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Enter: Far North Queensland

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As I mentioned in Taking Cochlear Implants to the Depths, the man who was (and still is, for that matter) my dive instructor eventually took on an even more important role in my life and we remain as happy together as two pigs in mud.

An interstate move

Early this year, Dohn was invited to take up a position as Managing Director of a small mining company in Far North Queensland (FNQ). It was not on my agenda to move interstate and I had never even been to Queensland, but I could see how important it was to him, and agreed he should take the job and I would go too. After living in Perth all my life — with home, family and friends firmly established in that city — this was a big thing for me. Dohn didn’t care where he went, and indeed had recently returned from two years managing an engineering company in Saudi Arabia, but I had never lived anywhere other than Perth.

Atherton Tablelands

In February, the company flew us to Sydney so they could go over things with Dohn, then we were taken up to Mount Garnet in Queensland, where the mining company is based. Far North Queensland is another world! I felt like I was on a tropical holiday (well, I suppose I was) and I was taken aback by the beauty of it all. I had zero expectations, because I knew nothing about the area, and from the moment I saw the coastline as the plane came in to land at Cairns Airport, it was a case of “Wow. Wow. Wow.”

The road exiting the airport is edged with mangroves and swamp, and bears warnings about crocodile-infested waters — not something I’d seen before. Then the twisty drive up the range onto the Atherton Tablelands was stunning, with the rainforest rising directly upwards from each side of the narrow road and joining in a vivid green canopy overhead. Once past the town of Atherton, the scenery was truly spectacular. The countryside is steeply contoured and so, so green, and fringed with forest-covered volcanic (extinct of course) mountain ranges. Houses are, as often as not, typical Queenslanders; verandahed dwellings on poles and clad with weatherboard, perched high on ridges or down in valleys in choice spots beside any of the innumerable watercourses. The southern Tablelands are referred to as “Australia’s Tropical Dairyland” and we discovered that the hills are covered in the greenest pasture and dotted with cows. For a lover of the country, as I am, it was and is idyllic.

View over the Atherton Tablelands from McHugh Lookout, Millaa Millaa.

Mount Garnet

Mount Garnet, however, is a somewhat different kettle of fish. On the western edge of the Tablelands, it is part of the Savannah Way, and from Ravenshoe (45km before you get to Mount Garnet) westwards the landscape changes to grassy open eucalypt country: “Savannah woodlands”. It is beautiful in its own way but very different to most of the Tablelands.

To get to the mine, once in Mount Garnet turn right at the pub and follow the (very bad) unsealed roads 15km or so through the hilly open forest cattle stations, past many herds of cattle, the odd brumby or two, and several pretty dams, until you reach a group of unimposing dongas by the side of the road. Three hours after leaving Cairns, you have finally arrived! Drive in and follow the signs directing you to back up to the bunds, get out and receive a quick induction of the mine site, then allow yourself to be shown around.

The mine is in a lovely, if remote, setting beside a dam with eucalyptus trees, mostly lemon-scented gums, rising up the far side. The accommodation units have a great outlook over the “lake”. When I saw this, and that there was a vacant donga with an ensuite right at the end of the row, metres from the dam edge, I had a brilliant idea! Why don’t we live at the mine at first, instead of rushing around while on this visit, trying to find somewhere to live for when we moved permanently?

The COO of the parent company, who had brought us there, thought it could be helpful temporarily but gave me three weeks maximum before I couldn’t stand it anymore. In my naive optimism, I thought that was amusing. But I acknowledged even at the time that my biggest problem was likely to be the shared kitchen. I do love to cook.

So it was all settled and a month later Dohn and I were firmly ensconced at a tin mine in Mount Garnet and my life had irrevocably changed.

Making a new life

There is good and bad about the move, and one of the good things is that the location of the mine is undeniably beautiful and serene.

A beautiful winter morning. Photo taken from the doorstep of our room.

However, sharing a kitchen is worse than I could have dreamed (don’t get me started!) and together with my lack of control over the way the things important to me are handled and the remoteness, it’s next to impossible for me to make a fulfilling life for myself as things are. We are looking for a property to buy and when that eventuates, things should look up in many ways. Also, I miss my family horribly. It has been quite an emotional few months for me.

On the plus side, we can dedicate weekends to getting out and exploring. There are some amazing places out here and we are steadily taking them all in. I still ask myself, for example: how did I never know that Cobbold Gorge existed?

Silently making our way by barge down the length of Cobbold Gorge — a magical place.

I’ve also learned a lot about mining and met some extremely interesting people. I have enjoyed many wonderful experiences directly related to Dohn’s job. Just today, I was taken into the tunnels of old tin workings originally built in 1880 — worked by hand, of course. What these men did with brute strength, pick and shovel, has my utmost admiration.

1880s tin workings.

This is an amazing part of the country and I am grateful to have the opportunity to experience it.

Conversation starters

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It’s now over two years since the activation of my cochlear implants. Yay! I am so glad I got them when I did. There are all kinds of reasons people delay getting CIs, but I would not have missed a single, hearing, minute of this period and regret my own lateness to that particular party.

I’ve been thinking recently, not so much how much my hearing has improved in the last year, but of the increased quality of life I’m experiencing because of it.

I’ve said in the past that I am now no longer afraid that someone will talk to me. I may not hear every single thing, but I can be fairly confident that in most cases I’ll catch on sooner rather than later. This is absolutely huge.

