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This is a question Overcoming adversity

The Doveston asks: Have you ever fought back from a terrible illness? Got out of a job that was going nowhere? Secured a great victory against the odds through dishonesty and cheating? Warm our hearts, B3ta

(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 13:06)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Goodbye arsehole.
I have had crohn's disease for nigh on 7 years now and admittedly it hasn't killed me, but it fucked my life up that much that it might has well have done.

When your 19/20 and your going to drop the kids off at the pool at least 60+ times a day (no joke) and with less than a minutes warning (if lucky), life becomes a little difficult. You cant leave the house for fear of dropping bombs when not over a valid target.

I started to get treated and flew through conventional treatments like steroids and was put onto immunosuppressants which again failed to work. I then was put onto "biologics" which are like hardcore immunosuppressants you have by a drip or self injection. No they did work however I then developed a narrowing of my intestine and the only way to deal with that is surgery.

3 months and 18 days ago, I had a proctocolectomy. For those of you who dont know what it is, some very nice people at the Royal London Hospital surgically removed about a foot and a half of large intestine and my arsehole, yes I am officially a proper barbie/ken bum.

I've been left with a permanent colostomy which to get at 24 years old is a bit of a head fuck but it changed my life overnight. I've gone from not being able to leave the house and get on public transport or go anywhere really to being back to normal and being able to do what I want, when I want. It's fucking amazing, I almost wish I had done it sooner. Shitting in a bag for the rest of my life is a small price to pay in my eyes to get my life back.

Better a bag than a box!

apologies for the lack of funnnys

It was about a foot and a half once out.

(I'm only putting this link up for people that are interested, its not about hits it's there to try and help people understand. lifeisballbagthenyoudie.wordpress.com/ )
(, Tue 18 Dec 2012, 2:20, 80 replies)
Have a pea
Not me, but my dad.

--------------

My dad was born to barely literate parents in the basement of a Chicago apartment building in 1927. For the first six months he was a fine, healthy baby, but after that his life went quickly downhill.

He contracted polio.

As a result, he has never walked without pain or a pronounced limp. As a second result, his father rejected him out of ignorance, fear, and god knows what other character flaws. To say dad had a hard childhood is a colossal understatement. His father was merciless, and when a younger brother was born it was as though dad evaporated.

He became a teacher and put up with his parents' assinine statements like "since those who can't do, teach, that's perfect for him" and worse. He wound up specializing in teaching students in bad situations--criminal records, badly broken homes, behavioral or physical problems--and quite literally saved a few lives. To this day he still gets letters from his students thanking him for what he did.

On his first teaching assignment in 1951 he went running (such as it was) to tend to an injured kid. With his unsteady gait he planted his good leg wrong and proceeded to destroy his good knee, bending it completely backward. He narrowly avoided amputation (orthopaedic surgery was not so precise in those days) but was now very much crippled for life. Nine surgeries later they gave up and simply fused his knee joint--it doesn't bend anywhere between his hip and his ankle.

Still...he never gave up. He couldn't run, but he had a cannon for a pitching arm and could hit the ball out of the park with ease. And even though he couldn't play (American) football, he loved the game so much that he would go on to coach it, referee it, and when he could no longer do that, he became the broadcast voice of the local high school team on the radio.

He married the girl he met in high school and had four kids with her, putting all of us through college on a teacher's salary. He and my mom took in more than a couple of strays, mostly students of his who were really on the edge. Some stayed a few weeks, others for years, and they even took custody of one to keep her out of jail. She went on to become a university professor.

He has been retired for almost 25 years, and his health has steadily gotten worse. A couple of years ago he fell in the middle of the night, resulting in a trip to the hospital, a surgical intervention, a pacemaker and a lengthy rehab--all together, about 4 months. I visited him often and talked to his nurses to get a fuller picture of his recovery. One of his rehab nurses has this to say about his progress:

"You know," she said, "I have never worked with a patient who is more determined than he is. He keeps trying until he is exhausted. He never gives up."

I told my dad this, and he looked at me for a minute before his eyes got misty. "I can't give up. Trying is the only thing I know. If I quit, I'm not sure what would happen."

He's still around, though each time I visit he's a little bit weaker, a little bit closer to the end. Still, he insists on helping my mom with what he can around the house, and insists on making a batch of his spaghetti sauce every once in a while, even though he can no longer reach some of the items from the shelf to make it.

That's my dad. He has overcome many more obstacles than most of us will, and has never given up. He fought through all of that just so that he could make a normal life for himself and his family.

Small wonder his favorite poem is this one: www.poemhunter.com/poem/invictus/
(, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 7:01, 63 replies)
Just when you think it's all better ....
For me, overcoming adversity has had unexpected consequences. I’ve suffered from depression on and off for about 15 years and for the last half of this period have had to use drugs to maintain a normal life. For the last year I have been on a minimum dose but was frightened to give up, finally doing so when I went on holiday and forgot to pack them.

