The accident-Part One

Not in my wildest dreams did I think I would end up in Thailand. Not in my worst nightmares did I ever think I’d come within an inch of my life here.

As many of you have already heard, I was in a car accident in Phuket just about a month ago. It has really opened eyes to the harsh reality of living alone in a foreign country where customs and laws are very different from home. I am very grateful to be alive, but I am also very angry about the way things were handled following the accident. I am writing about it because I find it therapeutic. I also have received a barrage of emails so this is a quick and easy way to make sure my friends and family know what happened. I do not feel comfortable censoring myself, so I apologize for the length of this blog…but here is the whole story. (Well Part One actually)

I went dancing with a new friend of mine from Switzerland on a Friday night. We had a great time in the party-district of Patong. When we decided to go home, rather than taking a tuk-tuk, (of questionable safety) we decided to take a taxi car home. About halfway home we look up to see someone driving on the wrong side of the road, like so many dangerous drivers do in Thailand. This car was going FAST. Our taxi driver swerved to avoid it. At the same time the driver finally swerves to go over onto the correct side of the road...and we smashed into each other.

I'll never forget the moment when I saw the headlights coming at us and I knew we were about to crash. I heard the metal crunch and crumple, and the glass shatter. I lurched forward from the impact. It all happened so fast, but is also seemed to go on forever. After we finally stop moving around I open my eyes and think “Thank God, I’m alive and conscious.” I go to take a breath. Nothing. I panic. I start banging on the windows, desperate to get out for air. My friend Nana tries to help me by taking off my seatbelt. I still can't breathe. She tries to calm me down, telling me I'm just in shock. After about 30 seconds of sheer terror, I finally gasp for air.

We both know it's time to get out of the car. Nana, who wasn't wearing a seatbelt and was miraculously left uninjured, even has the mental clarity to even grab our purses. That's when I realize I am in horrific pain around my abdomen. I can't even stand up. When we get out of the car, I just collapse onto the road. Nana urges me to get up or I'm going to get run over by another car. She takes me to some side shop that has a couch outside of it. At this point, people in the neighborhood start coming out to see what's going on. I lie down on the couch and tell Nana she needs to call emergency because something is seriously wrong. I don't know how, but I just knew I was bleeding internally or something to that effect. It felt like someone was ripping me apart inside. Nana calls 191 (the Thai version of 911). It’s a good thing she knew the emergency number, because I had no clue what 911 was here.

In the meantime, I am lying there, looking around half dazed and thinking the worst...that I'm bleeding inside and the longer I wait, the more of a chance that I will die. I remember watching TV shows where doctors talk about internal bleeding and impending death. Then I realize there are 10 people around me doing NOTHING to help. They are just standing there gawking at me. One even has the audacity to start asking me "Where you from? Why you in Thailand?" I'm sorry, but do I look like engaging in small talk?! I felt like a zoo animal. Everyone was just staring at me, muttering 'farang, farang' (meaning foreigner in Thai). I wanted to scream out of pain and frustration combined. There was one Thai man who was kind enough to get me some cold water who I will never forget. He actually cared.

It was an eternity waiting for that ambulance for probably 30 minutes. When it finally got there, Nana and that Thai man helped me get up and walk to the van. I get into the back and lie out on the stretcher. No paramedic in sight. A few minutes later, I’m wondering why in the world we aren’t moving yet. A police man and Nana are talking outside. Nana comes back in to tell me they want me to get out of the ambulance. Apparently they only sent one ambulance to the scene of an accident with two cars, and three people injured. They wanted the Thai man in this ambulance. Oh so this is how it’s going to go…..The police officer comes in, shoves his flashlight in my eyes, and says this: “You fine. You okay. You take taxi to hospital.” Excuse me?! I just got in an accident in a taxi!!! I told him in very clear words that I was not getting out of this ambulance and if they so much as touched me I would kick and scream. Just because I’m not bleeding does not mean I’m just fine. I’m not sure if he understood my English, my body language did the talking. I was NOT getting out of that ambulance.

Probably another 30 minutes later, I am still lying in the back on the stretcher. The ambulance still wasn’t moving. At this point, I want someone to knock me unconscious so I can just get a break from the pain. Nana comes in and out to check on me and tells me what is going on. First she says they are taking me to the hospital now. Wait a second…now she says they are busy trying to get the taxi driver out of the car. Alright, now she says they are sending another ambulance. She tells me the police are standing around the accident doing nothing..not taking pictures, not interviewing witnesses, nothing. Nana says one even looked her up and down and muttered something that included the word ‘farang’ and walked away. Is this every going to end?! I probably would have gotten to the hospital faster in a taxi, but there was no way I was getting in another car. When they realize I am not going anywhere even with their stall tactics, they finally get in and start driving.

Somebody who looks vaguely like a paramedic gets in. He doesn’t even touch me, or strap me into the stretcher. In fact, he never even made eye contact. I see a neck brace on the wall. I am very tempted to grab it and put it on myself. I can’t believe this is happening.

We get to the hospital ten minutes later. I am frightened about this despite previous assurances that Phuket’s hospitals are of high quality. I am wheeled inside to emergency. Nana helps to explain what happened. What do they do first? Get me to fill out paperwork. We desperately tell them somebody needs to check me inside my stomach. They need my address first. After Nana helps me with the paperwork, we just wait. Nana tries her best to figure out what is going on, but she doesn’t get anywhere because of the language barrier. I finally get some pain killers after an hour. They don’t work very well, and I keep begging for more. I am desperately thirsty now, but nurses tell me to do the proper tests I shouldn’t drink anything.

