TrickyPress

04/08/2025

I recently wrote a story about my the Top Deck bus 'Grunt' that story and images has been converted to a 98 page flip book, courtesy of Flight Centre. For a free read and share, just click the link.

Grunt, Overlands 1978 1978 overland London - Kathmandu - London aboard Grunt By Trevor Carroll aka Tricky with Contributions by Jacquie Anton, Frances Byak, Chris Lane, Bob Foxwell, Jesse Skepper, John Kidgell and Al Kenny. 1957 Grunt...

28/03/2025

A podcast by author and neighbour Joe Wehbe who heaps praise on my third book, Berlins Hollow Homes.

Take a walk down Berlin's cobbled streets with my good friend, Trevor Carroll. In this book Trevor explores a range of untold and lesser known stories of the...

28/03/2025

An interesting podcast by author and neighbour Joe Wehbe where he heaps praise on my third book, Berlins Hollow Homes.

Take a walk down Berlin's cobbled streets with my good friend, Trevor Carroll. In this book Trevor explores a range of untold and lesser known stories of the...

30/01/2025

A GOODREADS REVIEW ON MY BOOK, BERLINS HOLLOW HOMES.
Loved it. One of the most emotionally difficult things I've ever read. I've watched my fair share of Holocaust movies and read other books centred on concentration camp experience, but this hit me like nothing else. Weaving through a series of stories, triggered by Trevor's somewhat happenstance movement and search for tiny Stolperstein memorials, brings in the pervasiveness of a terror none of us will fully be able to comprehend. It's as though every step or search down a street in Berlin brings us onto another set of tragic, and frequently inspiring, stories.
Trevor gives us a fraction of the sense of this historic tragedy with quality storytelling, great timing, setup, intrigue and suspense. A fantastic balance of stories. He does well to capture the slow degradation of life for Jews (amongst others) in N**i Germany, from the first laws restricting the rights of Berlin Jews in the early 1930's, to Kristallnacht, the outbreak of WWII, and then the Final Solution through to Liberation.
I felt indebted to the people of this time to read and absorb their stories, to join Trevor in honouring those who met such unjust tragedy. We can do little else but acknowledge them, and try our best not to forget. I highly recommend this book, and think it's relevant to anyone, now and in future. Very grateful to Trevor for putting this together, it would have taken great work and care.