Adversity over or so I thought. Just before I went away, I developed permanent pins and needles in my left foot, followed a few weeks later by spasms in my left calf and foot. I was diagnosed with a trapped nerve, which didn’t surprise me as I’d been doing some heavy work and I’m not used to that. I was booked for a scan on my return from holiday, so off I went to Greece and had a good time. However, my leg got worse and in the last few days I started noticing that my left hand was getting weak and I was finding using it to eat difficult.

I got back and went for the scan. I had to sign a consent form and found I could barely write - I’m left-handed. Obviously I realised this was not a trapped nerve, so I went to my GP, who got more tests done. My guess was brain tumour, motor neurone disease or MS. First one was right. I’m one of the 4500 people in the UK who get a primary brain tumour for no discernible reason every year. About 25% of these get a grade 4 glioblastoma, the most common. It’s malignant and 100% fatal and this is what I have. Adversity was back with a vengeance.

At this point you enter the cancer treatment system. I’m fortunate to live in the Manchester area so for me this was Hope hospital and Christies. I was given the choice of no treatment, in which case I had 3-4 months, near total removal of the tumour which would give me the longest time but would leave me totally paralysed on my left-hand side or removal of as much of the tumour that they could get at safely, which would give me less time but some degree of recovery from the paralysis. I chose the last of these and am I glad I did. When I came round, I was totally paralysed on the left, but after 3 weeks I started to get movement back in my arm and leg, one joint at a time. Now, 3 months later after physiotherapy, I’m reasonably functional and can stand up for several minutes unsupported. I am expected to be able to walk again within a month. Adversity much reduced. I’ve also had radiotherapy for 6 weeks and have tolerated this with very minimal side effects. Again, very lucky.

Now all I can do is hope for as long as possible and try to do as much as I can in the time I have left. I’m 58 and the average time of survival from removal of the tumour is about 15 months. My chances of reaching 60 in February 2014 are well less than 50% in theory, but the statistics are misleading. Medical statistics are medians, not means and the statistics published cover all patients. Factors like my age and my good neurological condition give me a better chance than some of longer survival, and there are a small but significant number of patients surviving for 2 to 5 years.

Length for me is the thing I want most
(, Tue 18 Dec 2012, 23:01, 17 replies)
In 2004 I was a successful entrepreneur
Fresh out of uni a friend and I had a startup company on the south coast. We were self-financed, we'd put our own cash in and it was great. We were zipping all around the country in his Audi or my classic Vauxhall, buying old IT equipment and selling it to other startups.

And it all collapsed. But not in the usual drank-too-much sort of way where young guys piss their future down the drain. We suffered a string of unrelated coincidences that brought us to our knees.

We started by investing in a van, since the business had grown to the point where we were collecting or delivering hundreds of systems at a time. And we paid in cash. Only the van suffered brake failure and crashed 30 miles after we bought it, wiping out the investment and leaving us massively out of pocket. We tried using our cars to keep up the deliveries, but my Vauxhall blew its engine, so we went from three vehicles to one in the space of a week.

The following Monday, I was awoken by a loud banging on the door. Two massive blokes in black leather jackets were there to turf me out of the flat; apparently the landlord hadn't been passing our rent on to the bank to cover his mortgage, so we were given a one-week notice to vacate. So I moved onto the sofa of the business partner.

We were based in Portsmouth, very near the football ground. SO close, in fact, that after one fateful match against Southampton an army of angry fans stormed through the industrial estate where we were based. They smashed up our lock-up and wrote off our latest batch of machines, which were written off at cost price instead of resale.

With no vehicles, no stock and all our cash "pending" from insurance payouts, we weren't liquid enough to buy more stock. Banks wouldn't lend because we were still a new company. We lost clients, and the company folded. That's when my girlfriend left me. Maybe she was just a gold-digger, or maybe she was tired of consoling me, especially at the thought of attending my grandmother's funeral, who'd died that week too.

So in the space of about six weeks I lost a car, a van, a flat, my job, my girlfriend and a relative, in the most unavoidable of circumstances. I had to slink back to my parents with my tail between my legs and start my life from scratch. My business partner had it worse, lapsing back into the heroin addiction he'd been fighting since he was a teenager.

But it's all fine now. I've since moved to Poland, bought a flat and another classic car, and I work as a private contractor in the business district, working a four-day week with some pretty impressive views from my office. My girlfriend's lovely and this week my first book has been approved by the Ministry of Education for national use, so my name will be in every technical college across the country. And my business partner recovered, went on to study law and is now making a name for himself in London.

So while this post my contain massive amounts of croissant-chewing smugness, I feel that a modicum of it is partially deserved. Fuck you, feeling-sorry-for-yourself.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2012, 11:33, 33 replies)
I once found myself involved in a depraved scene-
I was stark bollock naked and strainingly erect, while a gathering of boys from the earliest of teens through to their very early twenties were nude, oiled and performing ever more erotic breakdancing moves in a sinuous and delicious manner. As they spun and danced past me, hips twisting and pricks swinging to the sound of Strong Island, I took myself in hand and started to stroke my tumescent member to the rhythm of the sensuous homoerotic urban ballet playing out before me.

