When the Dust Settles

by Cook, R

  Every father wants the ability to protect their child from injury and set solid standards of discipline. Initially, I wasn’t capable of doing either. It took a little while for me to grasp my new parameters and to interact with the kids without having an imposing presence. I couldn’t physically pull the boys away from a dangerous situation or pick them up when they were hurt, but I was learning other ways to be the caring parent I wanted to be. In some ways I wrapped them in cotton wool, so to speak, because it tore at my heart to see my child injured and me unable to go to their aid. Whenever I could see the possibility of them being hurt on a swing or a piece of equipment, I’d tell them to move away or distract them, so the risk was reduced or averted. I was actively changing the environment around them to eliminate the problem. It was a soft approach but one that prevented me from feeling inadequate as a father. Some parents would argue that I should leave the children be and let them learn from their mistakes, but those same parents were also able to physically comfort their child when they cried, whereas I was not. Disciplining our boys was not quite as difficult. Much to their surprise, they soon discovered that Sarah would deliver a smack to their backside on my behalf if they didn’t listen.

  ‘How the hell can you wake up and smile?’ was a common question directed at me. ‘What the fuck have you got to smile about?’

  It was a query that came mostly from my close and extended family on meeting up with them throughout the Territory and Queensland, while travelling in the gooseneck trailer. I suppose they felt more relaxed around me since I’d left hospital, and sensing I could handle a tough question they were simply asking what was on their mind. It was pretty clear to me why I was smiling, as I thought of Sarah and the boys, and I gave them the simple answer. For those who saw me as a vegetable during my stint in hospital, it was good for them to see me up and about, albeit still disabled. Many had no experience whatsoever of a person confined to a wheelchair and no insight at all into the things that are done quietly in the background to get me through the day.

  ‘What time do you get up in the morning,’ people would often ask. ‘That’s what time we’ll have breakfast.’

  ‘Well, I’ll start at six,’ I’d reply. ‘But you won’t see me until 9.30.’

  ‘Oh right,’ would come the surprised response. ‘What, it takes you that long to get out of bed?’

  By now I’d had to explain how my body operated so many times that I’d become well rehearsed in my response. People would also kindly offer to help Sarah when we were staying with them, but my daily showering and dressing wasn’t really something I wanted everyone involved in. We ended up changing my morning routine to late in the afternoon. It enabled us to be up early and the long process wouldn’t get in the way of our plans to make the most of each day. If we were visiting someone’s house, we could leave in the afternoon without having to explain why. There were some of my mates who still felt comfortable enough to come into the toilet area and have a coffee and a chat with me while they waited for the business to finish. Generally I was happy for them to be there, but they had to be pretty special friends.

  We had been on the road for several months and, despite the minor social unfamiliarities that we were still getting used to, I was feeling a sense of achievement, similar to what I had felt at Suplejack for the first time. Sarah’s father, Graeme, and Brad mounted the gooseneck hitch into the Chevy at Dulacca, and we continued to make upgrades to the trailer as we stopped over at our friends’ properties, from Dalby through to Clermont. A number of people went out of their way to help us install a hot water system, shower, air conditioning and even lift rails in the ceiling. My living section in the trailer was where the horses would usually stand; here, I was able to sleep, shower and use the toilet. Sarah and the kids occupied the other end in the usual living quarters with beds, kitchen and bathroom. It was just terrific to be able to ring a cousin like Johnny Cook or an uncle like Steve Cook or a mate like Talby to arrange for gear to be posted ahead of us, before they helped install whatever the upgrade may have been. Numerous friends and cousins made a huge effort for me and, really, wanted nothing in return. Lilly and Shane, Sonia and Hans and their children had all moved to Gin Gin, about fifty kilometres west of Bundaberg, allowing us another place to pull up and spend a considerable amount of time. Meanwhile, Brad and Bec had decided it was time to return home to help with the mustering, so we had some interim carers before my youngest sister Loretta and her partner Jake Adamson joined us. They had both hit a bit of a rut in their jobs in Alice Springs and were keen to try something different. They started on a roster of two weeks on and one week off. It was a shift that would become standard for the carers working with me, giving Sarah and me flexibility while also giving the carers a good break between shifts.

