“They lied
when they said the good die young.” – Anberlin, Godspeed
I only discovered the song Godspeed by Anberlin in
2007, where later that year I would face and survive septicemia, where I would
discover the true meaning of the title here. However, that time of my life is
not the focus of today.
Today, August 29, 2021, marks exactly 21 years since I
had a full spinal fusion in Royal Perth Hospital. I was 14 years old, and we
had already had to cancel the pending surgery twice as things were not quite
ready, including my own body.
I was born with spina-bifida, which can include a list
of issues up to and including severe scoliosis. In my body, my spine was so
badly curved that by only 14 years old, it was estimated to be curved at 120
degrees to the right. It was estimated by my orthopaedic surgeon, the great
Jack O’Connor (google this name, seriously!) that I would only have 6 months of life left had I chose not to
risk the surgery at all.
I had to undergo a whole lot of medical testing just
to see if I was physically strong enough to deal with such a large operation. Later
I would learn there were 2 surgeons tag-teaming the 12-hour ordeal as it’s
physically impossible to ask that much of one surgeon. I had no idea about that
until only recently, which makes it more ridiculous that I’m here 21 years
later reflecting on it.
We, my surgeon, mother and I, signed the paperwork for
consent with all the risks laid out to me, up to and including a 60% chance I wouldn’t
survive the operation itself, an 80% chance I won’t survive the week
post-surgery. However, in his honesty, Mr. O’ Connor did tell me the chance would
be 0% of survival if we didn’t at least attempt the surgery. As someone who
finds math a very simple thing, I remember being in his office in RPH and
stating that I’m happy to go ahead with it, if he’s the one doing it and
knowing that 40 is a lot higher than 0. I also signed the consent with one condition:
they made a way for me to be able to watch the AFL grand final. I was not
joking at all and to their credit, I watched the AFL grand final and still
remember it.
So fast forward to Tuesday, August 29, 2000. The day I
would literally have to face the fact I could die today. Or not. Well, I clearly
didn’t. How? I really can’t tell you. But what I can tell you is life is
ridiculously strange. I remember my surgeon coming to see me in my room at 5am
and asking if I’m ready. I said I am not, but I never will be to face such a
thing. He said I would see him later that night. I appreciated his positivity
but could tell it was sincere and strong. I took that with me and off we went
into the surgery.
So off I went into the RPH theatres, apparently. If you
don’t understand that was sarcasm font, you have clearly never met me. Duh.
I remember 4 things of that first week: 1. The fact I was
somewhat awake and not dead. 2. My uncle had phoned while working in Tanzania
(west Africa) to see how I was. 3. A nurse in my care neglected me for an
entire shift and my surgeon dealt with it. 4. My mother on that first night,
even with me lying in traction (completely flat on my back), hand-fed me a
roast chicken dinner. I clearly remember that meal and to this day, it was one
of the strangest and best meals of my life. Basic medical science says if you eat
anything under that much physical stress, you’re a high risk of choking and
dying. Therefore, I was instructed to be nil by mouth. Apparently, mum said
something along the lines of “he will be fine, he’s hungry, I’m helping him
eat.” I was fine. To this day I trust her judgment with everything due to that
one thing.
About a week later I would be transferred to the
spinal unit at Shenton Park. I became a lot more alert and have clear memories
of my uncle and another friend coming up nearly every night and sneaking in
outside food. For that I’m always grateful in hospital as it’s one thing that’s
barely improved.
Then it was time to go home. Like seriously? I’m going
home after my full spinal fusion and I’m ok. Not a quadriplegic, no loss of
brain function, totally fine.
I was well informed about the physical ordeal this
surgery would have on my life, including never being able to ride roller
coasters or horses again. However, I wasn’t well informed about the mental side
of dealing with such a big thing. For the next six months, I would have to wear
a brace that was extremely tight, have mum assist with all personal care, be
lifted in and out of bed and basically all I could do myself was eat. One thing
I grew inspiration from was having a tv at the end of my bed (thanks mum) and
watching the Sydney Olympics, including Freeman winning the 400m gold medal. It
was ridiculous. If she could do that, I can deal with this.
For the next 21 years, that’s pretty much how I try
and live my life now. I do still look at professional athletes in that light –
to a point. I’m well aware they’re just like a normal person, just with a
really cool job and a ridiculously healthy body.
So to sum it all up, thanks Mr. O’ Connor, Mr. Ker and
team. I hope you’re both enjoying your retirements well.
“Life is short, I want to live it well.” – Switchfoot,
Live it well
