Home for hospital

I can’t say enough how strengthening are all the messages of support and encouragement.  It is only ever the briefest of moments I’ve felt the least bit lonely over the last six months on the road, and much of that strength is from the sense of community I’ve derived through your engagement with my quirky little story.  It has been unexpected, but really lovely and actually quite powerful.

Thank you.

And although my intention has been to write first for my own private purpose and only with corollary benefit for interested others, it has been fun to have that well received.  Among a wide range of lovely feedback, a teacher from my own high school days recently said “you are still a wonderful writer, Daniel”.  That caught me off guard in what must have been an emotional moment anyway, as it caused an eruption of “leaking eye syndrome”.  I am a bit susceptible to blubbery impact from such compliments, maybe partly because it is rare.  Can I encourage you – if you have a complimentary thought about a friend or colleague, do share it with them!  You never know what impact a genuine, simple, unadorned compliment might have for them.

Enough of that.

Life has been a bit of a tumble dryer since the Friday X-ray.  My left arm and leg continue to waver in a cycle that I can imagine to be improvement, followed by definite deterioration.  Sleeping is a problem.  Getting in to bed is difficult, and getting out of bed takes minutes of careful, painful contortion.  Putting a shirt on is a nightmare.  I briefly went through an equation of avoiding the latter altogether, but you’ll be glad the “no” case won and as a compromise I’ve settled for my first ever public appearance in a tank top.  I’ve decided that the massive arm holes are actually designed for shoulder-break victims!!

Decision processes have felt complex, as each separate decision’s output seems to form an input to other decisions, in something of a cycle.  Do I get medical attention locally in Laos or travel for it?  Do I keep the bike in Laos or send it home?  Is this the end of the road trip, or just a pause?  Each option for those choices has required research and exploration, and the matrix of possibilities (and of incompatible combinations) has had my post-trauma head spinning.

I’ve had a dozen or so leads for dealing with the bike, many of which have felt very promising – and each of which has then evaporated.  The most interesting came from the China tour group with which I was booked.  Another couple Dale and Raphi were planning to ride on two bikes from their Laos home to Europe, also through China.  But one of the two bikes had been smashed up a couple of weeks ago.  So as a plan b they’re riding “two up” on the remaining bike.  When they learned that my bike was stranded where and when they happened to be pre-China, we met up.  They were very interested to borrow my bike.  Once they’d finished their road trip in Germany, they’d send it home to Melbourne (so much easier from Europe than from Laos) as “their part” of the “deal”.  Wow!  Sounds like an incredible fit of two problems into one solution.  And to add to the perfection, I think it’s fair to say that Dale and Raphi and I felt like we could become great friends (we’ll definitely stay in touch).  So Dale took the GSA for a spin, and unsurprisingly loved it.  But they had to make a lightning decision, and there were a few too many variables to land on a “yes”.  So they’ve headed off through China on their “two up” plan b.  And my bike sits sadly still in remote midlands of Laos.  With no plan and no road.  A couple of explorations are yet to come to either fizzle or fire, but it may well require a lot of work yet if the bike is coming home.  If the bike doesn’t come home and I don’t return to complete the trip, the only path forward is to surrender it to Customs – and that is an ugly outcome.

On the medical question, I’ve taken the local hospital’s advice… to fly home to Australia for treatment.  When the local system tells you they don’t trust their system and advise I use my own (Aust health care), it doesn’t feel wise to disagree.  There are of course a host of other Asian options, which would make returning to the bike easier and quicker.  But it has landed in my “not this time” pile to convalesce for potentially three months without anything to do and without deep community physically close in time of physical need.

So after waiting 24 hours to connect with Dale and Raphi, I sought out Laos-Melbourne flights.  Luang Prabang is really fairly remote, and even with an international airport the remoteness does limit flying options, so that any of the choices require multiple airlines.  I didn’t want to risk screwing up a multi-airline trip and end up stranded mid journey through some own-goal of booking incompatible flights, so chose to pay extra to book through a third party leaving them to own the problem.

