even small appliances like lamps and bread makers are for sale.
But not fencing materials. Not locally, anyway. For that I am forced to buy new. I know in the long run it is worth it. But it still bothers me.
What happened to going to your local dump, rooting around for a slightly broken antique dresser, bringing it home for pennies and fixing it up? Why can't I pick up those wooden pallets, pay my dimes and take them home to pull apart and use? Since when did we transfer all that lovely, slightly used stuff away from the neighbourhood, just to crush it and fill another landfill in some other county? Why can't we recycle the old way anymore?

I know that answer. Unfortunately. The government has this strange idea that the only way to keep the ecomony chugging along is to consume. So we are forced to buy new whether we'd prefer to reuse or not.

We're raising a generation who has never learned how to recycle, repair and reuse the old way.
And we wonder why this poor earth is struggling.

My Hero

Technology sucks!
Ok, ok. Really it doesn't.
I don't have any desire to go back to the old way, the typewriter. Gads, what a thought! I remember. One error and redo the whole damn page. Noisy old things. I think I threw mine out. Haven't seen it in years.

So, we really do have it lots better.

But....
I've been having issues with my computer for the last couple of weeks. Maybe it's getting too old. It needed spring leaning badly, and since then it's been cranky.
I turned my computer on yesterday. It hesitated a long time at the loading screen. The mouse didn't turn red. The keyboard flickered.
And I got a running green screen with strobes of rainbows in the background.
Pretty neat to look at.
So, I turned it off, counted to ten, swore - I mean really. I depend on this thing to keep me updated about the world. And to write.
So, on it goes again and I get these pretty colours, diagonally, before the computer whines at me about some error 'display driver stopped working and recovered version.  Off through a string of numbers.
Not so good.
I reboot, press F8, you know, the regular process, ask it to fix itself and wait.
By now I've had two cups of tea - my preferred waking beverage.
Half hour later I check and it says it can't fix the problem. I try booting in safe mode. And it works for a while. Long enough for me to get a bit of my world fix and check some emails.
Then I get the black screen of total death.
I try rebooting. And nothing!

Panic city. My life is on that computer. Yes I back everything up. I have thumb drives cause where I live I can't reach the cloud. But that's not the same.
I bite my nails for a little longer, waiting impatiently for my desk side support (DSS) to wake up. The big gun gets up first - the hardware/software/security GURU, my husband.
I cannot wait for my kid, so I lay the problem out and ask if he can fix it.


He pokes around before saying my video card is toast. Well, not toast, but the fan has died so it won't play anymore. We can't even load the bios now. It's that not happy.
Now I try to wake the DSS to ask if we have a spare video card anywhere in the house - I wouldn't know. I have my own stuff.  He isn't pleased. And informs me we don't.
I relay the news, asking if I should make the long trek ( an hours drive) to town (really the city) to find a card that the guru wants. And he starts looking into whether his video card will even plug into my motherboard. It's an old motherboard. We believe in trickle down acquisition here. The guru's computer always gets upgraded first.  Now that two of my kids' have left home, I'm next in line for the displaced whatever - if it will fit.

As a sidenote, we are a family of packrats. I think at hoarding level 2 is our rating. But it can be a good thing. Because....

Somehow, we've kept my motherboard 'how to' manual. Why am I surprised? Not sure. I have manuals for things we no longer own - things that I've - horrors - thrown out. But I am surprised, because the guru doesn't always give me electronic manuals. He likes to hide them in his professional journals.

Anyway, he reads it and lo and behold! my motherboard has a built in video card. Wouldn't work for any of their games. But I'm not into mega gaming. I like the Civ games, Caesar,  a really old Alien settler game. Things like that. Nothing to stress a low-end video add-on.