29/12/2024

A New Frontier, Three Weeks from London to Kathmandu.
(Part 1)
April 10, 1978 was the beginning of an entirely new adventure for me, it was the day I embarked on new horizons. After spending nearly forty weeks on the road around Europe as a Top Deck driver with fourteen weeks as both driver and courier assisted each time by three trainees. I'd be considered by some to be an experienced tour operator at this stage of my career, if you could call it that. However on this day in April 1978 I was just another novice facing the unknown.
The task handed to me was a three-week express trip to Kathmandu driving Top Decks oldest bus of the ever-growing fleet, Grunt. Old Grunt had just returned from Kathmandu on a 7-week overland over the same route that I was about to attempt. Grunt had given its driver, courier and punters a very hard time. The driver had a breakdown of the nervous type after seemingly endless continuous breakdowns; he was relieved and flown back to London.
Spike Cawthorn the courier now driver and courier continued relentlessly with his punters on the final leg across Europe while still dealing with those breakdowns one after the other pushing him to his limits. Well overdue, Spike and his punters along with Grunt finally made it to London. Spike was not happy, that feeling turned to rebellion when he was asked to immediately turn Grunt around and head back to Kathmandu on an express trip.
Hence my last minute recruitment where I was also told that my courier/co-driver was John Kidgell, a young pom who answered to John-Boy, this came about due to his boyish looks. John-Boy looked to be about 18 but in fact was around 26 years of age. He'd just been aboard Grunt as one of Spikes punters. 'He knows the way' I was told. Another last minute surprise was seven punters; each paid 99 pounds for a fast ride to Kathmandu. In any event, it was to be a new adventure for me once we had Istanbul in the rear vision mirror.
To kick-start this new adventure we planned to drive non-stop to Istanbul via Belguim, The Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Yugoslavia and Greece nothing but driving and refuelling. When I wasn't driving I taught John how to drive the Lodekka, although he did have a little experience, Spike had put him as a punter behind the wheel a couple of times on some of the long stretches of German autobahn. While not driving and at rest I camped on the bench seat directly behind the cab, just in case John-Boy called. Very little sleep was achieved on the rattling and vibrating bed, if you could call it that.
The well thought out plan did not pan out, as we would have hoped. At around 10pm I drove into the Dutch/German border at Elten, normally a five-minute stop. However, I had been turned away once before by a particularly nasty official and it happened again, maybe even the same guy. He wanted to see our tachograph and of course none of the Top Deck buses had tacho's and we were soon bus non-grata and sent back into the Netherlands. As with my previous rejection I sought another border crossing and returned to the Netherlands heading towards Nijmegen and the nearby small town of Kranenburg. After nearly two hours we came across the small border crossing only to be waved through without even stopping.
The border crossings continued to be not in our favour, experiencing delays at the Austrian/Yugoslav, the Yugoslav/Greek and the Greek/Turkish crossings. It wasn't that we were devoid of any paper work, it was just that each time they put us in the slow lane.
The driving skills of John-Boy improved quickly, at first he was only let loose on motorways followed by some highways in Greece with the odd small town. John-Boy didn't get any city driving until Pakistan and if any mountains came into view we'd swap over. We managed hot swaps where I'd crawl into the daffy seat and slide over into the drivers as John-Boy vacated it by climbing back through the cab opening into the bus itself. I doubt that we could manage that today.
We arrived at Istanbul's Londra Camp in the late afternoon enjoying a shower and a meal at the camp restaurant before sleeping like the dead with our first sleep without noise and vibrating beds since London.
The following morning we departed with the rising sun with Grunt running like a charm, a 1500 kilometre drive with reasonable roads as far as Ankara turning into rough mountainous roads and slow going the rest of the way to the Iranian border crossing at Bazargan. John-Boy suggested that we cross the border with an empty fuel tank, as diesel was a whole lot cheaper that what we were paying in Turkey.
We arrived in the afternoon after two full days on the road, only to find that the officials had decided to shut down the border for the day. The border crossing was nightmarish to say the least or as some would put it organised chaos. It was nearly a full 24 hours before we broke free of the shackles that held us back at Basargan and continued on our quest eastward.
It was an eye opener for me from the moment we crossed into Iran, for some reason I expected everything to become even more primitive as we progressed further east, but with Iran it improved dramatically with excellent roads and very cheap diesel at around 5 pence per litre. The towns and villages were on the up and up as we passed through Iran's beautiful landscape of the plateau country. It was a 900-kilometre drive to Tehran and after two nights and a full day on the road with some cheating each night with around four hours for a roadside sleep.
The seven punters had kept to themselves so far, they consisted of one young English woman and six young men, a mix of Aussies and Kiwi's. They were well aware that this was a ride only and if they were to wander off, John-Boy and I wouldn't be waiting or looking for them.
We battled through Tehran's afternoon peak hour traffic late on the afternoon of the 22nd of April. First job was to find somewhere to stay, the only camping was miles away and we didn't want to battle the traffic twice a day, on John's previous trip as a punter they had parked outside a fire station in the city centre and used their facilities.
John guided me to Fire station number 46 in Enghelab Street, District Six. A suburban tree lined street in the centre of Tehran. Strangely, the firemen were very obliging and treated us like guests.
The arrangement with the Iranian Firemen was a win for them and also for us. We had a secure place to stay and close to all our needs while they had a ready supply of western women to perve on. However they may have been a little disappointed this time as we had only the one girl. She was a good-looking brunette and we were all very protective of her by chaperoning her no matter where she ventured.
As soon as we parked up, we cleaned up in the Fire Station washroom and John-Boy led us to a nearby Pizza/Steak Bar where I got stuck into a steak and a frothy cold beer, as did most of the others. (Part 2) coming soon

04/10/2024

I've just finished reading my copy of Top Deck Tales, 479 pages of Top Deck stories from Europe, Asia and Australia told by drivers, couriers and punters from the early days of 1976 through to the nineties. It was interesting to find that the trips spoken about were the same trips completed by me as crew, however the experiences on each and every trip was vastly different. A trip without a crash, breakdown, multiple romances or people sh****ng their pants was just plain boring. One exciting trip told by Jess Skepper with Moose as his driver and future crew Carmel Smith and Terry Pride as punters was one of a litany of breakdowns causing many delays. It so happens Mark Atkinson and I drove two other buses on that same departure were oblivious to their breakdowns as they were well behind us. A long read, if your time with Top Deck made an difference to your life, this is the books for you.

04/05/2024

A short story, the girl with the red shoes.