I know other hearing impaired and deaf people will understand what I am trying to say about that fear of being spoken to. For someone with a hearing impairment, any situation that requires aural communication can be stressful — to say the least. With my severe to profound hearing loss, I became quite reclusive for some time before I took the plunge with cochlear implants. I started to wonder what the point of socialising was, if all I could do was look intently at people and imitate their expressions when they spoke, and hope it looked like I wasn’t totally stupid. Now, when I recognise the same thing in others (and I do!), I just wish they realised that it doesn’t have to be like that…

If there’s one thing that most of us with cochlear implants have in common, it’s a past of isolation. And the fact that the isolation is in the past.

Flashback

As I type, flashes of recent conversations are passing through my mind. Top of the list has to be when, a couple of weeks ago, I was in my local butcher, Meatlovers Paradise. Love that place! Top quality products and they are so friendly and helpful, nothing is too much trouble, and they greet me by name and chat away with me, taking a real interest. What more can one ask?

As I was being served, a man standing near me turned to me and said hello. I did a double-take — it was someone I used to go out with briefly about three-and-a-half years ago. In fact, the very person who told me about Meatlovers Paradise in the first place, when I was new to the area.

The first thing he said was, “So you had your ears done!”

I enthusiastically confirmed this, while trying to figure things out. Our time together was long before I started the CI process…

“Yes, Marcus was telling me about it,” he said. I must have looked at him blankly because he added, “Marcus. Marcus Atlas. The guy who did your operation.”

I must then have looked at him incredulously and said something really bright like, “Um…?” because he said, with a smile, “I’ve known Marcus for years. We went to school together. I told you that…”

More blankness from me.

“…but you probably didn’t hear me,” he laughed.

Love it. :-)

It’s All Good™!

More than an end to isolation

But just recently I realised it goes much further than being able to communicate again, and not be afraid when someone speaks to me. I realised that I was actually starting conversations, not just with people I know but also with complete strangers. This is something I vaguely remember doing a hundred years ago in another life, but I realised that now I do it all the time. I like people! I find people interesting. I’d almost forgotten that.

Can you imagine forgetting that you like people and enjoy interesting conversation?

In a way, it’s very cheaty. It’s actually easier than it at first sounds. When you start a conversation, you can guide it. You pick your topic, and you look and listen for expected key words and phrases in any responses. But, oh my, to have the confidence to unhesitatingly speak when you think of something to say… That is just amazing. (And it works for telephone conversations, too!)

Recently, I don’t even think twice about opening my mouth around other people. Stopping by the open kitchen to talk about cooking with the owner/chef at a local café restaurant. Talking politics at a boat club with a marine broker (don’t ask!) and waxing philosophical about Slow Food with someone in the supermarket checkout line.

To be able to finally be myself again — a me I’d all but forgotten about — that’s priceless.

Oops! Where did the year go?

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I can barely believe how long it is since I’ve posted here — almost a year! — but it’s All Good™. Life is good! I’m (obviously) a year or so older, and frankly, that’s the main difference. Really, a year is not such a long time when you’re my age — the poor, doddering old thing that I am. I mean, my daughter has just turned 21. That makes me ancient by definition, right?

Gemma spent her 21st birthday in the snow at the top of a mountain in Switzerland. I’m guessing there are worse ways to spend your 21st. (It was certainly a darned sight different to my own.) I picked Gem and her dad up from the airport last night when they returned from their 3 or 4 weeks of holidaying in Europe. Despite the plane being delayed 3 hours and arriving at 1:45am (which added up to a total of 39 hours in transit for them, so was a far worse thing for them than for me) Gem was happy and excited and that’s a rather satisfactory thing for a doting old mum to see.

As we were heading back to the car and I was rummaging in my handbag for the parking ticket, my ears beeped. Oops! I’d accidentally pressed a button on the remote control which — uh — controls — my speech processors. This remote control lives in the deep, dark recesses of my handbag. I fished it out (eventually) and reset it.

Wow! Loud noise! Much, much more sound coming from all directions. Double oops, then. I recall the many times recently I’ve missed hearing softer noises that I normally would hear, such as the “ding” of my iPhone when a text message arrives when it’s in my handbag or in another room of the house. I’m guessing that the last time I was in a noisy situation and switched the program over to the one that dulls down background noise so it’s easier to focus on speech (probably a week or two previously) I forgot to switch it back again. Sadly, I’d even considered the possibility that this had happened at the times I was actually aware that some sounds seemed a bit muted (or totally absent) and thought that “next time” I was near my handbag I’d check the remote. Then forgot. Oops oops oops oops oops.

Unsurprisingly, I was really struck by the difference in how well I could hear everything after the reset. (Rather handy, given that I had to drive home with an excited chatterbox in the car that I now didn’t have to strain to hear.) Duh. Oh well, live and learn!

Gemma and her dad were duly deposited at their home and, after inspecting Gemma’s important new acquisitions of a rather gorgeous soft leather jacket from Paris, and some stunning Gucci heels from Milan (while all the time making suitably approving noises as expected of a mother under such circumstances, but as quietly as possible so as to not wake my sleeping son) I returned to my own modest little haven for a wicked, wanton and wondrous BBBB before finally turning out the light around 4:30am.

Ahhhhhhhh. Despite the fact that my kids being older is a poignant reminder that I’m not the spring chicken I once was, there’s rather a lot to be said for not having wee bairns underfoot anymore. Besides which, all three kids are really wonderful young people. I wouldn’t go back for anything! And in spite of my (rather numerous) “Oops!” moments, I can’t help thinking that they, too, ultimately just lead to better things.