A walk cut short
The first few weeks of our new life in Spain felt very much like a holiday, especially the first month during our stay in our little casita in the El Cercado holiday complex. There was a lovely big pool but even though the weather was still very hot and summery in mid September, the pool itself was freezing cold. Ian was very brave and went for one, albeit very brief, swim whilst I contented myself with dipping my feet into the kiddies´ paddling pool until my toes went completely numb after about five minutes or so.
Two weeks into our stay we had a particularly fraught morning which was taken up with numerous phonecalls to banks back in the UK, trying to get them to transfer some money into our newly opened local Spanish bank account. Even though the flash Sales Manager who had visited us in our home in England shortly before we left the country had assured us that he would only ever be a ´phone call away and transactions would be simplicity itself, we found the reality was somewhat different. What a nightmare.
To wind down, we decided to go for a country walk above the village of Bérchules which took us along the acequias (narrow man-made channels which are constructed for irrigation purposes) right into the mountains. Ian, as per usual, was leading the way when suddenly he got his foot caught under a tree root and tripped. Frantically trying (and failing) to regain his balance, he held out both arms to cushion the impact as he fell into the mercifully dry acequia bordered by – alas – some very sharp-edged slabs of slate. Seeing him fall from a safe distance and not being able to do anything to help was frustrating and scary at the same time; normally, if somebody topples over, it´s me. I rushed to the scene of the accident and it soon became evident that Ian would live (thankfully he hadn´t landed on his head). However, he had suffered several injuries, some more serious than others. Now, I´ll have you know that I am a fairly recently fully-fledged first aider (a 4 day course – don´t remind me of the ´blood day´) and so theoretically I should have had no problem in mastering the situation. I duly surveyed the damage and decided that my husband´s injuries to his hand and knee looked sore but did not need immediate attention, unlike the injury to his lower arm … oh my God. The piece of slate had neatly cut through several layers of skin, leaving a sizeable gaping wound and … oh yes … there was lots of blood. I found a tissue with which I covered the cut and instructed him to hold his arm up (well remembered or what?). We eventually controlled the bleeding and, despite being in some discomfort, Ian bravely headed the return journey back to civilisation and the nearest open medical centre. The way back took us quite some time as you may expect. This, however, was nothing to do with Ian´s painful injuries but with the first aider´s inability to cope with the sight of blood. I had to crouch down every few seconds to do some heavy breathing and stop myself from fainting. It was touch and go for a while whether I would make it but I finally managed to pull myself together and eventually we got back to the car.
I drove us back to El Cercado where I sprinted down to the casita to get Ian´s EHIC card, his passport, some antiseptic wipes, more tissues, a bottle of water and a clean pair of shorts to replace the ones covered in blood from the gashed knee. We drove to the nearest village with a 24-hour clinic catering for emergencies. When we arrived the place looked closed but luckily it wasn´t and we soon found ourselves face to face with a grumpy-looking guy who demanded to see Ian´s EHIC card. Whilst he made a note of the card number and our current, albeit temporary, address, Ian (who continued to be a brave little soldier) spotted a poster on the wall which made him go slightly weak in his badly grazed knees. The poster helpfully gave detailed advice on “How to prepare yourself for an amputation”. Good job I hadn´t spotted it as I would have probably fainted. After only a few minutes Ian was introduced to a very pleasant male nurse who took him into a treatment room whilst I was left pacing the corridor outside. I wasn´t really expecting to hear Ian sobbing or screaming but I was in fact bracing myself for maybe a few muffled ouches or at least some mumbled swearwords – but nothing. All I could hear was that the two men were having a fairly animated conversation which couldn´t have been about any serious matters as their chat was interspersed with the occasional laughter. It didn´t take long for Ian to resurface with a neat bandage around his lower arm and a cleaned up knee and palm. He informed me that he had had four stitches all of which had been inserted without anaesthetic (I had to sit down). Apparently he was given the choice to have his arm numbed but was advised that, due to having to wait for the anaesthetic to take effect, it would be a lot easier to simply go for it fully ´sober´.
On the whole, we were in and out of the clinic within less than half an hour. Somehow you can´t see the same happening at the Norfolk & Norwich Hospital, can you? We were very impressed, not only with the emergency treatment Ian received on the day of the accident but also with the after-care. He was asked to appear to at least two or three more check ups and was even given a syringe (with needle) which contained a fluid to disinfect the wound, so he wouldn´t have to go to the pharmacy and buy an entire bottle of it. “Just don´t inject the liquid”, warned the nurse kindly when handing over the syringe.
Hasta pronto and mind how you go when out for a walk!
Acequia along the Junta de los ríos walk near Bérchules