After spending most of 1976 working in London and travelling around Europe and South East Asia I returned to Australia where I spent the summer working in a Western Australian mine raising money to fund my future travel. By April 1977 I had had enough of the isolation of the mines and returned to London.
Soon after my arrival I spotted an advertisement by Top Deck Travel in the Australasian Express, they were seeking tour drivers and couriers, having experienced a beer fest trip with Top Deck the previous year I applied. The interview took all of five minutes, questions to which I supplied bu****it answers. As a result of that interview I left London a few days later on April 27, 1977 as a trainee on a seven-week grand European tour.
Three other trainees joined me, fellow Aussie Spike Cawthorn, DBK a Pom and Ray a Kiwi. Our instructor/courier, Dave Reed from Rhodesia and the sixteen paying passengers at London's Victoria Station for the quick trip to Dover and the ferry to Calias. Awaiting us there was Knackers our bus and its driver Mick Carroll also an Aussie all ready to commence our seven weeks around Europe via Instanbul.
Our punters were a couple of Aussie guys, a bloke from Bahrain with the remainder young Aussie and Kiwi girls with the exception of one woman from California and two gorgeous Mexican girls. The punter who apart from the rest was an attractive girl from Tasmania, not that she was super gorgeous, all the girls were. It was the way she dressed, she wore very nice fashionable dresses, all the time. In addition to those chic dresses, she was adorned with a pair of bright red high-heeled shoes.
By the time we climbed aboard Knackers we were all the best of friends who had stocked up on a wide selection of duty free grog while onboard the ferry. Those duty frees were cracked open as soon as Knackers wheels started to turn, all except us trainees who were to have our first driving experience on the way to Paris driving for the first time, Knackers, a Bristol Lodekka crash gear box.
As soon as we were on the open road Mick pulled over and picked me out of the us four who were all inwardly hoping not to be the first victim behind the wheel for we had all been watching Mick at work manipulating the clutch and gearstick like a well tuned orchestra. However, it was not to be, I was selected as the first guinea pig.
I eased Knacker’s clutch in, slipped it into first and slowly rolled away from the kerb. At walking speed, I hit the clutch again, slipped her into neutral clutching quickly again and into second with a very loud grinding clunk for the art of aligning the speed and revs for a smooth transition into second gear was beyond my skill set at that time.
This was the first taste of how it would be for the next hour, changing gears up and down through from first to fifth gear. I don't know what the punters thought as a crashed every gear change with the horrible grating of the cogs in the gearbox. It was obvious that they had an absolute amateur behind the wheel of their bus.
After thousands upon thousands of gear changes over the following seven weeks, I finally gained some mastery over the gear changes on Knackers experienced enough to work the crash-box instinctively, double clutching without fault. However ... when distracted, I would be brought back to earth with a crunching of the cogs when the ‘gear-change stars’ did not align.
Once released from driving and another of the trainees took over, I settled in with the punters with a few drinks, those few being an understatement. While I was enjoying myself, I was relieved to hear the other trainees making a similar hash job of the gear box as I had. The girl with the red shoes as she became known never took her heels off, whenever she moved within the bus upstairs or downstairs her clip clop echoed throughout both decks, it was to be this way for the next seven weeks, it transpired that her red shoes were the only footwear that she brought along.
As it had been a long day from London's Victoria Station and even longer with a group of novices behind the wheel, we didn't make Paris that night, camping at a services. I slept downstairs with the other crew and woke with a bursting bladder in the early hours in total pitch darkness. I was quite disorientated due to the darkness, those few drinks and the fact the buses door was not where I thought it was. I looked at the rear side as I was thinking of my beer fest experience, for Knackers door was the emergency door at the rear. Stuck, I had two choices, p**s myself or use the kitchen sink. It didn't take Einstein to decide on the kitchen sink. Relieved, I went back to bed and slept like a dead man.
The next few weeks were a blur, driving, bus maintenance, spiels on every place and monument that we visited and partying where two of the trainees found themselves very popular with most of the girls who shared these two blokes. The girl with the red shoes stood out from the others, every day she dressed herself in one of her very pretty frocks and presented perfectly with her hair and makeup. We visited the casino in Monaco and she in an evening gown and as always her red heels.
Mick left us in Italy, leaving Dave Reed to look after us as we continued on, a ferry from the southern Italian port city of Brindisi deposited us on the Greek Island of Corfu where we took up temporary residence at Camping Dionysus. Corfu for us was a place of little work and an everlasting party. The Dionysus bar kept us entertained for the first day and night, this was followed by the Ouzo cruise, as if we hadn't had enough of Ouzo already at Dionysus.
