I need your help......

Dear Friends and Family,

I need help getting my husband out of the house. Its not that  I don't love spending time with him, but he has decided to run a marathon next year and he is way behind the eight ball on his training regime.

He has taken the very bold step of enrolling in the 2013 New York Marathon to raise funds for Amnesty International. I think he was drawn to location rather than the event, but regardless he is a man of his word and now needs to train extremely hard to be fit enough to fulfil his commitment.

Strong integrity - once he commits, he delivers.

His Amnesty International team of 20 hope to raise $180,000 to help create a world where justice freedom and dignity are not the birthright of a privileged few but a deeply held vision for all. If you are able to support this worthy cause, please visit http://ainym2013.gofundraise.com.au/page/John-Dobbin. 

Donations are tax-deductible and a receipt is emailed automatically. Which is great if you sometimes lose your paper receipts; just keep it in your inbox until tax time and print it out!

By January 4 John hopes to raise $2,000, so if you were planning on making a donation over Xmas to a worthy cause, I think I have found an answer for you!

If you know of any organisation who would like to sponsor a run, please pass on the details so that John can dedicate the run and use every form of social media to promote the great intentions!

Wishing you all a very merry Christmas, and a safe and happy New Year!

Lisa

  

Hey! My Glass is Empty!

Like most Australians, my childhood was fuelled by alcohol in all its ugly glory. A slab of beer was the staple of the weekly grocery shop and only consumed by the men. Wine was a luxury and only for the women. And gay men. Of which we knew very little.

Sunday afternoons were spent down at Gladesville Hospital Oval with dozens of other families where a huge marquee was set up as the “bar” and the queue for a sausage on a roll was longer than the queue for a new Apple iPhone. The dads would play cricket with a can of beer in their hands while the mums would chat and gossip on the picnic rugs in the shade drinking wine. The kids would spend the day exploring the lush bamboo forest, swimming in the pool and rolling up and down the terraced grass fields.

At the end of the day, everyone would pile into the family cars while one drunk parent drove home. Almost every Sunday ended in agony for our family, the graphic details of which are best left unsaid. Excess, abuse, violence, and shame were a part of my childhood, and while they have formed a strong character in me, they remain a painful memory of what alcohol can do to a family and a community.

As a teenager I binged. I look back at this time and cringe at the image, but I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that the $3 Donello Lambrusco made for what we thought was an entertaining night. The stories of a night out would last a week until the next Blue Light Disco when it would all happen again. In fact, I don’t  think I can remember a time when we would go out and not try to get drunk. (ok, so there were a few nights when we faked being drunk, but that being said - they were very few).

So, do I still drink now? You betcha. I love a glass of rosé or a glass of bubbles when I go out. I’m a  positive person and a social animal, I have a fantastic life and I don’t have to look far to find an excuse to celebrate. AND I have a wonderful circle of friends who are like minded. I fact, I have a few circles of friends who are happy to partake in celebrating life with me. I’m a controlled drinker and I don’t really get drunk; I can stop at one glass of wine or champagne if I want to, and in fact if I went to dinner and there was no wine, it wouldn’t be an issue for me. Thats not true for many people I know, including some people very close to me.

My dad hasn’t had a drop of anything alcoholic for over 30 years. My brother hasn’t had a drink in 12 years. My mum occasionally will have a glass of wine on Christmas Day but will stop at one. And my sister is trying to give it up for good. She’s been open and honest on her reasons why; she doesn’t want her children growing up with an image of their mother with a glass of wine in her hand all the time. It’s a noble reason and I’m behind her 100%.

This is why I’m committed to doing Ocsober. For my children. If my sister is brave enough to denounce alcohol forever, then I think I can manage one month to show my children that I can give up the booze and still have a brilliant time. An added benefit of doing Ocsober is that I want to raise money to put towards alcohol education for our schools. This is a community issue, and as part of the community I want to do something to support the cause - to educate our kids.

