nimbledriver81 said: It’s not actually for me, it’s for my mom. 😬 I once saw a chiropractor over in Germany, and man, he fixed my spine in a heartbeat. I felt like a new person after that. 🤣
Seriously though, if anyone has a solid recommendation, please let me know. (My wife won't go on a diet, so her bones are taking the hit...)
It’s funny how some patients see one chiropractor and think they're cured... *claps*. I’ve had about 200 visits over 35 years, and I’m still waiting for real progress.
If you can afford it, physical therapy and massage are miles ahead of any chiropractor. Just speaking from experience... especially if the patient is dealing with neurological pain or has had surgery. A chiropractor could actually make things much worse. Much worse.
But hey, to each their own. An honest chiropractor with a post-op patient will tell you straight up that there's nothing they can do... otherwise, they'll just empty your wallet. 😎
casualfox9 said:Fair point, but you're forgetting that very few families actually owned cows back then. Large-scale livestock farming for milk and meat really didn't take off until the 20th century.
That’s exactly why people in India claim "the cow is sacred." They have their "Miracle Ayurveda" approach. Lately, it seems like "alternative medicine" is exploding in popularity over there—and because it's so expensive, people assume it actually works. In reality, if someone miraculously recovers from an illness, they credit the "natural remedies" instead of the actual medication they were taking.
About two weeks ago, we had a situation involving a group of Senior citizens down in Western Australia. We received mail from some famous American doctor who is out here peddling a book called "Natural Remedies for Everything."
First off, someone from a Senior citizens' association sold all our addresses—about 120,000 of them—for $30,000. This doctor isn't even a specialist or a leader in "alternative medicine"; he isn't even in the medical field. Most importantly, all his advice is dangerous to one's health. Scammers are everywhere. It honestly irritates me when famous athletes claim they were cured by "natural medicine" and can still maintain an active lifestyle. The truth is, they had the best sports doctors, neurosurgeons, and orthopedists backing their success. They're just lying for the paycheck.
It's the same story. How many people have actually been cured of cancer using alternative methods?
I've tried just about everything in my life, mostly just wasting money. But I had to shut down those people who insist you haven't tried "natural" options yet. Trust me, I've tried it all. If you have something truly serious wrong with you, no amount of "magic" drinks supposedly used in India or Japan—or wherever else for thousands of years—is going to help. Let's not regress into the Dark Ages.
If it's destined that we die of cancer, then we'll die of it. No amount of money or medicine can change that outcome. The wealthiest man in Australia recently passed away at 68. There was no cure for him, despite being able to buy anything in the world. He simply didn't want to suffer anymore.
casualfox9 says He's finally heading in tomorrow for an MRI, a CT scan, and appointments with a rheumatologist, an internist, and a cardiologist. I actually managed to talk him into going to a private clinic so he can get everything done at once; if he stayed on the public system, he'd be waiting weeks just to get the scans scheduled.
casualfox9, you didn't let us know how those appointments went...
Some links regarding the pros and cons of Ayurveda:
Angela Kelly said:First off, I’m not panicking, nor am I citing any unreliable sources. The global spread of bird flu via migratory birds is an unprecedented phenomenon in my lifetime, and it's something I find genuinely interesting to study. I'm just writing because I feel like it and deciding how I feel. Besides, I don't start dozens of threads just to convince myself or anyone else that diseases or external factors are the reason for any perceived failures in my life. On the contrary, I consider myself successful. I believe the world and the environment around me offer plenty of incredible opportunities for prosperity.As for bird flu, it isn't a taboo subject, nor should it be. The more people understand it, the better our chances as a species to protect ourselves and contain it.
What actually defines success in life? Is it money, or just your own perception of being successful?
Where exactly did I blame illness for my own "failure" in life? You haven't even gotten there yet... I've raised my kids and achieved quite a lot. Aside from dealing with health issues, I've done well and earned respect wherever I've worked. Even at 60, I was heading back to universities. My sons are 42 and 32, and my grandkids are 18, 13, 12, and 4. I can look back and say I've done my part—raised happy children and provided everything possible for my family. That's a lot, and frankly, you're still waiting to achieve even half of that.
Angela Kelly said:Bird flu is on the horizon... how lethal it actually turns out to be for humanity is still anyone's guess, and we have no idea when it might hit.
