by Sue Williams
By the time he arrived a week later, the baby still showed no sign of being born, so the couple drove to a property 180 kilometres away for Rob to do some cattle work for a friend. A couple of days later, in the middle of the night, Sarah woke to feel the baby on its way. Rob drove at a breakneck speed to get her to Alice Springs Hospital on time, terrified the jolts in the road might speed up the birth, racing through red lights and at one point pursued by a police car with its lights flashing. ‘It got pretty hectic there at times,’ says Sarah, who remained calm the whole journey. ‘The baby was crowning by the time we got there.’ Their first son, Braxton, was born on Sarah’s birthday in March 2006.
The birth of their second son, Lawson, in March 2008, was no less dramatic. They’d been at an Easter rodeo at Aileron, 130 kilometres from Alice, and were sleeping in swags in the back of their ute. At 5.30 a.m., Sarah woke Rob with the news that the baby was coming. Rob had been partying that night, however, with Sarah’s younger brother Joel, and neither were in a fit state to drive. So instead, Sarah took the wheel and drove the one and a half hours to town herself, slowing down then speeding up with every contraction. ‘Pregnancy,’ she said afterwards, ‘is only as hard as you make it. Our mothers and grandmothers managed in the past without too much drama so there is no reason I couldn’t do the same.’
No one knew if Rob would survive that helicopter crash in late 2008. He’d become a pioneer with gyrocopters, building them and flying them himself – something that had always worried Sarah. But, ironically, it was a helicopter with a professional pilot at the controls that fell 60 metres from the sky that day. To this day, the cause is still a mystery, but Sarah and Rob suspect a fault in the chopper rather than pilot error.
Rob was left with a broken neck near the top of his spine and was taken first to Alice, then to Adelaide, for what turned out to be nine weeks on life support, several operations and a further seven months of rehab. Sarah oversaw his recovery with a single-minded determination and dedication that surprised no one who knew her. ‘At first, they kept him in a sleep-induced coma because he’d fought with the tubes in his nose and mouth,’ she says. ‘He was alive and had survived so I knew we’d get through this, but my heart ached for him and the moment when he’d realise the severity of his injuries.
‘When he eventually woke, he was still ventilated, and I don’t think the doctors gave him much hope of ever getting off the ventilator. They were treating him as a hopeless case. They’d come into his room and speak to me and ask me how he was going. He could still hear everything, but they’d talk to me! So I’d just look at Rob so they’d be forced to talk to him instead.’
In an incredible gesture of family unity, Rob’s parents and his two brothers, Brad and Cameron, along with their families, moved down to Adelaide to be with the couple throughout the ordeal. Every week, other family members and friends from interstate would visit. They’d take up all the space in the waiting room, then crowd around his bed, taking turns to watch over him and support his wife. For Sarah, however, her nursing training was proving invaluable. ‘I was very much in tune with all his treatment from the start, even though they try to hustle you out when they are doing some things, but by the end I didn’t leave, I stayed. At the start, I wasn’t allowed to have Lawson in there either – he was just six months old at the time – and I wasn’t allowed to breastfeed him in the intensive care unit. I didn’t take long to change that, though! I had a little makeshift bed of a piece of foam and a blanket and a pillow, which I would keep in a box in the corner and then pull out when I was tired. I often just lay down on the floor and breastfed Lawson in the corner while Braxton ran around and said hello to everyone. One day he was in the waiting room and there was this big, rough-looking bikie dude sitting there and Braxton sidled up, gave him a book and asked him to read to him . . . and away they went! He became very outgoing as a result of that time. Meanwhile, I was there for Rob and everyone was there for us.’
Rob can recall little of his days in intensive care. ‘All I can remember from my point of view was when I woke up Sarah was there, and when I went to sleep Sarah was there,’ he says now. ‘She was dealing with all of this, being a mother to two little boys, and was still coping.’