As my grip tightened and my balls followed suit, I felt the gaze of a dozen eyes fixating on my masturbation. I felt my orgasm rise, slowly and then rapidly as I threw my head back and came in great juddering jets of pearlescent liquid. My glittering ejaculate covered the troupe, and some tongues flicked out to catch the salty gobbets before the spell broke and the moment ended.

'Oh fuck', I gasped, still gripped in the blissful afterglow of a powerful orgasm.

It was then that the reality of the situation hit me- I had come over Diversity.
(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 19:03, 15 replies)
How I Learned to Walk Again
New Years 2012 was hard. You probably did something great, but I was in hospital. I mean, I believe I was. I don’t remember, I was out of my mind on painkillers.

It was so stupid. A go-karting accident, of all things. Sounds silly, but I guess sometimes things just go badly. I got so smashed up that my pelvis was practically a fine powder. I was told that I’d likely never walk unaided again, and even the idea of me walking again didn’t have brilliant odds. But I decided that a positive, determined attitude would see me through. I spent months in physical therapy but by the end of it I was walking with just a cane.

I guess it seems kind of silly, but I’d always kind of wanted to climb Ben Nevis, so I decided that would be my goal. I’m sure the idea of practicing walking seems weird to many people, but if walking is hard for you, that’s what you need to do, and that’s what I did. And in August, I made the climb. I took the Pony Track, which some put down as the “tourist route”, but for me it was terribly hard. Think about that. A few times there I nearly quit, but I forced myself to do it.

And so I made it to the plateau. This was it. This was what life was all about. I breathed in the crisp, clear mountain air. In the distance, I heard a bird call. I felt the sun on my face and the wind in my hair.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes! Here I am, world,” I shouted. “You tried to put me down but it didn’t work! I’m still here! Do your woOOOoooOOOOOaaaauuuugh,” I moaned as my backside gave way and released pint after pint of arse gravy into my trousers. “Nooooooooooauhhh!” I screamed as the force of the explosion knocked me over, leaving me writhing in the dirt, honking with misery as liquid bum shame squirted out of the ends of my cloth tubes.

I suppose I shouldn’t have tried to put that spanner up my arse.
(, Sun 16 Dec 2012, 1:23, 6 replies)
Repost:
I took a bit ill in August 2010. Sorry about the words...
Started at the weekend with some flu-like symptoms; fever, sweating, tiredness, neck ache, leg ache and a cough but I just got the fuck on with it and kept going to work (I work with teenagers who have behavioural problems so this mostly meant sitting playing PS3 and watching films).

Friday morning I wake up busting for a piss and off to the toilet I go. Only... There's something wrong... something that in my half-asleep haze it takes me a moment to realise... then it hits me... WHY THE FUCK ARE MY NUTS THE SIZE OF GRAPEFRUITS?! I did what any man would do and panicked. Called the Dr, got an appointment and got told I had a virus which had caused some swelling (no shit) and home with pills.

That night I'm in the bath and I see all these spots running from my feet to my knees. The Dr had said any changes to call NHS24 so that's what I did. The lady on the phone was lovely but more concerned that I was having pains when breathing (something I hadn't really registered until she asked) than my spotty legs and giant testicles. Ambulance is called for me and off to hospital.

Turns out I had swelling, not just around the legs and balls, but around my heart too. Viral Myocarditis. The infection had caused the lining of my Heart to swell, causing it to beat oddly. I had a group of student Doctors all listen to my heartbeat one after the other as it had a triple rhythm. This had caused my lungs and chest cavity to fill with fluid, causing the difficulty breathing. This wasn't aided by the Hospital believing I was dehydrated and putting 3 IV units of fluid into me. Apparently my Chest X-ray over that weekend were completely white due to the amount of fluid in me.

On Sunday I was told that, IF I stabilized, I would require a left ventricle assist device or a Heart transplant so they wanted to move me to Glasgow as they were better equipped to do the procedures if it came to it. Only problem was I wasn't stable enough to move, at that point I was on 19 litres of Oxygen a minute and the Ambulance could only provide a maximum of 15. I was told (but I don't remember it) that I was Gravely ill and my Mum was told that I was a very, very sick man and to be prepared for the worst.

On Tuesday the decision was made to move me anyway, I had improved slightly due to me spending hours on a CPAP but my Blood Oxygen level was still in the low 70%'s. My heart rate had been 150+ for 3 or 4 days now and I was on an intake of 1.2 litres of fluid a day and pissing out 4.5L. I got a sexy yellow Aeroplane to fly my from Aberdeen to Glasgow.

Once in Glasgow things changed quickly. For the best. I got all the excess liquid out, lots of injections, MRI's, X-rays, lots of pills to drain fluids, regulate heart beats etc. And spent a total of 2 weeks in Hospital. No transplants or anything. In 20+ years of being a Cardiac consultant my Doctor says it's the quickest, fullest recovery he has ever seen and he was still astounded to see me walking around after 2 weeks as most people in my condition ended up in bed for 6 months and would be very lucky to go back to a "normal" lifestyle again.