Americans, Canadians, the British, the French... (and even Americans) ...some people have already started stockpiling food and medicine. They’re planning to hunker down with their families and quarantine, if that's the right word—staying indoors for about three months, which is what everyone seems to be assuming!
It would be a lot easier if people like you didn't spread so much panic... when do you even find the time to work? People used to prep for the Cold War and nuclear strikes, and that never happened. Compared to how many people die every single day from preventable diseases, this is nothing. Ninety deaths? In a territory this size, that's negligible. Everyone is just spreading fear and tricking people into buying useless medications. Take it easy. We all know what's going on; we're all reading the WHO and other sources. Besides, you're constantly posting about this on the health forum anyway... there's no need to bring it up on both subforums.😁
I haven't been posting much lately... my right arm is basically useless right now. I've got two ongoing issues with my shoulder—I regularly get steroid injections because of a small tear in my biceps, along with some acromioclavicular joint trouble. This time, however, the pain has gripped my entire right arm, all the way down to my elbow and even numbing my fingers. It's an awful, constant pulling sensation through the whole limb. I can't sleep, and nothing seems to touch the pain. Back on February 14th, 2006, I had an MRI before this latest flare-up because of my cervical spine issues, and my orthopedist just sent me for another MRI focused on the shoulder. So, it turns out there's even more going wrong than I thought. I have C7 impingement on the left side too, which causes constant numbness in my fingers—it’s always worse at night.
About twelve hours ago, I had two steroid injections in my shoulder. It helped my range of motion a bit, just like I expected, but it did absolutely nothing for the pinched nerve. When I was at the hospital (I stayed overnight), they basically told me, "Look, you know your situation; we can't help you with this many complications, you've already got everything you need at home." I was hoping the anesthesiologist could perform a nerve block under CT guidance, since I've had similar procedures done on my lumbar spine, but there's just a massive waiting list for that.
Two nights ago, I cleared out all my old narcotics that I haven't used in ages. I was honestly terrified of accidentally overdosing while in this much pain. I had about 250ml of morphine liquid from the pain clinic, to say nothing of the rest.
I cleaned out everything that could potentially lead to an overdose. The only reason I even had those supplies was because specialists sometimes provide them for testing during my worst flares, though I haven't touched anything for the last two years.
As I've mentioned before, I don't want to be subconsciously drugged. I'm one of those people for whom narcotics barely even work. I actually found about five boxes of Methadone sitting at home; I didn't even think to try it despite the pain, because I tend to react even more poorly to it.
It’s a madhouse at home right now. I can't sleep, so I spend my nights pacing the apartment and using microwave heat pads. My wife is struggling to sleep too, and she has her own issues, so it’s enough to drive you crazy. You go to the hospital and they can't do anything; I'm not even asking for injections since I already have pills, capsules, and shots at home.
I can only say that I'm not surprised if someone ends up taking their own life due to extreme pain. Is that cowardice? I don't think so. Dealing with impossible, agonizing pain that doesn't respond to anything is unbearable. People complain on these forums after a day or two of discomfort, but what about living with this for an entire lifetime?
Throughout this whole ordeal, I kept searching for something that seemed impossible. In Australia, they don't typically prescribe transdermal patches like Fentanyl unless it's for cancer patients or those at the very end of life. I could have gone the private route, but where would I find that kind of money?
Then, one night, it hit me. I remembered the pain clinic mentioning that I responded best to Gabapentin via infusion because of how it works on the central nervous system, but I couldn't take it orally. I also recalled responding to Lignocaine. For that, they had previously prescribed Amitriptyline—an antidepressant—which nearly cost both me and my wife our lives. That was my final visit to the pain clinic.
It took me days to finally recall the name Lignocaine, until I remembered I receive steroid injections containing it as a local anesthetic. I think I spent about an hour every single day for a month researching this.
And it paid off. I managed to find the "newly approved drugs list from October 2005..." It was the "Norspan" transdermal patch by CMI. They come in three different strengths and last for seven days. It's Buprenorphine, which is approved for chronic pain patients who don't respond to non-opioid analgesics.
Neither my doctors nor my pharmacists knew it had been approved. Luckily, I found it myself. Since I am clean, I was able to start using the patches immediately. I'm currently on my third one. The problem is, they aren't great for acute pain like what I'm facing right now. You aren't supposed to take extra narcotics except for maybe Codeine. For now, it's helped a little with my lumbar issues, but I'm not expecting a miracle. I'll likely have to gradually increase the dosage over time to see results. For now, nothing is really helping.