Well, he reads out how we have to reset the motherboard so we can get into the bios and set up this video application. The bridge is a very tiny blue plastic thing, in an awkward place deep in the bowels of the box. Guru can't see to pull it out. So daughter gets the needlenose pliers, lays on the floor - yeah, it's a big box and I refuse to have it on the desk - worries out the battery, pulls this tiny blue bridge off and promptly loses it. Ten minutes later I find the tiny blue thing - I swear it isn't a full centimetre big. She counts the prongs, resets it, plugs it all back in we count - it says 10 seconds - she puts it back to its original place, replaces the battery, plugs the box in and guru pushes start.
Nothing!
So they try again, keeping the blue bridge on the alternate prongs longer, may 25 seconds, reverse the process and try to reset again.
Yes Houston, we have life.
Now guru has to fiddle with all the settings, muttering to himself about some whining the computer is making about some app that is flaky. So he goes to his computer to look that up, finds out that there is a process to take that application off, but it's incredibly tedious and he says it will take forever.

We're up to five hours to fix this thing. By now desk side is awake, interested, and they are exchanging those acronym filled conversations where I can pick out one word in fifteen, I swear.
I'm jumpy as I haven't had my writing fix yet today. I'm hovering and making them nervous. So I'm banished. 'Go read a book,' guru orders. I wanted to, but the book I want to read is mine, in the computer, that I'm editing so it's at least somewhat error free before it goes to my publisher.

Finally. Finally I'm called. "Try it. It should work.' Gads I hate those words.

And it does work. Looks normal. Sounds normal. Everything is there. I sit, open everything, just to check, read the last thing I wrote, play a few hands of solitaire and turn it off. Much to the dismay of my guru and his apprentices, bit the DSS and the grunt. After all their hard work.
I'm too jumpy to write at all. I can't even look at the story.

But hey. I realized he's my hero. Guru fixed the thing. He made it all better. Now I can get up at my ungodly hours, happily write while the rest of the world is sleeping, without disturbing anyone.

He is My Hero.

And that's the way it happened

I am a method writer. No, really. If I want to write something classy, I wear pearls and skirts. If I'm writing scifi, I'll wear a onesy with slipper booties. When writing murders I like jeans and sweaters. Sometimes even fingerless gloves. But that’s when I write as the murdered.
And I background act. That's up close and personal research. I mean, how can I write so you, my dear reader, will see what I imagine? Therefore, if I can physically get there, I go and experience reality myself.
Here's what happened just last week.
I got offered an acting job on that Discovery Channel's Klondike miniseries that’s being filmed in Canada right now. Not a main actor or anything important like that. Just one of the crowd of people swarming to the Klondike to strike it rich.
I got cast as a society lady.
I knew that I’d be dying at 7000 feet. My agent told me. With maybe a scene in a fake Dawson City. A bit of walking. Nothing strenuous. For 3 days.
7000 feet, well, that I researched, just to see if I needed to bring anything special. Or there are any warnings about staying at that altitude.
Research comes back. Drink lots. Pee often. Breathe deeply to acclimatize. Move slowly until you are breathing smoothly. Dress appropriately for the season. Do not attempt anything you are not used to performing at your regular altitude.
Ok. I can handle that.
So:

0245:   Left home with plenty of time to get lost at least once and still make it to the bus pickup point. And yes, this is am.

0415:   I joined the rest of the crowd at a Walmart parking lot where we take a long bus ride to our destination

0600:   Arrive deep in the mountains before dawn, at the shoot Circus where all the production trucks are. Including our wardrobe area. Surprise! For 50+ background actors we have a tiny, 2-room dressing trailer, with enough space for another 4 to crowd in and dress as well. We crammed in 10. First day my clothing consisted of: leotards, socks, socks, pullover, pullover, onesy, long petticoat, long ruffled skirt, knee length coat, fur muff, gloves, a large hat, and old style leather soled boots, with no insulation. I carry a dainty velvet reticule. And we wear emergency transponders – just in case we fall into a crevasse or get blown off the mountain. Hair did a wonderful job of styling my waist length hair and attaching that sail-sized hat to the coiffure. Makeup added sunscreen and more bags under my eyes.

