Two Years On.

Two years ago to the day, I was beginning to stir in the dark surrounds of the Intensive Care Unit. I could hear the nurses debating whether to remove the breathing tube that had kept me ventilated through the hours of surgery. Apparently, it was very soon after my chest had been cracked open but, nevertheless, I was gagging on the tube as I endeavoured to breathe on my own. In the hours that followed the only sounds were the occasional groan and the beeping of multiple cardiac monitors. Time dragged slowly as my own thoughts wandered in contemplation of what lay ahead. My only relief was the constant supply of ice on which I crunched, allowing the cool water to run down my still tender throat.

Two years on, my only ice sits in a Mai Tai cocktail as Kirrily and I overlook Waikiki Beach in Honolulu, where the sound of cardiac monitors has been replaced by crashing waves and the only darkness is that looming behind a spectacular Hawaiian sunset.

At times it is chilling to recall how weak and dependent I was following the surgery. The nine tubes restricting the position in which I could sleep and reliant on magnificent nurses for basic skills that I mastered at three years of age. When the time came to venture forth, my walking was restricted to 7 minutes along the choice of two hallways and the only outside world was that which lay beyond the window in my hospital room.

When the time came to leave, I wore “real clothes” for the first time – in particular, a Hawaiian shirt featuring planes and palm trees that Kirrily had bought me before the surgery and that I had vowed to wear home. Still, even as I walked tentatively down the halls to be discharged, I noted patients that I had never witnessed leaving their beds in an effort to rehabilitate and heard the tones of frustrated physiotherapists trying to encourage them through tasks that were painful but beneficial. Personally, I did exactly what I was told. I was the patient and they were the professionals.
It was a mindset that I retained when I arrived home. Through the sessions of rehabilitation and the long hours of slowly building up laps around a tennis court, I kept the long-term goal of recovery in mind. Although it wasn’t easy. I have always been competitive and sticking to a program, rather than wanting to beat it, was difficult. Progress was slow but steady and after three months, I sensed that I may just get back to being me. And this was not always a certainty.

On reflection, the most difficult part of the recovery was restoring confidence in my own body. Before the surgery I had not experienced any symptoms and was physically active playing sport and participating in 5km road runs. Now I had to start again with 7-minute baby steps. I feared falling in the shower and my sternum reopening. I had to have my son open windows for me and my daughters lift any item over one kilogram that I may need. And Kirrily, well what can I say. Aside from running every aspect of our household, she supported me when I needed support and drove me to reach the milestones of rehabilitation when they seemed a little too far off. My self-discipline and determination were key elements in recovery, but the love and support of my family were the bedrock.

Now, two years have passed, and life is fantastic. I have always seen adversity as a challenge sent to make you stronger and this was possibly the greatest hurdle I have ever faced. Somehow, I think that has been proven to be true once again. In the most difficult periods of recovery, I frequently wondered if I would ever fly again and yet I am back on the flight deck once more, having returned impressive results for every medical examination that I was required to undertake. I am back playing competitive sport, in the gym 6 days each week and twice a day when I am away and staying in a hotel. In some ways, I am fitter and healthier than I was before the surgery. And I refuse to slacken off now…not after what it took to get here.

So, here I sit with my gorgeous wife and a Hawaiian sunset that never fails to impress. In the morning, we will take a dip in the Pacific Ocean and a long walk along the beach. It has been two years and at times it has not been easy – but I finally got here. Sitting back with my girl and wearing that shirt she bought me, adorned with planes and palm trees.