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“What Have I Got to Lose?”: Sonya Newman’s Road to Reclaiming Her Life
When former Australian soldier Sonya Newman reflects on the life-altering medical crisis that led to her amputation, she offers a perspective that is as refreshing as it is characteristically blunt. Speaking with her today for The Limb Shift podcast (to launch in October), I was struck by an honesty and candour that lingers in my memory several hours after our conversation finished: “Limb loss can also open doors and show you a better side of life… I think it’s been actually beneficial for me, if I could say that strangely”, she told me.
As a combat fitness leader who spent two decades in the Army, Newman’s world was upended by a routine knee surgery that snowballed into a multi-year nightmare of chronic pain and infection. Yet today, she operates a bustling 250-acre farm outside Darwin, cares for dozens of animals, and represents Australia internationally in para ice hockey.
The Road to the Chainsaw Decision
Newman’s journey began with a standard procedure to address knee damage sustained during her defence service. “I went for an arthroscopy to, to fix my knee,” she explains. “I had a simple surgery… got a staph infection”.
What followed was a gruelling two-year medical saga consisting of three failed total knee replacements, two failed joint fusions, bending rods, and excruciating treatments where doctors placed silicone balloons into her empty joint cavity to inflate them over six months.
By age 36, the debilitating reality of non-stop opioid regimens and unstoppable bone infection brought her to a breaking point. The final decision to amputate was born out of a desperate need to reclaim her life. Newman recalls walking into her doctor’s office with an ultimatum:
“I said, look, get me to Sydney and make it happen. I’ve got a chainsaw if you don’t… I went into my doctor’s office and said those words. Exactly”.
When her doctor warned her about the extreme risk of further infection, she replied flatly: “What have I got to lose?” She was on a plane within days. “As soon as they were offering almost the, the miracle fix that, that quick end, it was actually pretty easy,” she says. “It was like, alright, let’s go make this happen. You know, I’m done waiting now”.
Mateship, Escalators, and Dark Humour
Following her initial surgery at Liverpool Hospital and a transfer to Holsworthy Barracks for rehabilitation, Newman threw herself into physical fitness. As an active soldier, sitting still was never an option. “The moment I got to Holsworthy Barracks, I was on a rower for like two or three hours a day,” she says.
Her ultimate lifeline arrived in the form of the Invictus Games. While she successfully tried out for a number of sports – including swimming, wheelchair basketball, and rowing – the true healing power of the Games wasn’t the trophies—it was the military camaraderie. “It was actually the mateship coming back into being around the same sort of people,” she reflects.
The community of fellow wounded veterans provided an environment of unapologetic, dark defence humour that allowed her to process her new reality. Newman fondly remembers training camps where “the boys would steal each other’s legs and take off down the street” to the horror of onlookers. It was also this group that pushed her to master navigating the world in a wheelchair, leading to a memorable mishap in a Canadian hotel lobby:
“The very first time I did it, this guy named Bear stood behind me… He’s like, ‘don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall, chook, you’ll be right.’ And sure enough, the bottom of the escalator… I fell. And I’m in the middle of the lobby of this hotel over in Canada, and everyone just stops and just picks me up and goes, ‘What? Hasn’t anyone ever seen an amputee fall out of a wheelchair before?’ … That’s what got me over the other side, basically”.
Post-Military Hardships and Moving Forward
Despite her drive, transitioning back to her full-time role in the Army proved to be an uphill battle against systemic mindsets regarding injured personnel. Newman details the immense daily pressure of attempting to meet rigid timelines when simply dressing in a modified uniform took fifteen minutes. The breaking point arrived when she was told, “if you can’t do it, we don’t need you”. “That just, it almost crushed me because I felt like I’d tried everything up to that point,” she admits.
After discharging in December 2018, Newman experienced a severe mental health crisis. “I thought I was going to be in a better place being away from work and everything, but I, I crashed,” she reveals. “In January the following year, I woke up from a coma in the hospital… because I’d got to a point that I didn’t want to be here anymore”.
With the swift intervention of the Department of Veterans’ Affairs (DVA), medical specialists in Sydney, and her partner Jen, she received the comprehensive psychological support and stump revision surgeries required to manage debilitating nerve pain. Newman notes that while mental health fluctuates, developing coping mechanisms has been her saving grace.
