So there’s no point fluffing about here. You probably want to know how and why I smashed my ankle into a few bits. It’s honestly not even that exciting. I wish I could tell you that I was doing a sick wheelie just after jumping through a ring of fire and dodging drop bears and hoop snakes but it’s much more boring than that… Or at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I hit a rock, lost control, and came off. Where it gets fun is that as I came down, my left ankle caught on the ground and ripped back the wrong way. Not a great start. But to make it even better, that was then followed up by 200kg or so of motorbike, luggage and human coming down on it.

So here we are with my ankle facing backwards. Not ideal. Luckily though I managed to stack it right near where a handful of ER and ICU nurses from Darwin were camping for the weekend. They helped Baguette rip a bunch of my gear off, bundle me in the back of their Troopy and then shipped me off to Katherine Hospital.

On the way, I was hopeful that I was just being melodramatic. Maybe it was just a bad sprain or something. Unfortunately, the nurses were quick to remind me that your ankle generally doesn't flop to the side like an overcooked noodle from a sprain... So much for optimism.

Confirmation came quickly with the X-rays at the hospital. The ER doctor informed me that it was, in fact, broken. Asking if it was a bad break, he responded 'It's what we call a level 3 fracture. There is no level 4...'

I'd managed to break my left ankle on both sides, dislocate it, destroy the ligaments in it and also chip a handful of small bone fragments off for good measure. Just as I was saying, a bad sprain…

But it wasn’t all bad news. I was going to get drugs. Lots of them. And legally this time, so no need for Scott’s help here.

The next step was relocation, attempting to put my ankle back together and plaster it. In case you’re wondering what it felt like, you know that feeling when you’re in a dream-like bliss when you're napping in the sun in the afternoon? You’re half awake, half asleep, where everything is warm and fuzzy. This was nothing like that. It hurt like shit. But the worst part about it - or maybe the best part, I don’t know - is that the laughing gas still made me giggle, even whilst almost crying with pain.

Sounds like fun right? Well after getting feedback from the orthopaedics in Darwin, they decided they needed to have another crack at getting it settled and so we started all over again. When they couldn’t get it set at a better angle, the orthopaedics said, ‘We didn’t think you would be able to improve it much from last time but worth a crack’. Thanks dickheads.

With the first hurdle out of the way, and my leg somewhat stable, it was on to an evac flight to Darwin where the real fun would begin. Only on arrival in Darwin, they decided that they needed to have another stab at relocating my ankle before they could prep for surgery. At least this time they hit me with a whole lot of fentanyl so as far as I was concerned, they could play with my ankle all day.

By this point, everyone could agree that it wasn’t a great break and something should probably be done about it kind of soon. They started prepping an emergency operating theatre but just as they were ready to go, some other emergency came up and so they wheeled me away and said they’d give it another crack the next day.

Finally, the next morning after one more false start we were ready to go. I got to go through the whole lot of shenanigans again. The nurses came in and checked all the info and made sure they were operating on the right (left) leg. The anaesthetist came down and explained in great detail how they were going to knock me out. Only, when I started getting wheeled into the operating theatre the guy who claims he is my surgeon is a completely different dude than the one who had come and took me through the op and what they were going to do the previous day. It felt a bit like Dr Nick from the Simpsons if I’m being honest.

As my ankle was in a bit of a tricky position with the dislocation, tendon damage and broken bones, they couldn’t actually be sure what they were going to do until they got in there. There was a possibility they wouldn't be able to operate properly and would have to drill some pins into my leg which would be held in place by an external frame. I’d only know when I woke up what they actually managed to do.

Luckily, that wasn’t necessary and the op went well. And by well, I mean I now had to look forward to two weeks of bed rest, six weeks in a wheelchair/crutches and then six weeks in a moonboot. I just thought when Baguette and I played nurse and patient, it would be less... clinical. Guess you can’t have it all. 

The funny thing with this accident though (not actually that funny), was that I wasn’t even doing anything stupid. There have been hundreds of times overseas, on motorbikes and off motorbikes, when things should have gone so badly and they didn’t. And the consequences there would have been so much worse. In this case, it shouldn’t have even been a fall. If I did fall, I should have just rolled out of it. And if I didn’t roll out of it, it should have just been a few bruises. Somehow though, everything went as badly as it could in this instance, and I wound up in a boot for a few months. As much as that sucks, I’m so bloody thankful that it happened at home where I was able to get some incredible care and so much support.

I love the experiences I’ve had travelling and am so fortunate to have been to so many incredible places, but moments like this drive home how lucky we’ve got it. From the nurses who picked us up and the medivac to Darwin, to the operations and physio, care in my recovery has consistently been top-notch. For that, I can’t be thankful enough.

As it took us a while to get this bloggo up, I can now update and say that the 6 weeks in a moonboot turned into 12, and then another operation. Given the pandemic was raging down in Vic, we decided to stay up in Darwin and rented an apartment for a couple of months. While there, we got to experience everything Darwin is known for - the good weather, cheap beers and casual racism.

This post also wouldn’t be complete without a shoutout to Baguette who has been an absolute angel, god-send, hero saviour, rock and wonder woman through this. In the time it took to fly me up to Darwin, have my surgery and discharge me, she managed to ride her bike up to Darwin, get a bus back to Katherine, ride my bike up to Darwin, find us an apartment and get a job. All while visiting and checking in on me. I never want to go through this ever again, but if I had to she would be the only one I could do it with. You’re the strongest, most impressive, most caring and kindest person I know and I couldn’t do it without you. For every adventure, good and bad, I’d choose to have you by my side.

Thankfully, I’m now walking again and starting to get back to some activities. There’s still one more operation and a decent of rehab until I can do anything truly stupid with my body again. But as far as I’m concerned, that just gives me more time to plan.

Peace out girls scouts.

Pat.