With absolutely no angst and minimal effort, we departed the House that Rocks at the extraordinarily late hour of three o’ clock in the afternoon. We had hoped to leave sometime during the morning, but that plan had gone out the window as Michael was still repairing the trusty trailer at midday. Not to mention, Kermit, our faithful four wheel drive, had only just returned from yet another rest cure at Goldy Holden’s service department. Due to the events of the last few months, that we were getting away at all was a miracle in itself.
We’d had more time to research this trip due to unforeseen circumstances. Michael wanted to show me Cue and Big Bell in the Northern Goldfields and stay a few nights in the area. We added Sandstone to the itinerary and then, ambitiously confident, the Darlot Loop and onto Mount Magnet further east near Laverton. When heading for home, Michael included Yundamindera and Karalee Rocks for a night at each spot. Pouring over Google Earth, Michael proposed a twelve day expedition. In reality, this was a huge trip and we had no right to be so thoroughly relaxed about its complexity and its duration.
The overriding cause for our lack of concern was Michael’s remarkable survival, after he’d developed bilateral pneumonia and nearly died. We’d spent most of April in hospital. We had initially thought he might be having a heart attack due to severe chest pain. After that was ruled out, a pulmonary embolism was suspected. A lurking, sinister mass in his right lung added confusion to the mix. Pneumonia was discovered to be the culprit after he entered the hospital via the Emergency Department. After the initial twenty four hours as a patient in hospital, Michael’s respiratory specialist thought he was well enough to go home on oral antibiotics. We were delighted with the option to leave for Heavenly Beverley. How wrong we all were.
After appearing to improve over three days, Michael went downhill. Fast. The Bitch, a particularly nasty bug filling his lungs, was getting the upper hand. We tried to speak to our Perth based GP, unsure what to do. The message didn’t get through. The following morning, six days after Michael’s original admission, we headed for Perth.
With Michael unable to stand, he lay on a spare bed in our doctor’s surgery whilst the GP rang around. Michael’s specialist had gone on leave. Our GP proposed to send us directly to another specialist at another hospital. We agreed as I wasn’t sure Michael would cope with going through Emergency again. Our GP wrote an explicit request for immediate IV fluids and oxygen and sent us on our way to the hospital.
We ended up on a harrowing five day ride to near disaster as Michael became more and more unwell. This specialist was of the old school – arrogant, condescending and dismissive. He didn’t review Michael for six hours on his day of admission, in spite of the GP’s letter. He changed Michael’s IV antibiotics three times in three days. He was unavailable when we needed him. He was unresponsive when I reported Michael had stopped urinating. Michael’s veins kept collapsing as he was unable to eat or drink and was becoming severely dehydrated. In spite of his worsening condition, IV fluids had been ceased. IV Panadol was being withheld, as Michael’s liver was being damaged by the onslaught of all the drugs.
The final afternoon at the second hospital and under the second specialist was unforgettable. I had already ascertained that Michael’s original specialist had returned from leave and I’d requested a hospital to hospital transfer. Michael was sinking further and I was frightened he might actually die. His fever was rampant; he was hallucinating and incoherent. I begged for the specialist to come and review Michael. All day. Eventually, at five in the afternoon, I threatened that if the specialist didn’t appear in fifteen minutes, I was taking Michael out of that awful place and we would be leaving.
The specialist waltzed in with his entourage. He asked Michael how he felt. Michael replied that he was feeling dreadful. Later, he told me he was hoping the specialist would bend over him close enough so Michael could reach up and strangle him. By this point, Michael was having difficulty with any movement.
The specialist decreed Michael would stay on the same antibiotics for a few more days “to see what happened”. I protested, as I had been told the effects these drugs were having on Michael’s body. The specialist’s registrars had given me that information during the morning round. As if in response, the specialist turned his back on me, refusing to acknowledge my very real concern.
