That Day in Byron Bay

That day in Byron Bay started off like any other. We rose fairly early, thanks to the bush turkeys’ raucous cawing, which dashed any hopes we had of sleeping in. We had been backpacking our way up the eastern Australian coast for a little over a week at that point, and were grateful to have found a holiday park with hot showers and a community kitchen to prepare hot meals. We took advantage of the available appliances, toasted bagels (a luxury when you’re living out of a tent), and readied ourselves for another day of playing in the surf. The clouds overhead threatened rain, but we knew this would be a temporary inconvenience; it seemed to rain every morning, clearing shortly thereafter. We were right. By the time we finished breakfast, gathered our gear, and made our way to the beach, the sun was shining brilliantly. It promised to be another beautiful day. We were in heaven. This was exactly what we had hoped for when planning our trip to Australia. We strapped on our boogie boards and headed into the water. The waves were great – not too big or choppy. Soon, we were catching swells, whooping with laughter as we rushed to shore on our boards. It was the perfect day.

And then, in an instant, everything changed. It only took one random wave to completely alter the course of our trip, our lives. I didn’t even see it happen, though I wasn’t far from him. I didn’t know anything was wrong, until he popped his head out of the water and began screaming. His ankle was broken. At first, I rationalized it might only be a bad sprain; I refused to think the worst. But then I saw the panic in his eyes, heard the sheer agony in his screams, and I knew he was in trouble. Time stopped. My thoughts became very singular and concise. I had to get to him. I had to get him out of the water. I could only think about each task at hand: first each stroke needed to reach him, then getting him onto the board, then pulling him in. Luckily, some male bystanders were able to help carry him onto the beach. I tried my best to remain calm, to quell the panic rising in my throat. It was bad; the foot grotesquely hanging off his leg, totally dislocated. He was shivering violently from the pain. I feared shock. But the ambulance arrived quickly and did their best to provide pain relief. His wails diminished into groans; at least the morphine had begun to numb him, taking the edge off the pain.

It was a long ride north, to the nearest hospital that could treat such an injury. Going to the local hospital would have been futile; the emergency room wasn’t even staffed with a full-time physician. So we drove to Tweed Heads Hospital, forty-five minutes up the main motorway. There were three separate attempts to relocate and set his foot in the emergency room, each under conscious sedation so he doesn’t remember the pain, but I vividly recall his cries from behind the curtain. I felt so useless, just standing and waiting, hoping for the best. Finally, he went to the operating room, to be fully sedated and the foot set into place.

The rest, as they say, is history. The surgeon was able to temporarily set the foot that first day, but unable to insert the internal instrumentation necessary to permanently stabilize his ankle. So, he had to wait until his wounds healed enough to not present an infection risk. Later, they affixed an external cage to further help stabilize the joint while the wounds continued healing. He spent three weeks in the hospital, leaving me alone and scared. I had so much to do, and little idea of how to do it. In the end, though, it all worked out. I was able to secure an apartment in a nice neighborhood, which we’ve slowly been able to furnish. My work visa was approved. Our camping and hiking days have temporarily been put on hold, but his ankle is healing. The cast is off and he can begin rehab soon. This wasn’t an ideal way to begin our time in Australia, but we’re getting through it. And, if nothing else, it will provide an interesting story for years to come.