I have an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon on March 6th... so I’m wondering what to expect. Based on my experience, PAIN LIKE THIS IN MY CURRENT COMPLEX SITUATION CAN LAST UP TO 4-6 WEEKS... so there isn't much longer to go. On a pain scale of 1-10... I'm sitting at an 8 or 10.
P.S. While searching online, I found out that buprenorphine is used under medical supervision in pill form for people who are "detoxing from drugs like Methadone and heroin."
My God, the options are limited. I can't imagine using substances if I don't absolutely have to... but then again, what are alcohol and nicotine? A person learns what they can endure to stay alive.
Hang in there, Jamie Clark74—you're halfway through the struggle. Meanwhile, the sciatica is already starting to flare up in both of my legs again.😁 😎
Illness can be brutal. I just finished six weeks of physical therapy on both sides, and now, for the last ten days, my right arm has been completely useless. I’ve got two issues going on at once: osteoarthritis and bursitis in my shoulder, plus tendonitis. I've been waiting seven days for an injection, so I'm finally heading in tomorrow. To make matters worse, I have pinched nerves at C7 and T1. My arm feels like it's on fire, and the pulling sensation in my fingers keeps me up all night. There isn't much in the way of pain meds that actually helps me.
Your father is going to have to deal with the painkillers too, which aren't great because they cause their own set of problems. It would honestly be easier if it were just a spine issue, because those pains don't just vanish instantly—they linger. But hey, I guess I'm just being optimistic.
I'm just sitting here typing with one hand since the other is totally out of commission. I had an MRI back on February 14th, 2006, and there's just no fix for this. I even went to the ER in the middle of the night only to have them tell me, "Yeah, we know we can't help you."
Keep us posted. All the best, Jamie Clark74 I really hope everything turns out okay with your dad... things are about to get interesting.
Must be nice living up in Aspen without even having a TV yet... haha. Like that old saying goes, news travels via Native American trails... all the way from Canada back to Aspen. Do you guys even have power out there? Or do you just multiply in the dark? How is your computer even working? I’m asking a lot of questions here, but maybe you won't get them all since you might be sitting in the dark.😁
P.S. Laughter is the best medicine for pain... it's the only damn thing that works!
Susan Martin24 said:I don't consider myself God, and I certainly don't allow myself the luxury of being arrogant. There are plenty of patients who know their own bodies incredibly well—they can feel when something is wrong long before any exact diagnostic method can show or prove it. That's why I don't give myself the luxury of telling a patient, "There's nothing wrong with you, just go see a psychiatrist." Some patients fall into those obsessive patterns mentioned above, so I usually recommend they seek psychiatric help while also suggesting they repeat their tests in 2, 3, or 6 months—or however long it takes. Unfortunately, just like in any other profession, there are those in medicine who finished school just for the title or for that false sense of power that patients grant them because they don't want to cause trouble. Personally, I don't believe in causing trouble—if I don't like how a cashier slices my deli meat, I just turn around and go to a different shop without a fight. Patients should do the same and seek a second opinion without making a huge drama out of it. It isn't easy for patients either; not everyone is highly educated, not everyone uses the internet or knows how to Google things properly, so they often wander around in a fog... Let's hope things get better one day. 😍
The post above says it all... is there really anything left to add? If doctors, surgeons, and all other medical branches lived by those principles, life would be much easier for everyone... it all comes down to "communication" between the doctor and the patient. It is also the patient's duty not to expect a "miracle from God"... and most importantly, not to wait until the last minute, but to have regular checkups according to their schedule and age.
How many men actually do this? Very few. If they acted in time, they could have prevented strokes or heart issues... not to mention other diseases.
On the other hand, women/the more sensitive gender tend to visit doctors more often due to various issues... Do patients realize that just as many men die from prostate cancer as women do from breast cancer?
In short, I've dealt with many doctors and specialists... and I can tell you there's a 30-40% lack of "communication." It's not that they aren't great specialists... it's just that sometimes a patient who isn't briefed on what's happening leaves the visit feeling even more confused. My advice has always been: when it's serious, always seek 2 or 3 different opinions... and never trust a specialist or doctor who tells you, "It's easy, no problem." Any surgery involving anesthesia carries risks...
