Out in the Sun

By James A. Suttor

I had an Australian country boyhood, full of pranks, fun, and laughter and risk-taking behaviours with my friends. In Sydney to do my apprenticeship, I fell into the wrong crowd and started on a path that almost led to my death. At age seventeen, I had a terrible accident, resulting in a serious brain injury. After many months of hospitalization and rehabilitation, I resumed my life, acquired further education and work-related skills, met my wife, and have had some wonderful adventures.

I have enjoyed my life immensely since my accident. Meeting God was the best of all. I have written my story in the hope that it might provide some inspiration for the reader. I know that when a difficult thing happens, Jesus is beside me, and by just having him there, I know that everything is going to work out for the better. You can do bad things in your life, but just saying yes to Jesus can turn those things to a positive side.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514446744

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Copyright © 2016 by James Suttor.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Rev. date: 07/07/2016

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INDEX

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1:   James

Chapter 2:   Wayne Brown

Chapter 3:   John Suttor

Chapter 4:   Jenny Suttor

Chapter 5:   My Time in Sydney

Chapter 6:   Holidays

Chapter 7:   My Accident

Chapter 8:   Medical Report and Nursing Summary

Chapter 9:   Recovery

Chapter 10:   My First Weekend Home

Chapter 11:   Life in The Hospital After Waking Up

Chapter 12:   Dick

Chapter 13:   Smoking

Chapter 14:   Three Great People

Chapter 15:   Holiday from Hospital

Chapter 16:   Rachel’s 21st Birthday

Chapter 17:   Boarding, Living in a Flat and at Home

Chapter 18:   My Queensland Trip

Chapter 19:   Discovering God

Chapter 20:   God Made a Way

Chapter 21:   Our Move to The Beaches in Queensland

Chapter 22:   Young Drivers Expo

Chapter 23:   2000: Triathlon!!

Chapter 24:   Phillip Squire (Squiz)

Chapter 25:   Phillip’s Death and My Depression

Chapter 26:   More Studies, New Job

Chapter 27:   Planning Another Adventure

Chapter 28:   Our Training Program

Chapter 29:   The Kokoda Track

Chapter 30:   My Christianity in Practice

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to some very special people.

The first is my mother, Jennifer. Not only did she struggle to bring me into this world. She struggled through a long rehabilitation process with me. She was always there for me and gave up a large part of her life, including being by my father’s side in her home at Quirindi, to stay in Tamworth with me.

Second, but of no less importance, is my father, John. Thank you, Dad, for being there for Mum in the worrying times. Despite all that you had to do on the farm, you were always there ready to support me with extra help of all sorts.

To my wife, Deborah – thank you for being by my side through thick and thin since we met in 1992.

I will also mention my friend Phillip Squire. Phillip was a true friend who never gave up on me and helped me through some dark lonely days immediately after the accident. I will remember you always, ‘Squiz’.

Finally, Brenda MacPhail, for her patience and creativity in helping me to write this book.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to acknowledge the contribution of various organisations and individuals who encouraged and supported me during my rehabilitation, recovery and afterwards. Words cannot adequately express my deep appreciation. Unfortunately, many names have escaped me but you know who you are.

Thanks to those who have told me different stories about my life.

Mostly my wife, Deborah Suttor

John & Jenny Suttor (my Dad & Mum)

Gary & Judy Squire

Greg Philips

To all of those who have told the stories of me over the years

To those who sponsored me on my trek:

The Salvation Army

Peel Valley Employment

Tamworth Base Hospital Brain Injury Rehabilitation Unit

Brain Injury Association of New South Wales

Fitness Plus, Tamworth

Camping World, Tamworth

Lions Club of Tamworth

Black Wolf

Hi-Tech

Vigilante Outwear

            and many more …….

Wine is a mocker, strong drink is a brawler and

whoever is led astray by it is not wise.

Proverbs 20:1

***

CHAPTER 1

James

31st March and 1st April 1988

I don’t know whether I can actually remember the first half of my story or if this is just what I have been told by others.

I was seventeen, living in Sydney doing an apprenticeship and was coming home for the Easter break. I apparently had spoken to Wayne Brown (Brownie), a good school buddy, on the phone and asked him to pick me up at the Quirindi train station (in country New South Wales) at 4:00 A.M. on the 1st April, 1988.

Travelling on the old rattler (the train) it takes about eight hours from Central Station in Sydney to Quirindi, so with a bottle of Jim Beam plus cans of Coke I got myself drunk to pass the time. The last couple of trips I had learnt that smoking marijuana was far better. You got stoned and just dropped off to sleep; it was sort of like taking a sleeping tablet, not that I knew anything about sleeping tablets. I arrived in Quirindi on time and was picked up by Brownie. It was Good Friday (and also April Fools’ Day).