  Wanting to catch up on lost time with Braxton and Lawson, I decided fishing might be just the answer to strengthening our bonds. After buying a 4.5-metre boat near Brisbane, we headed north to Clermont where my mates and cousins helped me design and build a winch lift. Mounted within the boat, it was able to swing me in from a car or my chair. When we pulled up at the ramp, I would be put in a sling on the end of the winch wire and then slowly lifted to a seat in the boat before it had been launched in the water. Once I was secure, the boat was released from the trailer and away we went. The same process in reverse was used to get me out again. We fished through a couple of dams like Theresa Creek Dam near Clermont and Kitchener Dam near Mackay, and then went further north up the coastline to Cooktown. On the way back we went out to the rivers near Normanton and Karumba in the Gulf of Carpentaria. It was always a full boat, with me, Sarah, Braxton, Lawson, Loretta, Jake and our two dogs all out on the water. One day we ventured off shore and found ourselves in rough seas. We were smashing into one wave after another as Sarah and Loretta held one child each, lying flat on the deck. I was perched up in my seat, completely soaked from the spray of the ocean while Jake manned the wheel. The two dogs, Chase and Ruby, were whimpering in fear, and groaning.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ yelled Jake.

  ‘That dog just got seasick,’ I explained.

  Luckily, Jake, an experienced seaman, was able to captain us back to the boat ramp without further incident. It was a memorable time away, and we caught plenty of fish and mud crabs. Braxton was able to snare a rock cod as his very first fish.

  When we got back on solid ground, I’ll never forget the look on the policeman’s face when he flashed his lights to pull us over. We were returning to the caravan park after a day’s fishing. Instead of winching me out of the boat and into the car at the boat ramp, I figured it would be quicker for me to stay where I was until we got to the caravan park.

  ‘It’ll be right,’ I confidently told Sarah. ‘We’re only going around the corner and besides, Jake will stay up here in the boat with me.’

  ‘I better not get pulled over,’ yelled Sarah out the window as we pulled away.

  I was a little nervous as the policeman tapped his torch along the edge of the boat, making his way up alongside us.

  ‘It’s illegal to ride in trailers, boys,’ he said slowly. ‘But I’m sure you’ve got a perfectly sensible answer.’

  ‘Well, you see officer, I can’t move,’ I replied politely.

  ‘Now why would that be mate?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘Because I’m a quadriplegic in a wheelchair,’ I told him.

  ‘Is that a fact?’ he asked suspiciously, climbing up onto the trailer to inspect the boat.

  When he saw me there strapped into my chair, the poor bugger nearly fell over. He promptly let us continue on our way and returned to his car.

  While we were travelling in 2010, I took a couple of phone calls that would open up doors for me as a quadriplegic. Returning to live and possibly work on the station was still my goal, but following our first visit there I knew there was a great deal more to consider before we could do so. The Northern Territory Cattlemen’s Association (NTCA) invited me to speak at its
annual conference in Darwin to share my story. I felt blessed to have so many supporters in the cattle industry throughout my recovery stage, many of whom I’ve never met. The NTCA was keen to have me as a guest – someone who loved the beef sector and had been knocked down but was determined to bounce back. The industry had given me nothing but opportunities and this would be my chance to offer something in return. I had never delivered such a speech before in front of so many people, so the nerves began well before the conference. Renowned motivational speaker Sam Bailey, who’s a low-level quadriplegic, had contacted me while I was in Adelaide, with help from my cousin Bernadette Lenihan. He provided terrific support for my family and we had stayed in touch over the last eighteen months. Sam was a great sounding board – I could bounce ideas off him and he gave me pointers on what to say, what not to say and what to emphasise. I tried writing the speech first, without success, and so then decided to use a PowerPoint presentation and just wing it. Basically, I planned to follow the story of my life, the helicopter crash and the months following. On the day of the conference there were more than 500 people in the hall, but you could have heard a pin drop as I spoke, not that I noticed. I was too busy trying to keep my nerves in check and focus on what I was saying. It was only afterwards that people commented on how well the speech was received. At the end of what I had prepared I decided to freestyle a little.