The combination of an unending supply of ouzo, son, water, an old Greek fishing boat and a group of sc****ly clad young women and a few similarly attired young men, the cruise was nothing but a great day out full of debauchery. That night was quiet, most were in bed soon after dinner, all partied out.
The following day it was a free day for the punters, some took it easy around camp while others took the local bus in Corfu town for some shopping and sight-seeing while Dave took us trainees to a nearby restaurant, nicely perched on a cliff top overlooking the glistening blue waters of the Ionian Sea with this particular stretch between Corfu and the Mainland of Albania and Greece known as Lake Butrint.
It didn't take long for the previous days activities to return, but without the girls. The ouzo again flowed freely, with Dave's talk on our progress as trainees soon fell by the wayside. We were well served with Greek dishes that became my favourite foods for the rest of my life. The waiter took to teaching us the Sirtaki and the art of the Traditional Greek table dance. Dancing with a table was easier than first thought, I grasped the corner of the table using my teeth and while hugging the table leg against my body I stood and danced with my arms outstretched, a feat which I managed without losing any teeth. We made it back to Dionysus just before dinner and continued the party at the Campsite bar with the punters.
After another days rest and bus maintenance we took a much smaller ferry on the short hop to Igoumenitsa and continued through Greece to Istanbul, however on the return leg to Greece we came across a roadblock. It was found that our punter from Bahrain, Mohammed had only a single entry visa to Greece and he'd used that the first time through. The nearest Greek Consulate was at Edirne some 120 kilometres from our border crossing at Ipsala.
Dave in his wisdom chose me to take Mohammed to Edirne, get his visa and chase them up in Greece or Yugoslavia, depending on how quick we were. I'm unsure why he chose me, it was either he wanted to be rid of me or that I had the capacity to look after my Arab mate. Dave gave me a handful of cash and the relevant instructions, we waved goodbye to our travel companions and headed north on a local bus. By the time we got to Edirne it was dark and the consulate was closed, I chose what looked like a cheap hotel that was nearby. After a meal we settled into the hotel to find that it operated mostly as a brothel with constant noise of the comings and goings of people.
First thing after breakfast we were at the doors of the consulate and for a fee they promptly issued the required visa.
We took a series of buses back to Ipsala, through the border and onwards to Kavalla. Not knowing where the campground we took a taxi who dropped us off at a darkened Camping place, after a bit of wandering we found Knackers parked right on the beach. We were welcomed back on board with cheers, a beer and dinner, which was just being served. Dave was amazed that we made it as quick as we did as they had only arrived some five hours before us.
The trip continued without any dramas and before we knew it the end was approaching with a little over a week remaining we were camped as a campsite in Lucerne, everybody spent this, a free day in town while I remained with Knackers to adjust the brakes, check the vitals and tighten everything that needed tightening. However, I was not alone. The girl with the red shoes decided to remain and work with me as my assistant wearing a lovely frock and her ever-present red shoes of course. Even though she was a different person where at first glance she appeared to be high and mighty, she wasn't. She always chipped in to do her jobs and mixed in well with everybody.
But there was one thing that irked all aboard Knackers was her bonking. The constant bonking was ever present, with those red-heeled shoes she could be heard walking along the aisle upstairs, downstairs and even up and down the stairs. Bonk, bonk, bonk seemingly endless bonk, bonk, bonk, bonking.
Anyway, back to Lucerne. After a couple of hours working in just my shorts I was blackened all over from the grease and grime collected by Knackers over the past 20 odd years. The girl with the red shoes hadn't done much to help as her hands and frock were still pristine, however she said that she would help me clean myself up. A short time later I was enjoying my hot shower when I was surprised as she stepped in to help me clean up, she had soap, shampoo and a flannel. As I looked her up and down I realised that it was the first time I had ever seen her when she wasn't wearing her red shoes.
The trip finished with good reports from the punters and Dave recommended that Pat and myself be employed as drivers and Spike and DBK as couriers. He also recommended that Spike and I never be permitted to work together, for as a team we were dangerous.
Back in London I spent a few days at my share house in North Finchley with the people I had been living with off and on since February the year before as I was moving to the bunk room/cellar at Top Decks office in Fulham. This would allow me to work on my bus for my first assignment. But before I left I received a parcel in the post, I immediately recognised a pair of nearly worn out Red High Heeled Shoes. With that gift was a note saying that seeing that I liked those shoes so much, they were a gift to me. The note also disclosed an address and a red lipstick kiss with a PS, 'Come visit me soon.'
Alas, I couldn't for DBK, Knackers and I left London a few days later on our first seven-week European trip as fully-fledged crew.