A month on from the accident, with Rob still on life support, the doctors and nurses wouldn’t let Sarah help with any of Rob’s treatment, saying a wife couldn’t be the carer; it just wouldn’t work. But her insistence – and persistence – eventually wore them down. It was exactly the same story when, with Rob now a quadriplegic paralysed from the shoulders down and able only to move one hand a little, the doctors said the couple should relocate from Suplejack to town permanently so he would be close to the hospital, as he’d only ever be capable of sitting up in a wheelchair for a maximum of three hours a day. Sarah refused to be defeated and, on their first trip back, packed the car with a back-up generator in case they broke down on the way, a portable air-con machine, a fridge with water . . . everything they could possibly need.
Rob says getting him back living at Suplejack Downs was all a result of Sarah’s determination to preserve their precious lifestyle. ‘It all starts and ends with Sarah,’ he says. ‘I’d still be sitting in the chair, whether in the city or the bush. But Sarah says she’ll help and everything flows from there. There wouldn’t have been any way I could have got home if it hadn’t been for Sarah, her nursing background and her conscious decision to get us back so we could raise our kids as we were raised. She really is incredible.’
That triumph alone might have been enough for others, but not for Sarah and Rob. They vowed the accident would never stop them leading full, productive and useful lives. Rob began thinking about how the average age of Australian farmers is now 65, with many of the younger ones leaving the land to go work in the mines, or not being able to make ends meet. He also researched the high number of terrible accidents that often happened on the land that left so many farmers, like him, with disabilities. ‘So there are a lot of people who can’t physically go out and bust their hearts to get the jobs done any more,’ says Rob. ‘That means there’s a big hole there for technology to help in cattle farming, to make it about brains just as much as it used to be about brawn. That was the start of a new journey for me.’
Others found Rob’s ideas fascinating too, and in 2010 he won a prestigious Nuffield International Farming Scholarship to study technology-based innovations that could help Australian cattle farmers, particularly those with disabilities. He and Sarah were both thrilled and immediately started planning the logistics of how he’d manage all the travel his study would involve.
As part of that, the little family undertook a sponsored, 730-kilometre, 24-day wheelchair trek along the corrugated Tanami Road to raise funds for the carers and special facilities Rob would require overseas. In addition, he also wanted to motivate others with disabilities to understand that anything is possible, and to set a new record as the first quadriplegic ever to cross the Tanami Desert from the seat of a motorised 4 × 4 wheelchair.
It made for a jaw-dropping spectacle: a man in a wheelchair, his wife and two little kids, along with a friend, Luke Bevan, other family members and mates at various times, trundling through the red dust where there is usually no other life in sight. But despite suffering from frostbite and having his chair tip over twice, he and Sarah made it. ‘Rob’s always been a man on a mission,’ Sarah says with a grin. ‘When he suggested it, I thought it was a great idea. Besides, we always wanted an excuse to camp on the Tanami and spend time in the desert. It was actually quite romantic! He would go ahead and I’d sit with the kids and do their schooling, and then go and catch up with him. The worst thing was the cold. It was good weather at first, then it rained for three days, so we ploughed on through the mud and rain, and towards the end, it was freezing cold.
‘But it was an amazing experience. Rob’s website was getting emails every day, people were calling and one guy got us on the sat [satellite] phone and said he was in a wheelcha
ir and was going to have his legs amputated, but we’d shown him it wasn’t the end. We’d given him hope. Rob had showed him what was possible.’
The Nuffield trip that same year, travelling to New Zealand, Brazil, Mexico, the US, Canada and Scotland – all countries that are leaders in applied technology within the beef industry – was also an amazing experience for the pair. It was a whirlwind seven weeks, with an average of five days in each country. Rob’s paper, Ability to Adapt to Change: Beef Operations from a Wheelchair, was acclaimed as a huge contribution to the fields of innovation and technology in the farming industry worldwide, and has been showcased on the organisation’s global website.