This wasn't my most terrifying thing, as most of it passed me by in a blur. My most terrifying thing happened about a week after I got home and the full reality of it all hit me. I was just sitting watching TV and then I was lying on the floor sobbing my eyes out, shaking like a leaf. The next few months were shit too... I felt weak and scared to go to busy places, every time I had a cough or felt under the weather I would start to get one up. "Is it happening again?", checking my pulse and freaking myself out. My pills made me lethargic and tired out easily. Even climbing the stairs left my breathless and dizzy, which didn't help as by that stage I was "sick of feeling sick".

I still get freaked out by it all, especially when I think about my daughter and what could have happened, but I'm better now. No pills; heart rate of 82 beats a minute, reasonable blood pressure; my own heart; still alive lol.
(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 17:48, 14 replies)
Not entirely sure where the comedy is in this QOTW, but fuck it.
=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=- "OH WOE IS ME, ALAS POOR ME, I KNEW HIM WELL blah blah" =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

As some of you know, I have crohns, which I'm not entirely sure I know 100% about, 'cus I don't look it up. I just know that it means that for a few hours a day I have to be near a lav. Quite a lot of the time, a few times a day, I'm chained for a few hours. Not gonna get grim, but its the 'urge' thats bad, you know that over whelming unignorable urge that something is gonna happen, weather thats actually gonna happen or not, I just donno, so can't risk it. For the record though, only once did I have to shit in a pringles tube on the train, and that was for a dare. I swapped it for a copy of The Big Issue, so I could wipe up. No wonder the big issue lot are shit at buisness, that magazine cost £3 and tesco do 2 tubes of pringles for £2.50; even if it wasn't filled with shit it would have been a bad deal.

I've gone from solphadeen to codine to morphine to morphine'n'methadone as a painkiller, via the means of all sorts of others, the thing is not all painkillers work on me... slow release morphine did fuck all 'cus my guts have been cut up so many times. Infact, the doc changed her policy or whatever when she realised. "House" ain't got shit on me when it comes to scoring this stuff back in the day.

Not a week goes by when I don't see at least one doctor. Plus so many people have opinions on what I should do, and what I should eat, because they have a mate who once had IBD. Which is quite insulting 'cus it implies that I would be cured if I "did it right", where as I've had countless advice from actual medical profesionals, and people forget that I've still got to live, and I don't want to live a life without indulgancies. I don't drink and I love food.

And then there is other shit thats not been right, lived in shitholes, had head-wobbbles that put me in the loony bin, dead dad, lost touch with most of my mates 'cus of me not liking cocaine.

=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=- "But you know me, i can't complain" =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Knowing I'll never be able to hold down a normal job, I trained myself up as a web developer when I left school after minimal GCSESs 'cus of illness. Site after site, system after system, I've been able to work out every system I've come across in any language I've come across. I donno, I just have a knack for them or something. So with this, I've pretty much always got good-paying work, I'm constantly being approached by people to do jobs for them. This is with the fact that a lot of the time I have to work from home as well as in the office. Oh, and I do the whole thing with actaul real life dyslexia; you know, the kind that got you classed as being one of the thick kids.

I find myself whistling randomly 'cus I'm mostly happy. In a world with dogs in, nothing can be too bad, I truly believe that. Lots of stuff sucks, but the world doesn't, the world rocks, with christmas lights and tall buildings and mulled wine and .... insert autisticly long list of everything that I love in the world, but its mostly dog related.

And to all those OhWoeIsMe'ers out there, I reckon there are gonna be a few, there is always a good movie out soon (Man Of Still, X-Men: The Prequal : The Sequal, Wolverine 2, Avengers 2, pascific rim... to name a few), so if you're gonna do anything stupid, you'll miss them out, so you might as well wait 'till they come out, 'cus I'd be gutted if I missed them. Plus all the going-ons in Hollyoaks.

You know the trick to life? PMA. Possitive Mental Attitude. The world never sucks, just your perception of it. Lyinthord Christy was bang on

That's all, thank you for reading.
(, Sat 15 Dec 2012, 10:00, 18 replies)
This QOTW must surely go to
the few people who've managed to post sincere, poignant stories despite the constant hooting morons shitting all over every single post. Well done, you all.

Can I suggest an alternative prize: "The 'B3tan who acts most like their dad has accidentally left his computer unlocked, thus allowing his angry, frustrated teenage son to access the internet' Award"

It's a close-run thing, but in the end despite a spirited last-minute slice of sociopathy from Brayndedd, there can only be one winner:

Of course, it's Dr Shambolic! If there's one B3tan who embodies the wonderful spirit of a thirteen-year-old boy who's just realised that the internet is a magical place in which he can insult anyone he likes without recourse, then it's him. While the rest of us grew up and became actual adult humans, he's bravely stayed behind, bashing his keyboard with furiously clenched fists, screaming nonsensical insults at random strangers - keeping the angry misunderstood adolescent dream alive for us all.

