By Tracey Paterson
It was quite surreal watching Donny Paterson, the character, in The Third Wave. I saw the man (although much older and balder!) that I married: the assertive, confident man; a natural leader who knew what he wanted and needed. I hadn’t seen that Donny Paterson for a long while. He’d been taken away and Donny had given up searching for him. So I am so proud of what he did there, and so happy that the real Donny re-emerged – he found himself.
Countering all that, though, I have to admit I felt a little short-changed too. I was left thinking how it would be great to see that character surface a lot more often at home. Here was this hero-like character who was so responsible and receptive to all these others’ daily needs – more than those he loves most who were sitting at home. I’d like a little more of that Donny daily, please. But, hey, I won’t give up waiting; I think I’ve proved I’m not one to give up and I’m glad I haven’t.
Don’t get me wrong; Donny the person now is more focused, more driven and has a lot more motivation. I see the spark in his eyes again; I can see life behind those eyes now too. To see him have all this energy and self-esteem and passionate drive is wonderful, and we’re all so proud to see that in his nature again because we are the only ones who know where he has come from and where he wants to go. But when you want to save the world, you have to start at home sometimes, that’s all I’m saying.
Years ago I would say there were two Donnies; now there are three. I loved one man that I will never get back. He grew into another man, because of circumstance, that I am glad is now gone. Now he is another man altogether again, one who just wants to help others no matter where they are or how poor or unfortunate they are.
Donny was my first love and that’s probably why I fell so deeply for him. I was very shy; I didn’t strive for anything and just settled for enjoying life. And I wanted to marry a man who would take care of me. Donny was that man. He had a drive about him, a decisive nature without being dictatorial; he was so strong in himself and sure of himself.
I can track down so clearly now when he started to change – after Simon died in his arms and then he saw the other young man dead in his car. He just didn’t seem to cope very well anymore; things just started to unravel slowly and I couldn’t put my finger on it for a long while. He started to drink more heavily; he wanted to hang out with his mates and drink so he could forget, so he could numb himself. He then began to second guess himself a lot more. He retreated within himself.
The weaker he got, the stronger and more independent I got. There were many times when Donny became dependent on me, almost like a child. I became who am I now – colder in some ways, more questioning and less trusting – because of Don’s illness. My spark, the excitement, was taken from me because I always needed to be the responsible one in the relationship. Due to circumstances I stopped becoming spontaneous and fun and just existed to look out for the kids and Donny; I was in constant survival mode. I became a detective and I challenged everything that came out of his mouth. I even went as far as pressing redial on the phone after he’d made a call to find out who he’d been talking to. In some ways I became very arrogant, and certainly more outspoken in regard to how Donny was treated medically; he wouldn’t question things so I had to. Those things all happen when you live with someone who suffers an addiction. However, I came from a broken home with my parents’ divorce and I was determined that I would never put my kids through that, so I kept surviving.
Beyond that, though, there was a good man inside and I yearned for him to come out of the shadow. He did in Peraliya. In Sri Lanka he had no one else to lean on, he had to take the initiative and stand up without the safety net he’d learned to rely on back home – and he certainly knew what he was doing because of his army training. You also see that confidence in his first-aid role; if I had a heart attack, Donny would be the person I’d want beside me. At home, though, maybe he just got used to me being the dominant one who organised everything and would challenge things. He is still too submissive at times and just lets things ride, lets me organise and doesn’t question things. It’s a real contradiction to what people see on the screen in The Third Wave or at the footy on a weekend.
He has suffered so badly from physical pain because of the injuries he sustained in the army, and the psychological pain of Simon’s death and other traumas. During the times he was in hospital the morphine and pethidine took the pain away; he would at times exaggerate the extent of his pain when asked just so he could get more drugs into his system to take him ‘away’. I suspected something was wrong; his mood swings were significant and he would leave home saying he was going to the gym or working late – I couldn’t put my finger on what was going on, but I later learned he’d be out doing the rounds of the doctors’ surgeries. When he left home he’d be strung out and on edge, but when he came back he was more together and relaxed.