I had never “seen red” in my life until that moment. The world turned a vivid scarlet in front of my eyes. My all encompassing rage at this man took hold of me in the blink of an instant. I swore at the specialist and ordered him and his quaking minions out of Michael’s room. They left without further ado, the specialist throwing his hands into the air, wishing us luck.
I had already packed most of our belongings in preparation for leaving. Now, on adrenaline only, I flew down to the ground floor lobby to collect the car and drive up to the loading zone outside the main entrance. The concierge, a compassionate and caring young woman, was superb in her assistance at a time I was close to breaking down. She helped me load the car and fetched Michael in a wheelchair and brought him down to be helped into our chariot of escape. So, armed with no discharge summary and only his original X-rays, we set out, in evening peak hour traffic, to return to the original hospital and respiratory specialist.
It was the first Monday of the April school holidays. Every child in the northern metropolitan area seemed to have become sick or injured on that very day. We could see the Emergency Department was already crowded as I parked outside the entry. I found a wheelchair and loaded Michael into it, wheeling him straight to the Triage window.
The staff was outstanding from the first minute. I explained the situation of Michael’s deterioration over the previous five days. I also confessed that I had more or less kidnapped him from the other hospital and we had no information, given the nature of our escape.
One of the Emergency doctors organised Michael’s admission in the waiting room, as there were no beds in the Department. They initiated observations on him and began treatment immediately. With a cheerful grin to calm me down, the doctor cracked “Don’t do this at home!” as he gave Michael fifteen puffs of Ventolin through a spacer to open up his airways.
We waited, Michael propped up in a wheelchair for nearly two hours. Just when I was about to beg for a bed, we were moved into the Emergency Department and Michael was helped onto a bed. I felt we’d been saved, just in time.
After that, everything happened very rapidly indeed. The nursing staff gently removed the old canula out of Michael’s arm and began continuous observations. Two physicians inserted a new line, took bloods and started fluids and IV Panadol on a rapid induction. Michael’s specialist was phoned and new IV antibiotics were commenced. Suddenly, all seemed back in control. Michael slipped into semi consciousness through total exhaustion.
We were told that Michael’s kidney function was satisfactory, which was all that saved him from being admitted into the Intensive Care Unit. Within an hour, Michael was on the ward, asleep after a terrible day.
Michael’s specialist and his team continued their excellent care over the following fourteen days. Michael was very, very sick with pneumonia on admission. He developed fluid trapped in the plural sac, which felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. While inserting the chest drain, his left lung collapsed, an unfortunate but not uncommon side effect of the procedure.
He was pronounced well enough to return home at the end of April. I had boarded with him in his hospital room the whole of his stay. In the last few days, he had a PICC line inserted in his arm, as he would still be on IV antibiotics for two weeks at the House that Rocks.
Our request to depart for our Goldfields trip during May had been met with a resounding “No!” by Michael’s specialist. Just as well. At the end of May, we were back in hospital for a further two days. Michael developed a very rapid heart rate – tachycardia - which dissipated with complete rest. Eventually, his anxiety medication was found to be the culprit. Unable to cease that drug, he had a beta blocker added to his regime to slow his pulse.
Finally, we received the specialist’s blessing that Michael was well enough for the trip. We planned our departure for 7 June. Winter in the Goldfields no longer caused us any worry. We had the gear to cope with cold temperatures. What had to be added was additional medication, emergency phone numbers and our portable blood pressure and oxygen monitors. Plus, we upgraded the contents of the First Aid Kit. Interestingly, we discovered later that the kit was missing a few essential items.
The trusty trailer’s repairs were finally completed. Slowly and methodically, we packed our belongings into every nook and cranny of Kermit and the trailer. We ate a quick lunch and then luxuriated in long hot showers. We knew we would not have our next showers until we arrived at booked accommodation in Cue.
Vanessa pushed us out the front door of the House that Rocks halfway through a cool and overcast afternoon. We knew we only had a couple of hours of daylight left, but we were determined to cover some kilometres before we stopped for the night.
And thus began our most recent trip!
Dawn out of Michael's hospital window 14 April - 28 April 2014
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