It’s a balmy evening the first night of our week in Port Elliott and it’s time for a beach walk. Denise and I cross the road from the unit where we are staying and head down the cliff. To reach the beach we have to first follow a narrow sloping dirt path, then go down several steep flights of rough-hewn steps and finally traverse another narrow sandy path among the rocks. It’s a route we’ve taken so many times before. Yet, as I step onto the final path I feel uneasy. The light is poor and there seem to be more part-hidden rocks than ever. I tell myself not to be a wuss. I can see Denise just ahead of me and, while struggling to keep her balance at times, she still makes it safely to the beach.
Then it happens. My left foot catches an unseen rock; I lose my balance and fall heavily into the rocks on that side of the path, banging my arms, legs and finally, with a mighty ‘whack’, my head. For a moment time stands still. I pull myself into a sitting position. Then there’s blood everywhere from scrapes and gashes. It’s running down my arms and legs and streaming from my head onto my face and into my eyes. I can already hear the 7.00pm television news bulletin to come, ‘Elderly woman winched to safety by Channel Seven rescue helicopter after fall onto rocks at Knight’s Beach.’ And I know I’m going to hate the ‘elderly’ most of all. But then I realize that I’m not in great pain so clearly I haven’t broken or sprained anything. The sounds of the chopper fade off into the distance.
Denise has run back and, together with a young surfer who saw me fall, helps me to my feet. They guide me back to the bottom of the steps and from there I am able to climb the rest of the way unaided.
It’s clear that our holiday emergency band-aids are not going to be enough. Denise drives me to the South Coast Hospital at Victor Harbor.
Mercifully the Accident and Emergency waiting room is empty but a rather ominous sign at Reception says the likely wait time may be five hours. We sit and wait… and wait. Our only company is the waiting room television which, to add insult to injury, is screening an old episode of Baywatch featuring a bare-chested David Hasselhoff running nimbly over the rocks to save a woman in distress in the water.
In a little over two hours I’m seen by the doctor. The wound on my head is glued closed (God knows how I’m supposed to get the glue out later), there are stitches in my left leg and all my other grazes and gouges are cleaned and dressed.
Back where we are staying I head in before Denise who is parking the car in the very snug spot we are allocated. There are steps down from the roadway to the unit’s backyard. It’s raining and dark now. Somehow I miss or slip on the last step and fall headlong onto the back patio, landing heavily on my hands, knees and lower legs. Miraculously, apart from a slight strain to my thigh muscles, I’m unhurt. What I don’t know then is that the fall has burst the stitches in my leg.
Denise doesn’t know I’ve fallen again. So I pick myself up, hear her coming and turn to say, ‘You’re not going to believe this…’ At that same moment she screams and tumbles forward down the same steps, landing heavily on her right side, banging her knee, ribs and twisting her foot. She is in a great deal of pain and crying out. There is nobody around to help us. I feel shaky and frightened. I think I may have to call an ambulance for her or at the very least drive her to Accident and Emergency.
After a few minutes, while we are still considering what to do, Denise is able to get up and I help her inside. She’s still in a lot of pain from her ribs and foot but can at least weight bear on her foot. Maybe nothing is broken afterall. Several painkillers and ice packs later, the decision is made not to go to Accident and Emergency again that night. We’ll see how she is in the morning.
The next morning Denise is still experiencing a lot of discomfort but is in two minds about going to the hospital to be assessed and have x-rays. Then when I change the dressing on my leg, which has bled a lot during the night, I discover the burst stitches. This makes the decision for us. I have to go, so she will too.
Mindful of the potential for a five hour wait, we go well prepared this time – taking books, ipads, snacks and drinks.
The nursing staff greet us and our sorry tale with looks of utter disbelief.
The waiting room is not empty this time and it is a five hour wait. A chorus line of holiday mishaps joins us – sprained ankles, busted knees and bloodied noses. Finally, though, Denise has her assessment and x-rays – no rib or ankle fracture, no strapping needed. And my leg is re-stitched.
We resume our holiday, watching very carefully where we step and choosing very conservatively where we walk. There’s lots of reading, relaxing, going for drives and just sitting watching the ocean. There are coffees at Retro Vibe and a lunch at the Flying Fish Café.
On our last full day we decide to go to the local wildlife park. I know, risky. But we’ve been there in the past and it’s a great place to spend a few hours. We’re not worried. The park is well laid out and there are no trip or fall hazards. And what can go wrong with ‘come and pat a koala and feed the kangaroos’? I mean everything that could bite, kick or eat us, the snakes, the dingoes, the saltwater crocodiles and the emus, are safely locked away. Mind you I do hesitate just for a moment on reading the sign on the entrance door. The gist of it is that any mishap whatsoever I suffer while in the park will be my responsibility entirely.
The park again proves to be a delightful way to spend an afternoon. In the autumn sunshine we wander from display to display among caged, penned and free-range creatures.
We pat a koala; it is completely oblivious to our touch as it gorges itself on a bunch of fresh gum leaves.
Last of all we come to the kangaroos. They’re eager to be fed and as I pull the bag of food pellets from my pocket, one bounds straight up to me. Without warning it makes a grab for the bag with its front paws, raking my hands and forearms with its claws. I cry out in pain, step back and drop the bag of food, spilling its contents on the grass. In disbelief I look at my hands and arms and watch the blood bead and then bubble from the cuts and scratches.
I look across at Denise and raise my arms in mock surrender. Her look is of shock, concern and then … Then we are both laughing. At least our holiday emergency band-aids will do the job this time.
Burnside Writers Group 