Are aggressive bacteria eating up my lake nerve?

On tour – 19.04.2003 – 20.04.2003

The very evening after our engagement, I feel a vague pressure in my left eye. The next morning it is red. After a day at the computer it starts to burn and after another night it is stuck shut and festered. Before we leave Yulara at Ayers Rock, we visit the clinic in the tourist town to be on the safe side. “What a bummer. It’s closed,’ I say disappointedly. “No wonder, today is K-Friday,” replies Tanja.

Thanks to our good contact with the helicopter pilots, we do get a doctor. He examines my eyes and diagnoses a common conjunctivitis. “Treat your eye every two hours with these eye drops and in the evening, just before going to bed, rub the cream into your eye,” says the doctor. “When will it be healthy again?” I want to know. “Normally in three to four days. In a few cases, it takes 10 days,” he replies.

Minutes later we are on the highway towards Kings Canyon, a breathtakingly beautiful valley that we want to hike around tomorrow. “You’d better get going,” I say to Tanja after just an hour’s drive, because my eye is burning badly and my vision is getting worse by the minute.

In the evening we reach the Kings Creek Station cattle farm. It is only about 25 kilometers from Kings Canyon and is now a popular tourist attraction. We have arranged to meet Andrew Haber here. Andrew, who bought four of our six camels a few weeks ago, organizes tourist rides here at the station in addition to his camel expeditions in the desert. “Nice to see you again,” he greets us like an old friend. We are allowed to set up camp next to his and spend a lovely evening together despite my increasing eye pain.

It’s midnight when I can hardly stand the pain. I moan loudly and toss and turn on my camp bed. Mosquitoes buzz around my face. I am barely able to open my inflamed eye. Fluid and pus soon run out incessantly. At first I try to control myself so as not to wake Tanja up, but then the pain threshold is exceeded. “Tanja?” “Yes, what is it?” “I feel like my eye is going to burst out of my brain. It’s desperate. The pain is more than unbearable.” “Oh God! It looks terrible. It’s totally swollen,” she says, shocked, as the beam of light from her flashlight illuminates my face. “I think I’m allergic to the medication,” I say, holding my head and whimpering. “And what should we do?” “Ahhhh!… I don’t know… I can hardly think straight… Maybe I should rinse out the eye cream?… It only started when I put it in my eyes,” I say, stuttering more than speaking. “Okay. It’s best if you get up and sit in the car. I’ll get our thermos flask. There’s still hot water in it,” Tanja takes charge of the crisis situation. Half blind, I stumble to our car and settle into the passenger seat. Only moments pass and Tanja sits down next to me. She pours hot water into a bowl. I dip a strip of toilet paper into it and carefully rub my eye. “Ohhh, that feels good,” I groan with relief. After I have freed the eye from the cream, Tanja gives me the strong painkiller Valoron. “This will get you through the night and we’ll see tomorrow,” she says. In fact, the medication takes effect quite quickly and as I settle back onto my camp bed I feel like I’m sinking into soft absorbent cotton.

The next morning the pain is gone and the terrible swelling seems to have calmed down. “It must have been the allergic reaction. I’ll stop taking the eye drops and cream,’ I decide, looking at my disfigured face in a small mirror.

Due to the rapid improvement, we decide to hike around Kings Canyon this afternoon. Halfway along the route, however, I feel a slight, constantly increasing pain. I only see a little of the natural beauty. I am relieved when we finally reach the parking lot. “Do you want to watch the sunset?” Tanja asks. “Actually, yes… but?” I hesitate. “Better not. Let’s go to camp. The best thing is to lie down and rest,” she decides.

As soon as we get back to Kings Station, we set up the mosquito tent. I quickly crawl inside and lie down on the sleeping mat, groaning. “Do you need painkillers again?” Tanja’s voice penetrates a billowing wall of stabbing pain. “Yes,” I answer meekly. Only two hours after the first dose of Valoron, at around 8 p.m., the pain breaks through the limits of what can be tolerated. “Tanja!” “Yes?” “I need more of that stuff,” I shout.

