"Fermented shark?!" I confirmed, watching Karen nod her head and stifle giggles. I'd already confessed to wanting a full-blown Icelandic experience, so how I was going to get out of this one was beyond me.
"Well I'm interested in trying foal, and whale..." I continued, hoping that if I ate enough of those two there wouldn't actually be any room for fermented shark and I could play the 'what a shame' card.
"More wine?" Karen asked. I answered by handing her my empty glass, glad for the change of subject, and turned to gaze out the window. 8pm and bright. Just like this morning, when it had been 1am and bright. 2am and bright. 3am and bright... 24/7 sunlight was a very unusual, but welcome, experience. It meant we weren't on any specific timetable - if we felt like getting up and going out, we could. Karen was in the process of telling me that the best time to explore the country would be in the middle of the night - when no one else is around, but the sun is still up, just for us. I began telling her about my excitement to go riding on Icelandic horses, when from the bathroom we heard a loud thud... and a disturbingly loud groan.
I looked at Karen, eyebrows furrowed as I tried to work out what we'd just heard. Soon afterwards Karlos made another loud groan. Did he slip over and is being silly, I thought. Karen stood up. Oh, ok, I realised. No he's not being silly - he's hurt. I rushed to the bathroom and was grateful he'd left it unlocked.
Karlos was on his knees in the bathtub, holding onto the window sill, and looked a deathly pale. The shower overhead was still running and bath curtains were surrounding him - I turned off the shower and grabbed him a towel. "What happened?" I asked, as I noticed a large red mark on his right side. "Can't... talk..." he struggled to tell me, as he fought for his breath. Oh, he's winded! I thought, grateful that was all. He'd fallen and winded himself silly bugger! But that wasn't it...
A minute or two passed, and I tried again. "What happened hun?" I asked. He was in so much pain he couldn't speak, his lips were as white as his face, and I looked again at the large mark on the side of his body. "Can you get out of the bath?" I asked, and was there to help in any way I could - holding his towel and offering my hand. But I could only watch him, struggling in pain, taking great care with every movement - and me under strict orders not to "touch me or speak to me."
"We'd better cancel dinner plans," I said to Karen, who was waiting anxiously in the living room. "I think we should take you to hospital now," I said to Karlos, who stood hunched over and leaning on a table top.
"I think I broke a rib," Karlos breathed heavily. I'd known already of course. But was only now accepting this.
Karen and I had been drinking - so she called her mum to come and rescue us, and take us to the hospital. Karen then busied herself finding a pain killer for Karlos, whilst I helped him to dress. His skin was now a grey colour, and his eyes darted around not really focusing on anything. He was in a lot of pain, it was hard to see. So I busied myself fetching him a jacket, a beanie, his wallet, our travel insurance documents - and then Karen's mum arrived.
A painful ten minutes later - with Karlos wincing at every bump in the road, and Karen and I talking as much as possible to distract him - we arrived at Reykjavik hospital. Karen went in to get Karlos a wheelchair, and he lowered himself in with much caution and great pain. We struggled to get him into the hospital...
Outside the emergency department at Reykjavik Hospital there is a pavement, and a curb. A curb! So there we are - injured patient in the wheelchair - with Karen trying to push him forward, and me trying to get the front wheels up the curb. I couldn't lift the front of the wheelchair high enough, under his weight, to get the wheels onto the curb. So Karen is pushing trying to help - but as soon as the wheels reach the curb, they turn sideways! Making the job even harder. WHY IS THERE A CURB OUTSIDE THE E.D! WHY?! Anyway, after a bit more discomfort for poor old Karlos, we did eventually get him inside. And I filled out all of the necessary forms, whilst Karen spoke to the hospital staff in Icelandic, explaining what had happened.
A few minutes after arrival, we were escorted by a doctor to a room on the second floor. Karlos, Karen and I then sat in there patiently, as we waited for the doctor to return. Several more minutes went by. We were concerned as to what was taking so long - Karlos was in a lot of pain and at the very least needed some form of pain killer. Karen stuck her head outside of the door...
"No! You can't come out!" a passing nurse said to Karen. She asked for some pain killers for Karlos and asked her a few other questions , in Icelandic, before closing the door and coming back to sit down with us. "Errrrm..." Karen started to explain, "it appears that we are currently in quarantine!"
"What the hell?! What does that mean?" I asked.
Well, the fact that Karlos had been given vaccinations in an NZ hospital, combined with Iceland having extremely strict health and safety protocols, meant that Karlos had been put on a 'could be contaminated' list! This was pretty hilarious given the circumstances, and definitely within the realm of all the other weird things happening on our trip so far - so we weren't particularly shocked, or perturbed. So - a doctor eventually appears, kitted out in full quarantine gear - rubber gloves and all - to give Karlos a looking over.