Crucial to her recovery was the shifting dynamic within her home life. Newman credits her wife, Jen, as being “rock solid by my side,” though she candidly notes the difficult transition out of a patient-caregiver relationship: “I said to Jen a couple of times like, ‘you’re not my nurse anymore. Like, can you just be, can you be my partner? Like, can you be my wife now, you know?’”
Life in the Tropics and the Ice Rink
Today, Newman lives an incredibly active, bush-centric lifestyle just outside of Darwin. Alongside her family, she manages commercial dog kennels and works a sprawling rural property populated by cattle, camels, and goats. “I’m probably working harder now than I did for the twenty years I was in the Army,” she laughs, detailing days filled with fencing, concreting, and fixing tractors.
Living and working in the extreme tropical humidity of the Top End presents unique challenges for an amputee. Newman has to remove her prosthetic six or seven times a day to wash away sweat and prevent severe rashes. “I have like—so we have, um, suction and a pin system and I’ve still had it fall off on the motorbikes,” she explains. “I’ve had to go back through the paddock and find my leg a couple of times”.
If managing a farm in the tropics wasn’t enough, Newman has also developed a self-described “new addiction”—para ice hockey. Recruited internationally through connections made during her Invictus days, she now proudly plays for the Australian national team. Strapped into a sled two inches off the ice, she relishes the high-speed, full-contact nature of the sport. “Bring back the biff. Well, hockey never, hockey never lost the biff. And that’s what I love about it,” she says enthusiastically.
Ultimately, Newman’s focus is on setting a powerful example for her fourteen-year-old son, Douglas, and twelve-year-old daughter, Ashley. Her guiding philosophy is beautifully straightforward, serving as an inspiration for anyone facing sudden adversity:
“I just want to show my kids that they can keep going and do whatever doesn’t matter what life throws at you. Have a crack, have a crack. That’s it… sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But I guess it’s, it’s taken me to some amazing places to be honest”.
Sonya’s interview will appear later in the year when the Limb Shift is launched during Amputee Awareness Week (October).
So What Do You Think Of Hobart?
“So after being here on and off for three weeks what do you think of Hobart?”, Damien asked me as we dined last night on some delicious Japanese food last. He caught me by surprise, as I didn’t really have a ready answer, aside from “I think I really like it”. It was one of those “non-answers” in some respects.
Yes, I’ve been here for a reasonable length of time, and yes, I’ve been staying in AirBnB accommodation (not a hotel), and yes, I’ve been mostly working (tourism came second), I had a break in the middle to return to Sydney. Oh, and the weather has been unusually warm. So yeah, I really like Hobart, but I still feel like I’ve only scratched the surface.
For the past few days, I’ve been staying in North Hobart. If you were to declare somewhere “peak hipster”, I think I’ve won “bingo”, because I’ve been staying in an apartment above a funky hairdressing salon, a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, and a cat cafe. With a bus stop out the front that got me to work in about 15 minutes and lots of wonderful restaurants close by, I feel like I’ve been living in the Hobart equivalent to where I live in Sydney. So in many ways, it’s felt “quite normal”. Hence, my “non-answer” to Damien’s question.
As is common back in Sydney, I’ve gone to work come home, gone out for a meal or something to do, and just gotten on with my life. A couple of “out and about” highlights, however, have included going to a comedy night, and visiting Hobart’s only “gay bar”.
Small world, eh? Or maybe that’s just Hobart, and why I like it. An excellent combination of the two “worlds” of my life: that of living in a big city like Sydney, as well as a series of smaller country towns in my earlier life. I doubt I’ll retire in Sydney (I don’t think I can afford it), and I doubt I’ll retire in a small country town (lacking some of the creature comforts of city-life I’ve become used to), so maybe it’s somewhere in between. Maybe it’s Newcastle? Maybe it’s Canberra? Could it be Hobart?
Bundy
When Bundaberg comes to mind, two iconic drinks immediately spring forth: Bundaberg Rum and Bundaberg Ginger Beer. While rum isn’t my cup of tea, I do savor a bottle of the famously named ginger beer every week.
Spending New Year’s Eve in Bundaberg was a delightful twist of fate. My nephew had been holidaying with family in Bundaberg, necessitating a six-hour round trip from Lismore to retrieve him.
