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'The Fracture Clinic was busy this morning,' I thought to myself as I sat down. Many of the patients had crutches and or casts onand were in some degree of pain. Especially an elderly lady whosat uncomfortably in a chair with her arms in a sling. Parentsand friends waited patiently at their sides. Mum was chatting to the lady next to her about her son while Dad and Amanda kept mequiet and calm for as long as they could.

The clinic smelt like a 'typical' hospital, with the almost overpowering smell of disinfectant. An imposing Sister sat ather desk at the front of the room. High above her desk a large clock sat on the wall, ticking loudly.

Sitting in the Fracture Clinic for an hour seemed like aneternity to me. The pain was becoming more and more unbearable as the minutes slowly ticked by. The Sister came and told my family to take me for a walk for an hour or so until the Doctor arrived. I just wanted to get it over with and go home. When my Mother asked the Sister why the delay she coldly stated
"The Doctor will be here when he is ready, why don't you go for a walk, and come back in an hour." The Sister looked straight at me as if she couldn't tell what was wrong. She had no sympathy for my grief; she was cold and heartless as a rock. My Father pleaded with her to get me something for pain without Codeine in it, as I am allergic to it. I was in an extreme amount of pain and becoming more and more impatient as time gradually passed by. Dad helped me to my feet and we walked around town for an hour. It was my sister's birthday and I wanted her to enjoy it. I didn't want her to feel bad for me as it was her special day.

Since I broke my arm yesterday in a serious horse riding accidentat Port Arthur in Tasmania's south, everything had snowballed. I waited for hours on end last night at the Emergency Room at the Royal. My blood pressure dropped dramatically as they manipulated my arm under a Local Anaesthetic and pain killers. They kept me in until my blood pressure was normal again. They sent me home with painkillers I was allergic to. 'How much more could go wrong?' I thought to myself.

Walking around town was an effort in itself, every step was a struggle, and the pain surged up and down my arm and raged inside my head. On our return to the Fracture Clinic another half-hour had passed before a Doctor prescribed the right medication. Pain lanced up my arm with the slightest movement,even if I didn't move the pain would remain a constant reminder of yesterday. 'The pain could not possibly get worse than this, could it?' While I pondered the thought, a plasterer in blue overalls popped his head around the door told me to come through.

Dad walked me to the plaster room and my stomach started churning at the thought of something else going wrong. He sat me down and said
"I'll be back in a second." I glanced around the plaster room; it was cluttered with coloured bandages, amongst otherthings. I gazed out the window, it was a beautiful November day,the sun was streaming through the window, but inside it was cold and unfriendly. My eyes nervously scanned the room; the plasterer was on the phone. He hadn't noticed that I was sitting there. My heart was pounding and my stomach was like a bottle of champagne ready to disperse its contents at any moment. Dad arrived back just as the plasterer finished on the phone.
"Mum has just gone down stairs to get the right medication," Dad said with a look of despair, like he somehow knew what would happen if I wasn't given anything. "I'm trying to get you something for pain." Amanda, my sister was standing behind Dad. She was biting her lip and twining her hair around her finger. She felt it too; something was not right. The plasterer looked at Dad and I.
"Now are we ready?"
"She's got to have something for pain but the sister is avoiding me," Dad said desperately. The plasterer pulled out his scissors and started cutting the bandages off my back slab.
"Don't worry," he said "this will only take a second andit won't hurt as much as the pain you were in yesterday." My limp arm was covered in bruises, some of the blood had seeped into my tissues, and it looked disgusting. Dad put his hands on my shoulders. The plasterer applied the new back slab to my weak arm and wrapped a bandage around it. Without warning he began to manipulate my wrist. The pain was intolerable. My screaming shattered the near silence in the waiting room as tears flooded down my cheeks. All he could say was "Take deep breaths andwiggle your piggies." I begged him to stop but he kept going.
"Stop, stop it hurts, make him stop, it hurts! STOP PLEASE!" My screaming had no effect, there was no expression on his face, he didn't even care, and to him I was just another difficult patient.

Amanda had to leave the room, she was almost as distressed as I was, and my screaming was over whelming her. She saw a group of nurses laughing and pointing towards the plaster room.