Man, I rambled... what I mean to say is that it's nice to see someone like the Woman from Rijeka /doctor/surgeon, excuse me🙂 ...someone who is open, says what they think, and does it in a way that always makes me smile, "even if the situation might not be funny."
Furthermore, doctors are fighting against the system and a lack of funding. I've personally criticized how long people have to wait for an appointment in the US.
My message to other doctors is: "Put yourselves in the patient's shoes." Communicate better, and as long as you try your absolute best, your conscience will be clear.
May the years bring us more doctors/specialists like the Woman from Rijeka worldwide. Illness is easier to bear if you have a good doctor... and it's just as much easier for the doctor if they have a satisfied patient. And I love her signature.👍 😎
I’m speaking for many people here—people who likely don't know what you're talking about or haven't lived through it themselves. As far as I can remember, I've covered all of this extensively in my own threads. Take the Fentanyl patch, for example. In the US, that's strictly reserved for cancer patients; you can't just get it for chronic pain management. As you might have noticed, I actually have a dedicated thread regarding Intrathecal Morphine Pain Pumps!
A lot of us—myself included—cycle through every specialized pain clinic available. These places are highly specialized, but honestly, the success rate is only about 30%. However, most people walk away with at least some relief, ranging from minor pain control to a better understanding of their condition. Many attend intensive programs where they spend eight hours a day for three months learning how to navigate society and family life. Living with chronic illness isn't just physical pain; the psychological toll is massive.
Like you've probably realized, "I am one of the informed ones." Once a diagnosis hits, I make it my mission to research every possible treatment and seek out honest feedback—both from those who found relief and those who didn't. I've tried everything from natural remedies and Eastern medicine to TENS units. Unfortunately, depending on the specific condition, it's never an easy road.
It’s always a pleasure to read your posts. There are quite a few of you here, and I truly value your perspectives. It shows there are trained professionals out there who are also genuinely good people, contributing more than 100% to this community, regardless of where in the world they practice.
By 1972, I wasn't feeling much better than I had before the surgery. I was never more pain-free, even if I was just standing still or doing something light. They gave me a temporary gig at our construction warehouse to organize all the neglected cabling. It was a mess—thousands of dollars worth of stuff, and nobody had a clue about the sizes or specs. Honestly, it was a tougher job than my actual electrical work.
But they loved the results once the entire cable inventory was organized. We turned a huge profit because that saved money could be diverted straight into new projects. They eventually asked me to overhaul the whole warehouse since there was so much leftover material from previous jobs that nobody could locate. I ended up working in the warehouse for nearly two years; they even bumped me up to a supervisor's pay and assigned me two warehouse clerks.
Eventually, though, I got bored. I asked to get back to the tools—that’s where I belong.
My wife and I had a talk and decided to have another child. Dario was already ten, so the age gap was getting pretty wide. We slowly paid off our debts and finally bought our first car. It was a nice classic Morris 1100 S. The car was about seven years old, but it ran fine. I remember one thing clearly... Once you buy a car, you never have any money left. Between the monthly payments, maintenance, registration, and insurance, it adds up—but like everyone else, we finally had our own wheels.
In 1974, a new government came in—the Democratic Party finally took over. Prime Minister Whiteman pulled the troops out of Vietnam and ended National Service. Their selection process for the military was basically a lottery; they'd just draw names to see who went. With this new administration, we finally saw a medical system that was equal for everyone, along with social safety nets that haven't changed much to this day. The baseline for things like old-age pensions, unemployment, or disability was set at 25% of the average male wage.
At work, the company provided 8 to 10 days of fully paid sick leave per year. But as I found out, 8 or 10 days goes fast; two colds and you've used up your whole year. We all knew how it worked, too—during the floods, we worked 14 to 20 hours straight in the wet. If you caught a cold, that was just your problem.
Anyway, things started changing, and I finally began looking at Australia in a slightly brighter light.
I settled everything with my wife and we headed to the hospital. The nurses walked me through what to expect and showed me people who had just undergone the procedure; it had been 12 days and they still hadn't even gotten out of bed. They asked if I was absolutely certain about going through with this.