Meanwhile, Rob, now aged 31, continues to put his theories into practice at Suplejack, working to have a vehicle modified so he’ll be able to drive around in the future, training dogs to look after the cattle in place of men on horses, and looking into remote controls on cattle-handling equipment, voice-activated calf cradles and cattle-crushers, and computer-controlled water bores. Never far from his side is Sarah, 30, sharing his dreams of improving the Australian cattle industry and making it a world-leader in terms of technological innovation.
She smiles happily as she prepares a meal for the family, as Braxton, now seven, races around her feet, playing hide-and-seek with five-year-old Lawson. She chides the pair playfully while she cooks, answering a phone with one hand and cradling it on her neck as she chops salads and slices cold meats. When she finishes the call, she says her life really hasn’t changed as much post-accident as others might think.
‘To my mind, Rob is still the breadwinner,’ she says. ‘He still has exactly the same role he had before his accident. We just go about things a bit differently. He still has his ambitions and while I’m no longer the stay-at-home mum, I now love working alongside my husband. He might now be in a wheelchair, but nothing else is different. We keep everything as normal as it can be so our kids grow up with the same sense of responsibility as our parents – and the bush lifestyle – gave us.’
While Rob has been praised for his achievements, he, as well as many others, sees Sarah as a true Outback heroine. His mum, Letty, says she’s constantly impressed at what a doer Sarah is, and how capable she is in so many walks of life. She marvels at how Sarah, under Rob’s tutelage, has become an expert welder, making all kinds of equipment, including the cages for the working dogs. ‘There’s so much more to Sarah than meets the eye,’ she says. ‘She’s very modest and quiet, but she’s really an amazing, talented person. There’s no task she can’t master. She’s a real woman of the Outback: resourceful, determined and clever. She’s a real heroine. There’s simply no pedestal high enough to put Sarah on, and that comes from the bottom of my heart.’
Sarah’s own mum, Lois, feels much the same way. ‘I am so proud of her,’ she says. ‘I know she’s my daughter, but I think she’s been quite remarkable. I know things can be difficult at times, but she never lets them get to her. She’s never said, “Why us?” She just gets on with it.’
Her friends, too, are full of admiration. Amber Driver, a good mate at a ‘neighbouring’ station 1160 kilometres away, marvels at the way Sarah has taken to remote property life. The isolation can be hard to get used to for those who didn’t grow up with it, Amber feels, but Sarah plainly loves it. ‘And the accident seems only to have amplified and made even more concrete the marriage vows Sarah and Rob made to each other,’ she says. ‘She stands by her man and loves him unconditionally. She never whinges about anything, she never asks for anything and when you see her look at him with such love for him in her eyes . . . it’s so humbling for everyone around them. How can any of us complain about a car breaking down or cattle prices when we see the kind of challenges they’ve overcome to be such a strong, loving family?’
Of course, there are difficulties, among them the quest to ensure the company who insured them against accidents supports Sarah and Rob in reclaiming their former life at Suplejack, rather than insisting they live in town, but the couple view each hurdle as a challenge to be overcome, rather than a closed door.
‘Many people with disabilities just accept what they’re offered and think there is no other way,’ says Rob. ‘The doctors tell them they’ll only be able to sit on a couch and watch TV, so that’s what they end up doing. But we hope we’re able to show them through our example that there are always alternatives and choices, that they can do whatever they set their mind to.’
Sarah serves up the meal as he talks, smiling at his words. They’ve achieved much more than anyone could ever have imagined, this couple, and they’ve barely started yet. ‘Yes, anything Rob can set his mind to, he does,’ she says, nodding. ‘There are always good days and bad days, but we choose always to look at the positive side of everything. Marriage is a sacred thing, and I don’t know what I’d do without Robby. It would be a pretty boring life without him around!’