Several painful probes into his abdomin and right side later, she advised that they were just getting the x-ray machine covered up in plastic sheets - then once this is done, Karlos will be sent for. She left him with his own quarantine robe and rubber gloves to put on, and when I asked if I may be excused to use the restroom - I was reluctantly given permission and told "not to touch anything."
This was unreal! You can't make this stuff up! We looked at each other, and through his pain Karlos' eyes told me - "only us, aye!"
An hour or so later Karlos had been x-ray'd, Karen had called many family members telling them of our ordeal (much to many an amusement), and we'd had a good giggle with the hospital staff, who apologised for the inconvenience of their strict protocol. We called a cab, stopped at a pharamcy for the strongest drugs you can legally purchase, and gently drove Karlos home and to his new bed propped up on the couch.
"Your rib will take 6 weeks to mend." The doctor had informed Karlos.
*
Later that night I stood in the bathroom, staring at my pale, drawn face in the bathroom mirror for some time. I turned my head and caught sight of the bathtub, looking back to the mirror in time to watch a single tear slowly slip down my right cheek. How did this happen? As if drive-by shootings, dead bodies, spider bites, and 'emergency landing' aircraft weren't enough - now Karlos is broken for 6 weeks, and exactly how we were going to manage backpacking was beyond me. I knew we'd work it out. I knew that this was just another test of strength for us both. And I knew that things would be ok. But for those few minutes in the bathroom, alone, I
allowed myself to feel sorry for Karlos, and for our situation and watched several more hot tears slip from my eyes.
"Hayley..." Karlos called from the living room.
I dropped the towel I was holding and rushed towards him. "Are you alright?" I called out anxiously.
"Are you alright?" he repiled.
"Yes," I said. "I'm fine." And I was.
He reached out to hold my hand that night, as I lay down on the sofa bed next to him. He had really badly hurt himself. He was going to be in a lot of pain over the next few weeks whilst his rib mends, and will miss out on horse riding, river rafting and all the fun things we'd planned to do. I would need to carry both backpacks, over 40 kilos worth of luggage, until we worked something else out. Maybe buy a car, instead of a rail pass? So many things whizzing through my mind, and likely his too. But despite everything, he was there showing me that he could still look after me, with a single reach for my hand.
I love you Karlos x
~ Comet xo
"Well I'm interested in trying foal, and whale..." I continued, hoping that if I ate enough of those two there wouldn't actually be any room for fermented shark and I could play the 'what a shame' card.
"More wine?" Karen asked. I answered by handing her my empty glass, glad for the change of subject, and turned to gaze out the window. 8pm and bright. Just like this morning, when it had been 1am and bright. 2am and bright. 3am and bright... 24/7 sunlight was a very unusual, but welcome, experience. It meant we weren't on any specific timetable - if we felt like getting up and going out, we could. Karen was in the process of telling me that the best time to explore the country would be in the middle of the night - when no one else is around, but the sun is still up, just for us. I began telling her about my excitement to go riding on Icelandic horses, when from the bathroom we heard a loud thud... and a disturbingly loud groan.
I looked at Karen, eyebrows furrowed as I tried to work out what we'd just heard. Soon afterwards Karlos made another loud groan. Did he slip over and is being silly, I thought. Karen stood up. Oh, ok, I realised. No he's not being silly - he's hurt. I rushed to the bathroom and was grateful he'd left it unlocked.
Karlos was on his knees in the bathtub, holding onto the window sill, and looked a deathly pale. The shower overhead was still running and bath curtains were surrounding him - I turned off the shower and grabbed him a towel. "What happened?" I asked, as I noticed a large red mark on his right side. "Can't... talk..." he struggled to tell me, as he fought for his breath. Oh, he's winded! I thought, grateful that was all. He'd fallen and winded himself silly bugger! But that wasn't it...
A minute or two passed, and I tried again. "What happened hun?" I asked. He was in so much pain he couldn't speak, his lips were as white as his face, and I looked again at the large mark on the side of his body. "Can you get out of the bath?" I asked, and was there to help in any way I could - holding his towel and offering my hand. But I could only watch him, struggling in pain, taking great care with every movement - and me under strict orders not to "touch me or speak to me."
"We'd better cancel dinner plans," I said to Karen, who was waiting anxiously in the living room. "I think we should take you to hospital now," I said to Karlos, who stood hunched over and leaning on a table top.
"I think I broke a rib," Karlos breathed heavily. I'd known already of course. But was only now accepting this.
