Chapter 38 New Horizons

                                                      
                                                      Chapter 38   Far Horizons

 When I returned home I resigned from the Girl Guides. I wanted to concentrate on my family. (At least I didn't have to feel guilty about that decision.)

    In February of 1976 Peter and I took our newly bought caravan to Noosa on the beautiful Sunshine Coast for a holiday. I lay back on the sun-warmed rocks, let the tangy salt air drain out of my lungs, and listened to the breaking surf.

    The specialist in Brisbane had suggested one more child should be all we consider in the future. ”If only I could just have a little girl, I’d be happy,” I thought.

    Mum and Dad arrived and spent some days with us, and the five of us took a full-day  four-wheel-drive/boat tour to the famous Coloured Sands. Ashly splashed in little water puddles in the sand and Dad wore different clothes for a change. I was relaxed and Peter and I were happier than we’d been in months.

    April found us back in Brisbane again for Peter’s second ambulance training stint. As usual Ashley and I stayed with his mum at Oxford Park. While we were there I developed a cold, and subsequently, an antrum infection in my face, which was accompanied by deep throbbing pain  I'd never had sinusitis and this was a whole new experience. Three Codeine Compound tablets every three hours wasn't touching the pain. Ashley was just over three at the time and very adventuresome, and my coping skills were rapidly evaporating, not to mention Peter's mother’s coping skills, which were tenuous at the best of times.

    I was so beside myself with anxiety and pain, I rang the airline and altered my flight from Saturday to Thursday so that Ashley and I could go home two days early. I needed so desperately to get home to my mum! It is really interesting the way children sense a crisis, because on the way home he never murmured, just sat quietly looking out the window. Murphy’s Law kicked in again though, and that particular flight landed at another regional centre on the way. The last thing I needed was more pain in my sinuses from cabin-pressure during an extra landing. As the plane descended over the airport, bumping and rocking, the pain became so intense I was physically sick for the first time while flying.

    The hostess was sympathetic. “Poor little thing,” she said, smiling benevolently at Ashley as she took the bag from me. I was too sick to enlighten her.

     At my home airport Mum and my sister-in-law waited, and when I alighted from the aircraft they were horrified at my pasty appearance. “God! You look frightful; you’re deathly pale!” 

     They drove me straight to my doctor. Because of  the vomiting he asked, “Are you pregnant?”

    I assured him, “No, unfortunately. I’ve been meaning to see you about that.” 

    Two hours later I was in hospital. The doctor had decided on a pregnancy test anyway, and to our absolute joy, gave us the good news the next day. Once again a course of penicillin needles worked a miracle on the infection.

    I had a trouble-free pregnancy, and after the delivery I could hardly believe the blessing that gave us one child of each sex. Partly due to being in a smaller hospital where not such a demand is placed on the staff, I had a much pleasanter labour. By the time I got into the labour ward I had at least five staff around me, including my doctor and most importantly of all, Peter was there. I had never let him live down the fact that he wasn't present for the first labour, especially that he had gone home to bed and slept while I lay in hospital labouring over the birth of our son.

    What joy to hear the words, “It’s a girl.” I have such good memories of the birth.

    While I was in hospital Pete dedicated a song to me on the radio. It was Olivia Newton John's, "If not for you."  Woohoo!

    Pete, always independent, insisted on taking care of Ashley while I was in hospital.  He took him to Mum for the time he was on duty, but she longed to have him overnight. Peter felt it was his duty to take care of his son himself. I was in hospital for a week and this time I successfully breast-fed for close to a year.

     At our discharge, Stephanie’s new cane carry basket sat on the back seat of the car. There were no restraints for baby baskets. Some years later someone did invent a restraint for baskets, and a few years after that the safer capsules were adopted.

    Pete’s mother was very excited about having another grandchild, and now and then she flew up from Brisbane to spend a few weeks with us. My mother was tickled pink too, just glad ‘everything was all right.’