23/02/2024

Faceless Heroes
After a recent personal trauma, I was contemplating writing and recounting that experience and eventually decided to go ahead out of admiration of the people who used their skills, dedication and humanity to save my life.
The background to this story begins less than twelve months ago when I was diagnosed with throat cancer, after months of radiation and chemotherapy and subsequent sickness a biopsy and PET scan revealed that I appeared to be cancer free.
Being a person who throughout my lifetime has experienced good health with very little engagement with our health system. I was overwhelmed with the level of care and efficiency of the technicians, nurses, doctors and staff at the Gosford Cancer Centre.
But, as my Oncologist, Dr Louise said, 'You are not out of the woods yet.' I subsequently learned that the treatment itself damaged other vital tissue in the vicinity of my neck and throat and needed time to mend and repair itself.
- - -

At around 7.30pm on Saturday the 6th of January 2024 I was seated at my usual spot in the living room of my Terrigal home when I had an urge to cough causing me to raise my hand and cover my mouth. That cough caused my hand to be covered in bright red blood spots. Immediately I moved into the nearby bathroom and had another cough, this time into the bathroom sink. The result was not spots but a large amount of bright red blood and solid matter had erupted from my mouth with at least a litre of blood in my sink. I called my wife, Mathilde who after an initial glance dialled 000 for the Ambulance. I remained over the sink with my mouth constantly dripping blood.
It seemed like only a few minutes before Mathilde led two Paramedics into the bathroom, the obvious senior person was a thin grey haired man of around fifty years of age, his partner a younger woman of about thirty years didn't mess about. He grabbed a towel and held it over my mouth and ushered me out of the bathroom saying we have to go right now, no preamble or checks, just straight to transport.
The ambulance was parked at my front gate and I was laid onto the stretcher while Mathilde was seated behind me, the older Paramedic sat beside me while the younger one drove.
As we headed out of Terrigal he put a line into my arm and measured my blood pressure while speaking to somebody on his phone describing my condition, while asking the odd question of me. The Ambulance lights and sirens were activated before we left Terrigal and I was now thinking that it was more serious than I had first thought.
The drive to the Gosford Hospital E.R went quick and before I knew it we were backing into the E.R main bay. The driver said to her colleague, 'Twelve minutes.' Having driven the same route many times, twelve minutes was quick.
As soon as the Ambulance came to a stop the rear doors were flung open and my stretcher was heaved off and wheeled straight into the E.R, no ramping for us.
Once inside I was wheeled to the right before being backed into a treatment bay. I noticed the bay was lined with medical staff all gowned, capped and masked. There were at least a dozen of them, all pouncing on me as I came to a stop. First up I was slid onto a hospital gurney and the Ambos stretcher was removed and immediately my attendants went to work on me inserting more lines and attached me to a series of monitoring machines that I assumed were to check every one of my vitals.
I had a sort of out of body experience watching the activity inside the treatment bay, as if it was happening to somebody else. The Paramedic was briefing my story to the tallest person in the Bay who I assumed was the E.R doctor in charge, once finished the Paramedic moved to the opening of the bay and stood alongside Mathilde and another half a dozen people, all dressed in scrubs and masks. One of them stood out, a tall Asian man who was familiar to me, not because he was waving but his entire appearance.
It clicked, Doctor Tim the E.N.T surgeon who had carried out two biopsies on my throat. What was he doing here, he worked business hours during the week, he must live in the place. He was the nicest bloke you would ever run into, a good looking young man who seemed to always have a smile on his dial. His distinct Australian accent did not match his Asian appearance and his bedside manner was second to none. I could not wave back to Tim as my both arms were otherwise occupied, but I gave him a head wobble instead.
The mood in the treatment bay changed dramatically when the tall man called something akin to, 'Emergency Surgery.' The wheels on my bed were immediately set in motion and my entourage and myself headed straight out of the bay down a hallway. I looked towards Mathilde and the Paramedic as I passed them, they both had very concerned looks on their faces, I could understand Mathilde being worried, but the Paramedic's look and the call to Emergency Surgery brought me to reality, that I was in serious trouble.
As we rolled towards the theatre I was joined by Dr Tim and Dr Sebastian on either side of me, they were telling me what they would have to do to find and fix my internal bleeding. I wanted to ask for my wife to kiss her goodbye, but before I could get my request out, my eyes closed.