830            Breakfast. Unfortunately crew always gets first grab at any food. I managed a scoop of hash browns, a dried out sausage pattie and a piece of pineapple. And a glass of water. At least I got to eat something.

900            Climbed in an army surplus ice crawler, back pup. Now, I’m not very tall. I’m wearing about 25 extra pounds of clothing, with that long skirt and petticoat to hamper any maneuvering efforts. So climbing is not an easy task. I need many hands of help. But I succeed and take my seat. We get a lecture: the heat switch, the emergency signal and the talk about not opening that exit door.Ever. We’re locked in and the vehicle jerks away. There are small windows. We can tell there is little fresh air intake as those windows steam up within 10 minutes. We are thrown around as we drive deeper and higher into those mountains. I do catch a couple of glimpses of frightening valley slopes as we are driving above on a ridge, I assume.

1000        Or slightly later. I never wear a watch. I emerge, with help to find myself ¾ of the way up a grassy mountain – dead grass, nothing green at this time of year. The director and camera crew are already at the top. We backgrounders are instructed to grab backpacks, sticks, some men pull sleds, and start hiking up that mountain. It is windy. The slope is very steep. Remember I’m wearing slippery leather soled old-fashioned boots – ok I have something on them to try to keep me from slipping. I manage to stay at the back of the line. My skirt and hat keep being blown by the gusting winds; gusts strong enough that several times I find myself sliding towards the edge. The director decides he wants me in later scenes, so I’m sent down to where the ice crawlers and skidoos wait. Over 4 hours they stand in that wind on the side of the mountain. I stand near the crew, still on a windy part, don’t get me wrong. Craft comes – that’s food and drinks. All crew gather to eat. The mountain-top crew and director have drinks and snacks carried up to them. Someone actually offers me a drink and a slice of fruit bread. Background stretching up the mountain are given nothing! Filming goes on. Even helicopter shots which are fantastic to watch as the wind catches the machine and throws it around a bit in the sky. Around and around the peak that helicopter flies. I must admit, I can barely wait to see this film, because this shot will be fantastic!. Oh and many more. Background is finally allowed down and offered the remainder of the food, with, maybe by now, cold soup. And up some go again for more shots. Can I say we froze? Crew wore regular snow clothes, with thick, insulated boots and gloves/mittens, face masks, appropriate gear for the cold. Not for us backgrounders, though. We have to look the part. Mostly frozen!

1400        Skidoos are loaded with crew to return to Holding for lunch. Ice crawlers also. Now they come back for us. Yes, we are still watched by our background minder. And Backgrounders are finally released and climb aboard the ice crawlers. This time the windows don’t steam quite as quickly and I watch, terrified as we defy gravity down the mountain, and we get to Holding. Here we are instructed to wait for crew to finish eating. Of course. That’s the way the movie industry works. We backgrounders, we that make the scenes look realistic as we mime motions as if we’re really just regular people going about our daily lives in the background of a movie being shot. Without noticing it, no less. We are worthless. So we eat after everybody else. On whatever is left. If we can find a seat in the dining area, we are welcome to sit. But crew doesn’t leave many spaces where we wouldn’t get in their way, so we eat where we can. At least the day is warming. But now it is becoming icy underfoot at Holding. Bathrooms (2/sex) are available here. Only one was available up in that mountain. A dented johnny-on-the-spot type, bungy-corded to a very large rock so it won’t blow away. But that had been a skidoo ride away down the mountain and the one background actor who asked to go was asked to wait. We passed her ice crawler on the way down. Guess she managed to get someone to allow her to pee.