  ‘Now I’ve given you all something here,’ I said slowly. ‘If you could all please do something for me in return, something that I can’t do – put your hands together.’

  I went on, ‘But don’t clap for me because I’ve just been through a rollercoaster ride. Clap for my wife Sarah who’s been by my side day-in, day-out, and without her I wouldn’t be here today.’

  Responding to my request, the audience began applauding, before they rose to their feet for a standing ovation. It was an overwhelming response but the right one, given how much Sarah had sacrificed for me. The speech gave me some confidence in taking on further speaking engagements in the future, which I continue to find both challenging and rewarding.

  The second phone call of significance I took in 2010 was from cattleman Ashley Severin of Curtin Springs Station in central Australia. Ashley is a former scholar with Nuffield Australia, a trust that offers prestigious scholarships to farmers with the intention of improving knowledge and practical skills within the agricultural sector. Each year, people working across the country can apply for the scholarships as an opportunity to undertake paid study within their area of expertise. Ashley had completed his scholarship in 1988 on saline irrigation and embryo transfers. I had registered my interest with Nuffield before the accident, but work demands at home meant I didn’t take the application further. I knew who Ashley Severin was but had never met him when he phoned to encourage me to resubmit my application for a scholarship.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, of course I do,’ he replied.

  ‘So you know about the accident and the wheelchair?’ It hadn’t occurred to me that a person with a disability could get involved with the demands of Nuffield.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s all small stuff.’

  ‘So you think I could do it?’

  ‘If you think you could physically do it, then you can,’ he said patiently. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your brain so there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure, with my level of injury?’ I pushed further.

  ‘If I can get out in the paddock, a year after having half my stomach removed because of cancer, I’m sure you can do a scholarship in a wheelchair,’ he told me.

  ‘OK, so how long do I have to apply?’ came my next question.

  ‘Applications close in two days,’ he warned. ‘So you better get your arse into gear and start writing.’

  It wasn’t much time but with the help of my cousin Mark Cook, who worked in agribusiness, I managed to get the paperwork done and submitted online. I now also had a voice-activated and controlled computer which I could use to type, check emails and surf the web. There were some minor issues in the beginning with the software not understanding certain words in my vocabulary, but we eventually ironed that out.

  A few weeks later I was asked to go to Darwin to a scholarship interview with a panel of Australian agricultural leaders. There, Ashley took me through the process that was about to happen.

  ‘What will they be trying to find out?’ I asked, sounding worried.

  ‘They want to see if you know what you’re talking about,’ he replied simply.

  ‘What am I talking about?’

  ‘Your application, mate!’

  I hadn’t actually read my paperwork since submitting it and could barely remember it. I knew the issues that were affecting my family on the cattle station and me personally in the wheelchair, but beyond that my broader knowledge of the politics and challenges regarding the beef industry was pretty basic. Consequently, I found myself a little out of my depth when I faced the interview panel of representatives from several sectors, including beef, sheep, horticulture and fishing. Most of the questions had little to do with the Northern Territory cattle industry, but I tried to answer those that I could, being sure not to sound like I knew more than I actually did. I was then asked about my disability and whether the extensive travel involved with the scholarship – thirteen weeks overseas – would be beyond my limits. It was the first time I’d really considered just what I would have to do, but I figured it wouldn’t be the first time someone in a wheelchair had travelled abroad, so I said it was possible. After twenty minutes the interview was over and we headed back to our hotel.