Karen and I had been drinking - so she called her mum to come and rescue us, and take us to the hospital. Karen then busied herself finding a pain killer for Karlos, whilst I helped him to dress. His skin was now a grey colour, and his eyes darted around not really focusing on anything. He was in a lot of pain, it was hard to see. So I busied myself fetching him a jacket, a beanie, his wallet, our travel insurance documents - and then Karen's mum arrived.
A painful ten minutes later - with Karlos wincing at every bump in the road, and Karen and I talking as much as possible to distract him - we arrived at Reykjavik hospital. Karen went in to get Karlos a wheelchair, and he lowered himself in with much caution and great pain. We struggled to get him into the hospital...
Outside the emergency department at Reykjavik Hospital there is a pavement, and a curb. A curb! So there we are - injured patient in the wheelchair - with Karen trying to push him forward, and me trying to get the front wheels up the curb. I couldn't lift the front of the wheelchair high enough, under his weight, to get the wheels onto the curb. So Karen is pushing trying to help - but as soon as the wheels reach the curb, they turn sideways! Making the job even harder. WHY IS THERE A CURB OUTSIDE THE E.D! WHY?! Anyway, after a bit more discomfort for poor old Karlos, we did eventually get him inside. And I filled out all of the necessary forms, whilst Karen spoke to the hospital staff in Icelandic, explaining what had happened.
A few minutes after arrival, we were escorted by a doctor to a room on the second floor. Karlos, Karen and I then sat in there patiently, as we waited for the doctor to return. Several more minutes went by. We were concerned as to what was taking so long - Karlos was in a lot of pain and at the very least needed some form of pain killer. Karen stuck her head outside of the door...
"No! You can't come out!" a passing nurse said to Karen. She asked for some pain killers for Karlos and asked her a few other questions , in Icelandic, before closing the door and coming back to sit down with us. "Errrrm..." Karen started to explain, "it appears that we are currently in quarantine!"
"What the hell?! What does that mean?" I asked.
Well, the fact that Karlos had been given vaccinations in an NZ hospital, combined with Iceland having extremely strict health and safety protocols, meant that Karlos had been put on a 'could be contaminated' list! This was pretty hilarious given the circumstances, and definitely within the realm of all the other weird things happening on our trip so far - so we weren't particularly shocked, or perturbed. So - a doctor eventually appears, kitted out in full quarantine gear - rubber gloves and all - to give Karlos a looking over.
Several painful probes into his abdomin and right side later, she advised that they were just getting the x-ray machine covered up in plastic sheets - then once this is done, Karlos will be sent for. She left him with his own quarantine robe and rubber gloves to put on, and when I asked if I may be excused to use the restroom - I was reluctantly given permission and told "not to touch anything."
This was unreal! You can't make this stuff up! We looked at each other, and through his pain Karlos' eyes told me - "only us, aye!"
An hour or so later Karlos had been x-ray'd, Karen had called many family members telling them of our ordeal (much to many an amusement), and we'd had a good giggle with the hospital staff, who apologised for the inconvenience of their strict protocol. We called a cab, stopped at a pharamcy for the strongest drugs you can legally purchase, and gently drove Karlos home and to his new bed propped up on the couch.
"Your rib will take 6 weeks to mend." The doctor had informed Karlos.
*
Later that night I stood in the bathroom, staring at my pale, drawn face in the bathroom mirror for some time. I turned my head and caught sight of the bathtub, looking back to the mirror in time to watch a single tear slowly slip down my right cheek. How did this happen? As if drive-by shootings, dead bodies, spider bites, and 'emergency landing' aircraft weren't enough - now Karlos is broken for 6 weeks, and exactly how we were going to manage backpacking was beyond me. I knew we'd work it out. I knew that this was just another test of strength for us both. And I knew that things would be ok. But for those few minutes in the bathroom, alone, I
allowed myself to feel sorry for Karlos, and for our situation and watched several more hot tears slip from my eyes.
"Hayley..." Karlos called from the living room.
I dropped the towel I was holding and rushed towards him. "Are you alright?" I called out anxiously.
"Are you alright?" he repiled.
"Yes," I said. "I'm fine." And I was.
He reached out to hold my hand that night, as I lay down on the sofa bed next to him. He had really badly hurt himself. He was going to be in a lot of pain over the next few weeks whilst his rib mends, and will miss out on horse riding, river rafting and all the fun things we'd planned to do. I would need to carry both backpacks, over 40 kilos worth of luggage, until we worked something else out. Maybe buy a car, instead of a rail pass? So many things whizzing through my mind, and likely his too. But despite everything, he was there showing me that he could still look after me, with a single reach for my hand.
I love you Karlos x
~ Comet xo
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