When I opened my eyes, a nurse had replaced Dr's Tim and Sebastian. Her face, shrouded by a surgical cap and mask left only a pair of beautiful eyes. As she hovered over me she said, 'Hi Trevor, I'm Lara. You are in Intensive Care and I'm your Intensive Care Nurse for the next twelve hours. In fact this is the second time I've nurse you.' I thought, what is she talking about, I've never been here before, or spent time in hospital as an in-patient.
Lara never called me 'Trevor' again; it was always 'Darling', as did the other Nurses who cared for me. Soon after her introduction, Lara brought me up to speed on what I had been up to. After two surgeries on Saturday night I was ventilated and placed in an induced coma, I had an infection of sepsis, which I was being treated for. I was surprised to learn that it was Tuesday night and I been out for the past 72 hours. This explained Lara's comment about her second spell at nursing me. A few hours before I woke I was returned to surgery for the removal of the life-supporting ventilator.
Lara worked constantly, maintaining the drips and monitors before giving me a bed bath with the help of another Nurse where I was washed and dried from head to toe rolling me on my sides for better access.
Once my embarrassment about being bathed by two young women passed I took stock on myself. I could move my head a little and the same with my forearms, just able to raise them fifteen or twenty centimetres, both were festooned with lines. I could not move my body or my legs. I could feel my legs enough to know that they were there and after a few hours I managed to wiggle my toes. I could not speak, but could just manage a hoarse croak, not dissimilar to that of a frog.
My accommodation was a large dim lit room, alone with my many attachments. Just to my left front was a viewing window where I could see Lara working while not attending to me.
Once her twelve-hour shift was done, another Intensive Care Nurse replaced Lara. During my time in the ICU Julie, Emily, Wendy, Lara and others cared me.
My room had no natural light so I was oblivious to night or day. One thing that I was not oblivious to was the effect of the drugs that had been administered to me. I experienced constant hallucinations when my eyes were closed. When my eyes we open I could see normally but as soon as I closed them graphic nightmarish scenes of barbarity filled my mind in vivid colour. I experimented by open and closing my eyes, it was always the same, day or night. Once my eyes closed I was overwhelmed with what seemed like vicious medieval battles. By Friday, the hallucinations left me for good.
During my first day awake I started to receive visitors, my wife and twin sons Marc and Luke. Soon after they left Dr Tim and his entourage called in, he had a big smile as always. Even though his mouth was concealed behind a surgical mask, his eyes revealed his smile. Once Dr Tim was content with my condition he was replaced by two lovely physiotherapists tasked with getting me mobile.
At first I was thinking 'mission impossible' as I still was unable to move my body, however their four hands soon had me sitting up with my legs dangling over the side of the bed. It was then I felt something attached to me in the region of my groin. I soon found that a catheter had been placed into my urethra to drain my urine. They were careful to not snag the catheter line and soon I was standing, supported by the two ladies who sat me in a chair. I was put through several lung exercises and after a half hour or so I was assisted back into bed.
That movement was enough to bring much more feeling back to my body and I could move my legs, arms and body more freely, even though I was still confined to bed.
By Thursday morning I was deemed healthy enough to leave the ICU to recover in the E.N.T general ward, that afternoon I was able to walk unassisted towing my tree bearing my drips, gadgets and catheter bag.
After two days in the ward with several visits by Dr Tim and excellent care by the ward nurses I was discharged from the hospital. A handwritten record of my stay in the ICU had been given to me, a journal written by my I.C.U nurses accounting for my activities during my time with them in the I.C.U, specifically those missing 72 hours, an account of my life that I treasure.
The professionalism of the Nurses, Doctors and Staff of the hospital and the level of care given to me, not to mention the fact that I mostly certainly would have died if not for the rapid response of the Ambulance Paramedics, E.R staff and the surgical team of Dr Tim and Dr Sebastian followed by the care of the I.C.U and ward nurses. People who I mostly likely encounter on a daily basis in the community, either at the beach or the shopping centre, but would not recognise one due to their hero masks, not unlike 'The Phantom'.
- - -
It's a pity that our government does not recognise the contribution by our heath workers to the community and encumbers them with parking fees while caring for us, their patients.