1. Beer, Snickers and a friendly Dane
About half an hour after the crash, dust on the horizon heralded the approach of help. Several vehicles pulled up, and Alice, Gaby and I were put into one to be taken onwards, after another half hour of frustrated waiting. Getting to the next refugio, I was sat in a room and left to stew on what they were possibly doing to get us to hospital. Will arrived, after their vehicle turned around upon news of us crashing, and helped gets things rolling.
It was a frustrating situation. The care and compassion shown by some of our fellow travellers was at times overwhelming in my teetering emotional state. In contrast, all the Bolivians seemed to do was give a shit about which tour company would lose the most money by going out of their way to help us. Perhaps my opinion of their willingness to help is jaded by my focus at the time, but it didn't seem too difficult a task to me, to get three injured people in one of dozens of 4WDs and get them to some medical attention. In hindsight, it was probably less an unwillingness to assist, and more their ineptitude at doing anything quickly and efficiently. Think, opposite to your stereotypical Swiss precision.
2. No quick way to labour
Will had come into his element though, and with the assistance of some of the afore-mentioned travellers, whipped the show into action. All six passengers involved in the crash, plus Will, were soon travelling towards help. The track was probably worse than anything we'd been on yet, and despite taking all care, our driver was constantly reminded to be careful. The first town we reached, Alota, didn't have any facilities other than a phone, and we were soon driving again.
By now we were on a dirt road, albeit not a very good one. Apart from the fear of crashing on the wet, slippery surface, the corrugations made it very uncomfortable for Gaby and her broken wrist. We fed her more painkillers, but they did didley squat, and the pain increased as we went. I've never seen someone in so much pain before, but she fought it all the way - I'm sure most people would've passed out. About all we could do was keep on telling her it was "just another ten minutes". Several ten minutes' later, we got to the hospital in San Cristobal, but it was a little-staffed skeleton facility. We were sat down, Gaby given oxygen, until the doctor arrived.
3. Reeaaw reeaaw
The sound of the siren as we were whisked away in the ambulance was like music to our ears. By a stroke of luck, there was a Canadian-owned mine nearby with decent medical facilities and staff, which we were promptly administered to. As they tended to my hand, I would look at the wound occasionally, but it wasn't a pretty sight and I familiarised myself with the ceiling instead. Gaby was relaying translations from her bed behind the screen - I was quickly versed in the Spanish word for 'pain'.
Once was all stitched and plastered up, I relaxed with a bottle of water and an excellent selection of biscuits. It was about 8pm. An hour later we were bundled back into the ambulance, and driven to Uyuni - about two uncomfortable hours away. We were met there by the uninjureds, who informed us that all the doctors in town were still drunk from Carnavale - which had happened a week prior. At the third hospital we stop at, we're accepted, and after a top up of painkillers and saline, I fall asleep for a few hours.
4. Cars don't swim
The little old lady in my room turned out to be the Pamela of Pamela Tours - they would help us get to the medical help we needed. I wanted to fly, but we couldn't. Maybe it was the altitude. Maybe it was the rain and snow they'd been having. Maybe it was just because it's Bolivia. So 9am sees Will and I getting into yet another 4WD and hitting the road.
We made it through about three or four creek crossings, but then took a nosedive into the next one. The front wheels were more or less submerged in the water. With my leg in plaster up to my knee, and an IV drip hanging off the handle into my hand, there was not much I could do other than watch the spectacle. Initial attempts to reverse the vehicle failed. In short order, three passenger buses turned up on the other bank. The women and children quickly found a place by the bank to dip their feet in - they looked accustomed to these situations. Even with all the hands lifting and pushing the vehicle though, it took diverting the stream by mud and shrub before it finally came free, pulled also by two vehicles behind us.
Any jubilation wasn't long lived - our vehicle's engine now refused to start. Will quickly recruited the help of one of the few English speakers there that happened to be going in our direction.
