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Inspiration Dare To Live trust yourself, inspirational, motivating with attitude mindset energy

dare to survive

 

 chapter 1

 

I

believe that we all just take life for granted until something happens to bring us up short and make us take stock of what we have in life. For me, it all started with a hyena... But NO! Actually it didn’t. It started before that.

Do you ever have times when your own words come back to you? Each term, as the Head of a private, primary school in the farming town of Chipinge on the south-eastern border of Zimbabwe I chose a key word and based my assemblies around this word.

In the middle term of 2003, I chose the word Challenges, and in the 3rd term - Attitude. The stories, homilies, quotations, etc that I spoke about to the children certainly set me up for my start to 2004.

My daughter, Jenna had phoned me.

“Mom, would you and Jim like to come on a fishing trip on the River for New Year?†The river was the Zambesi River on the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia. My husband, Jim, opted not to join the party as he reckoned he had done enough camping in his lifetime. I phoned to tell Jenna that I’d love to go but that Jim wouldn’t. She laughed and said that her Dad, my first husband, Geoff, was going to come but his wife, Avril, wouldn’t, for exactly the same reason as Jim, and asked if Jim would mind me going if Geoff was on his own. Well, no one minded, so that was okay.

About fourteen of us met up in Harare at sun-up, loaded the vehicles with all our camping gear, fishing rods, beer and wine, food and other essentials. In a wonderful, light-hearted holiday spirit, we all set out in convoy for Mongwe, thirty kilometres downstream from Chirundu, on the banks of the mighty Zambezi River, which forms the boundary between Zimbabwe and Zambia, a really unique and special area of Zimbabwe – in fact, the whole of the Zambezi Valley is spectacular. The first part of the journey to Makuti took a few hours on good tar roads. We then wound our way downwards into the Zambesi Valley, the tar becoming narrower, the heat increasing, until we turned off the road and travelled down an indistinct, winding dirt track through the bush. As it was the rainy season, occasionally one of the vehicles would flounder in the mud, as we crossed rivers and elephant tracks, and it would have to be pulled out by one of the 4X4s.

The convoy eventually arrived at our destination by mid-afternoon, an abandoned fishing camp that was being resuscitated by my son-in-law, Trevor, and a few of his friends, who had gone into partnership in the venture. There were quite a few of these camps along the Zambezi that had previously been owned by white Zimbabweans. The owners had been chased away by ‘freedom fighters’ and National  Parks had taken over the camps. Now seriously neglected, National Parks were inviting these same white Zimbos back to the camps to try and put them right again and encourage tourism. They could see how beautiful the developments on the Zambian side of the river were and how popular they were for holidays and fishing trips and how tourists were pouring into the area across the river.

This particular camp was set right on the banks of the river on quite a steep slope. A fairly basic ablution block was perched on the top with spectacular views of the river, which you could enjoy whilst taking a shower. Halfway down the slope was a dilapidated double storey stone and thatch building. Upstairs was a large half-walled sleeping area. Downstairs was a basic kitchen and sitting and dining area. This was in a really bad state of repair and needed a good clean, so we all set about with brooms to make the place habitable. Jenna and Trevor were to sleep there with their children and the rest of us set about erecting our tents on the river bank. By now, the beer and wine was flowing and humour was at a high.

We had been having an idyllic time, fishing, boating, eating, drinking, talking, and just enjoying the wonderful ambience of the African bush - as one does on the banks of that incredible river. On the 2nd January we had spent the morning fishing, drifted down the river for a late afternoon drink, returned to camp, had a wonderful, gourmet-type meal - in true Zimbabwe fashion we had taken two cooks with us, who even managed to produce freshly baked bread each day.

We had been sitting around reminiscing about the good, old, bad days, enjoying the odd glass of wine or six as one often does, listening to the noises of the night – the loud barks of the baboons, the hoarse coughs of the hyenas, the occasional roar of lions and the musical sound of the Christmas beetles. Just beautiful!

At about 9:30pm we all decided to retire for the night. Isn’t it amazing how tired one gets doing nothing all day? I settled into my little tent (one of those two-man affairs made for undersized midgets!). It was extremely hot and sultry, so after about an hour of tossing and turning I decided to sleep on the stretcher I had outside my tent. The tent was too small for the stretcher to fit inside! I must admit, that as I arranged my pillow and sheet on the stretcher, the thought of wild animals did cross my mind but I instantly dismissed the idea, settled down and was soon fast asleep.