A dozen different options showed “no flights available”, and only Flight Centre came to the party.  Two main options presented: a cheaper trip with three separate legs and 31 hours duration through Hanoi and Sydney, and a more expensive option at 17 hours and two flights through Bangkok.  My arm decided to spend the extra cash.  After 20 minutes or so of wrestling this through, the Flight Centre website then said – instead of a payment screen – they’d need to put my booking in a queue for a person to complete.  What?!  There’s no time for that!  By then it was well past 1am, since the discussions with Dale and Raphi had gone on into the night.  So I called it quits, to sleep on it and find a path forward in the morning.

After another night of fitful rest, I realised in the morning I should simply call Flight Centre and make a new booking by phone.  Easy!  That turns out to be a surprisingly complex business in itself, surprising since booking flights is the only thing they do.  But I found my way through a contorted automated system, and after 25 minutes on hold eventually found a person.  “How can I help you?,”  she asked.  I gave the obvious answer.  “Sorry; our systems are just being upgraded and I can’t even view let alone make a booking at the moment,” she replied.  What?!  I’ve worked a long time in IT, and that sounds like a pretty badly done implementation to me.  But that’s hardly relevant to my story here.  Move on.  Would you believe the best advice she had was that I should “call back in an hour”.

I called back 2 hours later, and this time spoke with a much more helpful Hannah.  Hannah eventually settled me on the flight I’d tried to book that previous night – leaving 5:30pm that same day.  A victory!

From there I took two brand new suitcases to the motorbike, and decanted everything (with a borrowed second arm) into plane-worthy containers.  Straight to the airport from there, even though that meant I was a few hours prior to the check-in.  I was at the counter as it opened.  We had a discussion about my luggage well over limit (“yes I know I’ll have to pay more – Hannah tried to sort that at ticketing time but the system wouldn’t let her”).  Then there was a question which was less anticipated and took me off guard.

“Where is your Vietnam visa?”

“Don’t have one – I’ve never visited”.

A long discussion followed, and although I was clearly slow in picking up the queues the penny did eventually drop… the Hanoi connection required I collect my bags, exit customs, re-enter customs, and check my bags in to the Melbourne leg.  And exiting customs meant I was entering Vietnam.  Which I could not do without a visa.  There’s no visa-on-entry.  A Vietnam eVsia has a 3-day turnaround.  And it was 4pm Sunday.  With the flight taking off in 90 minutes.

I rang Flight Centre back, and had a distinctly less helpful CSR.  Our accents meant we struggled to even understand each other.  No matter; I know how to wrestle that problem to the ground and have a pretty long track record of doing it.  “What’s your booking number and I’ll see what I can do” was the eventual offer.  I provided.  “Sorry, I can’t find that booking.  Can’t help you.”  What?!  Not even “can we search by another attribute?”  I think we should relabel to add an “N” after CSR’s “C”.  I filled in those blanks, and then we searched by email, by phone, by name.  Nothing.  I even raised the reality of their new system implementation and asked if there was “an old and a new system” we should search.  Nope.  She couldn’t find my booking.  I had an email from her colleague and from the system, but she couldn’t find the booking.  My bank account had been diminished by a significant amount, but she saw no flight to discuss.  And she was all for hanging up at that point and leaving me to it!

If you’ve known me any amount of time, you’ll be unsurprised that she didn’t get away with finishing the call there.  Instead we escalated to Matt in an “emergency” team.  And he happened to “speak Australian” too, which does help a lot in a fraught situation.

Matt found the booking in about 3 seconds.  In response to the obvious question he said that the previous CSR wouldn’t have had the right systems.  Hmmm.  And that makes sense because….?

Matt did a quick bit of research and simply confirmed that the visa requirement was immovable between two international airlines for which there was no baggage agreement.  I asked if that was my fault or the CSRs.  I say “asked”, although I knew the answer which Matt could either get it “right” or “wrong”.  Let’s just say he got that answer wrong.  He was all for ending the call there, suggesting I call back to make a booking the next day.

