Chapter Eleven
Why this was my life right now was anyone’s guess.
I was lying on very cold, very wet moss beside a track about one metre away from a rushing torrent of near freezing river, having a feigned hyperglycaemic event. I blamed Felix. And Cleo. And the high school teacher who suggested I should consider studying medicine.
And obviously that pain in the arse – Abel.
The wet was seeping through my tights into my underpants and still no one had found me. Maybe they wouldn’t find me. Maybe I’d be left in this hellhole with wet clothes and no phone reception and I would quietly perish.
Just as I was contemplating ditching the ditch, so to speak, I heard voices rising above the raging river.
I went back to my Kussmaul breathing (respiratory compensation for metabolic acidosis seen in diabetic patients: laboured and deep) and a group of four were soon upon me.
And bless his bright red beanie and technicolour socks, the outdoor guide, whose name might have been Jimmy, was team leader.
Jimmy was hopeless. I could be there until nightfall.
Much discussion ensued between the team, all the while I breathed away, making myself slightly dizzy.
Someone was talking about danger and deciding I should be lifted away from the river and onto a more jagged rock.
Then someone was trying to put their fingers in my mouth to check my airway – no gloves!
‘My airway’s fine!’ I covered my mouth with my hands and spotted a tall figure in the background, his shoulders quietly shaking. Fantastic. Abel was witnessing this situation, and obviously finding it extremely amusing.
‘Is she breathing?’ Jimmy asked. Which was concerning, really, given the extent to which I was going with the Kussmaul thing. I upped it for effect just in case I wasn’t being obvious enough.
‘I think she’s breathing,’ someone said.
‘Is she responding? Hello?’
‘Yes, hello,’ I said.
‘Okay, she’s responding. And her airway is clear.’ He lifted his ungloved hands and I covered my mouth again.
‘It’s clear! Maintaining own airway!’
‘Does she have a pulse?’
Someone faffed around trying to feel my wrist.
‘I can’t feel a pulse. Let’s start CPR?’
I lifted my head to Abel, eyes wide with shock. Surely, they weren’t about to start—
‘And, one, two …’
‘Ow!’ I sat up before they could really get into rib-breaking compressions. ‘I’m conscious! I’m not a good actor, but I’m most certainly breathing and talking and quite – conscious!’
‘We might leave the CPR for now,’ Abel said with a barely suppressed laugh in his voice.
This was ridiculous. I hated this so much.
I went back to my deep breathing, because what else was I supposed to do?
‘And remembering we’re a team here, so if some people in the group have ideas about what to do next, let’s share them around,’ Abel was saying.
‘Can I share my ideas?’ I asked, wondering if this might be a solution for getting my cold, wet arse off the mud.
‘No, thank you, Mary.’
I groaned. He was making my life hell and enjoying it. Sadist. A total sadist.
‘Maybe there’s a problem with breathing!
’ an enthusiastic guide who might have been called Amy piped up.
She looked confident and peppy and about fifteen years old.
‘Maybe it’s a pneumo-thingy? Maybe we need to poke a hole in her chest!
’ She started pulling my top up and resting her ear against my ribs, presumably trying to listen to my breathing.
She was millimetres away from giving all attendees a full lacy bra display.
I gaped at Abel in horror. He was staring at my exposed belly.
‘We’re happy with the breathing,’ Abel said, averting his eyes to the river. ‘Let’s start talking about some things later in the procedure. Maybe stop the breathing, Mary. It’s slightly distracting.’
‘Sorry,’ I said through gritted teeth. Like I wanted to be hyperventilating in the mud.
‘What about checking her sugar?’ someone suggested.
‘I think that’s such a good idea!’ I practically screeched.
‘No giving clues, Mary. You’re the patient, remember.’
I wished for leeches to suck Abel’s blood and make him itch all night.
‘Okay! Let’s check the sugar!’ Jimmy announced with enthusiasm.
‘It’s thirty-three,’ Abel said.
I wondered how long it would take for someone to see my medi-alert bracelet. For someone to ask me if I had any medical conditions. If someone would ask me if the orange pen device pocking out of my jacket pocket was something useful. I fiddled with it, hoping that might help draw the focus.
Finally, after what felt like another half an hour, someone managed to administer the glucagon and treat my hyperglycaemic event. After which I did a dramatic coming to and tried to sit up, get off my arse and suggest we hop back in the bus.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa.’ Abel put a firm hand on my shoulder, keeping me on the ground. ‘Good job, we’ve managed to start addressing the medical side of things. But something was missed at the start of the algorithm. After danger we—?
