No one spoke English in the ambulance. The nurses couldn't talk to me at all and they were chatting away. So, I was just laying there, hoping that this would be over soon. Then, the equipment started beeping. Oh oh: "Is something wrong? Is it life-threatening?". I intensely studied the nurses' facial expressions trying to detect worry. Luckily, they didn't seem too concerned. At least that's how I read their faces and reassuring smiles. I figured that this beeping was all quite routine because it happened a lot throughout the trip. But, that did not relax me much; I was scared, real scared, in that ambulance. I wanted to get there so so bad. I wanted to be near the operating room. Then I'd be safe.
When we finally got there, I was so relieved and felt sort of elated: "We did it, now I'm safe, I'm out of danger". I smiled.
The Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of this hospital was in the basement. The "rooms" were metal cages with almost no natural light. I got all hooked up and wanted to rest some. It was going to be a long night; every 2 hours they'd check my blood to see if I needed surgery. But the pain meds were wearing off. I was hurting again.
Now, I've had surgery before in the US and know that high doses of pain meds can make you feel very peaceful. And that 's what I had in mind. But, I learned that things were very different in Mallorca. Pain meds were not given so freely. I had to ask for more all the time, but they would not give it. They were stingy. It still makes me mad; I suffered a lot, too much really and unnecessarily so.
And so did David. We spoke on the phone later that evening. He told me his nightmare story. After waiting 5 hours, he saw the doctor, got x-rayed, and waited some more in triage. The x-rays revealed that both bones in the underarm were broken. A very complex fracture. But, that was no surprise. His hand and arm looked like a Z. The bones of his underarm were no longer connected to his wrist. He needed surgery.
But first they needed to set the bones in place. They took him to the operating room and gave him some local anesthetic. To no avail, though. He was still in lots of pain. The nurses wanted to give him some more, but the doctor decided that it be best to just do it right there and then and get it over with. It was a good thing that the girls were taken outside to the playground because he screamed so loud that the whole hospital could hear him. And the doctor needed more than 1 try to set it right.
He was then admitted to the hospital. The surgery was scheduled for Friday (2 days later) and he would need to stay a couple of days afterwards. Since the wrist is so anatomically complex, the surgery was going to be difficult. But, David was such a rock. He kept it together the whole time. He told me the whole story in his upbeat way. No need for me to worry, all will be fine. He was confident that he would still be able to do the things he loved so much after the surgery, like playing his music (piano & saxophone) and biking. I sensed that he was feeling less confident than he'd let on, though, I could hear it in his voice.
With all this going on, David still needed to take care of the girls. During the day, the ranch owners had come to take care of them (such a great help), but they'd left at dinner time. So now the girls were in the room with him. There was nowhere for them to go. It was obvious that someone needed to fly to Mallorca and take the girls back home. What a mess. Sos International was on the case, though. These guys were awesome! It's part of our health insurance and they coordinate everything, from being the liaison between me, David, the hospitals and my family members, to arranging flights, hotels, cars; just everything. Another thing to be so grateful for.
The girls had been so brave all day, but they were tired and bummed out; they didn't like being in the hospital; it was no fun, the food sucked, there was nothing on tv. I talked to them briefly on the phone assuring them that I was fine. They understood very well what was going on. David and Helen, the nurse/translator, had done a great job explaining everything, without freaking them out. Amazingly, they didn't seem scared, they didn't cry. But they really missed their mama. And I really missed them.
Things were looking up, though, on my end. Although I was in constant pain, the pain meds did help some, they took the edge off. And the blood tests kept coming back good. Yay! I was more and more confident that the spleen was going to hold up, which meant no surgery. I think I even dozed off a bit. But there was lots going on in the ICU, the lights were always on and my room was open to the main area, so I could see and hear the nurses' station, which was right outside. I could also see everyone passing by. That night, some drama was happening nearby because there was this priest walking around the ICU. And different people were passing my room all night, most of them crying. It was sad, but it did put it all in perspective; I was one of the lucky ones here, I was going to be fine.
By morning, I was all positive. Blood tests had been good all night, so no surgery, I would be out in couple of days and home soon. Yoohoo. I couldn't wait to get that tube out of my nose. It'd bothered me all night, I never got used to it. The head of the ICU, the only one speaking English, explained that more tests were going to be done to make sure it was all ok. But, "it was looking good", he said "not to worry". After the tests, we would talk about what was next. So, I was wheeled around to the various places for tests, no longer worried and pretty relaxed. I was tired, but good tired. Back at the ICU, I actually took a nap.
I knew right away something was wrong when I woke. I saw a different, surgeon looking, man at the other side of the nurses station. He and others were looking in my direction, literally pointing at my room. Nobody was telling me anything, though. They couldn't. The nurses didn't speak English. I needed to see the head of the ICU. He was the only one who could talk to me. He was walking around the ICU. I saw him. But, he was not looking at me. Why not? Was he avoiding me? When I finally caught his eye I yelled at him to come over and demanded that he tell me what was wrong. He didn't want to. I could tell. He looked nervous, avoided my look and said he'd talk to me soon. Oh oh, this was bad, real bad. I was sure of it. So, my heart was racing, I was shaking and in absolute terror; something unimaginably horrible was about to happen and there was nothing I could do.
Panic had gripped me. Again.
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