DANGER IN A CAN

 Author: Rosemary Jilderts - SV Sokari (Australia)

Building a 12 metre catamaran was a dream my husband, John, had had for many years.  Launching would be the culmination of that dream. Roger Simpson's plans were comprehensive and easy to follow and the actual job was both an eye-opener and a joy. With Roger's advice only a phone call away and Peter and Anne Snell (now Easy Catamarans) living just around the corner and always willing to advise we began to build our dream.  Every job learned and completed was a thrill.  However, one task that I set for myself was to have a lifetime of repercussions and could have killed the dream in one foul swoop.

The shell was finished and the furniture was in when a fellow scuba instructor invited John for a social dive early one Sunday.  As he headed off just on dawn I decided to paint the saloon and galley furniture with a single pack wood preserver, while he was gone.  The fact that we had a pact that neither of us would work alone with any chemicals, as a safety precaution, completely slipped my mind in my desire to surprise him. 

We had never used this product previously but the precautions on the label only said 'adequate ventilation'.   I opened every hatch, 2 x 600 cm square and 6 x 300 cm square, placed a large fan in the doorway and donned gloves before opening the new can.  I had hung the cockatiel's cage outside in a tree (much to his disgust as he much preferred wandering loose around the boat) but Minka, our miniature toy poodle, reclined on a cushion watching my every move.

Beginning the job around 6 a.m. the solution went on easily and I was happy with the progress.  About 1 hour later I stumbled and the clear liquid sloshed out of the can and over my leg.  Quickly and thoroughly I washed myself down then continued.  Having completed the galley and starboard side of the saloon, I moved to the portside where, unknowingly, I had moved out of the fan's range.  I kept painting.  Suddenly, and without any warning, my head started to spin and I felt my body sway.  Instinctively, I replaced the lid on the can, grabbed Minka and stumbled out into the cockpit.  Taking huge gasps of air I hauled myself down off the boat and tried to walk to the neighbour's house but I  collapsed on the ground near their side fence.  I gulped more fresh air, but my head kept spinning.  I felt nauseous.  Everything around me was surreal.  How long I sat there in the grass is anybody's guess.  Anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes, I'd imagine.  At one stage, for some unknown reason I grabbed a nearby hose and turned it on myself.  Perhaps I thought I'd feel better by cooling myself down. I felt so ill.  I remember that my main thought was that John would return from his dive and find me dead on the lawn!

Eventually, I made it to the neighbour's back door and called out for Barbara.  One of the children appeared whispering, "Mum's in bed."  "I need help", I said.  "Can you get her for me, please?"  Barb rushed out and grabbed me before I could collapse again.  After ascertaining the facts she rang the doctor's home number and agreed to meet him at the surgery.  She piled me into one of their limousines (they ran a taxi and limo service) ignoring the fact that I was drenched and water was soaking their expensive seats.  Waiting for the doctor I sat on the grass and closed my eyes.  "Don't go to sleep," ordered Barbara.  "I won't," I replied.  "It's just that the grass is soooooo green."  All my senses were heightened.  Stoned, some would say.  Well, if that's what it's like to be stoned, the druggies can have it.  It was the most awful experience in my entire life.

The doctor ushered me into the surgery but was unsure how to treat the poisoning.  The Poisons Information Centres in Brisbane and Canberra could shed no light as this particular product had not been registered.  It was apparently a derivative of an earlier one but some of the chemicals had been altered.  It seemed that the only thing I could do was drink copious amounts of water in an attempt to flush it out of my system. 

Finding a specialist who was willing to see me was difficult as they all seemed concerned about becoming involved in litigation.  The GP finally found one on the Sunshine Coast who was more cooperative.  Relating my symptoms to him, he consulted his books and joked, "You haven't been reading my books, have you?  This is a text-book case of hydrocarbon and isocyanate poisoning."  Many tests and a cat scan later, he announced "You'll be pleased to know that you do have a brain!"  But still there was very little anyone could do to repair the problem. The liver had been damaged but that would repair itself eventually.  "You've had a life-time's dosage of hydrocarbons.  It won't ever go away", the specialist said.  "You'll always need to be careful."   This meant no aerosols, as the propellants are hydrocarbons, and no paints or chemicals with hydrocarbons in them.  Hairdressing salons with more than one operator were out as I couldn't control the use of hairsprays. 

My GP sought to console me by saying, "Of course, there are always liver transplants."  That frightened me more than just about anything else. 

Here we were with our catamaran not yet completed and I couldn't do any more work on it.  So, John hired a young local lad and my son, Peter, moved up from Sydney to help.  However,  questions remained.  I had lost my sense of balance.  If I stood up in the dark, with no visible reference point, I simply fell over.  Would I be able to sail on the boat that we had spent so much time dreaming about and building?  Was the dream over?  How would I cope on a moving deck?  Reality hit hard when we considered the possibility that we may not be able to do what we had been working so hard towards.  But we ploughed on.  I spent many days in bed, unable to move, after getting a whiff of some paint, or an aerosol can was activated in my vicinity.  The decision was made to launch as soon as possible.  We needed to know how I would handle it.  The finishing touches could be completed later.  Launch date was set.  The excitement built until finally 'Sokari' was loaded on a local house-moving truck and at midnight she began the 30 km trek to the water.  At 1.30 a.m., much to the amazement of the nearby residents, she was set down on the banks of the Mooloolah River where she remained until the tide came in and she floated serenely out to deeper water.

Now, even though it's 14 years on, the problem still exists although in a slightly milder form.  A special concoction must be made up by the anaesthesiologist whenever I have a general anaesthetic as hydrocarbons have to be removed otherwise I will be throwing up for a day afterwards and feeling lousy for a week.  However, I am now able to go to a hairdresser and John can use aerosols on the boat without me having to sit outside in the breeze for half an hour.   But excessive use of sprays still sees me bolting to safety.  I know the warning signs these days.  We've stayed briefly in marinas and boatyards and, while my reactions aren't quite so severe, I still have them.  

Despite all the trauma of the poisoning so many years ago we've covered many thousands of ocean miles, ten and a half thousand on the last trip, gone to a number of different countries, and enjoyed an almost normal cruising life.   I was lucky.  It may not have ended up this way.

Let this be a warning to those building or working on boats that extreme care needs to be taken around any chemicals.  You just never know.