We are coming to the end of our time at East Coast Marina and both of us are becoming restless. What a day it was. Eager to move away from land and to our next discovery and exploration of the Great South East. This time we are not going very far. We are heading up the Brisbane river for ten days.
The end of our time at any marina tends to be a flurry of activity. These last two weeks are no exception. The activities are a mix of client work, boating projects and last-minute catch-ups with new and old friends before moving on.
This week, work was business as usual.
Martin worked four days instead of three days.
Social activities have been plentiful. Wonderful company, conversations, good food and new memories and not enough exercise.
Boating projects are all ago. In theory, we try not to have too many projects on the go at any one time. We also try to put deadlines around each project. This is important for numerous reasons; headspace, bench space and budget. All of this is great in theory.
We currently have two projects underway. Both unplanned. One a leaking shower, the other cockpit cushions.
We have a slow leak in the shower which was progressively getting worse. Thirty-one years of plumbing that is growing fatigued. We don’t need to lose any freshwater due to a leaky shower. At this point, we do not have our water maker.
I will start with the cockpit cushions.
With all the rain, the long cockpit teak bench seats were not getting a chance to dry out. They are covered in water-proof bench seat cushions which have seen better days. These cushions are keeping a layer of moisture between them and the timber bench. As I started to clean them, the seams started to let go. They were already giving way in some areas and continued to do so.
Their time is up.
We purchased new fabric a while ago with the plan to replace them. However, we baulked at purchasing the dri-cell foam as the quote I received from Clark Rubber was $375. Way more than our budget could deal with.
With renewed vigour, I sought to find the required dri-cell foam at an affordable price. I found the manufacturer who had a great one-line website and free cutting service. I ordered the dri-cell form for the bargain price of $120. And got the sheet cut to size for free.
You could argue that with money being tight, how do the cockpit bench cushions sit high on the priority list. It is simple. When we are sailing at night, which we will be doing for 8-10 days when crossing the Ditch, there will be occasions where we will be sleeping in the cockpit. Especially if it is rough. Sleeping directly on a solid teak bench is not going to be comfortable. One of us will be on the helm while the other may be sleeping in the cockpit.
And so, the bench seat cushion project was underway.
I was unpicking the seam of the cushions which was a disgusting job, as the inner lining had a slight smell of long-term damp, making me unconsciously continue to sniff even though I don’t want to. Additionally, I was longing for a shower. Notwithstanding, I continued unpicking the cushion as I wanted to rescue and reuse the back of the cushion’s waterproof mesh with the anti-slip panel.
I was just about finished when Martin Lloyd shouted out ‘Tess!’ in what I believed to be a distressed tone, followed by a string of expletives that you can well image. I was slightly annoyed, as I had about 20 cms of stitching to unpick, and then the disgusting part of this job would have been completed. As I stood up, I gave the two pieces of fabric a tug and they very kindly separated for me.
I went downstairs, feeling grotty, to be greeted by a very pale Martin with blood gushing out of his wrist. It was not spurting, but it was definitely gushing. A million things went through my mind. Arrest the flow was first. I went to the first aid kit and pulled out a bandage to put pressure on the cut and wrap his wrist. There was so much blood. It appeared to be slowing down. I thought I had blood on my hands. I couldn’t wash them as we had the shower pulled apart and the freshwater pump was turned off.
Decision time.
Should I call an ambulance or drive M to the nearest hospital? Our boat is moored 900 meters from the marina security gate. Plus, it was Saturday, the main gate was closed, along with access to our finger. I would have needed to get someone to let the ambulance in. Bloody hell.
So, we decided to walk the 7 minutes to the car keeping pressure on the wound. I watched M closely as he stepped off the boat, looking for any signs of dizziness. So far, it was mostly annoyance that he had cut himself, together with the occasional swear word which, for once, I was grateful to hear.
We made it to the car. M asked which hospital I was going to take him too. I did not know. For once in my life, I did not know where the nearest emergency department was. A quick google maps search followed, and I decided Redlands Hospital it would be. M asked can I take him to his favourite hospital (yes, he has a favourite). I said no, citing that it would take at least an hour.
It was about 20 minutes to get to Redlands Mater. It felt like forever.
We arrived.
I dropped him outside emergency, handed him a mask and went in search of a park and was grateful that they have an open-air free car park just near the emergency department. I parked and strode back to emergency.
He was second in a queue of two. He was behind a young mum with a sick young baby. I knew he would be worried that they would take him through to the treatment room without me. He is terrified of needles. Full on phobia. It is heaps better when I am there.
Admin nurse politely asked, ‘How can we help?’
Martin said nothing and held his wrist up, revealing the blood-soaked bandage. She opened the door, and asked him to come through, take a seat and called for a nurse. I had followed him through the door, she asked me to go back outside to the second window and start to give the other administrator his details. Reluctantly, I did so. I could still see him.
The nurse took off my bandage, looked and very quickly put a new bandage on. It looked a lot more professional than mine.
With the paperwork completed, I was given a visitors sticker and Martin’s arm band and asked to put it on him. We were asked to wait in the waiting room and if blood seeped through the bandage, to let them know immediately. Blood seeped through. M ignored it. He is terrified of needles and he knew that he would not be getting away without stitches.
