Part 1.

Angie, our 3 kids, and myself arrived in Mackay on 3rd Sept 2006. After spending two weeks in a cramped caravan and struggling for accommodation we decided to leave for and try somewhere else. Whilst buying a car big enough for our suitcases, the girl in the showroom told us about a house for rent. It wasn't ideal but it meant we could stay here. We paid 6 months upfront but from day one, hated it. I don’t think it fitted in with our vision of how it was going to all pan out.

Anyway, I secured work without any problems but Angie was struggling with the whole situation. The main reason being that she didn’t drive and the public transport system in Mackay leaves a lot to be desired. I was working 12 hour shifts and she was stuck at home. After taking the kids to school, she had too much time to think about home.

After 4 months, we decided to buy a home and found a lovely brick house in the district we were living, which was handy for the kid’s school. We moved in at the end of January 07 and Angie started to make the place feel like home.

While settling into our new home, Angie started driving lessons and was doing great, when disaster struck at the beginning of March. After complaining of a sore throat for about a week, I went to the doc who arranged an appointment at the throat clinic. However I never made it as later that night, I suffered a massive heart attack and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Angie panicked and ran next door to fetch a neighbour who came in and gave me CPR. I had no pulse and according to Angie, was black in colour from the neck up. Karen, (my neighbour), kept up the CPR while her brother spoke to emergency services who relayed information until the ambulance arrived about 10-15 minutes later. They kick started my heart after 8 attempts and took me to Mackay base hospital where I was put in a helicopter and taken to Townsville hospital because the cardiac unit in Mackay is not equipped to deal with patients with severe heart. Anyway, they froze me to stabilize my organs, (I think) and put me in a coma, which I stayed in for 21 days, they gave me around a 3% chance of survival.

After stabilizing me, they told Angie to inform my family in Scotland and to tell them to get themselves out here as quickly as they could. Being catholic, a local priest came in and gave me the last rights because in their opinion, I had no chance. They worked on me and operated on my heart but it was machines that were keeping me alive. My brother and sisters arrived and stayed for two weeks while I lay there not knowing whether it was New Year or New York. After one operation, the staff started removing the wires to see if I could stay alive unaided. I survived for about 4 hours then crashed. I think the term is flat lined, when the machine just gives off a constant drone. They operated, calling it a 5 times by-pass, which basically meant that all my arteries had blocked and they had to take veins from my legs and put them in my heart. Now because I was in Townsville, which is about 5 hours drive from Mackay, Angie and the kids moved there as well and lived in holiday chalets. With my brothers and sisters over from Scotland, at least there was someone to drive and not rely on taxis.

Part 2
When I woke up after spending 21 days in an induced coma during I didn’t know why, what, where or who, but I had a massive scar running from my throat to halfway down my stomach. I couldn’t talk as there was a tube in my throat and I was totally disorientated. I had bandages like boxing gloves on my hands and people were around my bed. I recognised Angie and the kids and my sister. My brother and two of my sisters had gone back home to Scotland and I never even saw them. There were celtic magazines and books by my bedside, which was the evidence that they had actually been in Aus. My memory was shot to bits and for some reason I thought I drove a big black 4x4 when it was actually a gold wagon. I couldn’t remember names in my phone and would get ratty when Angie tried to convince me that I knew these people.

Why did my bandages resemble boxing gloves? Well I was prone to pulling out my tubes, which wasn't very clever as the alarms would go off and a crash team would rush into my room to put the tubes back in. This happened on numerous occasions so the staff decided to put these on and tape me to the bed. However being a determined soul I slid down the bed, loosened the tape with my teeth, pulled off the gloves and pulled out the tubes. After that they decided to wheel my bed into the corridor so they could keep their eyes on me. So there I was, lying in the corridor with a sitter beside me for 24 hours a day.

It's around this time that I begin to realise what is actually going on and my memory slowly begins to return. I recite a phone number and realise its not an 0141 number (Glasgow) and its at this point that Angie tells me we are in Australia. The memory returns slowly but I'm still very ill. My mind is returning but the body is not up to much. A nurse asks me one day if I can shower unaided. Of course I can says I. What do you think I am? I move my legs out the bed and stand, only for my legs to give way and land me right on my arse.  I was totally embarrassed and managed to drag myself to the bathroom where I hugged the toilet bowl sweating. My first thought was "shit. I'm paralyzed" and at this point I recall being scared.

