Thursday Brew with Gwen: Mates and Miracles

The above image is an offshoot of the River Murray, not Davies Creek

MATES AND MIRACLES

Being utterly dependent on strangers is a very vulnerable situation to be in. To be unloaded from a plane by a forklift like a piece of baggage is even more daunting for the self-image.

The miracle was that Quantas was willing to provide a service that coped with my disability.  My fear and loss of confidence making me almost unable to move. Quantas came to the rescue, providing a forklift to lower one little old lady with a broken ankle to the tarmac. It proved that the great Australian characteristic – mateship, was still alive and well.

My husband Bruce, and I were on holiday, camping in a two-man tent and living out of the car in north Queensland.  We decided to spend the night in the Davies Creek National Park. We slept to the sound of rushing water tumbling over granite boulders and woke to a chorus of birdsong. Davies Creek was a beautiful natural wilderness.

Bruce became nostalgic of his boyhood days and went down to the Creek to play in the water. He had always dreamt of damming a creek to preserve water.  The desire to save water stems from living in the driest state of the driest continent.  I thought if he could wander so could I, so instead of getting breakfast I followed him.

 Tiring of watching a great engineering feat in progress I turned away carelessly stepping onto a wet rock.  My foot slipped into a crevasse and I toppled over.  A pain shot up deep inside my leg I knew I’d hurt it badly.  My cry for help brought work on the diversion dam to a standstill.

 Meantime I whipped off my shoe and sock, thinking if it was a sprain a soak in the icy cold water might stop the swelling and all would be well.  Alas, the injured ankle ballooned before my very eyes.  I tried to tell myself that it was only a sprain, but I knew it wasn’t.  I sat on the rock and wished for a miracle but miracles and I were not on speaking terms just then, so I replaced my sock and shoe.

Simpson and his donkey carrying the wounded at Gallipoli had nothing on Bruce as he half carried me through thick shrubs, over rocks and debris to our camp. Even after fifty years of marriage mateship was being stretched, as Bruce now had to get breakfast and pack up the camp by himself. Though he didn’t know it then, he was going to have to perform miracles in the kitchen, the laundry and with the vacuum cleaner and still be my mate.

We discovered the Medical Centre in Kuranda, but it was booked out.  So I urged that we follow our plan and catch the train down into Cairns and return via Sky-rail. This was to salvage as much of our holiday as possible and preserve mateship.

 Boarding the train and sky-rail was about as easy as catching and riding an emu.  Once on board, I sat and drank in the beauty of the Baron gorge through the windows of the train and Sky rail. I almost forgot my predicament.

  We camped at Kuranda that night, uncomfortably.  The only place near the showers was on the side of a hill and it rained.  Bruce had to help me to the toilet and set me up in the shower after every one else had gone to bed.

Next morning we entered Cairns.  It was all very bewildering with road works, and detours in progress, so we headed north to Daintree our ultimate destination.

Surgery, the sign said.  Bruce pulled in with a flourish.  The news was all-bad.  ‘I think it is broken.  You’ll have to have an x-ray at the hospital,’ the doctor prevaricated.  After much pain and effort at the hospital, we were back in the surgery, and the news was even worse.  Both bones in my ankle were broken. The bones really should be pinned.  But how does one obtain these services in another State?  Far from home?

The doctor had a mate, a surgeon, in Cairns Base Hospital and a favour was asked.  We returned to Cairns Base Hospital. This time we had instructions how to get there, and we went straight to emergency.

An eight-inch-long plate was inserted into one bone, and two large screws pinned the second bone. Later when I’d regained consciousness from the operation, the surgeon informed me that my ankle would be just like God made it. A miracle after all!

I spent three days in hospital. I was very glad that mateship hadn’t died, and miracles decided to talk to me. I was sure the doctor and surgeon had both worked a miracle.  

Bruce finally located an acquaintance and begged a favour. Could I stay for a few days so he could drive back to Adelaide?  I was gladly taken in. When he was safely in Adelaide I caught a plane from Cairns to Adelaide. 

Arriving at the Cairns airport a wheelchair appeared, and an attendant wheeled me to my seat.  A spare seat next to me enabled me to put my foot up so that it didn’t pain so much. Thank God for mateship!

Minutes after being unloaded at the Adelaide airport I was reunited with Bruce. It took him three days to drive to Adelaide and another three days to tell me about his adventures along the way.

Miracles and mateship coupled with the skill and generosity of the surgeon and his General Practitioner mate in Mossman as well as the Queensland health system salvaged my ankle if not our holiday.