pool

Text: 'A Barcoo Cocktail' v2 Chapter 5, Drastic Treatment

from plowie, 25.06.09

One of the most common and truly disabling ills that besets people in the bush, and elsewhere, is the 'slipped disc' or lower back displacement. To us it seemed like some inescapable occupational hazard that struck at station managers, boundary riders, shearers, stockmen, fencers and all the rest with an impartial disregard for everything except that they were there. For those fortunate ones who have never experienced it, you may rest assured that a slipped disc 'aint no fun, and it is generally an unwelcome companion for life! Surgical treatment has been highly successful for some, but in the majority of cases of my acquaintance the results have been most disappointing.

My father, my brother and I all suffered from the shattering pain and total disability that comes as part of the package. At Yaraka it would not be possible to point to any of the 360 degrees of the compass without looking directly at a victim.

Chiropractors were few and far between, and often the patient's condition precluded transportation. There were many forms of treatment that we employed for ourselves but the benefit of these was often more psychological than physical. We were prepared to try anything rather than go on as we were. Once I got a mate to hang me up by the feet with a rope over the limb of a tree. Flicking my arms vigourously towards the ground had a similar effect to traction and bone-jerking combined. It did me no harm, and at least seemed to help fix the problem for the time being. Actually this was only my personal variation of a method used by many people. They would hang by the hands from a horizontal bar and flick the feet and legs downwards. It was reasonably effective too, but both of these procedures were only possible if the patient's condition was relatively mild. Rigid bed bases and firm mattresses always seemed to help. One fellow said he stumbled on an excellent cure quite by accident. He got on a horse, with great difficulty, while in the throes of a fairly severe attack. The horse suddenly started bucking violently, and when it was over the back pain was gone. That's bone-jerking! History doesn't relate whether he ever tried it again!

The medical profession was divided on the matter of causes and treatments. One crusty old M.D. regarded it as a simple muscle spasm and not a displacement at all. His advice was to greatly increase the quantity of salt in the diet! I wonder how his views would be seen in the light of present day medical knowledge? Once I was carried into a doctor's surgery on a stretcher, in a condition of somewhat more than mild discomfort! He gave me massive anaesthetic injections in the lower lumbar region, and fifteen minutes later I walked out again, pain free. He told me it was unlikely that the same treatment would work a second time. It didn't. As I was leaving he said:

"I hope a lot of people saw you come in here!"

That doctor deserves a mention in his own right. He was for many years the manager of the Blackall Wool Scour, not a particularly inspiring position, nor one with any dazzling opportunities for advancement. Then at the age of around 40, while working at the scour he began studying again at High School level and gained his Matriculation. Leaving the scour he attended the Brisbane University and finally graduated as Bachelor of Medicine. Within a few more years he had his own consultancy in a tiny surgery in Queen Street, Brisbane. To me it shows both initiative and great determination, and full credit is due to him for that. His name was Dr Rupert Ferguson, and I hope for his sake a lot of people saw me entering and leaving his rooms then, too!

Dr Ferguson was a good friend of my parents during and after his wool scour days, but I very much doubt whether he would have approved of the treatment my father applied to himself on one occasion.

To appreciate it in full it is necessary to know something of the nature of the big windmills often used to pump water from underground sub-artesian supplies. Typically these mills stood on a tower about 40 feet high. On this the mill head, or engine, was free to rotate on a turntable, and the main wheel was kept facing into the wind by a tail vane projecting to one side. The main wheel, around 26 feet in diameter was mounted on one end of a massive crankshaft which gave power to the pump below. The sails on the wheel were made of heavy galvanised sheet steel about 18 inches wide. Around the tower, and just below the tips of the sails, was a narrow platform where a man servicing the mill could stand. The day was flat calm, and there was no motion at all in any part of the mill. Thus the stage was set for our little one act drama.

The cast of two consisted of Dad's cousin Gilbert Anderson from Victoria, who was working on the family property of Merrigal at that time, and Father.

Dad was in a lot of pain from a fairly advanced slipped disc, but because it was just short of totally incapacitating he insisted on carrying on as usual. He and Gilbert had driven out to a mill, ten miles from the homestead, in a buggy. He climbed the ladder on the side of the tower to carry out the normal servicing and greasing routine. To get on to the platform it was necessary to move out from the tower and slide up and over the edge of the platform like a python. Just as Dad was doing this a tiny whirlwind approached, unnoticed by either himself or Gilbert. The 'whirly' was so small as to barely deserve that name but that's what it was.

When it reached the mill, the whirlwind turned the mill head on its pivot and at the same time set the main wind-wheel turning. As it turned, three of the sail blades struck Father very hard on the lower lumbar region of his back as he lay draped over the platform. A moving wind-wheel 26 feet across is just like a huge flywheel. It is almost unstoppable.

The little gust passed as quickly as it had come, and Dad just lay there gripping the tower with his hands, in an absolute lather of agony. There seemed to be nothing that Gilbert could do to help, for the present moment anyway.

After a time Dad got his breath back and uncrossed his eyes. It was then he realised that he was paralysed from the waist down. There was no feeling or mobility at all, in either of his legs! There still seemed to be no way for Gilbert to help. Incredibly Father worked his way off the platform and came down the ladder, almost 30 feet to the ground, using only his hands. There Gilbert, who fortunately was both big and strong, took Father in his arms and laid him as gently as possible in the back of the buggy. Gilbert tried to make the 10 mile trip home as smooth as he could but on a rough road a buggy does not co-operate that way. Throughout, Dad was lying on the hard floor of the back of the buggy like a great, almost lifeless hunk of pure, distilled agony. Not a nice way to be!

Back at home Mother and Gilbert put Father to bed, made him as comfortable as possible, which really was not possible at all, and fed him a considerable dose of Veganin tablets. I suppose Veganin was about the same in effect as the present day Codeine. I was only a kid at the time but I didn't like what I saw.

The whole of Dad's lower back came up in a massive black bruise, but strangely the bulk of the pain eased off in about 24 hours. The paralysis was the big worry, but with transport and communications being what they were Dad refused to take any action towards getting any medical help or advice, deciding instead to suffer it out. Obviously he was still totally immobilised, but after about a week he detected some movement in his toes! Very slowly mobility and feeling returned to his feet, then his knees, and finally to his hips. All this took, I think about six to eight weeks, and Father was getting happier and cheekier day by day. Fortunately, by the way in which the sails of the mill are shaped, the curved surface just slammed hard over Father's back and had no tendency to bite in. Otherwise they would have sliced him up like a loaf of bread.

When Dad finally got out of bed he had no more trouble than is normal for someone who has just spent a month and a half confined to the cot! He was a bit shaky on his pins and weak in body though not in spirit and it was only a matter of time before he was his old energetic self once more. It was left to others to fix the three severely bent sails on the windmill!

Although Father lived a very active and physically demanding life for another forty years, he never again suffered from that crippling ailment known to so many as a slipped disc. Perhaps he had achieved the absolute ultimate in spinal bone grafts! He tried to pass on his wonderful medical breakthrough, but I doubt if any were quite up to trying it. Almost anything was worth a try, to be rid of the shattering and crippling agony of a slipped disc, but the 'windmill treatment' ? Oh, boy!!

Tags

Alert Moderator

[Alert Moderator]

Comments

0 comments

Add Comment