It was all about getting better but god it was a long road. Every day Angie brought the kids to the hospital. They would go to a small school within the hospital to get some sense of normality and then come and see me in the afternoon. I was given an etch-o-sketch to communicate with and eventually I was moved out of the "sick" ward and downstairs to the rehab ward.

One night when Angie was wheeling me around the hospital, we passed a drinks machine. "I've to get one of they drinks, it’s okay as long as it’s an isotonic drink" I told her. "No chance" says Angie. "Honest." says I. "I'll kill you if you’re lying" she says and buys me a berry drink. When I say nectar, I'm not telling a lie. I drank this with no side effects and repeated this event the next night guzzling the lime version. Did I get shit from the dieticians on the Monday. Back to the puree for me and x-rays to check where the juice had gone. Bloody self importance if you ask me which was a sign I was on the road back as I know best as opposed to professionals who have trained for years in their field. This time the gamble paid off and I was correct. Lucky, Angie called it but anyway it was immaterial.

I look like a bag of bones and I'm now desperate to get home to Mackay. I've started my rehab, but up and down a gym hall and I'm jiggered. A psychology student visits me and gets the sharp end of my tongue for trying to treat me like an imbecile. She wanted me to try out her simple (really easy) memory test and I refused telling her I wasn’t some performing seal. Her boss visits me and asks to do IQ tests but sets the bar higher because I have a degree. "That’s cheating" says I, and proceed to get an average score. I'm pulling all sorts of excuses out of the hat and manage to scrape by. Considering at this stage, I still don’t know if its New Year or New York, I think I'm doing well. Basically she needs to give me the nod before I can get home so the charm is turned on and again, it works.

Part 3.
The Neural Psychologist gave me the ok to return to Mackay and continue my rehab but the problem being, they don’t have any physios so one is dispatched from Brissy just for little old me. They arrange to fly me and Angie to Mackay but not the kids because of costs. My sister who is driving my gold wagon loads up the kids and drives them on in front with my 10-year-old son acting as chief navigator. We arrive at Mackay airport and Angie notices my lace is loose. I bend down to tie it and cannot get back up because my legs are not strong enough to push my body back up from a kneeling position …. but we're getting used to this.

My rehab for the first two weeks is spent lying on the couch watching DVD's, with Angie and sister running after me and constantly feeding me. Angie has decided that we will return home when I'm fit to fly and the house goes on the market along with the car. People start visiting to view the house and I'm secretly praying that nobody wants it but after all Angie has been through, I don’t think I have any right to ask her to stay. People come and go but there isn’t a firm offer on the house when Angie asks me what I want to do. After initially saying, “whatever you want”, I then tell her “I don’t want to go home”. So if we do decide to stay that brings us onto our next problem … cash. The cost of living in Townsville has decimated our savings.

I'm not allowed to drive, go shopping, etc, as I cannot have the seat belt over my chest in case of sudden jerks and my stitches bursting. After eating everything in the house, watching every DVD sent over from Scotland and basically getting progressively more bored the stronger I got, a bus is arranged to take me to the hospital to start my rehab. We discuss our options and timescales. I shout in a few financial favours and that coupled with the rehab and stuffing my fat face I feel that I am physically getting stronger. I'm putting on so much weight, I'm nearly skinny and the concentration camp victim is no longer here.

The docs told me I couldn't drive for 6 months and wouldn't give me the ok, so I defied them and after 3 months drove anyway. This was dodgy, as I would have been snookered in a crash, because the car insurance wouldn't have covered me. On one occasion, the physio asked me how I got to the hospital as the bus never turned up. I told her my chauffeur drove me and she said, "Oh that’s ok then".

After 4 months, I tell the doctor I want to go back to work. Initially he laughs but as they place great emphasis on depression, I decide to play them at their own game. "I'm going to get depressed sitting at home doctor" says I with sad eyes, trying to look like a nearly depressed person. So the doctor tells me that he will only allow that if I pass certain tests.  I sit a stress test and let me tell you, they are not easy. I step on a treadmill and have all these suckers attached to me and get told to start running. As I get better, they speed up and when I get even better they speed up again….help they must think I'm Linford Christie. They even put raise the incline so you’re running uphill….HELP ME…and after what seems like a lifetime they slow the machine and the doctor tells me I pass.  Round 1 to me. Bring it on. Then they do an angiogram where they look at your heart on the monitor. I pass that too so the doctor tells me I can go back to work but I mustn’t overdo it. Round 2 and 3 to me. I am pleased with myself but Angie thinks it’s too soon. I still look like skeletor but I'm getting there and anyway, I'm fed up being a sick person and return to work I go.

