- A surf session in November 2023 turned tragic when Artaban slipped on unstable sandstone and fell 15 metres into a rocky crevice.
- His mates cleared his airway and lifeguards rescued him, rushing him to hospital where he faced life-threatening injuries and was given a 5 per cent chance of survival.
- After five weeks in a coma and multiple surgeries, he slowly relearned to walk, talk and perform basic tasks through intense rehabilitation.
Here Artaban de Lacharriere, 16, Sydney NSW tells his own story in his own words.
Climbing out of the choppy surf, I made my way up the sand.
It was November 2023 and, together with my two mates, both 15, I’d spent the arvo riding waves at Manly Beach.
But dark clouds loomed above, and the swell had grown so unpredictable it was like being thrashed around in a washing machine.
So we decided to head past the next beach, Queenscliff, and over the headland to Freshwater, where the surf was more sheltered from the wind by a large rock wall.
Traipsing along the sandstone ridge that separates the beaches, with my board under my arm, we stopped closer to the Queenscliff side of the cliff to get a glimpse of the conditions.
As the waves crashed against the rocks around 15 metres below, I wondered whether we should just call it a day.
Then suddenly, my world went black…
When I came to, I could hear machines beeping and my whole body ached.
Where am I? I wondered, as the faces of my parents Antigone, then 48, and Alexandre, 50, and siblings Aladin, 16, and Artemis, 12, swam into view.
‘I’m very cold,’ I croaked.
‘Oh, Arbo, you’re our Christmas miracle,’ Mum cried, using my nickname, and explaining it was now Christmas Eve.
That can’t be right, I thought, confused, before falling back asleep.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few days, I tried to make sense of what’d happened.
A few days later, when I was more alert, Mum filled in the gaps in my memory.
‘You had an accident at the beach,’ she said, explaining that when I’d tried to steal a glance at the surf from the cliff’s edge, the sandstone beneath my feet had given way, and I’d tumbled 15 metres into a
crevice below, smashing into the rockface as I fell like a ping pong ball.
Thinking quickly, my mates, who’d been standing further back, had scrambled down the cliff to me, moving my tongue to the side to clear my airway and scooping blood from my mouth.
I’d landed face down between two rocks.
‘They thought you were dead,’ Mum recounted, tears in her eyes.
I was given just a five per cent chance of survival.
Thankfully, the Queenscliff lifeguards raced over and moved me from the crevice to a flat rock safely. Covered in deep gashes, I was losing blood at a dangerous rate.
Lifeguards called the paramedics. Because of the bad weather, I couldn’t be airlifted, so police cleared the way for the ambulance, who raced me by road to Sydney Children’s Hospital, Randwick.
There, I was given just a five per cent chance of survival.
I had a ruptured spleen, skull fractures, a ruptured artery inside my skull, and chest injuries including a punctured lung, I’d broken 16 ribs, had five spinal fractures, a perforated stomach, left elbow fracture, right ankle fracture and injuries to my left hip, pelvis, and hands.
‘Doctors told us to say goodbye to you,’ Mum said, explaining how she and Dad had held my hand and prayed for me.
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‘But we never gave up hope,’ she told me.
In the first 24 hours, I’d had six surgeries as doctors worked to keep me alive.
Part of my skull was removed to accommodate the swelling on my brain, and I was given 62 units of blood – more than six times the amount in an average adult’s body.
‘You’ve been in a coma for five weeks,’ Mum explained.
In shock, I couldn’t believe I’d defied the odds to survive.
As I took in the wires, tubes and bandages that covered my body, I turned to Mum. ‘I’m going to get better,’ I promised.
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Ten days later, I was moved to the rehabilitation ward. My parents barely left my side, taking turns staying with me, and looking after my siblings.
Over the next few months I re-learnt everything.
Simple things like drinking from a cup became a marathon effort. I started daily physio, speech therapy and saw a physiologist.
By the end of January, I could sit up in bed.
Four weeks later, I took my first steps. ‘You’re a miracle,’ Dad beamed as I shuffled inch by inch.
My siblings and friends kept my spirits high, cheering me on.
My parents barely left my side, taking turns staying with me, and looking after my siblings.
‘Thank you for saving me,’ I said to my mates.
In February, three months after my accident, I walked out of hospital.
It felt surreal. I’d come so close to death, but thanks to my friends, lifeguards, emergency workers, nurses and hospital staff, I’d survived.
‘I’ll find a way to repay you,’ I promised the nurses as I left.
At home, I kept up my daily physio and started online schooling.
After five months, I was back at school.
In July 2024 I shared my story to fundraise for the Sydney Children’s Hospital Foundation, raising $20,000.
Now, two years on, I’m back playing the sports I love – tennis and even surfing again.
After school, I hope to study to become a surgeon to help others like me.
I’d come so close to death, but thanks to my friends, lifeguards, emergency workers, nurses and hospital staff, I’d survived.
The accident taught me that life can change in an instant. It means I no longer fight with my siblings Aladin, now 17, and Artemis, 14.
Life is just too precious, and I plan on making each day count.
Antigone says:
Seeing Artaban in hospital so sick was terrifying, but I knew he had a fighting spirit. I couldn’t be prouder of him and how hard he’s worked to recover. He’s a lot more spiritual now, he’s calmer. I am so impressed by the person he is and is becoming.
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