At ten to midnight I was jerked to wakefulness by the sound of the scrunching of bones and the most disgusting smell. Confused and disorientated, at first I didn’t know what was going on, but I soon realised that the bones being scrunched were my bones, as a hyena bit into my face and hand and started dragging me up the steep slope. I screamed and screamed, fighting desperately as though my life depended on it – which I suppose it really did – and thinking that my end was insight! It must have been only a few seconds before the brute, realising that he’d bitten off more than he could chew, let me go and vanished into the night. As I knelt in the dirt, the blood pouring from my face, I realised that my hands and feet still worked and that I could still think so I must be all right!

I was actually a bit of a mess. My eye was in my ear, my ear was hanging off, my face was a bloody pulp, my thumb was nearly detached from my hand and my arms were torn to shreds.

My son-in-law, Trevor Gilbert and a friend picked me up and carried me to the thatched A-frame, where they sat me in the light. My daughter Jenna and her friend, Kim, then proceeded to put me together, cleaning up all my wounds and bandaging them. What a dreadful thing for a daughter to have to do for her mother, but both she and Kim managed superbly. Luckily, Trevor is one of those people who have to have the best of everything and so his First Aid Kit was the best on the market. It included saline drips which were used to clean all my wounds.

I was put onto the front passenger seat of the 4x4 that had been laid flat. Geoff held my head and Trevor drove me back through the bush to the hospital in Kariba, the nearest small town. I could hear Trevor and Geoff talking.

“Don’t let her fall asleep Geoff,†said Trevor. “She’s lost lots of blood, she’ll go into shock.â€

Every elephant and his friend seemed to be on that bush track that night and weren’t too keen to get out of the way.

“Oh no!†yelled Trevor, “The elies are blocking the way. I can’t get through.â€

“Just keep driving,†said the ever-stoic Geoff. Trevor did and miraculously the elephants parted and let us through.

Eventually we arrived at Kariba at 2:30am and met the only piece of negativity we found when the duty nurses took one look at me and said, “Maiwee, maiwee! You cannot come here, we have no facilities. You must go to Harare.â€

Harare was another five hours drive away.

Luckily, two Cuban doctors appeared and immediately put me on a drip, administered painkillers, gave me an anti-tetanus injection, rabies vaccine and sewed up my thumb, apologising that they could do nothing for my face. They really gave me a good Z$120 worth which was what government clinics charged at that time.

In the meantime, after many phone calls, Trevor had managed to get hold of my sister, Barbara, in Harare. She contacted MARS, the Medical Air Rescue Service who agreed to come and fetch me. BUT, can you believe this? As there was an air-traffic controllers’ strike in progress they were only able to land in Kariba when it was light.

Trevor, meanwhile, went into Kariba town to find the airport manager who had  the keys to open up the airport. After much running around he came back with the manager’s keys, just for the main security gate! Just before the expected time of the plane’s arrival, Trevor was going to transfer me into his car so that there would be no delay at the airport when the plane landed. Here, the hospital staff refused to release me as they were ‘responsible’ for me and I had to travel in the hospital ambulance, but the driver would have to ‘jump start’ it for them after they had located him! Well, Trevor took one look at the ambulance and said that under no circumstances was his mother-in-law going in that ‘death trap’! It really was horrendous, literally tied together with wire and tyres worn down to the metal! After much argument, Trevor drove to the airport to fetch the doctor and nursing sister to bring them back to Kariba Hospital.

They were great, examined me and agreed that I could travel in Trevor’s 4x4 with them in attendance. Reaching the airport, the pilots apologised for not arriving sooner. I was soon ensconced in the Air Ambulance and in the air. The MARS doctor and sister were superb, very efficient and reassuring. During the flight they radioed ahead to the Avenues Clinic for a receiving surgeon to be waiting for me and to have a plastic surgeon on stand-by.

Upon my arrival at the Clinic, things went pretty much according to the TV Soaps, where I was handed over to the doctors and plastic surgeon, X-rayed, prepared for theatre, operated on, and then sent to the wards. Contrary to what I had been led to believe would happen in Zimbabwe at that time, my treatment and nursing was second to none and I have nothing but praise for all the people who attended to me. They were all highly skilled and very caring. We were so fortunate in that country to have had so many dedicated and highly thought of specialists practising there – quite a few of whom are still doing so.

Meanwhile my poor husband, who was in Chipinge where we lived at that time, had been told by my elder daughter Alison, who lived on a farm in Middle Sabi, that I had been attacked and dragged by my head by a hyena, the message she had received. Fearing the worst, he packed his funeral suit and set off for Harare, planning my service and choosing hymns on the way. He was actually highly relieved to see me alive!

