There were tears of sheer joy in my eyes as twenty-four-year-old Rifleman Michael Swain of the 3rd British Rifle Battalion, resplendent in his midnight-blue dress uniform, marched the 20 metres towards Elizabeth II to receive his MBE at Windsor Castle on the morning of Tuesday, 15 April 2014. It was a particularly poignant moment for me, because I knew the heartbreak and courage that had brought him to this ceremony.
My elation was also mixed with anxiety. With every step, I was willing Michael to be careful. Not to slip or stumble. My concern was that he should complete that march without mishap.
As Michael approached the Queen, tears rolled down his mother’s cheeks. She glanced at me and whispered, ‘You should be receiving that medal. It’s because of you that he’s walking.’ In truth, seeing Michael stride so confidently and naturally to receive the MBE for his charity fundraising work was reward enough. As I reflected on his achievements, and my escape from Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, I had to acknowledge this was certainly one of the proudest moments of my life.
Michael’s march that day was so extraordinary because only five months earlier he was barely capable of walking. Now he was stepping confidently towards the Queen, with a perfectly normal gait, on two artificial robotic legs which, as his orthopaedic and osseointegration surgeon, I had given him a couple of months earlier in my home city of Sydney.
Five years previously, Michael’s life had been hanging in the balance. Both his legs were blown away above the knee when he stepped on an improvised explosive device while serving in Afghanistan. Following the long months of tortuously slow recovery, he’d been fitted with traditional socket prostheses. But they caused so many difficulties that Michael, a young father who is full of energy, was mostly restricted to a wheelchair. That’s when he started trawling the internet and discovered osseointegration and my specialist clinic.
In Michael’s case, his ability to flawlessly walk up to meet the Queen at Windsor Castle more than amply demonstrated the success that can be achieved. As we shared that moment in the Waterloo Room, I had known Michael for less than six months, but we had already been through some inspiring experiences together. And we share another link. On 8 November 1999, precisely ten years before Michael stepped on the explosive device in Afghanistan, I had set foot on Australian territory for the first time.
The welcome I received was almost as hostile as Michael’s reception in Afghanistan. I was treated like a criminal. I was verbally abused and constantly told I should return as soon as possible to my homeland. In fact, the government would do everything to help me get there.
There was one flaw to their argument. I couldn’t go back to my homeland, Iraq. Well, not if I wanted to avoid imprisonment, torture and, probably, execution.
Happily, I survived the hateful onslaught and eventually thrived in my new country, to the extent that I can now play a significant role in helping hundreds of people transform their lives. Often I’m doing it through hip and knee replacements which restore pain-free mobility to people who have been crippled by arthritis and other joint problems. For scores more above-the-knee amputees like Michael, osseointegration has delivered an even greater transformation.
To be able to make such a huge contribution to improving people’s lives is my major motivation. But when I arrived in Australia, there was absolutely no indication I would ever be in a position to make such a contribution.
A lot had unfolded over the intervening years to transport the boy from Baghdad to the man at Windsor Castle. Along the way there were confronting challenges. I was subjected to degradation I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But overall the experiences have served to shape my character and have made me even more determined to help change people’s lives for the better, forever.