We love you Dr Shambolic, you stunted, furious moron. Never change!
(, Wed 19 Dec 2012, 6:07, 125 replies)
In March 2012 I was diagnosed with cancer.
Two anxious months of tests and waiting, at each appointment expecting to get a treatment plan, and instead unexpected results requiring another round of tests. Had extensive surgery on 30th May, and an all-clear in June. First of five years of follow-up appointments was in October, few more tests as things not looking quite right, but thankfully just issues with healing from the surgery (which could take another six months to complete).

The cancer I had was very aggressive and fast-growing. It's nearly Christmas, and I am alive to enjoy it with my family.
(, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 22:43, 12 replies)
My betrothed
Used to do a spot of rowing.
She was away on a training camp in france and had been put out in a single for that particular session (single scull = just you on your own).
During the session, some 5km from the club house, she came up to the catch - the start of the stroke... and dislocated her shoulder taking it.

A normal person would drift slowly to the bank in tears, allow her coach who was with her to call an ambubumbalumps and wait for the help and drugs to arrive without moving too much.

What she actually did was borrow the coaches bike so he could row the single back, ride to the club and finding no one around, put the arm back in herself lethal weapon style against a wall.

To her credit she admitted to me that she 'may have been a little bit sick' when i called her after getting a picture on my mobile of her playing ping pong with her right arm in a sling a few hours later.
When I met her at the airport and she told me it was still a bit sore (translated - effing painful), I took her to casualty where they finished the job she started. She had only managed to get her arm halfway back in 'by wall'.

6 weeks of rehab later, shes back and stronger than she was before the injury, racing in the Remenham Challenge at Henley on the saturday (which is a Big Deal for those who care and also farther than ive ever gotten,) finally getting turned over by the GB wimmins eight.

She is the hardest person I know.
(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 17:25, 7 replies)
nameless let rip with an earthshaking splatterfart bellowing his challenge like a bull elephant seal.
Gonzo looked up from examining the droplets of baby oil glistening on his chest hairs and responded with a resounding splatterfart of his own, his Pringles tin acting like an echo chamber. The soundwave caused some of the lime jelly to spill out of the paddling pool.
Nameless began to oil himself up in preparation for the fight to come. He'd been rehearsing this fight in his mind, and what was left of his intestines for weeks now, loading himself up with spicy curries washed down with fizzy pop. He was sure that Pringles tin or no Pringles tin, Gonzo would end this day defeated.
Gonzo waited patiently. To him this was just another challenge, and he had never lost one yet. Still in his prime, he wasn't about to relinquish his hold on the remote with the Hollyoaks Omnibus about to start in ten minutes. The Chinese Food was already ordered and he had his pick from his b3ta harem to hold hands with, all he needed to do was send nameless packing with his carrier bag between his legs in shame.
To Be Continued...
(, Wed 19 Dec 2012, 12:38, 22 replies)
Stranded myself in a foreign land
As far as adversities go it was small, but it loomed large at the time: locking myself out just hours before an international trip.

At 1 a.m., I returned to Mt. Glorious, in the mountains outside of Brisbane, Australia, after an evening clubbing. My host left the country two days previously and I was all alone in his house. I prepared for my last sleepover by emptying my pockets.

Then, I remembered I had not yet studied southern constellations. So, I grabbed my southern star chart, walked out, and casually closed the front door. Instantly, I knew: I was locked out of the house!

I quickly ran around the house. All doors and windows were locked and secure. But I had to leave by 9 a.m. to make the noon flight. What was I going to do? For about one-and-a-half hours, I tried to pick locks, all the while jumping around so that the motion-sensitive outdoor lights would generate enough light to see. I found a tool tray in the garage, but it was guarded by a giant Huntsman Spider, so every time I reached into the tool tray I had to shoo the spider away.

Giving up on lock-picking, I decided I had to break a window. I decided to break the guest bathroom toilet window. I began cutting the outer screen of the window in preparation. Then I realized I was just too fat to fit through it. Plus, there was no time to see to the window's repair. So, I had to get help!

Even though this house was fairly-remote, there were a few neighbors nearby. But how could I bang on their front doors at 3 a.m.? They didn't know who I was and I had no identification. And my urgent insistence that I had to enter their absent neighbor's home might strike them as not credible.

The only thing that could work would be to find a locksmith. But how do I call anyone without a phone? I wondered whether there was a pay telephone in the village of Mt. Glorious, which was located about 2 kilometers away through the dark forest. I wasn't sure.

So off I went, tramping through the forest. The sky was overcast, so the darkness was nearly complete. I worried about stumbling over pythons or other animals in the dark. I tried to stay close to the slight glow emanating from the road's center dotted line, so that I might have at least have a last-second warning.

I found the village, utterly deserted at 3:30 a.m. Indeed, there was a phone booth there, but possessing no resources I was limited to toll-free numbers only.