Thank you for reading my blog. If you feel strongly about educating our kids on the effects of alcohol and are able to donate towards this cause, please click on this link and the “donate” button.

Thanks.

Lisa

http://fundraise.ocsober.com.au/Lisa_Fryar

The Day I Grew a Tail

A very wise lady told me that it takes 12 months to grieve before you can start on the road to healing. I think she might be right. 

Twelve months allows for - "this time last summer, this time last birthday, this time last year...." where every memory is a painful one because it was the last "time" with someone special who is no longer there. Twelve months is enough time to go through the five stages of grieving. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression and finally, acceptance. 

This time last year I started along my road of the grieving process. Waking up to a missed call, listening to my voicemail with an urgent message to call back, and finally making that call to learn that my beautiful friend was gone. This moment is frozen - one of those moments in your life where you will always remember where you were and what you were doing when you learnt the news. I was still in bed and it was a Sunday morning, my chest felt tight, I couldn't breath and I had to give the phone to my husband, I couldn't bear to hear the details. It hurt my heart. I cried deeply until there was nothing. 

The days that followed are a blur of nothing. The weeks became clearer and the months became kinder as I started to process and realise I would never see, hear, sing with, dance with, sms, email, laugh with (and at) my friend. We would never again sneak out for a chai latte and walk around the block chatting about our travels, lives and loves. We would never again have our little "in" jokes together and laugh hysterically at nothing. He will never call me at random times just to see how I am doing. No more lychee lollies and chrysanthemum tea. No more anything. 

I've accepted that he's gone, and yet I feel him with me all the time. 

My birthday was last week and he was there with me, with every glass of wine, sake and espresso martini. When it was time to leave the celebrations and collect my son from school camp, I jumped in a taxi and looked at my phone messages. He was always the first to send me a birthday mesage, sometimes he sang on my voicemail. I had a little "cry" in the taxi which surprised me, it was the first time in months that it hurt to think of him. The tears didn't last long, but I knew I had to wash my face before standing in the playground with the other parents, so I detoured into the local pub to use their facilities. 

On leaving the bathroom, I noticed people looking at me but dismissed it as being paranoid re the afternoon birthday martinis. We (my husband and I) walked the three blocks to the school and I still felt something or someone with me - following closely behind. It was such a weird feeling and I couldn't quite work out what it was. We reached the playground with plenty of time before the kids bus arrived back and that's when I saw my shadow - and what had been following me from the pub. 

Six metres of a toilet paper tail tucked into my stockings. **

Thats when I laughed, and I felt him beside me laughing as well. 

I miss you Whitey. Every. Single. Day. 

L xx

** Disclaimer - I am known to exxagerate. It wasn't 6 metres, probably no more than 3.5m. 

Proud of my boy!

Jack is my teenage son; my middle child who was nicknamed the "Buddha Reincarnate" as a baby because he was such a lovely, placid and calm boy. He never cried, never demanded much in life and was a compassionate soul from day one. 

And then he turned into a teenage boy. 

While I can't blame Jack for every one of my grey hairs, I can attribute a number of hair dye packs to Jacks antics of the last few months. I won't dwell on this here, nor will I publicly shame him, but what I will say is that the last year of mothering "Jack" has been more trying and stressful than the first few hours of his life. And this is saying something considering he spent the first 8 days in NICU. 

The last school holidays we decided to send Jack on an Outward Bound survivor course. When booking him in, I was told by the lovely lady this is not a course to "fix" wayward children - which was great because to me it meant that Jack wouldn't have the influences of children naughtier than him. He wasn't too keen on the idea of hanging out in a rainforest for two weeks without a phone or internet, but he also knew he wasn't in a position to bargain. 

Just before he went into the rainforest to become a man, I called him to wish him well. He grunted, which I interpreted as a "thanks". Two weeks later, we collected him from the airport and he said words - more than one! He spoke in sentences that we could understand. 

