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Lucky 16-Mar-2008 At 11:32:04 AM skink

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It's pretty hot once you're out the breeze and I feel the sun burning the back of my neck. I take my helmet off, the rock here is bomber, put my sunhat back on... I'll just move over to the right a bit so I'm not directly under Qman...

"Look out, look out". My head whips up, Qman is in mid air, black rock accelerating at me, it's big, move move move...

My brain goes into overload - a loud cry, a massive blow, pain, fear, chaos...

As I lie on the rocks, there is a moment of calm, then chaos erupts again as my senses reconnect to my mind -

sound: Voices - "Oh no." "Jesus - Ed, are you ok, Ed." "Grab the rope, the rope". Groans - mine.

sight: I look down, my right hand still holds the rope tight in the belay device, but one of the fingers looks... wrong. The back of my other hand looks like it has been infested by a sci-fi movie special effect - the word contusion pops into my head. I see worried frowns, a despaired look from high above.

feeling: My chest, hip, arm, hand, finger... hurt. A wet warmth is welling in my right ear - bleeding coming from your ear is not a good sign I remember from my first aid course taken too long ago... this isn't fun any more, I don't want to be here, despair... another rescue, only this time it's me...

smell: Seared nylon, pulverised rock, the smell of my friends - rescuers - sorry guys...

I look down again, at my harness, I fear Qman's weight will come back on and compound my inevitable internal injuries. My mind converts this fear to speech - "take the rope off me, take the rope". Hands work at my waist, Qman becomes someone else's responsibility... I lay still, afraid to move and make more gory discoveries.

Part of my mind is aware of the third party discussion happening around and above me:
"...lowering you...come down quickly..."
"...run down...cell coverage...helicopter,"
"No no, ... assess damage"
"...hit him full on, it's gonna be...blood coming out his ear..."
"...stay calm ...need to check him over"

But most of my mind is filling with desire to just lay there and be a victim, be still, avoid pain, deny, be someone else's problem...

Time seems to slow down whenever I try move something painful and speed up between. I keep catching myself looking at my weirdly bent finger... is that really me?

Bryan begins the first aid check and this helps me to focus on figuring out how bad this is...

"Where does it hurt most?"
Chest, right arm, left hand, hip... right arm really sore...
"Does your head hurt... no, good, I'm just going to have a wee feel through your hair here, the blood coming from your ear looks like it's just a cut, but... tell me if anything hurts..."
Please let nothing hurt on my head, please please...
"All good, looks like you just have a cut in your ear"
I want to look under my shirt, but I can't get my harness undone because my hands have no strength, my finger is getting in the way - my inept attempts are quickly assisted by healthy hands - we lift my shirt, expecting the worst
"Looks like rock rash and bruises only mate"
"How's your arm, can you squeeze my hand? Does that hurt, only a little, probably just bruising then"

The pain and shock mingle with relief as we discover I have no life-threatening injuries. The emergency runner is stood down, and my own explorations of my bruised body reveal that my injuries are not as spectacular as the event that caused them. But why do I feel so busted up then - shock? The mood lightens - "I can't believe you held that fall" "Well I didn't want Qman falling on me too", I manage to groan - gets a chuckle. "I've got some dope you can smoke to help with the pain" - I am still a bit too confused to know if this is a joke.

I am beginning to feel uncomfortably hot - a small sip of water, a splash over my head and a murmur of concern as I announce I plan to try and stand up.

Everyone cheers as I manage to get to my feet and walk unaided to the shade of the big boulder, I even squat down along the way and splash some cool stream water on my grazed and bruised limbs. My shocked body relishes the sweetness of the fruit juice as I take some deep swigs. I begin to feel a little embarrassed by all the attention and try and discourage my mates from ruining their gear by placing it down as padding for my bleeding body. But they insist, a compression bandage is concocted to hide the ugly contusion, bent finger is strapped to healthy, my bleeding ear coagulates, we find some pain pills. I get keen to keep moving, get down to the cars in the valley below, before things start seizing up, capitilise on the adrenalin, I chat more than is normal as I pick my way down through the nettles.

The aftermath is a protracted anti-climax - walking down with an aide hovering, more sweet, cold drinks at the car (Coke IS life), the rutted dirt road out the valley, picking up ice at the filling station to keep the swelling down while we wait for the 5pm opening at the Medical Centre, explaining the event to the doctor (the rock was as big as that medical bag over there), anesthetic, x-rays, relocating the finger, more anesthetic, stitches for the ear, some bandages, when can I climb again, post-event barbeque, beers and debrief, lucky, unlucky?, finally home, postponing the painful shower to clean all the rash...

I stand in front of a mirror, my body a map of the path of the rock - nicked my right ear, clipped my right jaw, minor rock rash down the right side of my neck, bruising and rash on my chest, abdomen, hip, right forearm a bit munted...

Lucky

A few centimetres left, and I would be tomorrow's newspaper sensation, maybe Qman too: "... fractured skull... severed artery… helmet not worn... partner dropped... rescue helicopter... name not released until family informed..."

Lucky

As the hot water stings the rash and soothes the bruises, I ponder some resolutions - to fight complacency, to be a more attentive belayer, to seek shelter at the base of crags, to anchor the belayer, to be suspicious of the rock, to always wear my helmet no matter how hot the sun, to not let it all come down to luck.