    Ashley's Preschool year caused me some misgivings. He started just after he turned four, and the teacher was in her first year after training and was very young, although enthusiastic. That's not a criticism, but she did lack experience. Of course Ashley was a difficult child. I understood that.

     Consequently, I was called to account on more than one occasion, “He’ll teach the other children bad habits.  He’s always climbing the little grevillea trees.” Well that was no surprise!

    He didn't hold back when it came to a fight either. “Ashley’s been hitting other children!”

    But his biggest sin was having no interest in painting, and when she insisted that he produce some art, he simply splashed a few strokes on the paper to keep her happy. And she was.

    Still, Ashley and I had our day, much to the other mothers’ angst. I should say our night, because it came at his preschool Christmas concert when our new baby girl was already five weeks old. The parents all sat proudly, watching their little darlings who were all dressed in white smocks,  had little bare feet, and held a lighted candle. They looked like a ring of sweet little cherubs. They were singing Little Drummer Boy, and there was one special little boy, (my angel of course,) keeping perfect time on the drum. Topped by golden curls, he looked like the cutest, most innocent angel of all.  Apparently he was the only one she could find who could keep in time, and he never missed a beat. And there was me with no camera!

    This would be one of the first examples of irony we would experience with our son.

    Reading stories at bedtime was always one of our favourite pastimes with our children. I deliberately read clearly to them and enunciated my words carefully, and it paid off as they learned to speak. Actually, Pete and I must have been fairly modern parents, because I remember a discussion I was having one day with a group of other mothers, possibly family members because I remember that my mother was there. We were talking about the odd names we parents sometimes give to certain parts of the anatomy when children are tiny, and learning to speak.

    Everyone was laughing and giggling and shooting off names , “Doodle,”  “Little Jimmy,” “Tommy tiddler,” etc.

    When I made the remark, "Oh, we just call it ‘penis’,” a stunned gasp of air escaped from my mother's chest.

    It sounded as if someone had slapped her sharply on the back! And I bet she was thinking, ‘I brought her up better than that, too!’

    Another day we were travelling in the car with Dad to my brother's farm. Stephanie, Mum, and I were sitting in the back seat of the car when Mum pointed out a horse to Steph. 

    "Gee-gee," Mum said in a baby voice. Steph replied firmly, "Horse!" Mum and I burst out laughing.

    When Pete read to our little girl he often substituted the name of the main character with her name. It was a great game and she never failed to remonstrate with him. It was a great way to make memories.

    After a year, Peter was promoted to senior bearer. We lived in an affluent town supported by the sugar industry. But you were nobody if you wern’t a cane cocky, and it tended to be a clicky, closed community. Nevertheless, one of the older ambulance officers was a prominent member of the local Lions Club, and he sponsored Peter as a member. Pete and I liked the club, and when the other members got to know that he was a figures man, he was soon persuaded to become treasurer.

     Back in the 70’s and 80’s the ambulance staff still raised money, the government only supporting ambulance centres dollar for dollar for what they raised. In all weathers they stood in the main street selling lucky envelopes. When the cold westerly winds were blowing they wore heavy, black over coats. After a time, as well as selling lucky envelopes, they decided to run bingo. This meant all staff volunteering as helpers on the appropriate night. It was popular and well patronised and our ambulance became even more affluent. This meant they were able to buy lots of first-class equipment and cars; as opposed to a small country centre where the area was poor and the local ambulance was not able to afford very much expensive, or necessary, equipment. When we first went north Peter was overwhelmed by the standard and quality of the gear they had to work with.

    Still, in time, he became restless with his work and after three years he started applying for jobs which would give him a new challenge. He applied for a few positions as an office-in-charge, but missed out, at least on one occasion, according to the superintendent, because he was 'overqualified.’

    Then a vacancy arose at our favourite holiday spot, the Sunshine Coast. Pete was granted an interview. We were very excited and he went out and bought a new shirt especially for the occasion. I remember waiting in the car with the children until he returned from his interview with the committee members. He sounded confident and happy and within a week they had contacted him about a starting date.