.........“Hey, hey, wait, wait for me fellas”. He’d nearly been forgotten (actually he had been forgotten, amidst all the kerfuffle with Kal and the like).
It was silly bloody Al. Or at least it was his unmistakable voice. You see, all that was visible was this near out-of-control speeding 5 foot tall wheelchair-bound stuffed pink elephant careering in our direction with pusher attached. He’d actually finally done it. Everybody on the bus roared with laughter including Craig. I’m even sure I actually detected a disguised grin on Julia’s face. I had on-purposely avoided eye-contact with Julia until then and understandably, she me.
They physically lifted and shoved Al and ‘dumbo’ onto one of the front seats of the bus alongside a carer and we (well Craig actually), folded up Al’s chariot and transported it back in our Commodore.
Craig waved and I nodded the bus off. He then transferred me to the front seat of the wagon, seat-belted me in and off to PHH we went.
Wow. What an eventful day. A lot better than I’d anticipated. But I didn’t want to let on to Craig. Boy it felt great being in a normal car (unsignwritten). Craig had propped me up so for all intense and purpose, I looked normal – able-bodied. I even enjoyed the simple act of stopping at traffic lights and acknowledging and nodding to the people in the adjoining cars.
We were just approaching Maroubra Junction when Craig’s mobile rang. “Yeah, just monitor his vitals and I’ll alert the Ward”. That doesn’t sound good. Craig rang the Nurses Station direct-line at Ward 1 and explained Kalam had had a dysreflexic episode and was fading in-and-out of consciousness and to have everything, including Doctors on standby. ETA about 20 minutes. Dysrelexia is not uncommon in people with a spinal-cord injury. It’s actually caused by the over-activity of the Autonomic Nervous System and generally happens to those people with an injury to T5 and above. It can be caused by the simplest things like an ingrown toenail or an over-full bladder (which was probably the case with Kal). Most Doctors, unless they’ve worked in Spinal Units are not familiar with the effects, the symptoms or the treatment. With your blood-pressure reaching incredible levels, sometimes 220/150+, your pulse slowing to down to around 35 or 40 and your pasty skin colour even a trained Medical Practitioner gets a little confused and concerned.
We sped into the Hospital within the 10 minutes. Craig jumped out unfolded and set up Al’s chair and left it by the gutter, then mine, scooped me up and handed me over to a Wardsman who was ‘standing by’. There were about 15 people standing-by. The Wardsman took me straight inside and left me next to my bed. But, I wanted to be outside, of course and greet my fellow show-goers when the bus arrived. At this satge I thought I’d better not push my luck.
One of the sisters, Carol, came over and asked what had gone on. Nothing really. Just four relatively normal wheelchair-bound blokes out for an afternoon of fun, adventure and fellowship.
Then the Head Sister approached,
“Brad, are you all right?”
“As a matter of fact Sister, I don’t think I’ve seen it better, since the accident of course and entering the hallowed walls of the Wards of beautiful Prince Henry, but, thanks for asking”.
“Pew what’s that smell?, except, of course for your saturated top and smelling like a brewery.” Charming, I thought. “Look, the bus will be here in 5 minutes, what exactly were you drinking”.
“Beer”, was my confident, honest and instant reply.
“And Kalam?”
“Well he started on beer. But after his 1st schooner he struggled managing with the size and weight of the glass, so he diversified”.
“Brad, I’m sorry, this is serious. Enough of this BS. What was it? And, how much of it? It’ll help the Doctors with what treatment he may have to be administered - urgently”.
“OK. He changed to Bourbon & coke. Jack Daniels in fact. Just the 5 drinks. Hang-on a tick, they were ‘doubles’, so make that 10 nips”.
“Geez, I know grown men, able-bodied men that’d be on their ear after that much booze and what, in a little over an hour!”
I’ve never struggles having a quick and appropriate response to questions under interrogation. Right there and then I thought about inviting her up to the Rugby Clubhouse, on any given Thursday night after training, if she ever wanted to meet some real grown-up able-bodied men. But, I’d save that invite for another less confrontational moment.
She turned and left with not another word, not a “thanks for your help”, nothing. Manners, please.
Moments later the Wardsman reappeared by my side bedside with a bowl of warm water and sponge to wash me down and a change of top. Obviously, under instruction from a not-amused Head Sister. At least the Wardsman appeared to see the lighter side of things and afforded himself a chuckle and commented that it sounded as though you guys really ‘hung-one-on’.
“Hey, while you’re here. I forgot to get my DJ’s bag out of Craig’s car. Can you grab it for me before he heads-off.” I didn’t think Craig would appreciate couriering around a bag of ‘bullshit’ overnight or worse still leaving it in the car to ferment and who knows, become even combustible.
Sponged and redressed the Wardsman left. A minute later he returned with my DJ’s bag, soon to be Oggie’s Easter Show Sample Bag and plonked it on my bed.
A couple of the younger nurses came over to see how I was, but, really just inquisitive and probe me for further details. I gave them just some of the details and stretched the yarn out long enough to gain their interest so I could persuade them to push me out onto the verandah to wait for the bus.
“Here it is. Everybody got everything?” was the alert for one of the Doctors.
A couple of the Doctors and nurses boarded the bus from the front while the patients were being unceremoniously unloaded off the back hydraulic ramp. Several of the patients from the ‘rehab’ ward, the softies on their way home, passed me by with a look of blame and disdain. They’ve got no idea. God, it wasn’t my fault. Everybody went, or was pushed to their respective areas. I waited on the verandah for Kalam to come off.
