A Crazy Day in Stanthorpe - Night 23

Group Photo

Though my Republican friends swear up and down that medicine in a country with universal health care is slow and substandard, we were able to get him in to see a doctor at the Granite Belt Clinic immediately. The doctor’s opinion was that it was fractured, but she needed an x-ray to confirm, so John drove Matt to the local hospital, a few kilometers away for an x-ray. This is where things get weird.

The rest of us decided to hang out on a bench about 10 meters from the clinic’s front door while they were away getting an x-rays. Not ten minutes later, while trying to park in angle parking, an elderly woman drove up over the sidewalk and straight into the reception area of the clinic, nearly killing a man walking on the sidewalk. Apparently she hit the accelerator instead of the brake, as the wheels were still spinning on the sidewalk as she tried to burrow further into the building. Luckily the reception area was empty at the moment and no one was injured. Matt and John, with x-rays in hand, returned 30 minutes later (again proof of the perils of socialized medicine) to a clinic with a much larger front door. Rather than close down for the day, the doctor’s office kept right on accepting patients and the police and fire removed the woman from the vehicle and eventually the vehicle from the building. In retrospect, had she parked just six stalls down, she would have likely injured a large contingent of conservation volunteer workers.

The diagnosis on the arm wasn’t good; three breaks, one which has a one centimeter gap. Pins and a plate will be required and are scheduled to be put into place on Monday at a hospital in Brisbane. Luckily for Matt, he is a British citizen and the two countries have a reciprocal medical insurance agreement, so all his bills will be paid.

Our caravan of despair finally returned home around 4 pm to find that the other volunteers had ordered pizza, a welcomed indulgence after two weeks of camp food, which though very good, just isn’t the same as steaming hot delivery pizza. After unpacking and settling back into civilized life, Daniel and I headed down to the pub around 9 for a pint or two. Finnigan’s Chin is a decent looking Irish Pub, the closest one to our house. Being a Friday night we expected a good, young crowd, but were treated to anything but. The clientele was a mix of late teens misfits gathered around the pool table, some biker-trash older women and middle aged men, who judging by their dress, had been hear ever since the whistle blew at 5 pm. To make things even stranger, it was karaoke night, an invitation for people to show their absolute worst sides. A thin, androgynous being whose voice was slightly feminine murdered Billy Ray Cyrus’s Achy Breaky Heart. This was followed up by Dennis’s thrilling Beach Boys cover and topped off by a group of three mid 40s women ear-screaming rendition of that annoying song from Grease. It was right then and there that I had my first “What the fuck am I doing here moment” since being in Australia. Seriously, what was I doing here among these strange creatures 7000 miles from home listening to the most god awful singing of the worst songs ever written and paying $5 a pint for an Australian version of Guinness? Living, I guess. Just following some odd path I have unknowing laid for myself.

What I Learned Today: If one is banking on a long life, don’t sit or stand for very long on sidewalks in front of angle parking in cities where much of the population is over 80 and still driving.

written by  exumenius on November 2, 2007 from Brisbane, Australia
from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos
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