1530        We are sent up to another location, even steeper ride and arrive in a snowy vale way way up another mountain. We can see the first site from our exit spot. Now we walk in 2 foot soft snow – and who knows how many feet below that – about 150 ft, up of course, to an area where they want us to trudge up this mountain in a line. So, backpacks, walking stick – just a branch lopped off – snow cleats and try to walk. Some of the guys have sleds to pull again. And up we go. I manage to stay at the end again. I want a well-defined, solid path as I’m wearing longer skirts than anybody else. Now at 7000 feet, the air is strange. I breathe deeply, trudging up and I fall further and further behind. “Cut, reset!” the director screams, so down we go. The sun is shining and it is fairly warm. The snow is glazing into that nice icy crust and being packed down on every ‘reset’. I fall and bruise my rib. No I didn’t break it. I know that feeling. Just a bruise. But at that altitude, any injury is debilitating. I try to climb again and this time I just cannot. So I get a skidoo ride – my very first terrifying ride, and he said he went slowly! – back to holding where I see a nurse. It’s decided to keep me there for the afternoon to see if I can heal enough to manage my death scene the next day.

2130        Background returns. Changes into street clothes, hangs outfits up in this garage-type space with little heat. Onto the bus and to the hotel.

2230        Checkin at the hotel. Now there are about 50+ of us. Over half male, all younger than 35. The hotel checkin is manned by barely 20-yr-old tween mentality females. Maybe because I’m exhausted I do not appreciate them taking their time flirting with these males. The hotel rooms are in 3 buildings and I finally get sent to the farthest one. Now pickup is 0515, so I ask for a wakeup call at 0415, perform minimal ablations and drop into bed, too exhausted to eat or drink. My bad!

430            We are talking am. Second call rouses me. I find my coffee maker is the pod-type but the coffee left is for a drip. No time to complain. Shower, dress, all the while grumbling and make it to pickup at 0510. Coffee is available at the lobby, so I spill half a cup on myself as I head to the bus.

530            Head for Holding

615            Walk up the slippery road to Holding. Actors slated for death sent back to Wardrobe, of course down the hill again. Dress in: leotards, socks, socks, shirt, shirt, onesy, wet suit (one size fits none and it strangles me, so I’m duct-taped into it), waterproof booties, leggings, petticoat, skirt, jacket, fur neck muff, boots, gloves, gloves and reticule. And transponder. Can’t be on the mountain without it! Now I have to say that the wet suit crotch sagged down to just above my knees, making any climbing even more difficult. And back up to Holding for Hair and hat attachment, and Makeup – I have to look freshly dead after all. And breakfast. Yes I get to eat. And I drink a bottle of water. But I’m parched from yesterday, my lips are cracked, my skin feels dry and I have trouble swallowing. My rib still hurts. And I think every joint in my body needs oiling.

0830    Back into those ice crawlers and up, up we go to another location. We trudge through a valley, up another incline to the staging area. Crew is there before us, readying the area for the look of the aftermath of an avalanche. We stand in awe as we watch a very small, natural avalanche occur above us, near where the Miners have set charges for the film avalanche which is to occur later that afternoon or the next morning. When the mountain has been cleared of people and the weather clears – the clouds have fallen over the mountains and a light snow falls. My hat is taken, as I guess it doesn’t stay on my head through the avalanche. I lay in the snow, freezing (wet suits might keep me dry, but they don’t keep me warm). Snow is sprinkled over me many times. My gloves soak through. My ankle cramps. My toes cramp. I hear the camera going past many times, as the director hunts for the perfect shot. We are allowed up, cleared from the scene and we watch the main actors do a scene. Snacks and food are offered, though I am not hungry. Thirsty, yes, but afraid I’ll need to pee if I drink too much. The author is in attendance, and many crew crowd her to meet her. I see her from a distance.

