36:11.5N 29:50.6E

Andrew and Mike took the dingy over to Ibrahims jetty to book a table for supper.  Getting back into the dingy, entirely sober, Mike fell between the dingy and the jetty.  He put his arm out to break his fall but his arm stayed on the jetty while he went into the water thereby heaving his shoulder out of the socket.  Dismayed and willing hands leant in to haul him out and inevitably yanked his arm a bit more. 

Mike has dislocated this shoulder before so knew a couple of moves to try and get it back but nothing happened.  He radioed Carol on the boat and Mehmet sped across the water to pick her up.  With hastily gathered wallet, phone, various painkillers and a sinking heart Carol went ashore to be faced by a completely crumpled Mike in absolute agony.

The lady in the village who knows about these things was sent for and had a spirited attempt to reduce the dislocation coming very close at one point but to no avail.  The man who owns the shop, and a couple of Gullets, and speaks English, and has a car, and wasn’t doing anything just then, was summoned and the village consensus was to try the ‘hospital’ in Demre but they probably couldn’t help and we’d need to go to a big town.

Lurching round corners and on the bumpiest of roads we got to know Ramazan our driver who told us all about his dislocating shoulder and his very good friend the famous orthopaedic surgeon who he then called for advice.  Several calls later the consensus was still that the local ‘hospital’ was worth a try but if they failed we should go on to his clinic in the next town.

The ‘hospital’ was modest but willing.  They took an XRay on an ancient machine which produced a photograph of a cloud with a couple of bones just about visible rather than anything helpful.  Then the nurse advanced to take Mikes blood pressure.  This struck me as unlikely to contribute anything useful to the situation so we took the inevitable decision to move on to the next town, paid our way and hastily withdrew.

On to Ramazan’s friends really quite smart clinic which was the point where I noticed Mike didn’t have any shoes on and I was still in my swimming costume albeit with a pair of shorts on top.  A quick ultrasound with another ancient machine and we knew – guess what – that it was dislocated.  A drip went up, some intravenous sedation went in and three doctors got hold of Mike.  One adopted the well known foot in armpit position (his foot, Mike’s armpit that is) and pulled like crazy.  A very heavily sedated Mike, who needed reminding to breathe, could only stand this for so long and still nothing moved.

The famous orthopaedic surgeon was charming and concerned and said that Mike would need a general anaesthetic at the hospital which he would arrange immediately.  He then made a number of calls and I got the impression he was re-organising his whole evening as well as a hospital bed.

Our little group then moved on to the hospital where Mike was given some decent pain relief that lasted about ten minutes but got to lie down on a bed at least.  An hour or so later he went to theatre and Ramazan and I sat outside the doors trying to think of things to say.  I got increasingly worried as time passed because I expected it all to happen quite easily under GA and it gradually dawned on me that it was not going well.  Sure enough after 20 minutes the surgeon came out to tell me that he could not get it back and he thought he might break it if he tried any harder.  He said Mike would need opening up to fix it and we should go to another hospital for that.

I was pretty sure that that was a pretty terrible idea and sent a text to our good friend Jane, shoulder physio extraordinaire, who I was very, very glad to know at that moment.  She pinged back that I wasn’t to let that happen.

The doctors said they would arrange for us to go by ambulance to the private hospital near Antalya which all the expats used.  It seemed like a good place to get to and I was relieved not to have the discussion over whether or not to operate when language was proving a bit of a problem.  By now it was 8pm and I was trying to call the helpline number on our black card who provided our travel insurance in the hope that they would have some experience I could call on.  On a dying mobile phone and with poor reception I managed to elicit that the sum total of their help would be to send me a claim form.

The famous orthopaedic surgeon then found me a phone charger and apologised for having to take another XRay to ensure that he hadn’t broken any of Mike’s bones meanwhile his colleague made the transfer arrangements.  As the famous orthopaedic surgeon was getting ready to leave I asked him how he would like me to pay him.  He said I did not need to pay him anything!  Stunned, I said that we were insured, he had given up his evening and worked very hard to help us and we must pay him.  His reply stunned me even more, “Ramazan is my friend, so you are my friend, so you don’t pay me”.  Scared, upset and having just had to tell Mike for the second time that his shoulder was still out, this man’s kindness sorted my head out for long enough to get a grip and start thinking a bit more clearly about what our options were if the next plan failed.

I said goodbye to Ramazan at this point.  He was by now a long way from home but even so, only prepared to leave once he knew the ambulance was on its way and where we were going.  He had stuck close throughout making sure we understood as much as was able to explain to us and scrutinising – and challenging – every bill I paid to make sure I wasn’t being ripped off.

Another hour or so and the ambulance arrived.  More pain killers for Mike and off we went.  Me next to the driver who clearly relished the opportunity to test the suspension, steering and brakes on the Turkish roads in the dark and Mike lying in the back with a sleeping nurse.  It was pretty grim being able to hear how much pain Mike was in but not be able to talk to him or touch him.

An hour and a half later we pulled in to town. The driver called up the hospital on the radio and as we drew up the doors opened and the surgeon was standing there in his scrubs.  This was feeling more promising.  In immaculate and cheerful English he oozed confidence and clearly had no intention of getting the knife out.  A moment later we were in theatre and the next gentleman through the door carried three full syringes; the anaesthetist ready for action.  I left and again sat outside, feeling better but not that hopeful.  One minute later the doors burst open and I’m invited back in to celebrate that ‘Its back in’.  Relief like I couldn’t believe.

Up to a nice twin bed room and, with Mike settled, I am sent for by the surgeon who explained that the dislocation was complicated by a depressed fracture on the head of the humerus and because we lived on a boat it was important that Mike did not swim because he might drown.  Although I roughly knew what he meant it was past midnight and all getting a bit surreal so I was glad to get back to the room and go to sleep.

Everything looks better in the morning and we could both take stock.  Eight hours, three hospitals, one clinic, two general anaesthetics and one IV sedation but Mike looked great.  We saw, and thanked, the surgeon; picked up the bill and got in a taxi.  Somewhere along the line Mike had also lost his shirt so was now in swimming shorts only but couldn’t have cared less.

A couple of hours later and we were back in the village thanking everyone for so much help and kindness.  Andrew, Julia, Sarah and Emma had taken good care of Tashi Delek and remembered to put on the anchor light overnight.  It was a huge relief that this had happened while they were with us so we could just leave the boat without worrying and, of course having crew for the next couple of days as we headed back to Marmaris made sailing a whole lot easier.