TO THE CENTER OF HELL

At 10 p.m. I am tormented by a burning and stinging sensation that drills deeper and deeper into my brain like a nail. Once again I try to save myself from the insane torture with the strong painkiller, but at midnight my system can only be compared to a wreck. Tanja, who has been sleeping on the camp bed, comes into the tent. “What should we do? Should I call the flying doctor service?” “They only come when someone has a life-threatening injury, not for someone whose eye hurts,” I reply. “I don’t know how to help you. Maybe it’s a good decision to drive to Alice Springs tonight. We’d be at the hospital in the morning?” “I think that’s a good idea,” I reply.

While Tanja packs everything up and puts the car and trailer away, I suffer in the tent. As Tanja has never hitched our trailer to the car before, I get into the Ford at 1:30 a.m. and slowly push back. “Stop!” Tanja warns me as I drive our car into a pile of sand, completely disoriented by the painkillers. “Please get out. I’ll do it,” she says and drives our station wagon through the deep sand to the trailer. Then, with the last of my strength, I hitch it up and crawl into the passenger seat.

After just a few minutes, I find myself on a ride to the center of hell. “I don’t know how I’m going to put up with this. It’s unbearable,’ I moan and hold my head, moaning loudly. “You’ll manage Denis. We’ll be there soon,” Tanja’s voice penetrates through an invisible cloud that surrounds my head. The agony of the devil can no longer be described. The eye presses as if there were a stone under the song. To give myself some relief, I try to lift off the festering eyelid. But after just a few seconds, the eyeball burns as if bathed in chili sauce. I run my hands through my hair and massage my head, harder and harder, but the pain doesn’t let up. On the contrary. No sooner do I think I’ve gotten used to the changing class, the incessantly increasing torture, than a new level is reached. It feels like a master of torture is playing a violin of horror whose ugly, distorted notes cut further and further into my brain. “Aaahhhhh! Aaaaaaahhhh!” I suddenly scream so unrestrainedly that Tanja almost tears up the steering wheel. “We’ll make it soon,” she tries to comfort me again and again, but we still have at least six hours of driving ahead of us. “Aaahhhh, I just can’t take it anymore. I feel like some bacteria is eating away my eye nerve,’ I moan. As soon as the words stumble over my lips, they drive through my tortured skull like a red-hot sword. What if it is really aggressive bacteria that are eating away at my eye? What if this eye inflammation leads to blindness? I need my eyesight after all. I still want to see so much, discover so much. I want to continue traveling and writing stories.

Suddenly I start to cry. The ordeal reaches another level of superlatives. My thoughts unite with the servant of torture to form a symbiosis of horror. I have needed a whole roll of toilet paper in the last six hours to stop the incessant flow of tears and pus. The worst thing is that the peak of the agony has not yet been reached. Both eyes are now affected. My thoughts no longer make sense. The future and the past dissolve in the moment of pain and despair. There is only one thing that counts and that is to jump from second to second in order to endure the incomprehensible madness until I am hopefully released from it.

BLACK SHADOW THE NIGHT

Black shadows of the night chase from the infinity of the desert. Large dark bodies rush onto the road, appearing in the glaring cone of light from our headlights, only to disappear moments later into the threatening darkness. The blurry ghosts appear again and again until my foggy brain realizes that they are not shadow creatures, but wild horses. Tanja reacts quickly, swerves to the side to avoid the sudden threat and brakes the Ford station wagon loaded to the roof with its overloaded trailer. “Don’t panic, I’ve got everything under control,” she says reassuringly as I straighten up from my crouched position. Once again, wild horses come galloping out of the night’s embrace onto the road. They storm to the left and right of us through the dried bush landscape, make a few turns and suddenly cross the road. Again I flinch with fright, because I have the impression that they are jumping into the car through the windshield. It only takes seconds for the danger to pass and the herd disappears like a ghost into the blackness.