Seeing Brownie waiting for me was great because I didn’t know where he was living even though he had told me. He mentioned there was going to be a party that night, as he pointed to the couch and with a grumpy voice said, Better get some sleep. Later that day he drove me home to our family’s farm, Burwood.

The Quirindi High School Year 12 group had a study night about once a month at Warrah Creek Hall which is approximately forty kilometres from Quirindi. One of the students lived nearby and had the keys to the hall. It was about the third time the students met at that particular hall. I was under the impression, from Brownie, that this was going to be a party with all my old school friends, with music, dancing, drinking and having fun. These get-togethers went until the early hours. They were supposed to be ‘dry’, because the girls who attended went there to study and refused to have anything to do with ‘yobbos’ who drank.

With strict instructions not to drink and drive, I was allowed to take my parents’ car to get there.

Just after dark, Brownie, Bettsie and right behind them myself (Sut) showed up a couple of hours late. We didn’t know it was a ‘dry’ party. The three of us had already left school and were doing apprenticeships. We had money and had bought beer and spirits, so there was a good chance we were planning to drink.

As we arrived, I let go of the car doorhandle and suddenly realised the keys were still in the ignition and the grog was in the boot.

Brownie, in an angry mood, said, How stupid are you? Der!, while pounding his head with an open hand and walking around my parents’ car checking the doors. How do we unlock it, idiot? Where’s a brick?

Rather than smash the windows, Phillip Squire (Squiz) and I went back home to Burwood in Brownie’s car for the spare set of keys. Mum warned me again about drinking and again told me not to drink and drive. You don’t want to hurt yourself and others or end up a vegetable. I didn’t pay any attention to her and ignored her warning. Nothing could happen to me. We were gone a good two hours as the round trip about a hundred and forty kilometres.

The sky was overcast all day and it looked like we could expect rain that night. When we got back to the party Greg (Stalk) and another mate had taken their trail bikes for a ride along Swinging Ridges Road, which was a gravel road and went for a fair distance. Squiz, with a smile, said, That’s all the more grog for us. While opening the boot we could hear the bikes not too far off. Trying to scoff down a beer before they got back seemed like a good idea but sculling a hot beer didn’t go down that well. I knew it, it was too good to be true, said Squiz with a disappointed voice, as the boys came into view.

We had a plan to ride over the Cedar Brush the next day; there is a stock route that goes from the Liverpool Plains to the Hunter Valley. Squiz mentioned to me that it was hardwood country that turns into a rain forest. Every kid at school would have done a Year 10 excursion to Cedar Brush. I must have missed that one.

Squiz, Stork and I sat down and were going over tomorrow’s events while sinking the beers. We knew where the road was supposed to go, from other sources, but none of us had been this way.

I must have been feeling happy since we had finished off the carton of beer by 11:30P.M. Trying to find a bottle of Coke so we could add it to the Jim Beam was difficult. The ladies kept what they had to themselves for they disliked what we were drinking. We were lucky to find some Coke – although only two litres. Adding the Jim Beam to it, we polished off that bottle although it was pretty strong. I must have been nearly legless. We were out of grog. What were we going to do now?

The boys and I made the decision to go and have a look at the stock route to see what to expect the next day. I jumped on another guy’s IT175 Yamaha; thankfully it had a light, but he wouldn’t give us the key, so Phillip hot-wired it. What are mates for? Squiz then jumped on his own bike, an IT200 Yamaha, which was the only one registered, but who gave a damn? Greg took his YZ490 Yamaha which didn’t have a light.

I cannot remember trying to get the helmet on, or jumping on the bike and riding it. We rode three abreast; Squiz was on one side, Stalk in the middle, and I was on the other side. The road was deeply rutted by vehicle wheel usage. So we had to ride between the ruts.

We had only gone about three or four kilometres down the road when Squiz raced on ahead and disappeared as the road swung around to the right and went up a slight hill. Stalk and I lost sight of his tail lights. We were travelling at about 60 km per hour.

Stork came around the bend where Squiz’s lights had disappeared. He noticed Squiz’s bike had stalled and was sideways across two tracks of the three-tyre-track road. There was no way to stop or even to slow down, so Greg slammed into Squiz’s bike and was thrown over his handle bars. He knocked Squiz to the ground as he went. I took evasive action and tried to go around Squiz’s bike, struggling because it was on the very edge of the road where the gravel was rough. I then got the ‘death wobbles’ and went over the handlebars when I lost control.

A man who has friends