‘Call for help.’
They went on to spend a short eternity discussing EPIRBs and how to activate them and how to find our coordinates on the GPS, et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah, fucking blah.
The guides were in their element now and were moving on to how to craft a bush stretcher to carry me out. I really couldn’t imagine the situation getting any worse.
Then I was on my side in the recovery position, being lifted down the steep and twisting path on a stretcher made out of rope and sticks.
Abel’s head came into view five centimetres from mine. He angled his face so he was horizontal like me. ‘How you doing there?’
‘I hate this so much, Abel. You’ll pay for this.’
‘You’re doing such a good job, sugarplum. Your Kussmaul breathing was truly top stuff.’
I took the liberty of moving my unconscious hand to give his stupid, beautiful face the finger.
The shared accommodation of university colleges and the likes had been something I had made an effort to avoid in my life, but the chummy atmosphere that was beginning to unfold around me was what I imagined people might experience in those situations.
Day two and already there were new friendships developing – and romances, if you were Felix – in-jokes and good-natured banter.
It appeared that throwing people together to perform rope rescues, build makeshift stretchers and assess one another’s bodies for signs of life made for excellent bonding potential.
And my own personal nightmare.
Compared to lying on the mucky forest floor or being carried by a motley bunch of course attendees down a goat track, the lodge was a welcome change and I finally got to warm up and change into dry clothes.
Dinner was a raucous affair. I sought out Lilly to dine with again, and she entertained me with stories about farmers who had roped her into doing medical procedures on their sick animals in emergency situations. It was like tales from the Middle Ages.
When I finished my meal – just in time; the story about the manual disempaction of a constipated cow was not exactly food-compatible – I wondered if I could bear to go back to the cabin and risk another evening with Abel.
He’d probably feel he had to take care of my socially incompetent self and read to me again.
But then Lilly picked up her plate and cutlery, piled mine on top, and said, ‘You going to come hang out? The fire’s so warm in the common room.’
I hesitated. Felix would be there with his brunette, no doubt. Did I care? The twist of my gut told me I did, but I knew I needed to move past Felix controlling my choices.
‘Come on.’ Lilly gave my shoulder an emphatic squeeze.
‘Okay.’ I pushed our chairs in and followed her past the dirty dishes trolley to the tea-making area and through to the common room, where most people had wound up.
‘Do you help with a lot of these courses?’ Lilly asked when we’d found a spot on the couch near the fire.
I laughed. ‘No. It’s an unusual situation.’
‘And you and Abel are—?’
‘No!’ My eyes whipped across the room. Fortunately, Abel wasn’t in sight to have overheard this assumption.
‘Sorry.’ She tapped my arm with the back of her hand. She was one of those people who was very natural with physical contact. It made her feel familiar and close in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. ‘I just picked up on a vibe. My bad.’
I took a sip of my tea and hoped she couldn’t see me blushing.
She was staring at me and frowning slightly. ‘Maybe he’s just got a thing for you.’
Now I really was blushing. ‘I severely don’t think so.’
Severely? Why was I such a weirdo? Use normal words, Mary.
Fortunately, we were interrupted by Jimmy coming and sitting on the coffee table in front of us.
‘Hey, thanks for letting us take care of you today!’ He turned to Lilly. ‘Mary was diabetic or some shit. Totally rocked it.’ He raised his knuckles to me in what I recognised as an invitation for a fist pump.
I reluctantly obliged.
‘So, what are you? An emergency doc?’ he asked me.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘That’s cool. I’m an outdoor guide.’
I wasn’t sure what to say, but I felt conversation was expected. ‘Where do you guide?’
‘Cradle Huts. It’s the bomb. Walk the punters around the snow. Make up names about flora and fauna.’
Lilly got up, mentioning something about needing a jumper, and Jimmy immediately took her seat beside me. ‘And you live in Hobart?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. As of a few months ago.’
‘Have you done the Overland Track yet?’
‘No,’ I said with feigned interest. I had never heard of the Overland Track, and the name really didn’t inspire me to further my knowledge.
‘It’s amazing. You should totally do it. I guide there. Three trips a month. So cool.’
‘Cool,’ I agreed mechanically. I don’t know why I found small talk such hard work. It had me fantasising about seeing if Abel could read me the ukulele book again.
‘Do you really have diabetes?’
I stared at him for a moment. I’d lost track of the conversation then remembered the scenario today. ‘Oh. Uh, no.’
‘Wow. You were awesome.’