WHAT?!

Needless to say, Matt eventually rebooked me on the next available option.  But without a Vietnam visa, that was a booking the following day, which will now take almost a day longer (arriving two days later than the first booking) with an extra stop.  None of that would bother me much if all my bones were intact.  Anyway, it is what it is, and there was no fighting it.  Matt also booked a hotel for the night.

I know from my own booking attempt on Saturday night that the 3-stop flight was significantly cheaper.  But Matt and I had discussed neither the hotel cost nor the actual price of the new flights.  Since it wasn’t volunteered, I asked whether the hotel was at my cost.  Matt gave a grumpy “no, there’s no cost to you”.  Right outcome, even if I’d struggle to say the same about the tone.  You’d think with that hint Matt would volunteer there’d be a refund coming given the cheaper ticket.  But I had to ask about that too.  His response “you can call Hannah about that tomorrow and she’ll help you.”  It went on getting worse for a bit.  But I’ll spare you further details.

Do you remember that the reason I paid extra to go through an agent was to keep things safe and simple?  Hmmm.

The hotel was lovely, and uneventful.  I arrived back at the airport early again the next day (this morning, as I write), and thankfully checkin was relatively straightforward (just shuffling a bit of luggage to appease their weight requirements).  Given my situation they were very helpful with bags and have been running me around in a wheelchair.  The latter is slight overkill, but I’m grateful regardless and in Bangkok airport it has proven very helpful.

The flight from Luang Prabang to Bangkok had delightfully little to write about.  Given my “condition” I was checked at the Bangkok gate and wheeled towards the Sydney plane as the very first passenger.  Almost on the plane, one of the gate staff got interested in my medical condition.  She had me pulled aside and moved me to a seat that had no one on my left.  A win!  Thank you.  But that was only the beginning, and it took a different turn from there.

She asked if I had a medical certificate stating I was fit to fly.

😳

I said “I have a medical certificate, but it is in checked luggage under the plane”.  All of which is perfectly true, although I made no reference to the “stating I was fit to fly” part, which was not a consideration any of us had at the time the certificate was written.  I’d never in a million years have guessed I’d need such a document.  And, you’ll be unsurprised to know, neither did Flight Centre raise the prospect – although they were well aware of my reason for flying.

What followed was a 30-minute furore with waiting for and then talking to airline medical staff, while several hundred other passengers patiences wore thin.  I was phone interviewed reasonably extensively.  Apparently in the end some doctor with a lilting Irish accent was satisfied that I wasn’t going to cause the airline a financial loss, and boarding recommenced.  I don’t know for certain, but I’m pretty sure I’m personally responsible for a late departure, after having texted a mate before the interruption that I was “being rolled on as first customer” and that we appeared to be nicely on time.

In the end I was wheeled right to the plane’s door.  I had my iPad shut on my knee, after writing this diary entry while I waited.  Since I still have trouble lifting and shifting, the helper picked these things up from my knees for me.  Right at the door.  There was a gap between the walkway and the plane, perhaps of about 1cm.  My iPad has a (ridiculously expensive) “Apple Pen” stylus with it, which is marginally narrower than said 1cm.  As my new friend grabbed the iPad, the Apple Pen was knocked to the floor.  Do I need to tell you where it fell?  Straight through that very small gap, past the plane, to the runway 5m (and many security clearances) below.  Although I’d initially been passenger number one, given all the fuss I was now about passenger number last, and the plane was all but ready to push off.  There was zero point panicking, or even reacting at all, despite the value of the lost item.  So I simply shrugged my shoulders to move on.  What could I do?  And really, it’s only white noise compared to what the last week could have been and to what is already wasted through the crash and all that follows.