5. Growin' grain, chewin' leaves
It felt pretty good to be in, as Will put it, "the only vehicle in Bolivia to have ever seen an oil change". Swiss expat Pierre and his partner in coca-chewing were headed to the next biggest town, Oruru, and agreed to take us there. The roads were still terrible, but Pierre was the best driver we'd had yet. At a brief stop in the afternoon, we took the opportunity to administer some antibiotics and painkillers through my drip. Once we figured out how to get the stuff from the vessel into the needle, it went seamlessly...
We got to Oruru around 7pm, and though it was the biggest town yet, the medical facility we were taken to was the worst yet. I stayed just long enough to have my drip removed, then walked out. The bandage the 'nurse' put over my vein was of such high calibre that I was soon bleeding quite a lot, but Pierre helped me patch it up better before I got it all over his car. Will then came back from making a call and we headed to the bus terminal to find a way to La Paz.
6. Be thankful for the fader (a.k.a Bolivian pop music is an awful combination of Bollywood and bad)
I'd eaten nothing but dry biscuits for the previous 24 hours, so Will ran off to grab a bite to eat while Pierre helped us sort out a private taxi to La Paz. I assured our new driver that I wouldn't get any blood inside his vehicle, then took some pleasure in discreetly tearing his oh so clean friggin seat cover so that I could actually get to the seat belt. Yes! They do exist in some cars in Bolivia! Will came back with some cheese empanadas, which turned out to be solid bits of white bread, nigh on impossible to eat. Funnily enough, amongst all the shit that was going on, I remember this as one of my most distraught moments. It looked like there were hot, dirty meat stalls everywhere! I could've directed a lot of frustration towards Will right then, but it would have been completely ungranted - he was doing such a superhuman job of taking care of us, and was having just as hard a time as me, if not harder.
We left soon after for La Paz, and being finally on a sealed road, managed to get some sleep. It was a two hour journey, and we got there around 11pm. We descended into the valley that is La Paz, and found the hospital Arco Iris with only a few direction queries. The hospital had been recommended by my insurance company, and they were expecting me. It felt incredibly good to be put in a wheelchair and wheeled into the emergency department. It was about 36 hours since we'd crashed, and I finally felt that I could feel a little less responsible for my well being, and hand it over to the pro's.
About half an hour after the crash, dust on the horizon heralded the approach of help. Several vehicles pulled up, and Alice, Gaby and I were put into one to be taken onwards, after another half hour of frustrated waiting. Getting to the next refugio, I was sat in a room and left to stew on what they were possibly doing to get us to hospital. Will arrived, after their vehicle turned around upon news of us crashing, and helped gets things rolling.
It was a frustrating situation. The care and compassion shown by some of our fellow travellers was at times overwhelming in my teetering emotional state. In contrast, all the Bolivians seemed to do was give a shit about which tour company would lose the most money by going out of their way to help us. Perhaps my opinion of their willingness to help is jaded by my focus at the time, but it didn't seem too difficult a task to me, to get three injured people in one of dozens of 4WDs and get them to some medical attention. In hindsight, it was probably less an unwillingness to assist, and more their ineptitude at doing anything quickly and efficiently. Think, opposite to your stereotypical Swiss precision.
2. No quick way to labour
Will had come into his element though, and with the assistance of some of the afore-mentioned travellers, whipped the show into action. All six passengers involved in the crash, plus Will, were soon travelling towards help. The track was probably worse than anything we'd been on yet, and despite taking all care, our driver was constantly reminded to be careful. The first town we reached, Alota, didn't have any facilities other than a phone, and we were soon driving again.
By now we were on a dirt road, albeit not a very good one. Apart from the fear of crashing on the wet, slippery surface, the corrugations made it very uncomfortable for Gaby and her broken wrist. We fed her more painkillers, but they did didley squat, and the pain increased as we went. I've never seen someone in so much pain before, but she fought it all the way - I'm sure most people would've passed out. About all we could do was keep on telling her it was "just another ten minutes". Several ten minutes' later, we got to the hospital in San Cristobal, but it was a little-staffed skeleton facility. We were sat down, Gaby given oxygen, until the doctor arrived.