I called "000", the Australian emergency number, and the Brisbane police reluctantly gave me the toll free number of Locksmith #1. He refused my appeal for help - there was little attraction to rescuing someone atop a mountain, 30 km outside of the big city. He referred me to Locksmith #2.

Locksmith #2 said he couldn't respond immediately. He was far away, but if I called back at 6 a.m., he would see what he could do.

I called back Locksmith #1, and again he refused - it was illegal to open locks for people who had confided they weren't the actual homeowner. He said that I should be grateful that Locksmith #2 hadn't turned me down cold.

These two locksmiths were the only two toll-free "express" locksmiths in Brisbane: I would need to find some coins to call others. There were toll-free glaziers, however, if I wanted to return to my host's house and break windows instead. At a loss, I lay down on a bench outside the restaurant and tried to sleep.

For reasons I didn't quite fathom at this semi-tropical locale, dawn came early. Birds like Australian King Parrots, kookaburras, and Sulfur-Crested Cockatoos were active, and I enjoyed listening to their treetop roar.

At 5:30 a.m., I called Locksmith #2 back. He sighed and asked if I had a mobile number. I said no, I had nothing. He said "look, there's nothing much I can do without a mobile number. I want to refer you to another locksmith who lives on that side of Brisbane, but I can't do it without a mobile number. You need to ask someone if you can use their mobile number." I said I was reluctant to ask before, because it had been dark. He said, "yes, but this is Australia. Everyone has a mobile number. And they'll help you too. But you need to ask."

"You need to ask." Walking past a house, I thought I heard some thumping inside. Summoning the courage, I knocked on their door. A young family and their five kids answered the door. They were new to town. They had moved into the house just the day before. The mother looked at her kids, then me, then asked "walking through the woods, weren't you afraid of dingoes?" "Dingoes!", I replied, "no, I was worried about pythons!" She said, "well, they removed dingoes from these hills a while ago and took them over to Moreton Island, but they've been filtering back, and they've been spotted again around here lately." I said "Wow, no I hadn't thought about dingoes!"

The family lent me their mobile phone and I made contact with Locksmith #3. The kids ran around the house and rounded up some coins, which they lent me to contact another locksmith, if needed. The husband decided to travel to the house to see if he could puzzle a way inside. I returned to waiting by the phone booth.

After just half an hour, Locksmith #3 arrived. We returned to the house and met the husband, who hadn't found a way into the house either. I returned his kids' coins to him.

By 8 a.m., the drama had concluded. I was in the house again and I left for the airport on time. Just the damage to the window screen to worry about (and a lingering fear of dingoes).
(, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 1:32, Reply)
Not me, but my brother
My older brother used to be quite a useful sportsman. Captain of the hockey team, rugby player, football wizard, swimmer, you name it, he could play it (fnar, fnar).
Then he found booze.
After this his sporting activity dropped off to the level that he would turn up on a Sunday to play football and spend half the match running around and the other half throwing up on the sidelines.
Eventually, he found himself a nice lady and became a bit more settled. He stopped drinking so much and decided to get back into a bit more sport. He started training and entered to run in the New York marathon to raise money for charity.
Shortly before this was due to happen he started to feel a little ill but ignored the doctor and got on the plane and ran the marathon. He was a little bit annoyed with the fact he ran it in just under 4 hours 20 minutes, but had completed it.
When he got home he couldn't seem to shift this illness, he started losing weight and went for more tests.
A few days later we get a call and after a few stressful hours brother is tracked down and whisked off to hospital with ulcerated colitis.
A few days later, he's been operated on, had his large intestine removed and has lost a third of his body weight in less than a week.
He's had a hard road to recovery. Infections plagued his first few months. He was too weak to move out of the house for weeks. The firm he worked at went bust while he was recovering. He now has a colostomy bag. Our mum died shortly after his wedding.
Despite all that he still remains upbeat and will never complain about his condition. He's got a new, better job. Has run a sub 3 hour marathon. Competes in triathalons. And has now announced he's going to enter an Iron Man (look it up if you don't know, it's ludicrous).
No funnies, but just thought I might share.
(, Mon 17 Dec 2012, 16:15, 4 replies)
After eighteen years
i finally beat my brothers high score on Donkey Kong.
(, Mon 17 Dec 2012, 0:59, 1 reply)
Poisoned by "certified organic" pesticide used by the army corps of engineers.
I wish I knew how to add photos, I would show some of the less gory pics.
However my story, I was poisoned by the army corps of engineers.
They in all their glory decided to poison out a lake so they could restock it with game fish for rich touristy types.
They neglected to tell the locals that the Rotenone used to kill off the lake is also lethal and or dangerous to a very small percentage of humans (I am one of the lucky ones)
It caused me to lose most of my liver function, kidney failure, heart issues,some brain functions are impared in that I have problems concentrating and I went from proofing newspaper articles to barely being able to compose a letter, lungs were filling with fluid and full of blistering lesions as well.I have to carry around a lame oxygen tank now so I don't die.
On the skin side, I would get unendurable feeling of burning followed by the skin burning from the inside out, you could actually feel the high heat coming off my skin right before blisters formed, then popped then the skin slid off leaving the underlaying muscles exposed.
I required many skin grafts after they figured out what was causing this.
I have some scars on my face as a result of this as well,but thankfully most of the skin slid off my abdomen and legs and not my face. I am now perminantly unable to do alot of the physical things I used to do as the new skin is not all that strong. I also am very photosensitive and any bright light sends me into mild seizures. I will require a kidney transplant in the future as well.
What bothers me the most is Obama our noncitizen president had created a law in which we can no longer sue the government for being poisoned by them (part of the Patriot Act) Thankfully I have insurance because the bills are close to half a million dollers at this point and I will never fully recover mentally or physically.
Send me a message if you want to see some gory pics. My legs will never again look good in a skirt :( it is jeans only for me for the rest of my life.
(, Sat 15 Dec 2012, 5:44, 48 replies)
one saturday morning, in the middle of the summer holidays
my parents had gone away the night before on a weekend city break and my older brother was back in Manchester getting pissed with his university friends. I woke up leisurely with a calculated smile on my face, for today i was going to attempt what I'd previously assumed was impossible.