1330    Back to Holding. I drink a little, have a bowl of soup, try to get my gloves dry and ask if there is a way to get my soaking wet skirt and petticoat dry. I’m told to suck it up, I have a wet suit on and others do not have that luxury. The gloves are dried, though. Thank you. And I ask for assistance to take a pee. Finally help arrives and I am unwound from my tape, undress almost entirely and manage to pee a little. Guess my body needed that liquid, so it releases very little. I am the holdup. Getting redressed into that very wet outfit takes time. But I join the few others, get pushed into the crawler and up we go again. I stand in awe of the director, two main actors, and some camera crew as they trudge 1/3 of the way up that mountain for a scene. We watch for several hours as they rehearse. Then background is told to walk another section of the mountain, with gear again, so we can be seen way in the background of the main scene. I try. Let me assure you, I try. But I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS! No one told me I’d be climbing a mountain, in wet petticoats and now 45 pounds of clothing, in deep snow at 7000 feet. NO ONE! I’m not a physically active person. I’m pushing old ladyhood. I like my sports on TV. I’ll ride a horse, go for long walks in the country, or shop in the mall for several hours once/month. So I fell behind. Way behind. No way I could keep up with these young people. Not a chance. I turned around, ready to quit when the head minder for us backgrounder actors decided to pull me. He was so sweet about it. Said this type of scene wasn’t for everyone. But the show must go on. So he’d be sending me back. Now my minder (about 15 years my junior)  put on my skirt, coat and neck muff, had her hair quickly bundled up, the hat attached, the reticule emptied of my personal stuff and onto her wrist and she tried to catch up. I wasn’t surprised she didn’t make it. I heard her complain about her lungs burning and the skirt catching. Well? What did she expect? She excused herself by saying she had too many layers on. Her layers not only fit, but she didn’t have on as many inappropriate layers as me. No way!

1630    I am escorted, by skidoo again, but this time I have a helmet, back to Holding to grab my stuff, meet with the Circus manager who takes me to his office, I change back into my own clothes, I take a ride to the hotel to check out, meet up again with the driver, who is now driving the writer and her husband back to Calgary. So I do get to meet the author – Charlotte Gray - of the book the miniseries is based on - Gold Diggers: Striking It Rich In The Klondike. Awesome serendipity!! I know the rules, so mainly I stay silent and listen to her conversation with the driver – very informative for an up and coming writer, I will admit. But this is me! She asks a question and I have to answer. I open my mouth and my opinion of the lack of water, food and amenities along with the freezing conditions, for Backgrounders comes out in a gush. I bite my tongue and listen again, adding my piece about malemutes – I am a proud owner of one right now and one in the past – storing up info for another story I’m working on. And to her litany of the scenes she’s watched so far in ‘her’ story, the changes that she’s seen happen to her story. Very interesting. Very informative.

1930    Writer had been dropped off at her hotel. Dirver apologizes for driopping her off first, to my surprise. After all, the writer is the VIP and I’m just a lowly background actor in ‘her’ movie. I hadn’t expected to be off first, even though my location was closer. So we head to my car and I’m off. I think I dropped my book in her car – I will get enough energy to check my car later today I think. And I head home with a brain full of new scenery and information from an author on the front lines. Yes I did admit to her I wrote. And that my first book is about 6 weeks from publication. She asked my pen name and said she might look me up. Wow! Thank you. I must read her book. I like historical fiction books. I like Canadian history.

2200    Home, sweet home. I will never agree to any acting where I have to leave civilization. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. But thank you for the experience.

After the Accident

Apres the accident

It has been 1 year almost 3 months since someone rear ended me.  I am frustrated.  How long will it take me to heal?  Will I ever fully heal?

I find myself wishing to somehow destroy her life as she has destroyed mine.
I mean, does she suffer lingering effects?  Can she still work?  Drive without constantly looking in her rear-view mirror to see if another car is creeping too close.  Can she shoulder check easily?
Can she eat regular meals without pain?

I would like to know.  But I suppose she didn't have any injuries.  Why would she?  After all, she hit me, with the front of her car.