Within a minute or two Kalam appeared on the stretcher, oxygen mask on, canular protruding from his neck with 2 bags of fluids drip-feeding his system. Sticky monitor patches with electrodes were attached to his temples, chest and groin and the dreaded ‘crash-cart’ shadowed his every stage and waited for the ‘word’. He was still unconscious, shallow breathing and pale as me. I’ll be the first to admit that he didn’t look that crash-hot. I just wish everybody would stop looking over at me. One of them even pointed. He’s in safe hands now - relax.
I was the last to go back inside the Ward. When I got to my bed the ‘boys’ came over and discussed the trip back to PHH. Obviously, some of the helpers started to panic a bit with the state Kal was in. I’m certain it would have been OK if Craig was onboard. He was not one to panic. And had come across these sorts of incidences and dealt with them on numerous occasions to sporting events and general outings with some of his rehab patients. The most important thing to do in a ‘panic’ situation is NOT to panic. Don’t change your gate and break into a jog. Don’t raise your voice. Craig was a big-one for getting patients back out in the real world as soon as possible. It is quite simple with ’spinals’ to get into a hospital cripples routine of having everything done for you. Become lazy and end up being totally dependent. Everything from someone else dressing them, feeding them, tucking them into bed and in most cases, wiping their poor sorry backsides. It’s not a position I was going to be left in. That was my single strongest and motivational determination.
The boys told me it was pretty cold and quiet on the return bus leg. Andy reckons they were treated like naughty little school boys and given the cold-shoulder.
We needed a distraction from all this gloom and doom.
“Hey boys, don’t forget we’ve got Oggie’s Show Bag”.
Directly opposite me lay Oggie. Sound asleep throughout all the commotion. Gee, I hope he’s alright.
“Hey Sister, could you put the DJ’s bag on my lap and push me over to Oggie?, we bought him something back from the Show.”
“Gee, Brad that’s nice of you. He’s been pretty crook all day you know. I hope it cheers him up”. She did exactly as asked.
“Hey Oggie, you old fag, wake-up. We all pitched-in and bought a bit-of-the-country back for you”. He woke as if he’d been asleep for 24 hours and brought his head out from under the sheets. There it was the old Oggie’s toothless grin.
“Hey Sister could you put Oggie’s present on his chest under his chin and open it up for him?’
“Here, you go Ogg, it’s from the boys.”
Well, you should have seen his eyes. Instantly they welled with tears of joy and he started blubbering and coughing like a baby.
“Hey Sister”, said Oggie. “Could you open it up a bit more and bring it closer?”
Sister did as asked and Oggie took a deep breath, his sizable proboscis drawing in the very essence of Australian country-life. It took him a good 10 minutes to control his blubbering and sobbing. With every deep breath he coughed and wheezed with excitement and smiled as if he’d died and gone to heaven.
“Gee, fellas. You’re the best bloody mates anyone could ever wish for.”
Those simple words just made my day. All of a sudden, all the trouble seemed worthwhile.
“Hey Oggie, don’t forget to thank Physio Julia. She was my personal ‘shit-shoveller’. Maybe not tomorrow, mate. Leave a day or two ‘til things settle down.”
He laughed his head-off, followed by another coughing fit which brought the Sister back over and a sudden halt to celebrations. In fact the Sister had to reposition an oxygen mask around Oggie’s nose and mouth to bring everything back under control.
“Brad, he hasn’t been very well all day. Take it easy will you.”
God, Oggie not being very well. Shit, is that my fault as well?
“Hey guys, back to your own beds. Dinner will be coming around in 15 minutes.”
“You beauty”, said Al. I’m sure bloody Al would eat a shit sandwich if it had tomato sauce on it.
As for dinner, or any other meal dished-up, I could take it or leave it. More often than not – I’d leave it.
When it came to dinner, it was served-up at 5pm sharp, every single day of the week. That didn’t suit me. I was rarely hungry and besides I found the smell of canteen-food an appetite suppressant anyway. Besides, it didn’t really matter what you ordered, you rarely got your chosen cuisine. At our normal suburban family household at Avoca Beach we ate at 6pm, or thereabouts. When the Channel 9 News ID signature tune could be heard or the dulcet tones of Brian Henderson welcoming viewers to today’s “Leading Stories”, the de Wit’s ate. A routine I was familiar with and liked.
All our food, and I use the term loosely, came from the Prince of Wales Hospital at Randwick, a good 30 minutes away. It was prepared and presented on their premises. In all the many months infirmed at PHH, I never received a dinner that was hot. Sometimes insipidly warm, but never hot. And everything ordered tasted the same. The chops tasted like sausages and visa versa. The lasanga tasted like meatballs and visa versa. I’d become a salad eater. Through necessity, not choice. At least the salad came at around the right temperature.
The nurses noted my objection to 5 o’clock ‘feedtime’ and pulled Christene aside and expressed their concern. Subsequent to that chat, a couple of nights a week, Christene would pop across the road to the Chinese Restaurant or the Pizzeria. That way I’d get a piping hot bowl of Short Soup a slice or 2 of hot Pizza or Pasta with flavour. The other guys from time to time would put in an order with Christene and join me. The nurses were not impressed. Not with all the wasted food, but it disrupted normal hospital routine.
On the other side of the road were just 4 shops. The Chinese, the Pizzeria, a Newsagency and a Bottle Shop. The perfect little shopping complex.
One afternoon Chistene even bought me back a cold can of light beer. That was a treat. Even the nurses OK’ed that and said “Hey Christene whatever makes Brad happy and hopefully helps him sleep at night”.
“Hey Sister, any news on Kal?” I inquired.
“He’s still in Intensive Care Brad. No update as yet. I’ll tell you when we know something.”
That was the only downer on the day. Stupid bloody Kal. He’ll be OK. I hope.
That night I did get a couple of hours of sleep. Must have been all the fresh air and excitement of a rather large day.
Let’s hope the morning brings some brighter news...........
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