After the rickshaw, the next thing that comes to mind is arriving in the nearest (and best Hubli) hospital’s ER. Ew. It wasn’t as bad as you might be imagining, but it didn’t appear clean, either, and the fact that a dead man was rolled into the room while I was there certainly didn’t do much to lift my spirits. There were three beds in one small room, each bed a faded mustard brown and coated with dried blood. Several nurses speaking Kannada skittered in and out.
What DID lift my spirits, though, was that the nice Sankalp employee who had picked me off the ground in the first place stayed with me and asked me if there was anyone he’d like me to call, pretty much as I simultaneously asked him to grab my phone and find Kraemer. Chinnababu had immediately called Naveen, my supervisor, and then headed into work to take over my teaching duties, since, in my half-conscious, very confused state, I’d told him I didn’t think I’d make it in to teach today (though knowing Chinnababu, he’d figured that out long before I had and already had everything under control).
Naveen showed up in seconds, along with Shailendra, Laxmi and Golden (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone!) – someone, lucky for me, had also picked up Kraemer on the way. My coworkers are AWESOME. Since that day, anyone who didn’t show up at the hospital pretty much showed up at my house, bearing sweets and ice cream – they know I can’t resist, even when I can’t move a muscle to burn those calories!
Friends of the guy who’d flattened me were also there, begging my coworkers not to file a complaint, promising to pay for anything we wanted them to.
The doctor, who was NOT amused with my predicament, wiped my face clean of the blood and stuck a needle through my skin to sew up the cut next to my eye. Can’t say he was particularly careful. Next I headed to the x-ray machine, where they rolled me to my side and I was quite certain something was not right. Not right at all. But even so, the x-ray was apparently clean – the doc took a quick look and said I was good to go. Go easy, get some rest.
Ummmm, no. About a week later, once I felt comfortable leaving the house, I visited a specialist. Genius that I am, I left the x-rays at home, but the new doctor felt around my knee, told me I had a damaged ligament and that I was good to go. He advised that if I weren’t feeling better in three days to come back, but otherwise, he’d see me again in a week (so I had no qualms about still hosting and hobbling around at our St. Paddy's Day party three days later).
Of course, I’m paranoid, so everyone assured me I was doing better. A week later, unfortunately, it turned out that that wasn’t the case. This time I brought x-rays. Alarmed by what he saw, the doctor explained the severity of the fracture (yup, it was broken – darn ER doc!) I’d incurred and fervently requested that I literally hop out of his and back to the taxi; according to him, less than a millimeter more of displacement would put me in the surgery category. I hopped.
And that would be how I ended up with a ginormous, pink synthetic cast on my leg, toes to the top of my thigh. Possibly the largest cast I’ve seen on anyone ever.