I was introduced to heights fairly early on. My brothers taught me how to abseil off our verandah with the rope between my legs...and falling off my about to be brother in law's shoulders that brought me back to earth with a thump. Head rattling thump.
So I should have learnt. As should have Michael. Emulating Superman on a bike off a railway platform led to a broken wrist. Falling headfirst onto a railway sleeper left him with a lump he can still display - at nearly sixty.
Move on a decade or five. We had moved to Heavenly Beverley. Michael made a rash decision one night after a few glasses of vino. He thought he could finish painting our guest room "Red Terra" after a bottle of ...er...red. For some unknown reason, he chose to step off a perfectly good ladder into thin air. The spectacular swan dive into the paint tray defied belief. The ceiling was red, the walls (like it or not) were red, the floor was red and Michael was red. The only good news was that, miraculously, Michael was completely uninjured. Except for his dignity.
The guest room was duly salvaged and the majority of the House that Rocks was successfully renovated with, more or less, no further catastrophes. Then Michael reached the ultimate conclusion that he would rent out his old family home in Perth. We spent about six months trying to clear it to make it habitable for tenants. His brick shed in the backyard was left chock a block.
Eventually, the moment arrived. We had to clear out the shed to put the house on the market. A six cubic metre rubbish skip was filled to the brim. Numerous trailer loads and two truckloads of materials were moved from Beechboro to Beverley. Somewhere in the midst of all this, I broke my ankle.
Once again, a ladder was to blame. Michael asked me to collect bottles of bolts from a highish shelf. I could just reach the shelf on tippy toes. I thought I would be so much quicker if I could climb up a ladder...And there it as. A folded step ladder of wood, conveniently resting against a wall.
I unfolded the steps, wiggling it to test its strength. So far, so good. I climbed up to the top, until I was a metre above the concrete floor. All heard was a crack. All I felt was falling. I tried to grab something, anything, to break the descent. No luck. I hit the ground and immediately started screaming. Michael came running. I couldn't move for some minutes. I knew I'd done some major damage. I just was unsure where.
I worked out my left ankle was the worst. No pressure could be applied. I crawled out of the cramped space and Michael found a wheely stool to transport me to the car. We drove to the local hosdital for X rays. They revealed nothing; Emergency viewed I had a very bady sprained ankle. So we went home.
Three weeks later, two breaks and massive soft tissue damage was diagnosed. Six weeks in a moon boot did not heal the breaks. Surgery was eventually performed to relieve the issue.
Three years on, I must admit I've become a tad complacent. Ladders are dimming in their horrible hold over me. I am coming to regard them as my friends again. I have been up on pretty high ones recently in the East End Gallery. I'm wondering how long my current phase of luck can last!
Danger, Will Robinson...
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