He joined the local PCYC and goes to the gym every morning. After school, he volunteers to collect his little brother, take him to the movies or do some reading with him. He does chores without being asked. He has a clean room - that's right, a teenage boy with a clean room! He does the laundry and knows how to separate whites to colours.

He does his homework!

He talks at the dinner table!!

(Parents - you can book your non-naughty teenage son into Outward Bound here: http://blog.outwardbound.org.au/) 

Last night he asked if he could hang out with his mates, this was the first time since he came back from camp. I was anxious about letting him go because I knew the trouble they got up to before. At the same time, I had to reward his maturity and give him space to prove himself. I gave him some conditions and waited up for him. 

This morning he volunteered the story about how his night went. 

Walking home, he came across some teenage boys who were pretty drunk. One of them was lying unconscious in the gutter covered in vomit while the rest looked on. 

So Jack called an ambulance and waited with the boy until the paramedics arrived. While waiting he took off his lovely Polo Ralph jumper and put it under the boys head so he wouldn't drown in his vomit, or hit his head on the gutter. He had saved up his pocket money for that jumper and it was really expensive.

A little while later, the paramedics attended to the boy and gave Jack back his vomit soaked jumper. He then walked home, popped his head in the door and said goodnight, then he went into the laundry to soak his shoes and jumper. 

I am very proud of my son, and extremely thankful to the teams at Outward Bound and PCYC. Sometimes parents need help in raising their kids the right way and how wonderful that we haves organisation like these that can make a difference. 

It's a cliche but it's true, it takes a community to raise a child. 

Jack at Porpoise Bay, Rottnest Island 2011. 

What Henry did.....

The world is watching the Olympic heroes this week; in awe of their motivation, their stamina and their sheer gutsiness to succeed in life and in their chosen field.

I’m with them, watching from a distance and being inspired by their determination. I know they are heroes and inspiration to the masses – but to me I have two other people who I chose to watch in awe and call my own heroes of the week/month/year.

Mani and Henry are two people who are categorically leading different lives, yet are connected by one single horrific word - Cancer. But this is not a tale of morbid sympathy. Not at all, this is a blog about how amazing these two people are in light of the dreaded C word.

The first is a young woman called Mani. I know her because her little boy is good friends with my son. Our boys go to school together, play rugby on Sundays mornings together, they get up to mischief, giggle and exchange stories of computer games and other “boy” things. They are normal energetic, lovely ten year old Australian boys. But enough about them.

Mani is an amazingly interesting woman. I’ve known her for a number of years through our sons connection and have always admired her energy to bring up her son alone after his father passed away. I have never heard a complaint or negative comment from Mani. Ever! I know that she just gets by but is always smiling and finding a new positive angle to view life. She has put so many things on hold in order to provide for her son and she does an amazing job. She’s intelligent, caring, funny and extremely dedicated. I have watched her hold conversations with people from every walk of life – her demeanour never changes from person to person. She treats everyone with dignity and respect.

Mani was diagnosed earlier this year with an aggressive form of ovarian cancer, one of the major killers of Australian women today. I still remember the phone call when she told me, I was absolutely speechless - what do you say to that? Here was a woman who had never asked for help, had done it on her own for a long time (and she has done a bloody good job), had remained upbeat in the face of atrocious circumstances and was now looking down the barrel of the unknown. Her greatest fear at that time was losing the battle and her son becoming an orphan at ten. I’m tensing just writing this. She was calm and stoic when telling me about her situation, but I could tell as a mother she was outright petrified. Its hard not to project in these situations, all I could think of was how I would handle this. I don’t think I could have held it together, and I really don't know how Mani did it.

The past 5 months have been incredible for Mani and her son. She has undergone emergency surgery to remove the cancer and then weekly/fortnightly chemo sessions which left her bed ridden and often with her head inside a bucket. She lost her gorgeous hair. She lost her independence. And all through this, I never heard her complain once. Her son has been there with her all along, keeping her buoyant and positive and giving her a reason to fight the C word. Every Sunday morning in the freezing cold Winter mornings, Mani was one of the first mothers at Rugby cheering on the team. And still not complaining.