The internet was still a relatively new phenomenon, and I'd had to curb my online explorations once dad had got the itemised phonebill and subsequently discovered that our internet history was surprisingly empty. BUT, that hadn't stopped me seeing (and saving to floppy disc) an image that had been indelibly seared into my brain. a 22kb jpeg of a grinning and rather sweaty lady, staring manically into the camera whilst grasping an aubergine in both hands, an aubergine that was caught by the camera shutter midway up her distended sphincter. It may be difficult these days to comprehend the mind-boggling nature of such an image on an impressionable, spotty, teenage boy, but i can assure you it was a watershed moment.

When i discovered I'd have the house to myself for the weekend, i started planning. a few days before, I'd got the bus into the nearest city so I could visit a Boots where no-one knew me, and got hold of some condoms and lube. (I'd even been able to ignore the incredulity of the till monkey, who made it clear how doubtful he was that I could possibly want them for myself). I'd also gone to the supermarket, and in amongst some other innocuous items - pot noodles, ham, bread etc, i'd selected the biggest, ripest aubergine they had. My stash was then safely secreted in the bottom of my wardrobe until I was alone.

I showered, shaved my bum-fluffed chin, dressed myself in my recently laundered fluffy dressing gown, and ate a leisurely breakfast. Returning to my bedroom, i stripped, got my accoutrements from the wardrobe and got ready. Today was the day. And it was!

Much later after much straining, and physically exhausted - arms and legs trembling from exertion, I'd managed 12 posh wanks in one day and used up all my johnnies.

To celebrate I had a nice fried aubergine salad for tea. Yum!
(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 21:22, 3 replies)
I have known several people
who have overcome the pain, suffering and general indignity caused by cancer simply by dying.
(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 18:32, 4 replies)
They said it couldn't be done...
July 2006. I'd had a few drinks and the pub was closing. A mate decided to go over to the late-night off licence across town and bring back some beer. I said I'd get us some food and just sit and watch TV and wait for him.

The KFC Family Bucket looked so enticing I couldn't wait. I started on the drumsticks, then tackled the chips. The chips were hard work, so I had to have a bit more chicken to help grease them down. By this time I was about half way though the bucket, but I thought, 'I can do this. I know I can. I'm a drunk fat bastard.'

It's the chips that are the killer. After a while it just feels like shovelling salty pulp down your gullet. The chicken by this time was cooling and pools of grease lay at the bottom of the bucket. Dipping the chicken into this reserve of grease mixed with ketchup helped a little, but I won't lie and say that it was easy. I had to keep telling myself that I had passed the point of no return and my honour was on the line.

Finally, I was finished. I felt a mixture of disgust and elation. I was sat on the sofa barely able to move, and so harrowed by the experience that I couldn't even be bothered to go to the fridge and open another can of Fanta. Reasoning that my friend should be on the way back by now, I texted him to pick up some chips.

I have since avoided this sort of behaviour other than a slight relapse in 2011 when I ate three large burritos in an hour in a misguided attempt to impress some attractive girls I worked with.
(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 13:20, 20 replies)
I don't know why he did this...
Primary school, one of the first days of Year 3. For some reason person sitting next to me thought it'd be a good idea to sharpen a pencil over my head. Needless to say it didn't go over very well and though he probably can't remember exactly what happened anymore, I managed to overcome this adversity and went on to stuff his pencil sharpener and several of his pencils up my bum.
(, Mon 17 Dec 2012, 8:53, 1 reply)
I lost the entirety of my left-hand side in an accident.
I'm alright now.
(, Sun 16 Dec 2012, 2:06, 17 replies)
A true inspiration
Not me, but someone that I know (and so do most people on the Isle of Man) Katherine Crowe. After years of fighting cancer and suffering seriously bad reactions to the chemotherapy, she's been effectively told that her condition is terminal, but has it got her down? has it buggery. All she's wanted to do all her life is write and play music and she's been blessed with an amazing voice to boot. Recently she had the chance to record at Abbey Road, which she took with both hands and the outcome is here. www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-isle-of-man-20711326