I am sure that I was on half the prayer lists in the country upon my arrival in Harare and probably most of the others by the time I was in theatre. It was incredible how quickly the news had spread. I do believe that I am living proof that prayers are answered. From the moment that hyena let go of me, everything was positive.

I did lose my eye but the surgeon managed to re-attach my eye-lid, which is a big plus for holding in a false eye. He had hopes of finding tear ducts but this was not to be. After the first operation he thought he would have to do a couple of skin grafts, but during the second operation ten days later he found that it wasn’t necessary. My face, especially the eyelid, was very swollen, needing to be massaged for at least half an hour three times a day. This, my husband did. I would then lie back and revel in the joys of formication (note the letter “mâ€), following the stimulation to my face. I never cease to be amazed at my recovery. Having been for various neuro-scans, it appeared that the nerves in both my face and hands were working - more or less.

The bone man managed to put my very graunched hand back together with skewers and skill. It took him three operations and six months but I have just about full movement back. When I said to him,

‘Thank you so much, I was really worried about my hand,’ his reply was,

‘So was I – but you know something? This had so much to do with getting it right.’ – and he tapped me on the head!

Fourteen operations later, I am amazed at my recovery and cannot believe how good my face is when I look back and remember how mutilated it was. My eye socket was reconstructed, using the mucus membrane from my mouth, so that it could hold a glass eye which looks fine but doesn’t see too well.

Much worse things happen to other people. I am still alive. My injuries could have been much more horrific. The response of my family and friends, and total strangers were wonderful. The prayers, support, good wishes, flowers and gifts given to us by so many were unbelievable. People raised and donated, what I considered to be, vast amounts of money to help towards my medical expenses. This I found very difficult to accept as I had always been one of the people who organised this sort of thing.

Zimbabwe was, and still is, still a very caring society to live in. People saw what needed doing and did it. I arrived home to a full freezer and fridge and a house full of flowers and meals. My little school was in perfect running order, as I knew it would be.

When something horrific happens to you, it makes you stop and take stock of all that you have. It enables you to put things into perspective and to realize what is important in your life. So often we take everything for granted and don’t appreciate all that is good in our lives. We let little things niggle us, tend to be judgmental and let things get out of proportion. Pull yourself up short. Think about your life and all you have to be thankful for. Focus on what is important. Show your gratitude. Dare to survive.

Since my ‘Hyena Incident’ I have met a vast number of people who have survived incredible traumas and believe they have come out as better people. They have such positive attitudes and are wonderful people and an inspiration to speak to. They dared to survive. You don’t have to go through trauma to have a survival attitude and a positive mindset. Remember that life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it. You have the ability to respond and therefore the ‘responsibility’ for your life. Our past responses have brought us to the place where we are at now. Is it a place that you like to be in or does it need changing? You can change your life if you really want to. Live life positively. Dare to survive, thrive and lead a wonderful life.

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

Over the last few years, Diane Carter has survived a wild animal attack and the subsequent operations to put her back together again, has lived with tyrannical persecution within the oppressive Zimbabwean regime, coping with political harassment, brutality and bullying by Mugabe’s henchmen.

http://www.dianecarter.com.au

Diane followed her heart and ‘eloped’ with her first love, whom she hadn’t seen for over forty years. She handled the deaths of her first husband, elder daughter and mother, all within a few weeks of each other, with fortitude.
www.dianecartersurvivethrive.com
Diane puts her indomitable spirit down to her very positive attitude, and since her retirement from her position as school principal of a Private School in Zimbabwe, at the end of 2006, has tried to spread the message of Mindset Energy, the power of positive thinking and positive attitude, to anyone and everyone she can reach. She believes that you can be and do anything you want to, if you really want it badly enough. You just have to have the right Mindset Energy.

http://www.dianecarter.com

Adorable Bow pillow sewing kit vintage new in package no date "Imaginating bran" $20.00

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I'd suggest you might want to try some patterns from Lazy Girl Designs. They're well done, with very clear instructions.
http://www.lazygirldesigns.com (be sure to explore some of the stuff under the "community" tab).

But unless you have permission/license to sell the finished product, you cannot make and sell home sewing patterns. Some designers are very liberal in what they will allow you to do with their patterns, others will come down on you like a ton of bricks. And home sewing patterns are not designed like as production sewing patterns -- in general, production sewing patterns are very much more precisely engineered and are even as specific as "this pattern for the red bag and that pattern for the black one that seems to be identical to the red one" -- the difference in fabrics are accounted for in production patterns.

Once you've got the general construction of an item down pat, then you can design your own patterns and make and sell all you want.

Another good book to look for in your library is Nancy Restuccia's Hold it!, which has clear instructions and diagrams for a variety of different bag types.

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