The harsh reality of her situation, Mani was forced to give up her job and rely on a small amount from the government. Of course she has a wonderful family who are helping her out with emotional support, but financially she is way behind the eight ball.

This brings me to the other amazing person who is my new hero - Henry.

Henry is another one of my sons friends, a beautiful ten year old boy who shares the same love of Minecraft as my little guy does. He is just a lovely gentle soul who is always smiling and my son absolutely adores him, for good reason.

Henry decided to make a website for Mani to raise money for her and her son because they need it. Let me repeat the amazing part here – Henry is 10 years old!

You can view Henrys wonderful work here: http://helpingmani.webs.com/

Henrys mum sent an email this morning to her network of friends (she too is another lovely beautiful person) – and this motivated me to send the word to the wider community.

If you can spare a few dollars to help out a little family in need, please visit Henrys website that he made for Mani and click on the donate button. The funds raised will go directly to Mani (and yes I trust this unquestionably).

This email about what Henry did for Mani has restored my faith in humanity, and especially the next generation of people.

Both Mani and Henry are so worthy of hero status, just like the Olympians.

Dear Zoe, A Letter to the Universe....

Dear Zoe,

Happy Birthday to a beautiful little seven year old.

This morning I’m heading off to buy you a birthday present, I have something very special in mind that I know you will absolutely love, and I’ll take so much pleasure in getting this for you. But this is just a “thing”. I feel compelled to give you something more of “me” as your gift - perhaps a letter to the universe telling you how I feel about you and how proud I am that you are here celebrating life and that I am partly responsible for this.

I am not your mother, I did not give birth to you. I am not even an Aunt to you, yet because of me you are here and my heart sings with pride and love for you. Right now you have no idea about my involvement in your “being”, because at seven years old it would confuse the hell out of you, and probably even scare you a little bit. One day you will be told about the  extraordinary lengths your parents went to just so that they could have you in their lives, but not just yet.

When the time comes, you will be told that I helped your mum and dad become parents. There is no age appropriate way to put this without being incredibly sterile and harsh - so I’ll just put it out there. I gave your Mum and Dad my eggs. There I said it, but I’ll let them explain ‘eggs’ to you.

I watched with excitement as your mums tummy grew bigger and bigger and finally after all those months - you were born. Along with the births of my babies, the day you came into the world ranks as one of the proudest days of my life.

I love that your parents have let my family be a part of your family. I love our weekly ‘family’ dinners and celebrating special events with you. Mainly I just love watching you grow into such a beautiful, kind and funny little person.

So today on your seventh birthday, I write a letter to the universe wishing you a very Happy Birthday. I know the universe will respond by sending you extra special wishes.

Loads of Love,

Lisa xx

RIP Hevilift Victims.

As I read today about the Hevilift crash in Papua New Guinea, it brings back the raw and painful memories of my own experience in 2010. 

I am trying to remain my normal positive upbeat self, but the flashbacks of the images weigh my heart, as does the sadness of the families who I know are now suffering a significant loss. I know from trauma counselling that these thoughts are not helpful, so today I have tried to distract myself with exercise, cooking, cleaning the house, watching a movie and chatting on my beloved twitter. The thoughts and images are there today because of the recent crash and there is no escape. I have written about this before and its very likely will write about it again because it has been the single most life-changer for me; raw, emotional, painful but also something that has allowed me a second chance to appreciate my life and do something wonderful with it. So I am throwing my words out to the universe.

The thoughts. 