I had a Laminectomy. They make an incision about 10-12 inches long in your back and remove part of the posterior vertebral arch—that bony part you feel when you touch your spine. Then they carefully drill to avoid nerve damage, fix the disc, and repair the vertebrae. They remove a piece of bone from the side, close everything up, but you’re essentially left without that sharp edge of the vertebra. Your back becomes weaker, and honestly, given the nature of my job, I really shouldn't have done it.
As soon as I woke up, they checked my sensation to make sure the surgery was technically a success. I was getting Pethidine injections every four hours, but I couldn't sleep for three days and nights. By the fourth night, the pain was so unbearable I felt like giving up. The next day was slightly better, though I immediately told my wife it felt like someone had shortened my left leg. I recovered so fast it surprised everyone, including my doctor. On the tenth day, I was sent home with strict orders to stay still and avoid walking. After 14 days, they took the stitches out. Walking was difficult, and bending over was impossible. For five weeks, I lied and said I was doing fine... when really, I couldn't bend, stand for long, or walk much. In the seventh week, I went back to the steel mill to prove how "healthy" I was, and managed to get my job back, though they had to move me to lighter duties.
P.S. I had a Laminectomy and fusion at L5-S1. That means to reach the disc, they have to remove the lamina, clean out the disc, and then use bone to fuse it all together. Thirty-four years ago, that was a massive surgery. Techniques have changed since then, but it still depends on the case. In my situation, I waited too long before having the surgery; I kept working instead of resting and treating it. In other words, looking back, I think I had a "failed operation."
God, it hurt. I was popping pills like candy, taking double doses, but nothing helped. I could never bend forward more than a couple of inches below my knees. Whatever they cut out is gone for good. Your body needs six months of therapy, not six weeks.
So there you have it, friends. I've been limited for the rest of my life. Nowadays, people with these issues aren't supposed to lift more than 20 pounds, yet I kept lifting 130-150 pounds. People like me aren't supposed to be on ladders or working in attics and roofs. I ended up feeling bitter toward the system and how everything seems rigged against the workers, the poor, and the sick... but I suppose these things have to be experienced to be truly understood.
I almost forgot how it all started. Back then, I was dealing with these brutal headaches, and my legs would start aching too—sometimes even shooting pain down the whole leg. I used to head to the pharmacy to pick up the strongest stuff they had, the kind you have to sign for because it contained 12% narcotic Codeine. For the headaches, I’d lean on Valium or Diazepam just to get through the day. It was the only way I could manage. Around that same time, I spent six months working at a power plant. It was actually a solid gig—lots of instrumentation work and system upgrades—but the heat was brutal. We were dealing with 50°C all day long. By the time I got home, I was absolutely wiped, and the outdoor heat didn't help matters either. To cope, we ended up buying an AC unit that was way too big for just one room, but honestly, it worked so well it cooled down nearly half the house.
Let me shift the focus to my wife and child for a moment. Dario was off at school today, My wife mentioned they didn't even have air conditioning in the classrooms—just hair dryers to move the air around. Yet, they still let the kids go home once it hit 110 degrees. They also had this pretty ridiculous way of teaching at the start of first grade, where everyone just sat in a circle to learn.
My wife went to the local school to help out in the cafeteria serving lunch to the kids, and she also spent some time there during the day taking English classes.
She just couldn't seem to bounce back from the surgery, and she was dealing with some pretty bad anemia. Honestly, though, since she wasn't working, we were all a little more relieved.
Since my kid caught a winter bug right after starting preschool, they spent the whole commute catching more germs on the buses and trams from Mirogoj over to Tresnjavka. Honestly, I figured it was better to just keep them home, especially since I've been working quite a bit lately.
Everything was going relatively smoothly. We were just paying our way and keeping to ourselves, staying pretty private. My wife would occasionally head out to grab coffee with some friends from her English classes, but that was about it. Dario managed to make a few buddies and started finding his groove at school. As for the kids, things have been looking up after that first year.
Around Christmas 1971, my lower back started acting up terribly. The pain shot straight down my leg, making it nearly impossible to walk. Luckily, it was the holiday season, so I managed to take some time off work, though even with the break, I didn't feel much better.
I went to see my doctor today for some X-rays. It turns out I have a spinal injury and a pinched disc—the diagnosis is Sciatica. I met with an orthopedist, and he’s already prescribed a full back brace for me.
Now we’ve hit the biggest hurdle. Since there isn't a robust social safety net here in the States, if you get injured on the job, the company is supposed to cover everything. That’s where the trouble started—nobody ever actually explained how it works to me. Even my supposedly "brilliant" father-in-law didn't say a word about it.