“This definitely feels like Queensland,” one of our group mused over dinner last night. The heat, coupled with Queensland’s distinctive savannah landscape, creates an ambiance quite unlike anything back home in Northern NSW. Even the vehicles seem different up here, with a far greater prevalence of 4WDs. Despite dozing off for a fair portion of the journey, it was a refreshing change of pace.
Naturally, a visit to the factories producing these world-famous beverages is almost a rite of passage when in Bundaberg. However, when I sought travel advice from a Bundaberg local, he suggested the smaller Kalki Moon Distillery, named after the Bundaberg suburb, Kalkie.
During the hour-long guided tour, the distillery’s owner and founder shared that he had honed his craft as a Master Distiller at the much larger “bear,” the Bundaberg Rum Distillery, for over a decade. Since venturing out on his own, he has cultivated a boutique label producing vodka, gin, and rum. The distillery, he proudly informed us, has experienced remarkable growth since its inception in 2017.
His talk resonated deeply with the 30 or so people on the tour. He shared fascinating details about sourcing ingredients, the intricacies of distillation, and the creative process behind his diverse range of products – insights I was largely unaware of. It was evident that he poured his heart and soul into this “family and friends” project.
At a mere $15 (inclusive of two generous spirit tastings), the tour proved to be an exceptional and affordable way to while away a Saturday afternoon. Among the many highlights, the concept of blending locally-crafted gin with locally-produced ginger beer for a “Gin Gin Mule” truly struck a chord. “It’s not named after the nearby town of Gin Gin”, he clarified with a smile. Mental note for the future – this concoction is a winner.
Sadly, we’re heading back to Lismore this morning, so a visit to the soft drink factory won’t be possible. But all in all, it’s been a fascinating 24 hours or so here in Bundy.
Oh, and Happy New Year.
Ol och Bog
I’d been warned about Swedish beer. “Swedish beer comes in three strengths”, my mate Graeme told me. “There’s light beer which the Swedes don’t even think of as a beer, more of a soft drink. There’s a middle range, which is a bit like Australian beer. And there’s a strong beer. I’d avoid the strong beer and stick to the light one”, he advised.
Graeme, of course, is a regular light beer drinker anyway. But at about 2% alcohol, the light beer has been quite good, as it’s kept me on the straight and narrow, and it’s half the price of full-strength beer. And by and large, I’ve only been having one or two beers at a time. Last night, however, was a different story.
After watching the Pride Parade, Nigel and I went back to our accommodation for a quick lie down. We had walked around town a great deal, had enjoyed a mid-afternoon bevvy in Gamla Stan, and were both feeling a bit wearing. In fact, weary enough to have a brief power nap.
Due to the short nap, I was actually late getting back to the agreed meeting place of Torget. But after a quick sleep, I felt pretty good and was ready for a big night on the town.
Soon after arriving at Torget, I went inside to get us a couple of beers. It was then I noticed an older woman (maybe mid-60s) standing next to me in line at the bar. Being the kind gentleman I am, I said to her that she should go first.
Well, anyway, to cut a long story short, we got chatting about our lives. She told me how her husband had died suddenly six years ago, and that she walked daily in a nearby garden as part of the recovery process. And those daily walks were how she met the gardener there, which is how she ended up at a gay bar on the night of Europride.
“It’s lovely to meet you”, I said and wished her well, and that was the end of it, I thought until five minutes later she joined our group. “It was so nice chatting with you”, she told me, “I’d like to chat some more.” And I introduced her to everyone and we continued chatting and having a lovely old time. We all thought she was quite nice but thought her mate, who was “half blotto” as my granny used to say, was a bit odd. I’m sure if we asked her, she would have come with us to Lino.
We were in two minds about going there, though, or going to Pride Park to see Alcazar and BWO. In the end, the heavy rain made the decision for us. That said, we got pretty wet on the way to Lino. Along with everyone else, we must have looked like a bunch of drowned rats on arrival.
It was about an hour before our music of choice, “Swedish schlager” came on. But when it did, we were all on the dance floor pretty quickly shaking our groove things to the likes of Linda Bengtzing and Charlotte Nilsson. And in the middle of all of the Swedish pop, there was the Irish Eurovision entry sung by the children’s television character, Dustin The Turkey which failed to make the final, and also that bizarre rap song by drag queens from Ukraine in last year’s Eurovision. Nobody in Australia would remember it, with one or two exceptions. But at Lino on a Saturday night, everyone knew it word perfect!