  ‘How do you think it went?’ asked Jake, who’d accompanied me to Darwin as my carer.

  ‘I think we should go do some shopping.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well, it’s been a wasted trip so far,’ I said dejectedly. ‘We might as well make the most of it.’

  ‘Oh, that bad?’

  ‘Mate, it was absolutely pitiful.’

  Believing I had blown my chance at the scholarship, I tried to forget the whole experience. But about a month later, to my relief, I received a call to say I had been short-listed and was required to fly to Melbourne for a second interview. I saw it as another chance, so I started researching and reading everything I could to prepare for the day. Trawling through the internet, webpage after webpage, I stacked for the interview. If there was something written about the beef industry, I read it.

  Just like the first interview, I again wheeled into a boardroom but this time I was wearing my best suit. I recognised a few high-profile faces on the panel, who again were all from various Australian agricultural industries. They quizzed me on the management of Suplejack and I had to explain why I thought a scholarship would help me at the station. At the time, the biggest issue for the northern cattle industry was overseas market access, particularly Indonesia. While the Indonesian live trade had proved very profitable for Australian graziers for the best part of fifteen years, a change in Indonesian government policy meant the country would begin taking fewer cattle. The government over there wanted to bring about self-sufficiency by breeding more of their own cattle and fattening increased numbers in feedlots for slaughter. They saw it as a way to create more jobs and wealth within the different provinces, but what it meant for the average cattle station in northern Australia was that the big-framed, fatter Brahman cattle that producers had been trying to breed for so many years were no longer accepted. A 350-kilogram weight limit was implemented at the beginning of 2010 and exporters had no option but to comply. While we were affected at Suplejack, we had the Shorthorn-cross breeds which could be sent to domestic markets, so luckily we had more options than some other properties. Examining market access for northern cattle producers was initially the focus of my Nuffield application. My enthusiasm, ideas and presentation must have impressed them, because I was accepted as a 2011/12 scholar. It would pave the way for a massive year
ahead for my little family, as we made plans to take on the world.

  19

  NUFFIELD CHALLENGE

  The idea of travelling through North and South America and Europe sounded terrific on paper, but it was a different story when it actually came time to do it. I couldn’t avoid having some doubt surrounding the selection process for my scholarship. Had I been selected on the basis of merit, or had sympathy because of the wheelchair played a part? I later found out that my disability actually played against me throughout the process in the sense that Nuffield Australia was taking a gamble by appointing a person with such a severe injury. The panel had many variables to consider, but in the end it came down to the confidence that both Sarah and I had in my ability to physically complete the scholarship. I therefore became the first person in a powered wheelchair ever to be awarded the honour. The first part of the program involved a ‘global focus tour’ with all the scholars travelling together, while the second part allowed for us to follow our individual areas of interest. In the first six weeks overseas, we would have to maintain a rigorous schedule visiting embassies, agribusiness firms, farms, feedlots and factories in seven different countries. It was then up to me to plan the second trip, which would come later in 2011, travelling separate from the group.

  Although I had planned originally to focus my study on global market access for northern cattle producers, particularly for our own operation, it became apparent – given the tumultuous state that the live export industry was in at the time – that perhaps I should reconsider. With government policies changing and other variable factors in play, my study of the export market may quickly have become dated, so I turned my attention to another issue that was fast becoming close to my heart. What options do farmers or graziers like me have in returning to work if they suffer a serious injury? If I were to return to the station, sure I was still able to give direction to staff and sell cattle through an agent, but as for the daily physical requirements necessary in cattle production, my options were limited. I knew of some farmers and producers in wheelchairs who were giving it a go, but were they as productive as they could be? With that considered, I decided to change my Nuffield focus and investigate innovations and technology in the beef industry. I would investigate equipment and find what products could be adopted to enable injured producers to remain productive in the beef industry. If I could find a new way of doing my old job on the station, then perhaps I could also encourage others to stay involved with the running of their farms as well.