Rob laughs to hear it, but begs to differ. ‘Everything we’ve achieved, we’ve achieved together,’ he says. ‘Sarah has been incredible all the way. There’s only one hero in our little family, and she’s it. Most country boys want to find and marry a woman as capable as their own mother. I came close in my marriage but I fear it will be impossible for my sons.’
Sarah Cook with her family. (Photo by David Hancock)
6
THE OUTSIDE OF A HORSE
Lyn Litchfield, Marree Region, South Australia
The young boy moves tentatively towards the horse. The horse looks nervous, skittish. So does the boy. He’s frowning and he hesitates and stops, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie.
Lyn Litchfield is standing to one side. ‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘The horse is just as scared as you. Move slowly, and try talking to him in a soft voice.’ The boy glances at her, processes the thought and nods. He takes his hands out of his pockets, and takes a small step forward.
‘It’s all right, mate,’ he says, quietly. ‘I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to say hello.’ Horse and boy regard each other warily.
‘Now hold out your hand,’ Lyn instructs. ‘Slowly. Let him sniff it if he wants.’
The boy does as she says, holds out his hand palm up and continues talking. ‘We can be friends, can’t we? Here, have a sniff.’
The horse looks at him suspiciously and seems in two minds. The boy stops with his hand still outstretched. He, too, looks uncertain. Lyn watches and waits. This could be a critical moment in their relationship.
They both stand unmoving for half a minute and then the horse suddenly stretches forward and nuzzles the proffered hand. The boy’s face splits into a grin almost as wide as the rocky red plain they’re standing on. He holds his position and the horse looks as if it is finally beginning to relax. You can almost physically see the tension drain out of the pair.
Lyn smiles. This kid has a lot of troubles, is usually sullen and withdrawn, and doesn’t seem to open up to anyone. But this, she believes, is going to be the breakthrough, the start of something good. Making the first connection with a horse could be just the beginning of this boy’s healing journey.
It’s something she’s seen many times with both youngsters and adults who’ve had trauma in their lives. Showing them how to keep a horse calm and build a bond of mutual trust seems to work wonders for their souls. ‘There’s an old saying in the bush that the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man,’ Lyn says. ‘I think that’s very true.
‘Horses can have positive effects for people who’ve been victims of trauma or who have emotional problems. It’s a bit like getting back to nature, I think. Some people like to have counselling sessions in an office, which might help them, but sometimes people would rather be out in nature. They might not be so good at communication with words maybe, whereas with a horse, people can communicate with them through sign language and their body language. And I think how you treat a horse sort of mirrors how you feel, so seeing how a horse reacts to you gives you an honest look at yourself,
without someone hurting your feelings by actually saying it.’
Lyn first became interested in using horses to help heal humans after teaching riding to local kids at remote Leigh Creek, to the west of South Australia’s rugged Flinders Ranges, 600 kilometres north of Port Augusta. After a couple of sessions, parents and teachers reported the general behaviour of nearly all the children involved improved and their self-esteem rose markedly. Some of the youngsters who had problems, issues like anxiety or anger, seemed to be coping much better with their lives too.
‘There’s definitely a lot in it!’ says Lyn, now back checking up on a few of her vast collection of horses at her and husband Gordon’s 2500-square-kilometre cattle and sheep property, Wilpoorinna, off the lonely dirt road between the start of the Strzelecki and Birdsville tracks in the north-east of South Australia. ‘You might go into a yard and see a horse is frightened and skittish. So you start to develop some empathy for it, and then maybe start recognising that in yourself too. As you get to know that horse, you might then start exploring your own feelings about things. It can be very, very helpful for people.’
Lyn walks up to a group of four horses grazing peacefully on the clumps of native grasses forcing their way up through the flat red dirt. Immediately, they all lift their heads, move towards her and gather around her. Gordon watches, shaking his head. ‘It’s astonishing to see the way she has with horses,’ he says. ‘They adore her. She just has to go for a walk and she’ll come back followed by two horses, seven lambs and two dogs. It’s quite incredible the effect she has on animals, and people!’