So we danced and drank. And then drank and danced and chatted. And then drank and chatted. And then just drank. And that’s why I ended up with the world’s worst hangover this morning. Truly awful. On the good side, it gave me enough confidence to have a good dance and to chat to some people I’ve never met before. And I met a nice bloke from Riga, the capital of Lithuania (of all places).
Nigel and I caught up again for lunch today and then for a bit of a wander around Djurgarden.
It was then I came back to book in properly at the Zinkensdamm Hostel. It’s a nice enough place, though not as nice as my favourite hostel so far, Skanstull. I’m sharing a room with two young blokes who I suspect are here for Europride also. Pride Park is, incidentally, just across the road from the hostel.
There were two things at Europride in particular I wanted to see today. First, there was an excerpt from a forthcoming Swedish theatrical production of the book, play and movie, “A Beautiful Thing”. Second, there was a performance by Svenne and Lotta, who I first discovered in the mid 70s. They actually released an album in Australia which featured the Bjorn and Benny song, “Funky Feet”. They’ve also recorded a couple of ABBA songs during their career. And Svenne was actually in the same pre-ABBA rock band as Benny, The Hep Stars.
Oh, and there’s a third thing I was interested in: Right Said Fred were the closing act. There was a kind of vague curiosity in seeing them perform.
Although I tried really really hard, I struggled with “Beautiful Thing” because it was entirely in Swedish. And although I knew what was going on, it just became all too hard, and so I wandered over to watch the Swedish Drag Queen Bingo instead. At least there I was confident in my knowledge of Swedish numbers.
And then finally Svenne and Lotta came on. The crowd really loved them. They’re obviously deeply treasured by the Swedish people, especially since The Hep Stars were like a local version of The Beatles. And there’s something a bit “Tina Turner” about Lotta. They’re still singing the same old songs they’ve been doing for years, but you can tell they still love doing it, and the audience loves them for doing it. There was a really nice vibe in the crowd while they played.
Although I was keen to come back to the hostel and just have a night at home updating my blog, I figured I might as well stay to watch “Right Said Fred”. “I’m Too Sexy” is a kinda cool song, I guess. However, in typical one hit wonder style, they felt they had to inflict the rest of their back catalogue on us as well. I got to three songs that I’ve never heard of before, before calling it quits. As it was, I was back in my hostel before I heard “I’m Too Sexy”.
Without wanting to get in a flame war with Right Said Fred fans about the merit of their collective work, I suspect I was not the only person in the audience who just wanted them to sing the hit song and then get off. Of course, if they’d been a Swedish act, they would have done that. And then they would have sung it again, due to the crowd’s reaction. But no, they insisted on a playing a bunch of songs no one wanted to hear. I also though the lead singer’s patter between songs was a little Euro-patronising, if you get my meaning.
On the way back to the hostel, I popped into the bookshop at Pride Park and bought a book. This will be my first attempt at reading a book entirely in Swedish, so I figured it would need to be a simple read, a good page turner, and about something that I would find really interesting. And cheap, just in case it all gets too hard.
So the book I have bought is about a bloke who loves Swedish pop. It’s called “Schlager Bog” which, translated means “schlager poof”. But then again you knew that, didn’t you?
Lovely Reminder of No Shame
As I mentioned the other day, my friend Graeme is going to Sweden in a couple of weeks time. I sent him a link earlier tonight to the club Paradise which I visited while there and enjoyed very much.
I went there the night of the Melodifestivalen, the Swedish finals for the Eurovision Song Contest, and enjoyed a wonderful lineup of Swedish pop stars, including Nanne, which I blogged about at the time.
It was one of those nights where I figured, as a tourist, I could exert a little self-confidence and claim a place right at the front of the stage no matter what.
You’ve just got to do that sometime. Sometimes you’ve got to say to yourself, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance you shouldn’t let pass you by. I could have been my usual shy self standing at the back of the room or I could have gone right to the front of the stage and claimed the best view in the house, which is what I did.
But also close enough to be captured by other cameras!
As I went to the Paradise website tonight, I found this link to a bunch of photographs which reminded me of a wonderful night…
….when I had absolutely no shame.