I can still see the body bags, contorted shapes in thick black plastic of my colleagues. Laying deathly still on orange plastic basket stretchers as they are lifted out of the rescue plane. Gone. Dead. No longer here but in spirit. My breath is gone as they emerge covered in tropical flowers. Women around me are singing mourning songs of the Highlanders and holding me. I remember catching my breath again as I sobbed, using my pink silk scarf from Cambodia as a tissue. Tasting the salt of my tears. Feeling the heaviness in my chest and ribs. Reviewing the hangar space around me, I see some of the ugly people who have been unhelpful in my efforts of orchestrating the retrieval of the bodies. The local government departments who wanted to photograph the charred remains. The high commissioner with a huge ego who disrespected the deaths by putting her ego ahead anything else. The media who somehow bribed their way into the hangar despite my efforts of keeping them at bay. The security men I had contracted to ensure some privacy. And finally the four ground ambulances I had arranged to be backed into the hangar to receive each body to take to the morgue for identification. 

I had spent some time at the morgue the days prior with the Australian consulate. It had to be done, and I was the only person to do it. They were unlikely to be able to deal with the identification but would be able to prepare the bodies for international repatriation of mortal remains sufficiently. The morgue was cold, it smelt like formaldehyde and bleach. There were garish plastic flowers, crosses and tiny baby clothes on display. It hurt to look. My local colleague waited outside because he feared coming in with me. Most of my visits inside the morgue I spent alone. I hated every minute. I hated having to arrange this. I hated that I had to arrange this by myself. I hated speaking to the mortician who had seen too much death in her young years to show any kind of empathy. I hated it - the whole lot. 

At night I would go back to my hotel room alone. I tried to stay as long as possible at the office to avoid being by myself but there came a time in my day when I had to go back and maintain a routine before a global conference call with the crisis management team. I drank a lot of coffee. I made a lot of phone calls. I watched a lot of TV. I wrote a lot of emails. Anything to keep me from thinking about it. 

A few days later I found myself at the airport flying back to Australia. A memory of myself in the business class lounge with a glass of wine talking to someone. Then boarding my plane, taking my seat and looking at the view. Thats when I realised I was about to fly. I cried, I felt so alone. 

The "incident" was with me 24/7 for months. I wore the same pair of diamond earrings every day incase I was on a bus that crashed and they needed to identify me. My colleague was wearing a gold Orthoodx cross which I had cleaned up in case his wife wanted it. She wanted him buried with it and I arranged it. I stopped thinking about it every day after a while, and then I only thought about it on a Tuesday. (It happened on a Tuesday). And now, eighteen months later I hardly ever think about it unless I see a news report of another plane or helicopter crash in Papua New Guinea. 

So that was then and now I have to focus on the positives. I have learnt a lot from the experience. 

I didn't die in a plane crash in Papua New Guinea. I did a brilliantly professional job of managing the repatriation of the remains, of project managing the disaster victim identification and getting them home to their families for an honourable burial. I did an amazing job of keeping it all together.  

I came home to my beautiful family. I am grateful every day for this luxury and I don't stress about the little things anymore because they just don't matter. 

The memory of that time is still very painful and when I hear of another crash in PNG it breaks my heart. Putting it in words is healing. 

To the Hevilift victims, may you all rest in peace. 

Talking Bout My Generation

In a recent interview I was asked what I consider the challenges of managing a team of Gen Y’s.

When I was recruiting for a team a few years ago, I interviewed a young girl who I thought was absolutely perfect for the role. While she may have been lacking in life experience, she had a good handle on the organisation, what the role was about and would have been a great cultural fit for the team. I really liked her, but my colleague from London was concerned that she needed more “life” experience. As a 20year old, the opportunities for life experience are fairly limited so I wrote a six month development plan for her. My colleague again dismissed that this would allow her enough experience or emotional IQ to be suitable for the role and suggested I set a 1-2year plan. When I explained that as a Gen Y, the candidate would probably not be thinking beyond 6 months,  my colleague had no idea what I was talking about and needed to look up the meaning of Gen Y. Thankfully Wiki had enough entries on the subject to enlighten her. Sadly, we lost the opportunity to employ the candidate who then went to work for the competitor. I believe she is still there in a more senior role, kicking goals and loving life.