3. Reeaaw reeaaw
The sound of the siren as we were whisked away in the ambulance was like music to our ears. By a stroke of luck, there was a Canadian-owned mine nearby with decent medical facilities and staff, which we were promptly administered to. As they tended to my hand, I would look at the wound occasionally, but it wasn't a pretty sight and I familiarised myself with the ceiling instead. Gaby was relaying translations from her bed behind the screen - I was quickly versed in the Spanish word for 'pain'.
Once was all stitched and plastered up, I relaxed with a bottle of water and an excellent selection of biscuits. It was about 8pm. An hour later we were bundled back into the ambulance, and driven to Uyuni - about two uncomfortable hours away. We were met there by the uninjureds, who informed us that all the doctors in town were still drunk from Carnavale - which had happened a week prior. At the third hospital we stop at, we're accepted, and after a top up of painkillers and saline, I fall asleep for a few hours.
4. Cars don't swim
The little old lady in my room turned out to be the Pamela of Pamela Tours - they would help us get to the medical help we needed. I wanted to fly, but we couldn't. Maybe it was the altitude. Maybe it was the rain and snow they'd been having. Maybe it was just because it's Bolivia. So 9am sees Will and I getting into yet another 4WD and hitting the road.
We made it through about three or four creek crossings, but then took a nosedive into the next one. The front wheels were more or less submerged in the water. With my leg in plaster up to my knee, and an IV drip hanging off the handle into my hand, there was not much I could do other than watch the spectacle. Initial attempts to reverse the vehicle failed. In short order, three passenger buses turned up on the other bank. The women and children quickly found a place by the bank to dip their feet in - they looked accustomed to these situations. Even with all the hands lifting and pushing the vehicle though, it took diverting the stream by mud and shrub before it finally came free, pulled also by two vehicles behind us.
Any jubilation wasn't long lived - our vehicle's engine now refused to start. Will quickly recruited the help of one of the few English speakers there that happened to be going in our direction.
5. Growin' grain, chewin' leaves
It felt pretty good to be in, as Will put it, "the only vehicle in Bolivia to have ever seen an oil change". Swiss expat Pierre and his partner in coca-chewing were headed to the next biggest town, Oruru, and agreed to take us there. The roads were still terrible, but Pierre was the best driver we'd had yet. At a brief stop in the afternoon, we took the opportunity to administer some antibiotics and painkillers through my drip. Once we figured out how to get the stuff from the vessel into the needle, it went seamlessly...
We got to Oruru around 7pm, and though it was the biggest town yet, the medical facility we were taken to was the worst yet. I stayed just long enough to have my drip removed, then walked out. The bandage the 'nurse' put over my vein was of such high calibre that I was soon bleeding quite a lot, but Pierre helped me patch it up better before I got it all over his car. Will then came back from making a call and we headed to the bus terminal to find a way to La Paz.
6. Be thankful for the fader (a.k.a Bolivian pop music is an awful combination of Bollywood and bad)
I'd eaten nothing but dry biscuits for the previous 24 hours, so Will ran off to grab a bite to eat while Pierre helped us sort out a private taxi to La Paz. I assured our new driver that I wouldn't get any blood inside his vehicle, then took some pleasure in discreetly tearing his oh so clean friggin seat cover so that I could actually get to the seat belt. Yes! They do exist in some cars in Bolivia! Will came back with some cheese empanadas, which turned out to be solid bits of white bread, nigh on impossible to eat. Funnily enough, amongst all the shit that was going on, I remember this as one of my most distraught moments. It looked like there were hot, dirty meat stalls everywhere! I could've directed a lot of frustration towards Will right then, but it would have been completely ungranted - he was doing such a superhuman job of taking care of us, and was having just as hard a time as me, if not harder.
We left soon after for La Paz, and being finally on a sealed road, managed to get some sleep. It was a two hour journey, and we got there around 11pm. We descended into the valley that is La Paz, and found the hospital Arco Iris with only a few direction queries. The hospital had been recommended by my insurance company, and they were expecting me. It felt incredibly good to be put in a wheelchair and wheeled into the emergency department. It was about 36 hours since we'd crashed, and I finally felt that I could feel a little less responsible for my well being, and hand it over to the pro's.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment