THE TRAGIC DIVE AT MOSSMAN RIVER

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TRAGIC DIVE AT MOSSMAN RIVER

Excerpted from the books of Roselyn Van Dyk-Titles: The Fulfillment of Marriage, There Are Ten Love Languages and The Power of Love. #Reviews and ratings are welcome. If you purchase these books it will inspire others and encourage that love is essential in our lives. There are available in Amazon.com. Kindle store platform. Thank your for your valuable feedback.

DEDICATION-This is a true story…Ernst my husband is still alive, turned 84 years old this year. Our marriage life has a beauty of test and love despite of everything. We celebrated our marriage for 41 years this year. It’s a happy marriage. I can tell you that it will work for you. I am publishing this articles or blogs because I received many viewers. It reached 1.5+ million viewers and many clicks. So, I want to share this with you all readers. It is because of the grace based relationship.

You’ve been my inspiration, and because of you, I have become the woman that I am with your integrity, honorable man., trustworthiness, honesty, and intelligence that, despite the opposition you have faced in life after your tragic accident, your strength, sheer determination, and grit have propelled you to a new robust and unwavering challenge in your life. You never give up!

You inspire your family tremendously, and we are so grateful to have you in our lives. You are indeed a man of bravery and courage. With your great intelligence has in you, you are almost capable of doing things. You are loved by people, especially your former school colleagues and pupils, whom you taught until now, and you are remembered as a good teacher. Your family loves you in Holland. Thank you for being my husband, companion, mentor, and friend.

Note being written to my daughter as an inspiration in his message and to my step-children at “Readers Digest” May 1982 Edition, “as remembrance, the article, entitled, Tragic Dive At  Mossman River.”

You think of me, it is all too much? Just think of me, and you can, guaranteed! Love you, Pa.

“I am sorry,” said the doctor. “I don’t think you will ever walk again.” But nobody reckoned on will power and of the force of love.”

“At the sun came up hot in a cloudless sky, I had the feeling that this day nothing could go wrong. But I had no idea it would drastically change my life.

My wife, and I had just bought a half-hectare of tree-studded property near Edmonton, North Queensland. That meant plenty of hard work, but I loved it. Swinging an axe and hauling logs came easy. As a muscular 31-year-old physical education teacher at the local high school., I took pride in keeping fit.

On that morning -January 13, 1973-I took a rest from the yard work and drove with wife and our two children to the Mossmand River, 65 kilometers away…

In mid afternoon, we strolled downstream to where some boys were diving from a trapeze tied to a tree. Suddenly, I felt a strong urge to ride the trapeze. I checked the pool’s depth for safety, climbed the tree and grabbed the bar. As I swung out, I arched my back for speed. Then, I released my hold and dived into the water. My head hit a submerged rock.

I tried to surface, but my legs wouldn’t move. Nor would my arms. Somehow I shook my head and tried again to move my limbs. I had to attract the attention of the onlooker or would drown. I didn’t know that I was bleeding profusely from a gaping head wound. The blood rose to the surface. Suddenly, hands pulled me out.

Jenna (*not her real name) stared in disbelief as I gasped for a boy to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My body was limp. “Pinch my arms and legs,” I said. He did but felt nothing.

Jenna had two boys call Mossman Hospital, eight kilometers away, and after half an hour, an ambulance finally arrived. But Mossman has limited resources, so I was moved, semi-conscious, to Cairns, 50 kilometers south. My spinal column was disclosed in my neck -between the third and fourth vertebrae. Dr. Paul Mc Kenzie, the hospital’s orthopedic specialist, drilled holes in my skull, then attached calipers and a weighted pulley to force the vertebrae back into place. He told Jenna that the first 48 hours were critical. My lungs had collapsed, and the infection could be fatal.

The intensive unit was a dimly lit ward with six beds. I kept having a nightmare, calling for Jenna and the children, fighting to get to the water’s surface. My temperature soared dangerously. Jenna and a friend, Ann Moss, kept vigil, raiding the hospital’s refrigerator for ice to cool my feverish body.

After a week in intensive care, I was transferred to an eight-bed ward. A steady stream of friends, students, and fellow teachers came to visit. They found me completely paralyzed, able only to move my eyeballs and to speak. My neck was still in traction. Two of Ann’s sons installed mirrors so that I could see blue skies and the busy waters of Cairns Inlet through the window.

How grateful I was. Apart from those patches of sunlight, it was a dark time. My mind gave orders that my body refused to obey. When Jenna sat close, I wanted her to close. When she cried, I wanted to comfort her, but my hands wouldn’t move. The frustration brought tears, and I couldn’t wipe them away or hide them from the children.

Each day during the next three weeks, I hoped for some small sign of recovery. Still, nothing happened. Failure brought only more frustration. My mood switched between total resignation and wild rebellion. I would not accept being bedridden for the rest of my life.

Incredible will  One afternoon. Dr. Mc Kenzie walked over to my bed, looked at me for a second or two, then held my hand. “Ernst, I know you want it straight,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you will ever walk again.” Totally despondent. I could only stare at the ceiling. Now I knew the worst. But how couldn’t I tell Jenna? I burst into tears flowing. “Don’t say it, darling, she whispered. Ï know Dr. Mc Kenzie told me. They’re sending you to Brisbane for further treatment, but the doctor said we shouldn’t build up hope.

At the spinal –injury unit of Princess Alexandra Hospital in Brisbane, I began the arduous task of gaining some control of my muscles. Thanks to the generousity of friends, my family settled into a nearby flat.

Every afternoon, Jenna visited me and massaged my limbs to improve circulation. For 20 minutes a day, Jill Corregan, a cheeky physiotherapist in her mid-twenties, moved my limbs and joints. The idea of so many people working to bring my body back to life lifted my spirits.

Day after day, I gritted my teeth and willed my toes to move. Nothing Sweat poured from me, soaking my pajamas and sheets. Then, my mind playing tricks. I concentrated hard, curled my toes, and straightened them. “Nurse! Nurse! I shouted. “I moved my toes!”

In the next few days, slight movement returned to my feet and finally to my legs. But Dr. Bill Davies, director of the spinal injury unit, warned me not to expect too much. The partial recovery in my legs did not necessarily mean that I would walk. He also explained that because my spinal cord was severely damaged, I’d probably never regain normal use of my hands.

So that was it. I’d be a helpless cripple for the rest of my life. Now I lay in misery, tears blinding my eyes. When Jenna came, I told her my progress was really in vain. She took my hand and massaged it, and I looked into her eyes. What about Jenna? I thought, faced with supporting a helpless husband and two demanding children.

On the thirty-eighth day after the accident, Jenna sat on the bed holding in my hand. I wanted desperately to show my love, to squeeze her hand. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Your finger moved!”She said excitedly. I couldn’t believe it. I concentrated hard and tried to move it again. I managed to bend my right index finger slightly. I felt more exultant than if I’d won the Olympic weightlifting championship.

A love letter. On March 24, two wardsmen lifted me out of bed, strapped me into a wheelchair, and wheeled me to the gymnasium. Here I was to release the skills I’d taken for granted. I sat in my chair and tried to grip a broom handle. Repeatedly, I dropped it. Finally, after five days, my fingers held on. Then came a harder test. Lying on a mat, I struggled to raise the broom handle from my chest. I clenched my jaw as Jill patiently coaxed me on. I couldn’t move it, and I cried at my failure. Finally, I cleared the handle from my chest one triumphant day. Now, brimming with confidence, I grew stronger. By the end of my stay, I was able to lift a 56-kilo bar.

Next, I learnt to sit up on the mat. Then, I began feeding myself with a spoon strapped to my hand. I also practiced writing with a felt-tip pen held between my right forefinger and middle finger. After a week’s frustration. I wrote Jenna a love letter, pouring out my heart as never before.

Six weeks after I started my workouts in the gym. Dr. Davies decided I should test my legs. Holding on to parallel bars, and supported by Jill and a wardsman, I stepped, wobbled, and zigzagged two or three paces. Dr. Davies called it walking. Everyday, I ventured a little farther became a little stronger. Never been so elated.

Next, Jill gave me crutches. I couldn’t grip them, so she strapped my hands to the handles. As I took a few steps, my fellow patients cheered. I knew that to see a once-helpless cripple walk was their best therapy. If I could do it, maybe so could they.

When I could dress myself, struggle through hours of anger and frustration-feed myself, and walk with crutches, a delighted Dr. Davies told me I could go home. On September 29, we flew to Cairns. The plane arrived five hours late, but the little airport was jammed with friends and neighbours waiting to welcome us.

My battle was not over yet. I needed more exercise, so my friends made me a pulley system similar to the one I had used in Brisbane. The National Fitness Council lent me weights, and the parents of a former pupil gave me an above-ground swimming pool. A neighbor found me a motorised tricycle that I could ride. Helped me by so many friends, Jenna and I gradually picked up the pieces of our family life.

Walking with crutches gave me unexpected problems. My wrists quickly became tired. I remembered that star Rod Laver squeezed a squash  ball to strengthen his wrists. I tried it and soon built up strong wrists and fingers. Three years after walking with two crutches, I now manage with only one.

In many other ways, I’ve had to modify my life. I can put on a shirt by lying on the bed, which makes it easier for me to raise my arms. I can’t hold a pen for long, so I learnt index finger. By riding a motor mower, I can cut our lawn-a- a tremendous morale booster because now, instead of doing something for myself, I am helping my family.

The satisfaction from this endeavour brought another wonderful turn in my life. Six years after the accident, I realised that I could never again be a full-time physical education teacher. But if I could drive a modified car. I could be an athletics and sports coach to children and also adults outside school.

Friends came to my aid. Pupils from my old school, Trinity Bay State High, put on o a show and raised $1,500. Ted Elliot, area officer of the National Fitness Council at Cairns, started a fund to buy a car modified in my needs. San Remo Lions Club at Holloway Beach, eight kilometers north of Cairns, donated $2,000.00. Jenna and I were invited to a dinner dance at which the money was presented.

As the band struck up a slow foxfront, I stood before Jenna and bowed. Proudly, she smiled back, held my arms tight to give me support, and we took faltering steps in rough time with the music. I couldn’t believe I was dancing!

Was my accident such a bad luck? I don’t think so. Today, nine years later, I count my blessings. I have learnt the value of good health, to treasure friends and never to take for granted the love and support of a loyal family.

Instead of constantly regretting one moment of foolish vanity, I look optimistically to the abundant opportunities that lie ahead.