I am surrounded by Gen Y’s and I love it. My daughter is a Gen Y, her friends are Gen Y, and I get the fortune of working with a lot of Gen Y’s.

My observation of working with this group of people are that they are fast moving, intelligent, altruistic, have a strong sense of self and their place in the world, they are confident, intelligent, interesting and most importantly – they don’t compromise their standards. These are skills I value in anyone, regardless of generation.

I work with a couple of young girls at the moment who are intelligent, caring and seriously funny women. I enjoy listening to their views on various issues we face at work and just love that they feel empowered enough to “talk up” with confidence and a maturity I never enjoyed at that age. I don’t manage them, they are colleagues and I love that I can respect them because of who they are and not judge them because of the time they were born. And more importantly, its mutual.

So if I had to really think about the challenge of managing a team of Gen Y’s – it would be keeping up with them.

Holy Holidays

A trip to the Vatican city for one young family turned into every parents nightmare when their little girl become extremely ill. Imagine for a minute what it would be like to be travelling around Europe on a trip of a lifetime with your young family to discover that your 3 year old daughter had leukemia. Now imagine that not only were you very far from home, but also that getting home for treatment was near to impossible.

I came across this case a few years ago running a team of emergency assistance specialists in Australia and this was complex for a number of reasons.

The young patient was fortunate enough to be in a centre of medical excellence with a reciprocal health agreement, meaning that the medical expenses were almost covered by the healthcare system. But the language was an issue and the family were finding it difficulty to navigate through the system. The patient had been given a treatment plan with a view for a window of opportunity to move in the near future, and this was the time that we needed to start planning for.

It also happened to be at a time when the Australian Prime Minister was in the Vatican City for the G8 summit. This was both a blessing and a curse - a blessing because it meant we could leverage assistance from the prime ministers office and a curse because it gave the family unreasonable expectations.

And finally it was also the time that H1N1 was globally infecting those with low immune systems - which meant transit airports and large commercial carriers were a great risk to the patient.

Without understanding the logistics and with a moment of fame, the father of the young girl requested a private jet to fly his family home in as soon as his daughter was well enough. He was becoming anxious and angry at what he considered a lack of assistance by us and his insurance company and he sincerely thought a private air charter would be the best thing for his daughter.

We all knew this was an impossibility and an unreasonable request, but it needed to be handled delicately and with the deep respect to the father that he deserved. A long range private air ambulance is cramped with equipment and space for only one accompanying passenger, and even more unrealistic  considering the countries they would be flying over. Should the patient become ill on the plane and be forced to divert, she may have to land in a country that had sub standard health care and deteriorate further. A jet is also not very comfortable (unless you're talking gulf stream) - and it's extremely expensive. Our desired outcome was she be brought home for treatment and our medical recommendation to their insurance company was that we were against the passage via private jet on medical grounds. We simply didnt believe it was in the best interest of the patient.

The emotions are always high when a child is involved, and with publicity around the story because of the Prime Ministers involvement, the case was becoming more and more complicated by the hour.

As soon as we were advised of the dates she could travel, we set our plan in motion and found a Australian paediatric oncologist who happened to be living in Europe to assess the patient and prepare her for travel. He would also be flying home with her to take care of any medical need during the flight.

We used the publicity to our advantage in finding a solution. The insurance company were willing to pay for business class seats for the family and escort doctor to return home together in, and we managed to book all transit airports VIP rooms away from other passengers who may have been in contact with the H1N1 virus. The cost to the insurance company was close to $100,000AUD which they were more than happy to pay out. The Prime Ministers office become our allies and assisted us with a special customs team and consular official at each point - and together we all met the patient and her family on arrival in Sydney.

An ambulance awaited the patient outside the gates, and a hire car ensured the rest of the family travelled to the hospital together for ongoing treatment. I spoke to the dad a few days later who was extremely grateful of the assistance and very relieved to be home, and I have since learnt that the patient is in full remission and living a healthy happy Australian childhood.