“Stop the car! Please stop!” I shout desperately a little later, because the rubbing pain in the center of my head, glowing with the fire of inflammation, has ignited an explosion. Tanja brakes immediately and stops at the side of the road. I feel for the door handle, pull it open and jump outside. “Aaaaahhhhh! Auaaaaahhhh! Oooohhhaaahhhh! Please stop! Please stop!” I shout into the cold night. I’m almost shouting my head off. So loud that everything inside me trembled as if beaten by a huge drum. “Come on Denis. Get back in the car. Let’s drive on. We’ll be at the hospital all the sooner. The doctors will give you some relief. Come on. Please,’ I hear Tanja’s gentle voice behind me. “Control yourself Denis. Get in the car. Don’t give up. You can do it. Tanja’s right. You’re just wasting time. You can do it. Get in the car,” says an inner voice that is also very familiar to me, whereupon I get back into the old Ford.

The nightmare continues without interruption. Again I see distorted shadows moving through the desert like strange ballet dancers. This time I think I recognize camels. “For God’s sake! Watch out!” I shudder in horror. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything under control!” Tanja reassures me. In fact, the ships of the desert glide across the asphalt strip at an insane speed. “There’s the bull. I think they’re over now,” says Tanja, because the leader of a herd of camels drives his herd in front of him and is therefore always last.

The light from the headlights eats its way further and further through the outback. Kangaroos sit rigidly at the side of the road or jump past us in fright. There is no doubt that this journey through land uninhabited by humans is dangerous, far too dangerous. But we find ourselves in an emergency situation that forces us to drive on. “Watch out!” I stammer in horror as a bull strides towards us in the middle of the road. Although he is blinded by the light of the headlights, he remains on a collision course and shows no signs of fear. Tanja slams on the brakes. The heavy load pushes us forward. The brakes are hopelessly overloaded. It can only be a few seconds before we collide with the monster. “Ah!” I call out briefly and hold my arms in front of my face. We miss the colossus by a hair’s breadth. Tanja outdid herself again and steered our vehicle around the danger on the hard shoulder at the last second.

My non-existent nerves and the aggravation of the devastating power in my eye press me into the seat. Chills make my body tremble. I scream again and again until I feel like throwing my head against the windshield just to free myself from the inhuman and indescribable suffering. “I’ll give you some more of the drops!” I hear a vague voice. In the meantime, I am no longer able to articulate myself. A cup appears in front of me. My hand feels for it and brings it to my mouth. The bitter liquid runs down your throat. It doesn’t take long before the dose sends me into another, completely unknown world. I feel terribly dizzy but the agonizing pain eases a little.

It is still dark when we reach the first gas station. People are still asleep. Tanja tries to find someone who can help us. Her plan is to contact the hospital in Alice Springs. “Maybe they’ll send a rescue vehicle to meet us,” I hear her say. A little later, she gets back into the Ford. “No one here, let’s keep going,” she decides. By now I’ve lost track of time and the Ford stops again. “We can’t go any further. The tank is empty,” I am startled. “You have to fill the spare canister,” I stammer. This time it takes a long time before the engine starts up again. Tanja has obviously found the two spare petrol cans in the trailer.

When I wake up later from my gray embrace, it is daytime. The light penetrating through my closed eyelids blinds me. I can’t hear any engine noises. Apparently we’re standing somewhere. My eyes do not open. I don’t care either. Suddenly the door opens. “Denis! Denis!” a distorted voice shouts. “Let’s rinse your eye. The woman at this gas station gave me a liquid. It’ll give you some relief,” the words float around my ears. Mechanically and as if in slow motion, I rub the pus out of my eye with a damp cloth, then we continue our journey.

