I really, really wanted to make the train. I went to see The Weekend at Carriageworks last night, my very first #top50inSydney excursion, and I should be writing about that. But because I wanted to catch the 8:23pm train so badly, I have a different story to tell.
I walked out of the building at 8:14, and Google Maps had estimated the walk to be ten minutes to the Redfern Station, so I was scrambling. As I came up along the outside of the station, I could see the station clock: 8:21. I rushed through the gate, to the stairs for platform 7, and started running down. I was only a few steps from the bottom when I stole a glance upward to look at the track instead of down at my feet. That was a mistake. I missed the last step and fell forward, rolling my body weight over my right ankle with a distinct pop and explosion of pain.
I somehow got to my hands and knees, knowing my ankle was wrecked, but the train had arrived and I had to get home. I used the railing to pull myself up, limped onto the train, and collapsed into the first seat I could find. The pain was so intense, dizziness and nausea swept over me. My vision began to cloud over. I remember thinking that I could not, under any circumstances, pass out on the train. I texted Michael that I fell on the stairs, I was hurt, I needed help. A glance at my ankle and I could see through the straps of my sandals that I already had swelling, like a blue-grey golf ball, on the outside of my foot.
The train pulled into Central Station and I knew I had to disembark. I was supposed to change trains, and if I didn’t at least get off, who knows where I would end up. I stood and staggered onto the platform, reeling in agony. The next 10 minutes are a blur. I have three distinct memories, like snapshots in my mind: looking at the elevator a few meters down the platform, being at the exit gate where I had to swipe my Opal card, and looking at my phone to see a missed call from Michael.
There is practically nowhere to sit, in the grand concourse of Central Station. This is by design, according to a police officer we spoke with later: homeless people were sleeping on them, so the benches were removed. Lovely. I found a place on the floor next to the wall, which was really gross but I couldn’t keep standing on one foot. I’d called Michael back, and he quickly took an Uber to the station, arriving less than twenty minutes later (though I swear it felt like an eternity).
Everything moved swiftly after that. Michael helped me stand, but there was no way I was going to be able to get to the exit without additional assistance. There were three police officers at the other end of the station, and Michael beckoned them over; they in turn summoned a first-aid person who was incredibly kind and wrapped up my ankle for me (thanks, Jeff!) before wheeling me out to a cab. At Jeff’s suggestion, we were headed to the hospital for x-rays.
Now, when the hospital was first suggested, I nearly lost it. I do not have my permanent residency yet, which means no Medicare card, which means no healthcare coverage. I was already on edge from the pain and trying desperately not to have a meltdown. In the US, if you have to visit the emergency room without insurance, you could be paying off those bills for months or even years, depending on the severity of your situation. Michael (and all three police officers, who continued to stand around while I was getting fixed up) assured me that it wouldn’t be that expensive, but I was not feeling confident. If I had fractured a bone in my foot, however, not going to the hospital could be a big mistake.
We took a cab to Sydney Hospital in the CBD; Michael ran in to get me a wheelchair, and a kind staff member came back with him to wheel me inside. I went right to triage, and there was essentially no waiting: I was checked in, x-rayed, and given painkillers in short order. The doctor came to talk to me next (no fractures, thank goodness, so healing will take some time but should have no complications), and in less than ninety minutes, I was checking out with a brand new pair of crutches.
Then came the moment of truth. The consultation with the doctor, the x-rays, and the crutches came to the grand total of… $306. That was it. And those were Australian dollars, too, so about $218 USD. As I breathed a sigh of relief, it hit me: I’d had emergency room visits in the US that cost more, while I had insurance. And I’ve never been in and out of the emergency room that quickly. Everyone I’d encountered was kind and reassuring. Australian healthcare, you’re doing it right.
Kelly Wanders 