He was playing candy crush as a distraction. I checked the time. We were going to our friends place for dinner that night to help them celebrate their new home. It was three thirty… plenty of time, I told myself.
We were called in
Dr Ming is a quietly spoken man with a great smile and manner about him. We are taken into a room with two walls stack full of every brace you could imagine, and a sink and bench set up to make plaster of Paris casts.
After introductions the conversation flowed.
Dr Ming: ‘How did you cut yourself?’
Martin: ‘With a sharp knife?’
Dr Ming: ‘What were you doing?’
A necessary question, for two reasons to understand how the cut came about but to also eliminate attempted suicide.
I made a one-word contribution to the conversation, ‘plumbing’.
Martin went on to explain that we live on a yacht, and he was attempting to cut a hose with a very sharp knife and slipped.
Dr Ming went on to inform him that he needed to open the cut up and inspect it to eliminate nicking the artery and tendon damage.
Dr Martin replies, ‘I am sure I have not. Can’t you just stitch it.’
‘Unfortunately, no.’ was the reply. At best, we were going to be late for dinner.
I texted Toni, ‘Hi Toni, we might be a little late. M is in hospital. About to get stitches. We are with the Dr now.’
Toni, ‘Oh what!?! What happened?’
I turned my attention back to the Doc who was starting to get needles and things ready and M was starting to get shaky. I went and gave him a cuddle.
The doctor offered gas.
M said, ‘No I will be fine.’ Ming started injecting the atheistic, a little here, a little there along the line of the cut. M’s body contorted in contradicting directions, while Dr Ming tried hard to put the injection in the ever-moving hand. Again, the doctor offered gas. Again, M said no. So, for an agonising few minutes this battle between the desire to keep his hand still in exchange for the promise of relief the pain killers will bring, fought with his subconscious fear of needles and his body kept contorting.
After what felt like ages Dr Ming said, ‘We are done. I need to let the local start working.’ Followed by, ‘I really think we need to use gas.’ He asked M why he didn’t want gas. M explained that it makes him feel as if he has vertigo. Dr Ming says ‘I really think we need gas. Maybe we will set it up, just in case’. He disappeared. What we both did not realise was that this was only the first round of needles. As they opened the cut, there were going to be more.
I showed M a post Toni had put on Facebook. It was the ingredients laid out for desert that night. It included chocolate and almonds. M said, ‘We will be there in time for desert at least.’ Going to dinner at Toni’s is always a delight.
I returned to my phone to answer Toni’s question, ‘Boat plumbing is what happened. Slashed his wrist accidently of course.’ Followed by, ‘Don’t buy a boat’.
She replied back, ‘Duly noted!’
We waited for Dr Ming to return.
He did, in due course, along with a nurse in tow. They started to set up the gas. They moved the bed around and set up the appropriate monitoring devices. M’s pulse was 90. That was insane. It normally sits between 50 and 60.
They gave him the tube to put in his mouth and hold. He breathed in then opened his lips, letting everything out. His breathing was shallow. He was only breathing oxygen for now. They dialled up the nitrous oxide to a 50/50 mix. Dr Ming started again, putting more injections into the wound deeper down. Again, M’s body involuntarily protested what was happening. This time, accompanied by the gasps M was making between his own breath and the mix he had been letting out of his mouth. He was trying hard. They turned up the nitrous oxide. His body was protesting less.
Still protesting all the same, he asked Dr Ming how much Hokkein or Mandarin he could speak. He said none. Martin said something in Mandarin. Dr Ming laughed, M said something else.
They both laughed.
Ming said, ‘I lived in Singapore for a few years. I did learn a few words’.
The nurse and I had no clue. I asked Dr Ming what he said. He said, ‘He is full of shit and when I laughed, he told me that I’m full of shit’, Sensing my horror, he went on to explain that it is an expression equivalent to saying this (situation) is shit’. The nurse and I now got the joke. Humour aside, his body was still protesting. The Doctor nodded to the nurse and the nitrous percentage was increased. Martin’s protesting ceased ever so briefly, long enough for Dr Ming to finish the examination. The good news, the artery was fine, the tendons were fine. He did cut through a small vein. Now, to wash out the wound.
Martin’s pulse was now 60. He started to become present again. Dr Ming explained what he was doing.
It was time for stitches. Martin contorted, however way less violently by now. The phobic beast was surrendering to the combination of the local and the gas. The stitches were followed by glue and a protective bandage.
I sent Toni a text, ‘M is determined to make it as we saw your post re desert.’ She responded back ‘Ha, ha. Super, no rush, I am behind anyway.’
We got back to the boat, with no shower, no accessible fresh water. At the hospital I managed to wash my hands and arms properly. On the boat I pulled out baby-wipes and did a wipe wash. Got changed, added a dash of perfume and we grabbed the house-warming present and headed out.
I sent Toni a text. ‘Seven minutes away’.
We made it in time for dinner and had a lovely evening. Now, to sort our plumbing issues with M in a brace to immobilise the wrist for two days to give the stitches a chance to heal.
Originally published on Facebook on 12/12/21.