THE IRON CLAMP OF PAIN

“We’ll be there soon,” I hear again and again, but I no longer believe the words. I sit there transfixed. I don’t want to move an inch. The fear that the sawing, deep-cutting pain will split my skull again runs deep. Space and time have long since merged into an irrelevance when we stop. “We’re here Denis. Get out of the car. This nightmare is about to end,” says Tanja and opens the door for me. I leave the Ford in a trance. Tanja takes me to the emergency room at Alice Springs Hospital.

“I’ll leave you alone with the nurse. I have to park our car somewhere. Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine,’ she says and hands me over to a creature that I only vaguely recognize. “You have to fill out this form. Do you hear me?” I think I understand. “I can’t,” I hear myself reply. “That’s a matter for the boss,” I then hear. “You’re lucky he’s on duty today, Easter Sunday,” I understand. A smiling face appears in the light fog. “Do you want to lie down there?” it asks kindly. I slowly settle down on a bed. Suddenly Tanja appears again. “I accidentally drove into a dead end. Couldn’t turn around there. You should have seen me. I learned how to reverse with a trailer in just a few minutes,” she says happily.

When the pain starts to tear the inside of my head and eye again, I groan out loud. “I’ll give them morphine. That will take away the pain,” says a doctor. But then Tanja gives me the drops again. A little later, the doctor pours another painkiller into my eye to relieve the stinging and burning sensation that flares up. “That will help them,” I hear. I am immediately freed from the iron grip of pain. “Oh yes, thank you very much,” I groan with relief. After a few more indeterminate moments, a small man introduces himself to me. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Win Law, the head of the eye clinic. Can you walk?” “Yes.” “Then let’s go to my department, I have better equipment there,” says the friendly, smiling doctor. Tanja leads me and we follow the man through the hospital corridors.

During the detailed examination we learn that Dr. Win Law is Burmese and studied with the ophthalmologist of the royal family in England. “I founded the first eye clinic in Burma and completed a further degree in America. I have been building up the eye clinic here in remote Alice Springs for years. I would earn four times as much in Melbourne, but money isn’t everything. People need me here,” says the friendly man. “It looks like her eye has been attacked by various aggressive bacteria.” “Why does it hurt so much?” I want to know. “I can’t say yet. At the moment it is too swollen and inflamed to make an exact diagnosis. The lab will tell us in a few days what bacteria could have brought it to this state.” “What would have happened if we hadn’t gotten help in the next few days?” “You would have gone blind.” “What?” “The eye would have gone blind,” his repetition echoes in my brain. “Will I be able to see properly again?” “You have a good chance,” he says, and I startle again. A good chance also sounds like there is a possibility of not getting out of this story without damage. “Do you want to stay in hospital tonight?” he asks. “I don’t know. Does that make sense?” I ask. “That’s up to them. I’ll give you some more painkillers. The eye drops will soon bring some relief. You are welcome to stay overnight outside the hospital. If there’s an emergency, Tanja can drive you to the hospital,” he suggests.

Two hours later, we are back on the streets of Alice Springs. Tanja drives to the Heritage Caravan Park, where we already had a wonderful time after our second stage. www.heritagecp.com.au to book one of the bungalows for us. In their absence, I let myself out of the car and lie down in the shade of a tree. The pain increases again despite the tablets. “Everything’s fully booked,” her voice startles me when she returns a little later. “However, the owners Jeanette & Paul Coffey offered us a room in their house. They are very helpful,” she adds. Relieved, I follow her. Paul & Jeannette give me a friendly welcome. I try to wring a smile from my face, but to no avail. “This is your room,” says Jeanette, pointing to a room. Without hesitation, I lie down on the white sheets, groaning but relieved. Chills alternate with fever. Tanja brings me water and puts the prescribed drops in my eyes every half hour. She also constantly changes the ice compress to take the heat out of the inflamed eye.

Although the pain is not as devastating as it was last night, Tanja gives me another painkiller in the evening. “Do you think I’ll be able to see properly again?” “I’m quite sure you will,” are the last words I hear, until a faint tiredness overcomes me.