It’s hot, sweaty and humid. There’s a strange smell in the air. I feel like I’m going to pass out and hit my head on the concrete floor. Overhead, a fan hums listlessly. The cry of a child, a soft cough, murmured conversations in a foreign tongue.
The ward is packed with people of all ages with a variety of injuries. It is so crowded that families are sleeping on the floor in the hope that their loved one will be the next to receive surgery. One man has been in an electrical fire and lost both his hands. A young girl’s chin is stuck to her chest, saliva is leaking out of her mouth. A kid’s face is completely distorted by a huge cyst. In a corner bed lies a young farmer – a father of four. The burns to the back of his knees are relatively minor – only 5 per cent of his body surface area – but sustained as they were five years ago and never having received treatment, bit by bit they have contractured (when skin is burned, the surrounding skin begins to pull together). As a result, he can’t walk. We are told he has spent the past couple of years pulling himself along by his hands, while his atrophied legs dangle behind him. Without the use of his legs, he cannot farm. Without farming, he cannot feed his family.
As Michael and I stood in this hospital in Laos, it struck me (not for the first time) how very lucky I was. Lucky to have been born in a country like Australia, with a first-world hospital and medical system that means if, like me, you have an accident, you will be attended to by some of the most highly qualified doctors in the world.
It’s fashionable to knock our medical system – and for sure, there are things it could do better or more efficiently – but until you have seen first-hand how many relatively minor afflictions go untreated in countries like Laos, and thus have a disproportionate impact on the lives of the people who suffer them, you don’t truly appreciate how good we have it. Or at least I didn’t.
Of course, Dr Peter Haertsch first introduced me to the work of Interplast, the charity I have mentioned before. And the more I learned about the life-changing work this group of Aussie and Kiwi surgeons did – and have been doing, on a volunteer basis, for the thirty-odd years that Interplast has existed – the more I became determined to do something to help them out.
Interplast has a relatively narrow focus. Their mission statement is to perform reconstructive surgery in developing countries in the Asia-Pacific. Their work is tangible and straightforward: is it a physical disability that can be fixed with surgery, like a cleft palate or burns scarring? If so, Interplast gets involved. And in my opinion, that is way better than having too broad a scope (save everyone in the world!). As with everything, the more laser-like your focus, the greater your chances of success. That’s not to say that Interplast have a ‘fly in, fly out’ mentality. In fact, their goal is to do themselves out of a job. A huge component of their work is to train up local surgeons and medical staff in the countries they visit. This means that the whole community keeps benefiting from the surgical skills and knowledge being passed on to local teams. I really respect that about the organisation.
I think that the doctors and nurses who volunteer for Interplast are unsung heroes. People like Peter Haertsch, whose life in Australia is dedicated to helping patients in the public system (he could make much more money if he worked in a private hospital) and whose holidays are then spent volunteering in places like Nepal, Bangladesh and Laos.
It’s not the best-known charity in the country, and it certainly doesn’t have the advertising or marketing grunt to be a household name. But in terms of impact on the lives of those whose work it touches, it punches far above its weight. It’s a privilege to be its ambassador.
So why did I start supporting Interplast?
I think often we can become too introspective (why has this stuff happened to me? Why is my life like this?). Helping others shifts our perspective. And, looking back, one of the most important factors in my recovery was gratitude. By working with Interplast and travelling to places like Laos, I gained perspective on my own circumstances and was grateful. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it made sense of what had happened to me in the Kimberley as I’m not one of those people who believe that things happen for a reason, but working with Interplast was an awesome unforeseen development in my life, which would probably never have come about had I not been caught in that fire.
The generosity of others has been a pillar of my recovery. I could work all day, every day raising money and awareness for Interplast and I still wouldn’t come close to balancing the ledger of all the kindnesses that have been shown to me. Plus I only have a certain amount of hours in any given day, so I want to make sure the work I’m doing has both meaning and impact. And I’m a firm believer that if you’re going to do something, you have to commit to it 100 per cent. When I’d go surfing with my dad, and I’d go to catch a wave, but wasn’t fully committed, I’d either not get the wave and cop a disappointed look from Dad, or get dumped. Dad would say, if you want a wave, you have to go for it, come hell or high water.
So that’s why I dedicate all my charity work to Interplast. I could support multiple charities and not really make a meaningful impact with any of them, or I could throw my full weight behind this one and actually make a difference.
My previous interactions with other charities sometimes left me befuddled. Why, I asked myself when I was in Mongolia, are we building houses for these people when quite obviously they just want a new ger? I remember being the guest speaker at one fundraiser and watching with bemusement as a guy handed over a $200 novelty cheque (one of those big, oversized cheques). It costs at least $100 to make a novelty cheque. How is that an efficient use of time or resources?
The only charity that I’ve seriously thought about setting up is an education charity. My mum broke out of the cycle of poverty because she won a scholarship to a prestigious school. But if I ever started an education charity, it would need to have a specific focus. People also ask me why I don’t start my own foundation. And it is something I’ve thought about. But then I consider the reasons why I’d do so. Would I actually be helping to solve a problem? Or would I just be another one of the 50,000 registered charities in Australia? Besides, Interplast already does what I want to do. And they are great to work with. All my work is voluntary, I choose what I can and can’t commit to, and they really respect that and never act like they own me. And they’re happy for me to fundraise for them in whichever way I like. So I walk the Kokoda Track and the Great Wall of China, do the Inca Trail, and soon I plan to climb to Mount Everest base camp. How awesome is that?
The impact I’m making with Interplast is tangible, too. Say it costs $250 for a cleft lip operation. Multiply that out, and with the $1 million I have raised since 2011, I’ve potentially changed a lot of lives. And that’s the best feeling of all.