36:11.5N 29:50.6E
The jetty, bottom right of the photograph where
‘it’ happened.
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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.