This has now kicked off a viral campaign to get sales for her single (the Xmas number 1 would be nice!) to donate to research for alternative cancer treatments that will benefit those that chemo does not work for and to leave something behind for her husband and kids. This isn't a plug for her single or asking for donations, I just admire what she's doing and how she's handling what she's going through.
(, Sat 15 Dec 2012, 14:29, 3 replies)
Also inspiring!
I was leaving hospital on an unnecessarily wet and unreasonably windy day, having sustained a fracture in my big toe that left me with a steel splint and a half leg cast to allow it to recover. It took me about fifteen minutes to cover the short walk from the fracture clinic to the hospital entrance so I could board the bus home and I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself.

The bus stops location outside the hospital is located is where the long-term patients who still have some mobility tended to congregate for a cigarette. On that day there was one man, obviously worse for wear, sat in a wheelchair wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He was looking happily out at the greenery that separated the hospital grounds with the network of roads that surrounded it, paying no attention to the soaking he was getting from the rain and the constant gusts of wind that were causing what seemed to be mini tornadoes of leaves to spiral up to the heavens in the corner of the nearby car park. He was smoking a freshly lit cigarette and on the arm of his wheelchair was his packet Superkings and box of Swan matches. As there was no one else in sight, I engaged him in a brief chat while waiting for the bus to arrive. He revealed that a few months beforehand he had been involved in an accident that necessitated the removal of his right arm below the elbow and both legs above the knee.

Lighting a fag in those conditions with only one arm, using a match? That’s overcoming adversity!
(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 14:40, 4 replies)
Really shouldn't re-re-Pea this but it's a true story so hey ho.
www.b3ta.com/questions/stalked/post118316
/edit; should point out this is very badly written, sorry.
/edit/edit; Ooh I'm ten years old!
(, Tue 18 Dec 2012, 11:37, 44 replies)
yarr
well, after being told it would happen for over 30 years, i've now gone blind in my left eye. on the downside, i walk into things a lot and miss when i try to pick stuff up. i also can't ride my bike anymore.
on the upside, i can now legitimately dress as a pirate for fancy dress parties :D
(, Mon 17 Dec 2012, 15:06, 10 replies)
Bah, sprouts
'Twas the night before the commercially-perpetuated non-denominational appropriation of a Pagan winter festival, and all through the starter home purchased on a tracker mortgage under a council JSA reinsertion scheme for single parents supporting multiple sheds,
Not a creature was acting in a manner suggesting an intention to commit terrorist acts liable to cause bodily harm or damage to property, whether at home or abroad, not even a badger employed in a laboratory testing programme under an equal opportunities scheme designed to prevent discrimination against candidates of different mouseness,

*runs out of paper*
(, Mon 17 Dec 2012, 12:24, 1 reply)
Testicular Senility
An awareness campaign

Many men bemoaning their sudden lack of cognisance faculties. Others chart the same decline as a gradual thing.

Simultaneously many males are displaying a decreased sex drive and or lack of physical prowess with advancing years.

I would say both these come from the same source a depression in the testosterone output. Testicular senility explains how these are related.

What is Testicular senility?

Have you been accused of 'thinking with your balls?' Even if you haven't, you probably have and this is not such a bad thing. As we reach adolescence we are suddenly confronted with more responsibilities and learning experiences. The human body is an amazing thing in its adaptivity, and utilises the sudden growth of the adult body with the need to develop the adult mind.

By transferring entire thought processes to the testicles the mind frees up space for the increased cognitive demand placed on it. The mind in effect becomes a dual core processor. This is analogous to modern computers utilising the solid state memory of plug in devices to boost processing speed.

As we age testosterone decreases, forcing these thoughts out of the balls, up the spine and into the brain. The sudden imposition of thought algorithms that had been safely loaded in ones testicles since the onset of puberty can at times overload the mind. This leads to slower thinking in a condition know to the medical community as 'Befuddlement'

The more you know.
(, Sun 16 Dec 2012, 16:45, 10 replies)
Once managed to ejaculate after drinking 9 pints of Guinness.
Almost severed a wrist tendon to get there mind.
(, Sun 16 Dec 2012, 10:53, 4 replies)
My grandad
My grandad lost his left arm fighting against Franco in the Spanish Civil War. He was a Welsh miner, but like many others, was willing to lose his life in the fight against fascism.

He returned to the UK after a long stint in a POW camp and with his buddy who had also lost an arm started up a REMOVALS company.

Yep - who needs two arms to shift furniture around..?

L
(, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 13:52, 8 replies)
I overcame disability something something Darth Vader

(, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 14:07, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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