“Ok charging – stand back – clear!” – VOOFFF a bolt of electricity zapped thru my body sending it into a momentary spasm. Still, I remained gazing into the ceiling drifting in and out of a trance like state, I could hear my partner softly weeping; whilst a team of emergency room doctors were trying to save my life.
Despite the medical trauma happening to me – in my mind, I had already gone to a better place.
See there was a time when I owned an old trawler style boat based in the Hawkesbury/Pittwater waterways – she was a real classic, solid, the type with a sliding door next the helm, with a mast and boom…pretty as a picture. However the doctors voices continually interrupted these pleasant visuals.
“Nope, no good, his heart beat is over 210, geez blood pressure over 180, hang on he’s going into SVT”. The emergency lead was a mature aged woman, very much in control, kinda motherly.
However I particularly noticed this junior doctor, Asian, much more empathetic, who seemed to be on his game.
i knew in my heart i was dying
I knew in my heart I was dying, I figured my out-of-control heartbeat, and abnormal rhythm was going to end with a fatal cardiac arrest, stroke or clot in the lung – sooner or later.
There was sweat dripping off me, I was pale, cold and clammy… well, I was more or less running a marathon, whilst lying paralysed on a hospital trolly. The doctors faces gave it away, they were measured but panicked nonetheless.
“We’re going again – charging – stand back – clear!” WAAACK.
Did I tell you about the woodwork? They don’t build them like that any more, teak parquetry flooring, lacquered wood everywhere. The steering wheel was like something from an old sailing ship, I’d have one hand on the wheel, one foot standing out the door, she just chugged along forever.
“Hows he looking?”, “OK we’re now down to 130, wait a sec – WHOA! back up again – hang on! He’s gone into afib”. “Oh crap!”
I never anticipated being back in hospital, it was just like any other evening, my partner had gone to a yoga class that bans mobile phones, whilst my teenage daughter and myself relaxed at home.
When out of the blue – it struck. At first a noticeable palpitation in the chest, then a pounding, followed by a throbbing in the neck. My legs suddenly buckled from underneath me and I found it difficult to breath, somehow I managed to crawl onto the bed. There I would wait for a minute or two hoping it would go, but it didn’t – Jesus Christ here we go again!
My daughter remained stoically calm as she called emergency services, I could hear them relay instructions to her; not long after the haunting wail of the ambulance’s siren would disturb the neighbourhood once again.
You see I was a brain tumor survivor with a long history of complications, and had regularly found myself in the back of an ambulance for one reason or another. However I figured I had beaten the tumor, and had even successfully weaned myself off the recommended steroid replacement therapy. But I remained weakened and depleted, so any niggle or ailment was amplified disproportionately.
The paramedic ask me why there was a tear rolling down my face. I told her ‘I was sick of this’ and ‘I’d had enough’, but I was really upset that my daughter was subjected to another traumatic event that she didn’t need to experience.
Holey smokes this was bad
In the emergency room I’d been blasted by the defibrillator twice to no avail, when the Asian guy reassuringly held my hand “I’ve checked the results: there’s no evidence of a heart attack and we can’t see any clots, but your electrolytes are all over the place – hang in there”. The emergency lead interrupted “look nothing’s working, we’re going to stop your heart and restart it – OK?” At that point my partner was ushered out of the bay, things were going to get ugly… they’ve decided to kill me. “Here we go, are you ready? I want you to take a deep breath… one, two, three” HOLY SMOKES! this was bad – everything started to fade and turn sepia like an old western movie and my lifeless body ached everywhere… is this what it’s like to die? – Bloody hell.
You know one of the most enjoyable parts of cruising around Broken Bay is an area just outside the entrance to the Pittwater. Sheltered but susceptible to gentle ocean swells, it’s a very gratifying experience gliding over each rolling swell, one after another; so therapeutic.
“Good, he’s back with us… 80 bmp, 100, 160, yeah nope 220, aargh” she was pissed! “load it up again and increase the dose” I could only muster a meek protest ‘oh fuck no’ but quickly apologised for my profanity. “ Yes fuck, I know. Are you ready… one, two, three”
I kept my boat at Halvorsen’s historic boat shed, up the end of Cowan Creek nestled in a beautiful National park. The place was interactive history, though partially derelict, shipwright workshops, upholsters, slipways, nothing had changed for 60 years. Old Mr Halvorsen would arrive every day in his classic Rolls Royce just before lunch to pick up the mail. There was even a vintage factory whistle sitting above a clock. I was privileged to have experienced my time there.
“OK this is a problem I need 250 ml hydrocortisone STAT” My heart kept dangerously racing despite every attempt to bring it under control. So now they were bringing out the big guns – steroids. I understood their damaging side effects by hard won experience, and tried desperately to intervene; explaining it would take a month for my adrenal system to get back to normal after such a massive dose. Less than impressed the lead Doctor laid down the law “Look! you’re in an emergency room and I’m here trying to save you – alright?
There’s something about diesel displacement boats I just love, the harmonic hum of the engine, the slow pace, you can tow a dingy behind without bother, and take in the scenery. And around the waters of the Ku-ring-gai Chase its a natural fit. But its the faint whoosh you can hear each time the propellor turns that’s subtly mesmerising – whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…
“Tim…Tim,TIM!” the Asian doctor gently stirred me from my fixed ceiling gaze, only then realising I had completely lost track of time. “You’re doing alright, your heart rates down to 130, your blood pressure is dropping too, but your heart rhythm remains in atrial fibrillation”. This guy had a comforting manner and you could tell he’s was going be somebody important someday. “You weren’t looking too good back there, but there’s some colour in your face and you’re no longer critical. I’ve spoken to cardiology and they’re going to admit you, but we have to monitor you for a while yet”.
We would take our toddler son on wondrous adventures, cruising in and out of the fjord like inlets shrouded by bushland.The Kookaburras would cheekily sit on the boat rail, as we ventured ashore to explore sandy beaches, waterfalls and enjoy a picnic or too – oh, but watch out for the goanna’s they’re huge, and will boldly steal your lunch. Our son would endlessly splash around the shallows, and protest when it was time to go back on board. And when the sun was setting, we would be perched on the flybridge with a cold drink in hand, smooth teak deck under our bare feet – the slight burble of the generator breaking the stillness of the twilight. Such is this magical place.
“Mr Buchanan, Mr Buchanan” one of the nurses broke my daydream “well done – you’re back in sinus rhythm, and your heart rates back to normal… I’m taking you up to the ward now”.
As I was wheeled away, I nodded my head toward the emergency lead doctor in gratitude, she briefly smiled, but was busily trying to save someone else’s life.
And so began a new chapter, another set of challenges and obstacles to overcome and defeat.
But who I’m I to complain?
And… should you ever get a chance to cruise the extensive waterways just north of Sydney harbour, take your time and saviour the experience.
For I promise you – it will stay in your heart forever.
