Broken

On Saturday I strained my left hamstring while refereeing my son's under 8 rugby match. Those 7 year old's are bloody hard to keep up with and my legs couldn't handle zig-zagging all over the paddock like a headless chicken. (It was a great game though, even though the boys lost.)

Despite the twinge to the hammy, Monday's long run was ok. Things tightened up after 45 minutes but it didn't slow me down too much. Swimming was fine too as was riding, but this morning when doing my 1km intervals things took a turn to for the worse. Warm-up was fine as were the stride outs, but by the end of the first kilometre my leg was really tightening up. I started out on the second kilometre, but by about 400m the pain was beginning to increase and by 700m I decided that the warning signs were too great to ignore and before I became completely broken I stopped running.

I might be a little bit broken now, but on 21 August I was almost completely broken. After being in theatre and under anaesthetic for several hours (see Fade to Black), still semi-conscious I started to hear voices around me. I was in the intensive care unit (ICU) of the Austin Hospital after having been put back together.

21 August 2001, some time in the evening

My eyes are closed, but I drift in and out of consciousness hearing soft female voices. I know one of them is Carleen and I want to call out to her and reach for her hand, but I am not able to open my eyes and I am aware that something is obstructing my throat. This seems to go on forever, but I think the reality is more likely to be a couple of minutes. My eyes blink. The light is bright and I can't really focus. I see some blurry figures and my vision comes back and I can see Carleen and I can feel her touch.

"Carleen, oh Carleen", I say but no words come out and I begin to choke. Why is there something down my throat? "Get it out! Get it out! I'm choking!", but again no words. It dawns on me that I have a ventilation tube down my throat (intubation). I feel like I am choking to death. "Get it out! Get it out!" The nurses come over and reassure me. They can obviously see the sheer terror in my eyes. "Sorry, its going to have to stay in a while longer." I turn my head to Carleen and she strokes my hand, tears are streaming down her cheek.

"You should try and relax," says one of the nurses in a very reassuring voice, "just try to relax." Relax!?! How the hell can I relax? There is a rigid plastic tube the size of a radiator hose down my throat! "Just breath slowly, and try to relax. It can come out soon, but not right now." Carleen squeezes my hand tight and we both start to cry. She wipes my brow and starts to reassure me.

A million thoughts race through my head. Am I going to be able to walk? How on earth is Carleen going to cope? Oh, my God, I hope the baby is going to be ok? Will I ever get of this place? Why can't I breath for myself? Does this tube mean that I am near the end? 

I am fading in and out of consciousness. I have no sense of time and things are not very lucid. Carleen tells me that she had gone for the night when the nurse began to remove the tube. Ever so slowly she drew it out. Centimetre after centremetre rasp at my throat. I gag. Then, a gasp of air and I breath on my own.

The next few hours are a real blur and I can't recall much at all. I think that I am asleep for most of it. However, I remember being really thirsty and not being allowed anything to drink and the nurses wiping my lips with a wet cottonbud/cutip and thinking how divine it felt, yet how torturous it was when I wasn't able to drink. Eventually I am allowed to chew on some crushed ice, it is bliss.

My memory is vague for the much of the rest of my stay in the ICU and time is really jumbled, except an incident involving ketamine, but that will have to wait for another post.