I tried going through the union because I wasn't aware of the specific laws regarding workers' comp. We were lifting some pretty heavy stuff on the job, so it was definitely an on-the-job injury. With my luck, I didn't exactly get anywhere. I just pushed through the intense pain and kept dragging myself along, though there were times they actually sent me home.
I was honestly terrified about what comes next. I went through hell. My doctor told me surgery was the only way, though my orthopedic surgeon was pretty hesitant to perform the procedure at first. Just to give you some context, we’re talking about the beginning of 1972 here. Eventually, I went back to see the specialist and insisted on the operation—I just couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't stand, I couldn't walk, and bending over was out of the question.
I didn't fully grasp all the specifics regarding the surgery, but I knew it was going to be a major ordeal. I also knew I'd need at least six months off work just to recover.
So, here’s the deal: we sat down, looked at what we owe, headed out to the shops, and worked out a plan to pay only half for the next three months. We managed to get our rent cut in half, too. But how am I supposed to make ends meet? I went over to my father-in-law's place, sat him down, and asked if he could lend me $200 or $300. I promised him I'd pay it back in full, with interest, within six months. The situation was this: I knew he had about $2,500 tucked away in savings, but he wouldn't give me a straight answer on whether he’d actually look into it.
I walked away from him in tears. I knew right then that I wouldn't see him again—at least not for the next six months. Back when I was working, I knew this independent welder from Scotland who did some contract work for us. I actually asked him for a favor once; he ducked out during his shift, headed home, and came back with $300 in his pocket.
I’ve never really been close with my extended family or anyone else from back home... and honestly, that hasn't changed. I'm happy to say hello and show respect when I see people, but at the end of the day, I just stick to myself and my immediate family.
Don't get me wrong—families have their own ways of handling things, but in my case, that approach just didn't work. If I had actually started drinking, how much would her brother's support have even mattered? We ended up in this whole mess because he felt like he had to step in to make sure my wife felt supported, but it turned out to be a completely different story. As for me, I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since.
I realize this might just be my own experience, but that’s how it went for me. When I was at the steel mill, they didn't give me a sick note; instead, they made me sign a special waiver stating they wouldn't have to take me back if I wasn't fit for duty.
I’ll be circling back to my childhood stories later—specifically when I fell ill from stress back in 1991—which will give some much-needed context to what I’ve written here.
In short, many of you have likely read the thread I started years ago (linking it here). I might pull a few details from it regarding my health issues.
Real life in Australia from 1969 through today!
We arrived in Australia in November 1969, and I jumped straight into work. By 1970, my wife and I were already dealing with health struggles. We found the lifestyle, the social scene, and those intense heatwaves pretty overwhelming. It's probably for the best we didn't know what was coming our way.
P.S. Looking back at my old writing... I honestly wonder how I thought I was "relearning English" back then. My medical terminology and certain expressions became much clearer after about 12 to 24 months, but this is the raw, original version. I'll post some follow-ups later where things are described more clearly and include links to better texts or images.
baboon said:Thanks for all the replies. I feel a bit better now. Since I dealt with a testicular tumor about a year ago, I was worried this might be a sign of it coming back. If this is just a normal thing, then I'm good!😁
Sorry about my joke... you didn't mention your previous surgery or the tumor earlier. I don't joke about serious health issues.
placidfox55 said:Yeah, it’s perfectly normal. Sperm starts pooling and prepping for ejaculation, but then it gets stuck halfway through, which ends up irritating the ducts.
That’s exactly why men hate being coddled. They’d rather just stay frustrated. 😬
We little troublemakers just love a good provocation. 😈
placidfox55... placidfox55... Hebe, damn it!😂 👍
She’s absolutely right. Even for us older guys, it’s the same struggle, even if medication occasionally causes some impotence issues. My wife is 68, and since I use a CPAP machine, we usually sleep in separate beds. When my testicles get swollen down to my knees and it hurts like hell, I leave a red rose on her pillow in the other room. That’s my signal—she knows exactly what I need. Sometimes I try to drop hints or be subtle, but it’s always too late; she’s exhausted or has a headache. We’re just getting old, I suppose. Still, looking at her, I still get turned on. It’s quite a struggle. Use it more often before you start feeling any discomfort. If you stay ahead of it, you'll be able to keep up just like I do, even when things get tough. Maybe I’m a little out of it right now, but I'll be back around. Man, where does the time go?
