I’m not sure anyone will be interested in my story, but in light of the fact that it profoundly changed my life I hope to share my experiences in the hope of helping others in similar situations.
On 12 January this year I performed an idiotic stunt resulting in serious injury and coming close to the amputation of my right leg. In three weeks of lying in bed I lost three years of muscle. In six weeks my legs were like sticks. Worse yet the doctors are discussing amputation.
When people asked what happened I feel ashamed, stupid and embarrassed. But here goes: my friends introduced my to parkour. All went well for a while until I jumped from a 5 meter bridge with the intent to absorb the impact with a para roll.
Unfortunately, I shattered my right tibia, fibula, my right ankle, two bones in my right foot and 1 in my left. I have always thought of myself as tougher than anyone and able to withstand great pain. I put it down to strength of character. I have broken many other bones, some without even knowing about it. However, in this case the pain was excruciating and I called for an ambulance immediately.
For those unfamiliar with ambo protocol let me elaborate: After a few minutes of suppressing my scream urge they arrived and I requested morphine. ‘We don’t give that’ he said. Blow into this whistle. I had no idea what it was. Later after research I discovered it was Methoxyflurane - a form of ether with less side effects. To be honest it did nothing for the pain.
Next they stabilised my spine with a neck brace and moved me onto the stretcher with a slider. It was at this stage that I blacked out from the pain. I felt a sense of pride that I didn’t put up a fuss with screaming and so on.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the high dependency unit at the hospital. A series of tedious questions followed: ‘do you know where you are?’ ‘Do you know your name?’ ‘What year is it?’ ‘What day?’ ‘What month?’
‘We need to operate on your legs and feet.’ ‘Please sign this consent form.’ Okey Dokey. ‘What do you intend to do?’ ‘You’ll have to ask the surgeon.’ Of course the surgeon never arrived. I later learned they inserted a tibial nail through my patela(knee cap), hammered it through the tibia right down to the ankle. Screwed it in place with screws and plates on the ankle and performed surgery on my right foot.
I was asked to dress in an open backed hospital gown and asked when was the last time I had eaten or drinken. Was I allergic to anything?
My next memory is watching the hospital ceiling whiz by as the porter took me to theatre. I had a brief chat with the anaesthetist and then blank…
I awoke with cardio stickers on my chest, a saline drip, an IV anti-biotic drip and a self administered fentanyl pump amongst other things. After a while a nurse came in and complained that I hadn’t used my fentanyl drip. ‘I’m not in pain. Why would I inject IV synthetic heroin into my cannula when I’m in no pain?’
‘You will be in pain when the anaesthetic wears off’. ‘Well let’s just wait till I need it.’ The nurse wrote in my notes that I refused pain relief and went and had a doctor come to talk to me. He must have been at least ten years younger than me, and without trying to sound arrogant I had absolutely no confidence in this kid’s medical knowledge.
A few hours later I finally got some sleep when I was awoken for ‘obs’ - that is blood pressure, oxygen saturation, pulse and temperature. The doctor had also written me up for oxycodone every six hours. This I refused also causing a tremendous stir with the nurses and doctors. ‘If I’m in pain I will ask for pain relief.’ The truth is I was in pain but I believe pain is something that should be tolerated whenever necessary and that it builds character and mental strength. However I didn’t tell the staff my theory as I didn’t want to end up in a psyche ward holding my pants up and listening to the ravings of lunatics all night.
‘What’s your pain level out of 10 Mr. ____?’ ‘No pain nurse.’ I lied again.
The following day I was moved to the orthopedic ward. I was placed in a room with three other patients. My right leg was in a cam boot as was my left. I refused to use a bed pan so I wheeled myself to the toilet door and made my way in on my hands and knees when the nurses weren’t around.
My neighbour to my left was a Fijian man with (apparently) extreme pain in the leg. Although only in his late sixties he was clearly senile/demented. He never talked unless the nurses changed his nappy or rolled him to a more comfortable position. This would elicit cries of ‘Slowly! Slowly! Slowly!’ and ‘my leg! my leg! my leg!’ and when he became really agitated he would shout ‘EH!’ ‘EH!’
Diagonally across from me was 99-year-old Sicilian man who has lived in Australia since the end of WWII but does not understand a single word of English. He is also unable to read and write in Italian and he is totally incapable of understanding that no one else speaks Italian. This resulted in lengthy, aggressive disputes with nurses. I figured out a few words to help: ‘Caca’ means he wants to do a shit. ‘La bottiglia’ means he wants a urine bottle (every five minutes). This went on all night with him shouting at the top of his voice and the nurses shouting back ‘I don’t speak Italian! I don’t understand!’ It nearly drove me to the psyche ward. When he became too much of a disturbance they moved his bed into the corridor. His daily routine was to shit all over the toilet seat, not wipe his arse nor his hands. But I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the poor bastard. I just pray to God that I never get old and infirm and have to live like that. The guy pressed the nurse call button every five minutes and by the time the nurse arrived he’d either forgotten that he’d pressed it or he wanted his bed adjusted up, then down, then up, then down, then back to where it was before they arrived.
Opposite me was a young Maronite from Lebanon. He grew up there and was deeply impressed with my knowledge of his country and history of which he was extremely proud. He even invited me to travel there and stay with his family. He assured me that Hezbollah are nice guys protecting the country from the ‘Zionists’ who rule the world of course. And apparently Hezbollah also protect the country from the Salafists. I would’ve though he’d learned his lesson to what Arafat did to Beirut when he was kicked out of Jordan. I guess that was just another ‘Zionist plot.’
I would love to see Sidon, Byblos and Tyre in particular but I would prefer to keep my head and not be put on a Western intelligence security file. Apart from his Jew hatred and admiration for Adolf Hitler he was actually a nice guy.
After the Maronite guy left a young Kurdish guy arrived after crashing his Suzuki GSX1000 at 110 in shorts and t-shirt. Needless to say his entire body was covered with road rash. He obviously didn’t know how to ride: He didn’t know what counter steering was, he didn’t know what jetting a carb meant etc.
In the first 24 hours he spat at a nurse, called another a dog, threw his food tray on the floor and his guests stayed till after midnight talking loudly and refusing multiple requests to leave. One of his guests with a sycophantic Aussie who railed against the ‘extreme right wing news’ on the commercial channels and how they demonise the Muslim population(presumably by reporting their crimes.) I felt like crawling out of bed and punching his fucking teeth out. A more sickening individual I have rarely met. This is a large part of what’s wrong with this country.
Well that’s just a taste of my six weeks in hospital. Hope someone gets something from it.
'I also thought, "As for men, God tests them so that they may see that they
are like the animals.
Man’s fate is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As
one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath; man has no advantage over the animal. Everything is meaningless. Ecclesiastes 3:18-19