The plasterer lifted his knee up on the table and started moulding my arm around his knee. My screaming crescendoed as the pain intensified with every crunch and crack of my bones, but he continued. My father's grip on my shoulders had now become a bear hug. Desperately trying to keep me still. Ten minutes into my ordeal the plasterer seemed satisfied and held my plaster in place until it had set. Another plasterer rushed in and she said
"What are you doing to her? We can hear her screaming from up the hallway!"
"Her father stepped on her toes," he answered snidely.

A Doctor in an Italian grey suit walked in, no introductions necessary, so he thought. He slammed a large folder down on thetable where I was sobbing and he heartlessly said,
"There is an old woman out there with the same break asher (rudely pointing to me), but her arm has not been manipulated, do the same as you did to her." He picked up hisfolder and walked out, without saying a word to Dad or I, he didn't even look at us. Dad looked like he was about to explode in a fit of rage. The plasterer put my arm in a sling and told me to come back in a few weeks.

Dad's anger was consuming him so much that he was having angina,(chest pain). He helped me to my feet and walked out of the room. Mum came around the corner,
"I've got the painkillers have they done it yet?" she said.
"Yes they have, they gave her nothing, absolutely nothing." Dad said
"Dad, I feel sick" I blurted out.
The pain had become so unbearable that it was almost impossible to stand. My knees were giving way and my eyes were red and swollen from all the crying I had done. Amanda and Dad helped meto the car and took me home.

I rested most of the day unable to eat. I kept getting visions of what the doctor had done to me over and over again, like broken record playing in my head. Later on that day Chris, my fiancé, arrived. Mum told him quietly what had happened. He came up and cuddled me and whispered softly in my ear
"Don't worry I will go with you next time, I won't let anyone hurt you."

Teatime came around, but I still couldn't eat and the pain was constantly unbearable. Chris took mum and I down to see my GP atthe local clinic. I received a shot of Pethidine to ease the pain, so I would be able to sleep. Mum explained to my fiancee what happened to me and he just couldn't believe it. He couldn't see any reason for me to suffer like that.

Over the next few days Dad went into hospital for his Open Heart Surgery. While he was in their awaiting surgery, Mum and Dad wrote a letter of complaint to the Chief Administrator. My family couldn't stand to talk about or write about it. It had affected all of us.

Days passed. I awaited the next episode at the Fracture Clinic. As I marked the date on the calender I hoped that the day would never come or it would be over in a blink of an eye.

On the day of my appointment Chris accompanied me as I was still refusing to go. I was terrified! We had still heard nothing inreply to the letter. I had been experiencing vivid nightmares and was unable to get a good night's sleep.

On the day of my appointment the Fracture Clinic was very busy again. They were indifferent towards Chris and I. They sent meto look for my 'misplaced' file, as they didn't have the time. They sent me almost everywhere before they 'remembered' where itwas. The Chief Administrator must have received the letter of complaint and had ordered an investigation.

My Doctor, the one in the Italian suit, finally arrived. He tried to persuade me to say that it was not their fault. I saw no reason to have been in that much pain. How dare they say it wasn't their fault!

Dad was in Step Down, which is a step between the Intensive Care Unit, and a normal ward. He told us that the doctor had come to see him during the day about the letter. He told us that when he asked about the elderly lady after me, the doctor callously replied that,
"Little old ladies don't feel pain, they just lose mobility."

Two months later we received a reply from the Royal Hobart Hospital to say they were still looking into the matter. It seems to me that can't even be bothered investigating the complaint fully. Initially they were going to Pin and Plate my arm but they changed their mind at the last minute. This was because I was young and my bones should heal quickly by themselves. I would I have been better off if they had pinned and plated my arm, because I am now having problems and it looks like surgery is needed. But if they hadn't changed their minds I would still be naive to the way some areas of the Royal treat their patients.

Writing this piece was an effort in itself. But it needed to be told. My nightmares, while less frequent, remain as vivid as the day of my ordeal. But I will never, if I can help it, go to the Fracture Clinic again. We wanted to pursue it to court but we are unable. The Royal has refused to acknowledge what happenedand choose to ignore the issue. A typical under staffed government organisation or maybe they just don't care?

Acknowledgments.I would like to thank my family and friends for helping me through this difficult time and helping me to express my feelingsin this piece.

Feel free to me and tell me what you think.

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