These were the stories of my job that kept me going; ending my day knowing how much I had contributed positively to another persons life was the most satisfying job in the world.

A Heart Attack in Burma. How I helped a stranger

In my youth, I had never invested in travel insurance. In my mind, it was money best spent on my holiday. Those dollars may have been the difference between 2 cocktails a day versus three, or a day trip to an island, a helicopter ride or a fancy meal in a nice restaurant. With cocktails. I wasn’t particularly attached to my luggage and if my clothes were delayed, well so be it; I’d hand wash my underwear if I had to. I was prepared to do this just to save on travel insurance.

And then I started a job in travel/emergency assistance.

During my career, I came across all kinds of emergencies that travellers would face. Sometimes they were the “delayed or lost luggage” cases, but mostly they were medical emergencies. We averaged 120 cases per day of Australian travellers getting into all sorts of trouble in all kinds of places. It was my job to find solutions to help them.

Without naming names here is one case I assisted in.

A 68 year old Australian gentleman traveling alone in Burma, suddenly had a heart attack and found himself in the ICU of a hospital in Yangon. He needed to move quickly to the nearest centre of medical excellence, which in his case was Bangkok. He had travel insurance with one of our clients which had a strict policy on pre-existing conditions. His heart attack was complicated, and without appropriate local medical reports, it was difficult to determine if his heart attack was directly linked to his pre-existing medical condition.

All I knew was; we had to get him out of there fast. We had to present the case to the insurance company and ask them to cover an air ambulance, medical expenses in Bangkok and possibly flights for his wife to be by his side.

The cost was over AUD$100,000.

The insurance company did not want to authorise the costs. It was a lot of money and they wanted time to consider it. We didn’t have time to play.

While seeking cover for him, I also had my colleagues in Bangkok find an aircraft, an ICU crew, and a hospital admission. I contacted his wife and daughters in Perth and let them know what stage we were at with moving him. My medical colleagues monitored his condition remotely and gave regular updates to the family. We were losing time and were scared we were losing him.

I negotiated again with the insurance company and together we came to an agreement. They would act in good faith as long as the family in Australia agreed to pay all costs should the condition be considered pre-existing. I spoke to the family again, they wanted to have a family meeting to discuss it, they needed time to think.

While the insurance company and the family deliberated, we lost airspace over Burma, and then we lost the flight crew. We had to start again. My team had been working all day on helping this man and suddenly it seemed like all hope was lost. Tension was high.

Finally we found another aircraft and crew and we launched. On assessing the patient in Yangon, the prognosis was very poor and he arrested in the ambulance on the way to the airstrip. The crew spent 25 minutes resuscitating him, and he finally landed in Bangkok almost 10 hours after the first phone call to us asking for help.

The news was not good. He had deteriorated and was likely not going to make it beyond the weekend. I wanted his wife to be with him but she did not have a valid passport, it was Friday afternoon and the flight I was arranging for her was that evening. Time was against us so I called in some favours. I managed to get the passport office to arrange an emergency passport for the wife and stay open an extra hour so she could collect it, I knew she would be anxious so I also arranged car and driver to take her there and then directly to the airport.

I remained in the office that afternoon monitoring the case, I’d invested so much emotion and needed to see it to the end.

On arrival in Thailand, our general manager from the Bangkok office collected the wife and drove her directly to the hospital where her husband was waiting to die.

On entering ICU, the wife walked directly to her husband and wept. We tried to prepare her, but there is little you can say to prepare someone to say farewell to their husband of 40+ years. He had tubes and monitors, his skin was grey and he was lifeless.

She held his hand. She felt it move. She ignored it for a few minutes while trying to take it all in. And then she felt it move again. He opened his eyes and smiled.

Three weeks after moving him to Bangkok, our patient was discharged and allowed to return back to Australia assisted by a medical team.

He and his family probably have no idea of what went on in the background to assist them, and nor should they. Thats why they bought travel insurance.

And thats why I loved my job.

Tweet