R sleeps some, more than he thinks, but his leg muscles twitch and wake him up. He only complains in his sleep. At 3:00 am I am awake. I lie next to him, thinking about how it could have been worse, trying not to remember the first few seconds when he fell. At 4:00 am, I get up for the toilet. I remember that the Southern Cross should be visible, but there is a light cloud cover and I only see a few bright glowing spots in the clouds that should be stars, probably Alpha Centauri. I fall back asleep until the dawn chorus at 5:30 am, stay quiet until 6:45 when R wakes up. Ruth had instructed the rest of the team to get on the trail by 8 am and they are starting up water for coffee.
Doc relocating the helicopter at Green Lake
R asks me if it isn't too cloudy for a chopper to land, and even though he is a little frightened, I say I don't know. Honestly, I don't know if help will walk in or fly, and we really are counting that Ruth and Marco arrived safely. Hardly a minute later as I am getting up, I hear the sound of the rotors and jump up into my boots. This is when I finally start to cry a little, thankful for Ruth and for everyone who has helped R. But I don't have time. They land near the shore, on the other side of the offending ravine, Stewart the ambulance officer and the local police officer jump over it with their gear bags.
Stewart is calm, and that helps me calm down. Doc, the pilot comes over and they decide to move the helicopter now that the group has pulled down the fly, easier to get R into the machine. R asks if I can go with - I ask for what seems impossible - another 25 kg of gear and Doc just takes it from me.
There isn't time or option to consider that fact that I am afraid of flying and have never been in a helicopter before. They slide R in first, then me, the policeman, finally Stewart. Stewart and Doc have decided that the Invercargill hospital is nearly the same distance as the Te Anau clinic and would save us an ambulance ride. We lift off, head straight across the lake and I am sure that we will not clear the first ridge.
The end of NZ and the Foveaux Strait
We do, and the next one and the next one. Doc keeps the machine low, and I decide that if I am going to ride in a helicopter, I am going to get my money's worth. Actually, no one has mentioned money. I made sure Ruth knew we had travel insurance, but I'm the one who brought it up. The beech forest below is fascinating, complete coverage of the floor by the tree tops, and after a few minutes we can see Stewart Island. The hills fall away to rolling and then flat farmland. It takes me a minute to realize that the canals I see are draining the land, not irrigating it. Lots of sheep, a big river channel. Invercargill is right on the edge of the sea, the largest town in Southland, 30 minutes ride away from where we started.
R is taking most of the pictures. He started taking pictures to keep his mind off the pain, and to keep up his attitude - this is what is, we can't do anything about it. We trade the camera back and forth for the next few days. It helps.
From R's University of Utah office, I've watched the ground crews at hospital meet the choppers, and I always wondered how it felt to arrive that way. Relief and reassurance. The nurses stow our packs in their office. Intake is efficient, the ER is quiet. R is still talking about them setting his ankle in a cast and rejoining the group. The doctor orders xrays. The nurses bring me hot tea, and later I find the pop machine.
Stewart is finishing his paperwork - he's a volunteer, studying to take some kind of licensing exam with a >95% failure rate. He also runs an upholstery business and made the brace that he strapped onto R's leg. He and his wife also do a bit of outfitting for Fiordland tramping (email him: flltd@ihug.co.nz) and are building an 11 m catamaran in Te Anau. Once they launch and rig it, they are sailing around and away.
The plastering is very thick.
The medicos think they can reduce R's fibula greenstick fracture with a cast and get busy. Nitrous oxide doesn't agree with R, but the idea of avoiding surgery does. While we wait for the plaster to set, I buy some phone cards, learn how to use the pay phone, organize a bed for a night or two and get some breakfast. We waited for what seemed like a while, but the ER was getting busy. Letting R eat was the only mistake anyone made, because they took a 2nd set of xrays after the plaster set and after a long confab (hence the wait) decided that surgery was necessary. After his stomach cleared, not before 6 pm. Everyone is really nice and they move him to Ward 10, and he is assigned a doctor who we haven't met. Later they call off the surgery until morning because real emergencies came up, and let him eat dinner (or tea, if you like).
The thick plaster took 4 people, including R, to remove.
I had arranged to call Ruth on her cell phone at 2:00 and again at 4:00 if necessary. The itinerary for the day would bring them through Invercargill, and I am hoping she will drop off the rest of our stuff at the motel. I leave a message at 2:00, surprised that she doesn't answer. At 4:00, I realize that I have the wrong number somehow and start calling the list of numbers I have, in a fit of obsession, written down in a little book I was carrying during the trip. I connect with the booking agent, who calls the head office, who gets me the right number AND reports that Ruth is in the parking lot of the hospital at that exact moment.
It was great to see the group. They all would have trooped up to see R if I hadn't discouraged it. Ruth comes up and offers her condolences and to haul our packs to the motel for me too. R is so grateful to her for going for help that night. She reported that she reached the backpacker lodge at the head of the Borland Track just before dark. He turned out to be the rescue coordinator for the region, took her papers and sent her and Marco off to the showers, dinner and bed. In the morning, they hiked halfway back and met the rest of the group. Out in the parking lot, they tell me about their trek back. Sarah is sitting on top of the trailer, swinging her legs. I showed them all of the digital pictures we'd taken and then I hugged them all, American as that might be.
People are coming and going now, R is in a 4 bed ward room, and the newest patient is in a neck brace with his head strapped down. I decide it's time to find out how I like my room. I picked a place close to the grocery store so I could walk for food. I ask the taxi driver to show me where to find a money machine, where to get food - it's all very close and convenient. The room is clean but basic. It has a microwave and a stack of gossip magazines. I read about pop stars, the royal family, decorating trends on Waiheke Island and rugby player weddings until I can sleep.