That wraps up my thoughts on childhood. Someone might wonder why I’m even writing about this...
With a little more time, I'll explain exactly why I asked!
Everything that happens in life happens for a reason. It took me many years before my eyes finally opened to why certain things happened to me and what they were actually meant to teach me. If I’d gotten help when I actually needed it, my life might look a whole lot different today. If you notice your kid struggling with something today, just take them in for a consultation.
What kind of childhood did I actually have? And he could just keep thinking and writing along like that, "my treatment isn't working." It felt like it was too late for so many things.
Just a short poem for now, something that finally helped me let go of a heavy weight... what exactly? The pain, the resentment, and years of staying silent and just taking it. But what hurts most isn't just what I went through as a kid; it's what I passed on to my wife. She stood by me and endured everything I put her through. This April, I’ll be turning 44. =====================.
Some days, I just find myself looking back. It feels like everything is just a blur lately. Where did those days go? My heart tightens just thinking about it. I’d cry if I could, but the pain is just too much right now.
So, why was everything like that? Was I really not allowed to, just like everyone else? Should we spend our childhood just playing? Do I really have to work from sunup to sundown? Mom, where was your head at? Didn't you see all that sadness and grief? While everyone else was out there celebrating and having the time of their lives, I just sat there with this look on my face... They were out playing while I was stuck in the garden, hauling feed for the pigs. So, were pigeons and rabbits actually friends? They didn't go to school with me.
I learned a lot, and honestly, maybe a little too much, all at once. I finally learned what bile actually is. I just watched a video on how it's processed. It’s nice that some people had that, but I didn't really have much of a childhood myself. I still remember that first salad—radishes and everything else. The thing I remember most clearly is how much my back used to kill me. I also have fond memories of that autumn when we were out harvesting our own corn. The fire was going while we were roasting it earlier this evening. I’m seeing shadows of you everywhere—from my mom to my sister. And then I remember that first prescription knife, and how you used to teach me. How exactly do you graft fruit trees and mix them? If I remember correctly, it’s a bit of a process. Every single time I close my eyes.
And then came the days when we finally headed out to far-off Bukovac. Do you ever find yourselves thinking back to Mom and Dad? Whether it was late at night, early in the morning, or just after finishing work. Miles... man, those miles... they really take me back. I can still vividly remember my childhood.
Back when I should have been out playing and just being a kid with the other children, Besides working on the garden, I’ve been digging house foundations, mixing concrete, and hauling water. And I’ve gone hungry more times than I care to admit, all for the sake of the family. Which one was the one we never actually finished, yet ended up causing so much heartache? Sweat from pure rage and hatred.
There were even days when I’d take a moment to look back at everything we built, feeling pretty proud of what we achieved. Everyone said the same thing—look at these three, they’ve been struggling for years and just keep going.
Then the day finally came when everything just stopped. My mother was in tears. You were acting all moody and keeping to yourself because you gave so much to a country that didn't give much back. She didn't even pay you back, not even a measly cent. Finish that dream home for yourself and your kids.
You left my sister and mother's lives, too—all for my sake. I grew up dealing with bitterness—both in my own pain and from the lack of support I received when things were at their worst. I've had some rough experiences. It feels like I missed out on a real childhood entirely. I basically went straight from being a kid to becoming a young man. Withdrawn, yet disappointed... No, I'm not blaming you two. I started drinking, and it took a long time for everything to finally fall into place.
Oh, Dad, Mom... you both passed away, and I wasn't even there for your funerals. I remember it all.
I haven't complained, nor have I voiced any grievances. Up until now, I've just been taking things as they come. I see my grandkids out in the park, having the best time kicking a soccer ball around. My grandfather used to love it too, but he never actually had the time to play—he just stuck to hide-and-seek. Sometimes, right outside the school. To my sons—you guys know better than anyone just how much we’ve shared. What was your childhood like? Did you have a decent upbringing with plenty of playtime and good friends, or was it different for you? The essential work that gave me my foundation and my sense of purpose.
It was painful. Honestly, what hurts more is that you all should have known better. That’s just how things were in the aftermath of the war.
And may both you and your mother rest in peace. Because soon, my lost childhood will be buried right along with me.