After a few minor mishaps and a few months down the line, I'm beginning to get into the swing of things when on 15th Feb 2008, (etched on my brain forever), Mackay got hit with the tail end of a monsoon, much of the town got flooded and four feet of water came running into my house …… To be continued

Part 4.
To those not familiar with floods, (and I include myself), they are devastating and affect every part of your life and you are powerless. 3.30am and the rain is battering the roof relentlessly. I decide to check the garage room, as it’s lower than the rest of the house. Two inches of water cover the floor but as long as it doesn't enter the house, we should be fine. My hopes are dashed by 7am when it starts to enter the house through the doors, and in no time at all has risen to unacceptable levels. Previous to this, Angie and myself have lifted the settee onto two dining chairs and put TV’s and DVDs onto beds just to get them up to what we believe will be a safe height. Angie moves the camcorder from the bottom drawer into the next drawer up. Fat lot of good that did as the water went to about drawer number 4.

As the water starts entering the house the guy next door comes over and invites us over to his house as he lives in a Queenslander. Angie and the kids run over and watch from a height as the levels become dangerously high. I decide to stay, like the captain of a sinking ship, and am as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike. Nothing like a drop of water to make you feel small against nature. After it hits my knees, the guy from next door comes over and shouts for me to get out the house and go over to his, which by now is seeming like a good idea. Holding the laptop up high I wade across, everything else will just have to die a lingering death apart from our dog Jinky. He's suffered enough and was virtually abandoned when I had my heart attack so now he’s fêted and he deserves it. I retreat to next door and watch the levels rise and rise until they're now hitting the handles on the doors of my car. With the car drowned, it shorts the electrics and switches on the headlights and brings the windows down. Quite surreal to see your headlights on under water but we venture to the car to get my wallet from the glove box. Nope, its not there. It must have floated out as it was posted to me anonymously months later with everything intact.
Myself and two of the boys from next door swim over, (its easier than walking), to the neighbour on the other side. An old woman of 81, I shout to see if she's ok, as the power has gone down, her house is in darkness and its still morning. She comes to the window and assures me she's ok as the water is only up to her knees as her house is built on concrete stumps. God love her thinks I. It’s easier to leave her there until waters recede. Not great but the best option. Boats are now going up and down the street to help people. Angie and myself venture back in to our house to view the damage and see if we can salvage anything. Two neighbours approach my bedroom window in a canoe. The water is up to the bottom of my chest and we're standing at the window having a conversation with two people in a canoe.

We spend the night at the neighbours and next day the waters have receded but leave behind utter devastation. You talk to people in the street and they burst out crying. Apart from their houses being battered, it’s the personal things that are causing the most pain. Photos and videos which were not high up have all been ruined. People’s memories and mementoes have been washed away. Personally, videos of when the kids are small are gone, never to be replaced. Money can't get them back unlike a cabinet or TV.

Mackay starts the clean up and stories start to emerge of a community pulling together. Everyone who wasn't hit personally has a relative or a friend who was. Nobody in Mackay is unaffected by this catastrophe. People I don't know offer to help. I was telephoned by a woman I had never met, (got my number from the school), offering me a car until my insurance was sorted out. Gestures like this restore your faith in your fellow man. Everybody bends over backwards to help and thank god we had understanding employers.

We move into a 4 star hotel as accommodation is scarce, which is understandable. After two weeks we move into a unit owned by a lady in Angies work and although very small will have to do. Back to sleeping on a blow-up bed but the locality is ideal and we can take our dog Jinky which we couldn't do in a hotel. We are close to the house and can oversee much of the work and iron out any problems quickly which I have to say are plenty when dealing with builders from Mackay.

To cut a long story short, builders came and went. They have left me with a beautiful house and insurance got me a brand new car, (the other one was only 6 weeks old but I never liked it). Mackay slowly got back on its feet, although some people are still waiting to have their houses fixed. There are the usual gripes about builders and insurers but thankfully ours weren't too bad, probably because we were around the house every day and never gave them a minute’s peace. Sometimes even getting to the stage of threatening violence if something wasn't sorted. Our project manager was a fellow Scot which did help slightly, (although he did support Hearts).

So in just two years, I have moved to Australia, died and been flooded out. Personally, I still love it here and even bought a barbie last week, I suppose that’s me turning into an Aussie, but under no circumstances will you catch me saying awesome, lol.

Its been a bumpy ride but we're still dancing and jabbing and hanging in there and I'm now applying for PR. Bring on year 3 but whisper it, I want it to be boring.