I have been driving for 40 years.  In that time I hit a deer.  One deer - not bad considering I live in the country.  And I've had 2 speeding tickets and one failure to stop - I found out later that a house past the lights had a green flashing light in its front window that I had mistaken for a green light. 
That's the extent of my car infractions.
I've never run into anyone.  I rarely get speeding tickets - two in forty years.  The ones I got I probably could have fought.  One I received for doing 50km in a playground zone.  I returned after getting the ticket, with my camera (this is prior to cell phones) and watched as grounds keepers cut the hedge surrounding the playground, back from the sign I couldn't have seen.  The other I  got merging from a major 8 lane highway to a major 6 lane highway, with the speed limit sign too close to the merge area.  I was watching my rear view mirror to see about my chances of merging without stopping - you know, the law.  That one I think I should have known the speed limit of, but I don't drive it often.

So I consider myself a fairly safe driver all in all.  I get where I'm going.  I leave in enough time I don't have to speed to get there.  I look before changing lanes.

And I used to drive quite a bit.  I enjoyed driving.

She changed all that.  I no longer like to drive.  I put off going anywhere until I absolutely have to.  I refuse invitations to parties and outings.  I saw my first movie since the accident, at a cinema, just yesterday.  My first!  And that only happened because I had to be in the city for a doctor 's appointment.

She injured my jaw.  I still can't chew.  A year of invalid food is tiring.  I tried a steak, my daughter's birthday meal choice.  Took me twice as long as everyone else to eat a quarter of their steak size.  I ended up sucking extremely small pieces of steak to get the flavour before swallowing.  And I damn near choke on spinach salad, because I can't chew it.  So, back to soups, stews and casseroles.  That goodness it's winter and no one in the family complains too much about winter fare.

I am a writer.  That means I type.  But...the accident left me with a hand injury.  Two of my fingers are still numb to tingly and the palm of my hand cramps if I use my hand very long.  Now I make many errors.  Me, who used to type 90-120 wpm in transcription!
That means I cannot work in any jobs I used to do.
Using my hand is painful and awkward; that includes typing, cutting food for meals, using eating implements, drawing, sewing, crocheting.  Using scissors is no longer possible at all.

So she, that person who ran into me took away my hobbies too.  I've always sewed, crocheted, knitted, made lace, embroidered - all my life.  Except now.  I try.  Sure.  Like I'm going to give up without a major fight.   But the end result take 4 times as long and looks like an amateur has tried to do what I used to do like the professional I am.

I did manage to get my novel finished for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest.  Last November (2011) I thought it would be finished and I would enter the Jan 2012 contest.  But the accident - yes that accident, prevented me from finishing.  My concussion prevented me from thinking, sitting up for any periods and of course typing.
Now it's in for the Jan 2013 deadline.  But my hand is killing me, my head aches and I'm not sure I did a good enough job to have it make the finalist spot.  Last year, prior to the accident I felt I had a really good chance.

My house is still a disaster!  Vacuuming affects my head, my hand and my neck.  So I don't often take up the vacuum wand.  Let there be dust.  And dog hair.  I didn't do my spring or fall cleaning this year.  Again, housework is a tough job.  And I no longer have the energy to wash walls, scrub floors or any of the other elbow grease jobs that a major cleaning requires.

I find myself cold all the time.  I think, when the accident first happened, because I lay in bed quite a bit, under the covers, I didn't notice the cold.  On my trips to the doctors and physio, I cranked up my car heater - and ignored the kids' complaints.  This past summer I kept my slug-white legs because I never wore shorts - too cold.  And I rarely did more than immerse myself momentarily in the heated pool, just basked in the hot tub.  Somehow, the accident affected something in me that has reset my internal temp.  I'm cold.  All the time.

I no longer exercise.  Sit ups, crunches and the like are beyond me now.   So I am losing my svelte form, looking more and more like a middle aged woman.

Do you think Fate, you could send her some of the misery she's inflicted on me?  Just give her a couple of my months.  Make my suffering a little less?  Please?