But, amazingly, the attendant was not so easily accepting.  “Go take your seat, we’ll sort it out if it can be found,” she said.  Well I was going to take my seat anyway, so any “sorting out” was a mere bonus.  True to promise, a few minutes later, through what must have been a chain of a dozen people and as many security doors, someone on the ground found said tiny piece of tech, and through the reverse chain of a dozen people had it delivered inside, upstairs, past the gate, through the walkway, onto the plane, and to my seat.  Ha!

I’m writing this now as we pierce the night sky above the Gulf of Thailand.  I’m left pondering a mate’s observation from just the other day that I have an excessive list of screw-ups to my name.  And he’s yet to hear of this new entertainment!  I seem to collect them like fluff on a lint roller.  Many are own goals.  But certainly not all.  I would like to hope it is just “normal” and the unusual bit is that mine are not under a bushel.  But I feel like that would be overly kind.  Simply just not true.  I think I want to make a study of “how to do life the easy way”.  While I’m actually built with some capability to withstand the buffeting and to keep just getting up when knocked down, really I’d rather just not.  Somehow I just dance to the wrong beat.  Always.  Is it really necessary?

Despite my noise-canceling headset going flat just as we’re taking off, and being sat next to the only screaming children on the plane, I’m sure this 8-hour flight will be comfortable and issue free.  And then, for the first time in many months, I’ll be back in Australia.

I actually feel quite emotional about landing on Australian soil.  “I still call…” yeah it’s corny, but moths of hard slog on the road and most of that abroad, I really feel the pull.

I’ve had a few stacks on the bike, and each time I’ve found painful to my body and more so to my pride.  The latter is evidenced by the sad reality that most, but not all, have been recorded in this publicly-readable private diary.  But despite physical and “pridal” (I really think that should be a word) pain, not once have I felt like quitting the ride for more than a brief second.

Until now.

Being pinned under 300kg of bike and gear for 15-20 minutes without being able to move more than a finger has really knocked the stuffing out of me.  I don’t believe I’m still traumatised (not at all), and I don’t “relive” the moment or have nightmares about it.  But my trademark determination (others less kindly but probably accurately call it “stubbornness”) has dissipated.  If you’re reading closely you’ve probably already guessed that purely from the fact that my bike gear is decanted into suitcases under this very plane.

I haven’t ruled anything out, for what comes next after Australian medical assessment and treatment of my injuries.  But if I’m uncomfortably honest, I can’t really see a return to finish the trip.  There’s the time factor.  And the at-some-point-I-need-to-be-an-adult-and-get-on-with-life-again factor.  But I also have to be realistic about the number of stacks.  Each one entirely different circumstances.  At least half have been “not my fault”, although every one I should have avoided if I had managed the situation better.  I’ve loved the road trip, and even the challenges just make for satisfaction in the conquering, but maybe, maybe.  Goodness its even hard to write.  Maybe I need to admit defeat.  Maybe the road has conquered me.

That’s not even something that I know how to feel, or think, or express.  Even from before I could walk my parents would tell you it would be the lounge room chair that would come off second best if it was in the way when I decided as a crawling infant that I should be on the other side of the room.  I go in a straight line, and just keep powering stubbornly through obstacles, and like that infant’s chair, each said obstacle eventually works out it is easier to fall away and let me past.  I just don’t know how to admit defeat.  Even though now 3 years separated and actually divorced, I still can’t even give up on rebuilding a healthy marriage.

But I think being pinned under that bike and wondering if it would be suffocation or a week of exposure that would end me, may just have left me broken in more ways than one.

I can’t even see my iPad screen while I write this.  More “leaking eyes”, for a different reason this time.  I can write with my eyes closed, but proof reading will have to wait until I can see again.  Actually I might shut the iPad down and drink the probably-terrible cab sav sitting next to me.  I’ll upload while I wait in Sydney for the Melbourne flight, and the start of a new chapter of life which still has a gnawing chasm of unknowns – (nuclear) family, work, house and home, etc.  I should quickly add there are a lot of enormously precious “knowns” in the mix – and every one of those will be still reading this despite the ridiculous word count.

Where are the tissues?  And where’s that cab sav?