Helicopters and Nunga-Nunga's

The helicopter crew. One word: Phwoar! Like a scene from ER they strode in looking purposeful and important, swiftly transferring me from bed to stretcher as casual as cats. One of them picked up my (rather large) rucksack, 'Crikey, what the hell is in this thing?! No wonder your crook carrying this around!' I should point out here that I have used a little poetic license, as rarely have I heard an Aussie say 'crikey' before, although 'crook' is a common term for being unwell.

Banter continued from the crew on the way to the helicopter and I laughed along nervously. The female doctor in charge turned out to be from London, and as I was pulled aboard she explained that I would have to wear headphones and that an observation machine would take my blood pressure and heart rate every fifteen minute. She said if I needed their attention I should just look up to them, being that I was positioned on the floor and could hardly lift my arms to wave at them. I was told if I found it hard to swallow or breathe I must let them know straight away; I would get used to hearing this over the next few weeks, not that having this repeated throughout the day made it any easier to hear.

Never having been in a helicopter before, I was very intrigued. As the blades started whirring above the doors were closed and suddenly we were lifted into the night. I'd been told to try and relax and sleep for the hour long trip, and as I couldn't see anything I thought I would attempt to do this. Of course, my brain would not switch off.

Now, I don't know if this was vanity or some kind of coping mechanism, but I spent the majority of the flight not worrying about this Guillain-Barré business, but instead worrying about my boobs. Having had to take off my bikini top for the CAT scan I suddenly realised I was in extreme danger of popping out. Christ! What would I do if a nunga-nunga came out?! Would I ask a crew member to pop her back in? What if i asked and they couldn't hear me and in gesturing with my head the other bazooma made an appearance? What if they didn't notice at all? What if they did notice and pretended that they didn't? These were SERIOUS CONCERNS. I wasn't thinking about the fact I could be paralysed and stop breathing at any moment.

Thankfully the girls behaved and stayed out of sight and suddenly we were descending, practically dropping to the ground and the flight was over. It hadn't seemed real that hour, and the fear that I had been pushing back started to rear it's ugly head. I couldn't quite believe this was actually happening. I had just been flown to Townsville Hospital because the doctors were worried and this situation was serious; thoughts of jiggling boobs disappeared.

As they transferred me to the Emergency Department and again easily slid me into a bed, I remember suddenly feeling utterly exhausted. The memory of this night is a blur of questions, observations, reflex tests, blood tests and eventually a transferral to a ward around midnight.

I spoke to my family, having discovered that my Dad was flying out that day and would get there Tuesday, and I explained I was in a ward called EMU. Now, this being Australia I found out much later on that my Mum was relieved I was moved to a 'normal' ward. She (and I) didn't realise it actually stood for Emergency Medical Unit, but at least she had some sense of relief at the time!
I fell into a deep sleep that night despite observations every few hours, and this was actually the last good night I remember having. For after that night, despite being in hospital and despite the incredible care I received from the start, things were about to get worse. Physically and mentally, a hell of a lot worse.