The Journey: Travelling within an Acquired Brain Injury

By Andy Harrison

The personal account of being hit by a car and sustaining an acquired brain injury. So badly was I injured that the Royal Australian Air Force, who I was serving with at the time, arranged my funeral. They even flew my parents out from England to attend. I fought to live, which i did. Then began the long road to recovery, which against the odds, i did.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Harrison
• Release date: Sep 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005171865

Andy Harrison

I was a 30 year old ironman triathlete when hit by a car whilst cycle training. I was so bad my funeral was organised by the Air Force, whom i was serving with at the time. But i had no intention of dying. It led to years of rehab, but now i am a family man with two daughters, I drive, compete in natural bodybuilding contests, and live what could be considered a normal life.

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Introduction

This is my story of real life experience. I hope it will go on to assist people and provide encouragement and inspiration to those who have incurred an acquired brain injury (ABI), or to those who are also affected by this terrible injury.

At the time I received a brain injury, I was a very fit individual, competing in marathons and long distance triathlons. I had also traveled and had adventures on four of the continents on earth - but that's another story. The reason I am able to write this account on an accurate basis, is the fact I have kept a diary, daily, since I was 12 years old, and from day one of my arrival out of post traumatic amnesia (PTA). In addition, most people who treated me were still in touch at the time of writing and there has been two videos made on me. So I am quite sure this is the true story.

However, this was to be a journey I would make for which there was no map, and no travel guide.

It was to prove one of the most arduous I would ever make.

The Journey Begins

Because I am addicted to physical exercise, I felt the need to go and do some form of training whatever the circumstances, for my next assault on any particular event I had in my sights. Back in 1992, it was the Australian Ironman Triathlon I was gunning for. This is a 4km swim, followed by a 180km cycle, and then a 42km marathon. I had completed it earlier that same year, but the next attempt was going to be even better - or so I thought.

Because of the training regime I had put myself on, I was extraordinarily fit. My resting heart rate was down to 34 beats per minute. I had that electronically measured on my thirtieth in the Air Force hospital, so I know this figure is correct. It was nothing for me to go out at 4.30am, even on weekends, and swim 4 kilometres, run 15 kilometres, or ride on my indoor cycle training machine.

The day I was knocked over was a December day in Australia, just into summer, and fine, clear and sunny. Therefore, I thought a bike ride would be the training thing to do that day. I was then serving in the Royal Australian Air Force, at RAAF Williams, Laverton, Melbourne, Victoria.

In the military you were expected to keep fit, and were allowed to do a limited amount of fitness work during working hours, known as fitphase. So off I went for my fitphase at 3pm, heading for Werribee South, a local beachside suburb, a route of about 60 km in total. It was a superb day for a ride too. The journey out was pretty inconsequential, I reached my turn around point, and began heading back to Laverton. I remember seeing the gates of the Point Cook RAAF base, and thinking only 7 km to go. Some 1400 metres further up the road was when it happened. A car, driven at speed in excess of 1OOkmh, hit me from behind. I was doing 35kmh on my bike (according to the speedo I had fitted), and I was thrown some 60 metres, and I hit the road at about 140kmh. Sounds unbelievable, but its true. I still have the police report detailing this.

This was when some kind of strange force took over - or so I cannot help but believe. There happened to be a policeman driving past, giving a mate a lift. He should not of been in that

spot, but as circumstances would have it, he was. Then there was a paramedic, fetching his child from Kindergarten. He had decided to take the scenic route, and came across me, some two minutes after I had been hit. Then there was the Air Force ambulance, which had received the call out, and the driver had grabbed a doctor on his way out of the hospital, which was on the Air Force base. Why should all these relevant people have turned up there and then? Ten minutes later and I would have died. It obviously was not my time to go.

My rescuers knew who I was due to me carrying my RAAF ID card. The policeman had called the medical authorities, which sent paramedics, and four came in an ambulance. They immediately called the air ambulance, a helicopter. So within 10 minutes I had the total of 9 medics working on me. Almost like some force we have no control over was saying not his time to go yet. I am left pondering if it was something beyond human perception.

The helicopter took me to the Alfred Hospital, in Melbourne. My chances of survival were rated