I make the call I desperately want to make, but I have a feeling of dread when I dial the numbers. I call my mom. She picks up and I tell her to call back right away because I do not have much credit on my phone. My mom told me later she knew by the urgency in my voice that something was seriously wrong. She calls back and I tell her a short version of the story… She says she had a weird feeling all day that something was wrong. Strange. It helps to hear her voice, and I tell her I love her before the nurses take me away for some tests. I will call her back once I know what is going on.

After an hour, they do an ultrasound. I wait another half an hour. They do an x-ray (where I pass out in pain a couple times). I wait another half an hour. They do a CT scan, which takes 45 minutes. I can barely understand the nurses who speak little English when they tell me to move this way or move that way. I wait in emergency for the results for about twenty minutes.

A man named Dr. Tongchai comes in to tell me what I knew all along. I had internal injuries that occurred from the impact against my seatbelt. The device which is supposed to save my life actually had put it in danger. The doctor says there is a hole in my bowel and in my intestinal wall or something. Bile, some blood, and possibly stool is leaking into my blood stream. He tells me he needs to operate immediately.

I asked the doctor, “And if I don’t get the surgery?”

He puts down his head, takes a breath, and says very bluntly, “You will die.” He says that could happen within a few hours.

Hearing those words, I thought, alright then, I’m having major surgery in Thailand. I have been told that healthcare in Phuket is good, but that does nothing to ease my fear. What if something happens to me? I am thousands of miles away from home and I have no one except Nana right now. The people with my life in their hands barely speak my language. My family is way over in Canada. I wonder why I came here at all.

I call my mom to tell her. She and I work hard to convince ourselves that everything is going to be fine. She says she will be on the next flight out, a comforting thought. Suddenly, I am having problems speaking. I have a very tough time getting out simple words like “drugs” and I am slurring. This scares me and my mom. I pass the phone over to Dr. Tongchai who explains in greater detail to my mom what is happening. He goes away for a few minutes, then brings me back the phone. For some reason I think about Terry Schiavo. I tell my mom if the worst happens and I become a vegetable to let me go after a year. I think it was a little melodramatic of me to think something like that could happen from intestinal surgery, but I still felt it was important…but it made my mom burst into tears. I say I love you again and see you soon.

Then, something weird happened. I didn’t feel scared anymore. I had heard of so many studies done about how a positive attitude leads to better chances in surgery and a quicker recovery time that I just decided I need to get positive. Nana said it was like I was calm all of a sudden. Nurses wheeled me to ICU, and I was even making jokes (in between cringes of pain). Before they wheeled me into surgery, a clock fell off the wall and onto my head. I am not even joking. This is sooo me, I thought. No injuries this time, so I smiled, looked up and said “God, would you give me a break already?!” The nurses laughed.

I was under the knife within the hour after the doctor told me I needed surgery. It took five hours, longer than anticipated. It felt like a second to me of course. I woke up to see Nana and one of my bosses, Duncan, at the end of my bed. There was a tube coming out of my nose which was connected to my stomach, an IV tube in my wrist, and a catheter coming out the you-know-where. The rest of that night is kind of a blur because I was on so many pain killers. But I do remember waking up later in the night to find five of my Thai co-workers around my bed. It was so comforting to see them. My number one fear coming here was getting hurt or sick and having no one around me.

I stayed in ICU for one night, then I was moved into the in-patient ward. I spent a total of a week there. My mom came on the Monday, when I was finally able to sit up. I was so glad to see her, but I refused to cry. I knew if I cried, we’d both never stop. I needed to stay strong.

I was on an IV for nearly four days. Every little movement was painful for a long time, even sitting up was difficult until the third day. It took me two days to start walking a little. I had to do exercises so that breathing wouldn’t be painful. The doctor continuously came in to check if I had ‘passed the wind.’ That meant my bowels were back in working order. When I finally did, I was so excited! Yes that’s right, I was excited to fart. Farting meant I could get the tube out of my nose and I could actually eat FOOD!

On the fifth day, the doctor took my bandages off my stomach. I look down to see a 6 inch incision in the middle, complete with a long row of staples. My immediate thought is that I look like Frankenstein. They clean up the wound, and replace the bandages. On my last day in hospital, they take out the staples. The doctor gets me to count them, one by one, to help with the pain. I count TWENTY. Now I have twenty staple marks to go along with my scar. Yippee. I look in the mirror later and see a gigantic bruise that stretches around my side and up my back. It is multi-colored.. yellow, blue, purple. At this point though, I am just glad it is my last day in the hospital. I thank the nurses that took such good care of me during the week and Dr. Tongchai before I leave.

I have been out for almost three weeks now, slowly but surely getting better. My scar is starting to heal nicely. The staple marks are almost gone. I still have some issues with my stomach and digestion, but the doctor says that should improve over time. I plan to see a doctor and physiotherapist when I get home. I’m just glad my mom was here with me every step of the way. I do not know what I would have done without her.

Believe it or not, there is more to this story…having to do with police (who do things very differently in this country), lawyers, the embassy, insurance people, the driver who caused the accident, etc etc. It is hard enough dealing with that in Canada, but it is far worse here. But that is for another blog entry…

Thanks to all my friends and family who sent me get well messages. It really meant a lot to me and helped me get better. I love you all.