It wasn’t until the day after he broke into the doctor’s surgery – and he was so ashamed of himself for that, and still is – that he told me he had a problem and what he had done. We sat down and talked and we both cried. I rang up the drug information line and was told he had to be reported and that it meant he would go on a national register. That never slowed up his ability to get the drugs because there wasn’t a computer register at that time. All it did was formally brand him as a drug user.
The toughest part of those years, like it is for any woman with a husband who is an abuser of alcohol or substances, was the physical abuse. The emotional side of things got harder and harder, too, but I clung to the hope that somewhere inside there was still the man I married. When he finally went to the Perth clinic, I’d reached the end. I couldn’t live that life anymore. I’d been struggling for four years with the decision whether to end our marriage or not but the ‘what ifs’ haunted me. Could I look my kids in the eyes and know I gave 110 per cent to keep the family together? I couldn’t have lived with it if Don had committed suicide and I hadn’t done enough to keep him alive as their father. In the end it was the obligation of keeping my kids safe and him alive that kept me in the relationship.
Before he went to Sri Lanka Donny existed – for Cory’s football, for the girls and me. But he didn’t live. He was always searching for something and felt he was missing something. As a family it wasn’t perfect but we have always been very good at supporting each other. Few people knew about Don’s condition, purely because I drummed into the kids that what happened in our house stayed there; I’d built a picket fence around our house to keep any troubles we had inside it. Still, he is very loving and supportive and often tells the kids how proud he is of them; he truly loves them, and me, and we know that. And we love him back just as much.
However, even when he came back after his first stint in Peraliya he was wrestling with himself – with the physical pain, because his body had taken a beating over there, plus his depression was bad because he had been off his medication. I’m sure he didn’t intend to, but he nearly overdosed then. When he was suffering extreme pain, he would do anything to escape it; it became a one-track-mind issue, and the obvious way to nullify his pain was to pump painkillers into himself.
The thing with Donny is that he knows what he should and shouldn’t do physically and how certain activities will affect him pain-wise. But because he wants to contribute to society and not sit on the lounge like others with similar disabilities, he will go and help out somewhere knowing it will come back to bite him. With football, for example, he would help out on Saturdays and Sundays knowing that Monday to Wednesday he would be in excruciating pain. For having two days of feeling ‘relatively normal’ (even though he runs like a duck onto the field), and ‘contributing’ and socialising, he knew the ‘reward’ was that he would be in agony for three days, having to lie on the couch with his legs elevated, and we would have a miserable person in our midst. He had such a strong relationship with Cory with their footy, a real male-bonding thing – you know, the boys together – but it got to the stage where it meant that come Tuesdays and Thursdays he couldn’t even take Cory to training and wait for him. Physically and mentally he was spent and couldn’t do it anymore, even though he wanted so badly to. That hurt both of them.
That was the case until October 2008 when he had the knee surgery. His time in Peraliya turned him around mentally, and that operation turned him around physically. As I write this he’s had one weekend doing the first-aid at Newcastle Wests juniors and he didn’t complain once about his pain afterwards, and was quite active in the ensuing days.
Donny is a new man, there’s no doubt. He’s a bit of a larger-than-life super-hero figure to some but he still avoids taking on responsibility at times, in everyday things. That doesn’t come easily to him anymore. It does come easy when he’s out in the field, so to speak, be it on the football field of a weekend or in Sri Lanka or Laos or on the streets of Newcastle at night helping street kids. At home – hmm! Maybe that’s very much an Australian male thing, I don’t know, but after the journey we’ve had – a hell of a journey, as you have just read – that’s the only complaint I have now. I’m glad I have stuck by his side, for his sake, my sake and our three children’s sake. And our journey has a long way to go yet, I hope – maybe he might take me with him for an overseas adventure, or even a holiday?