Taking things for granted, and gaining perspective…

One of the highlights of 2008 for us was going to be 4 full weeks in Cuba. With 3 weddings booked and all of our ducks in a row, we set out on May 2nd to Calgary and followed through to Varadero, Cuba on Saturday May 3rd.

While watching out the window of the tour bus from the airport to our resort, the first thing that struck me was how little culture shock I felt. I don’t really know what I expected, but never having travelled outside of North America, I expected something.

As we watched the houses go by we noticed the palm trees and bright colours that are rare here, but other than that I actually felt a little like I was driving through the small towns at home. Not Vancouver home, of course, but Northern Alberta home. Kids outside playing, animals running around, men drinking beer on the porch or kicking around a soccer ball. Lazy summer days. From the hustle of the city, it was refreshing.

Our resort was grand, and at 5 stars one of the nicest in Varadero. Miles of white sandy beaches, endless mojitos, the staff were wonderful, the food surprisingly good after all the negative reviews we’d heard before coming. We had a full week ahead with 2 full day engagement shoots in Havana, 2 weddings, and 2 trash the dress sessions. The day after we arrived, Sunday, was our only day without work and we were going to enjoy it.

We slept in and enjoyed a relaxing morning watching the lizards on our balcony before grabbing our swim wear and heading for the beach. I was sure to hit up the bar for a mojito along the way – that is, after all, one of the primary reasons for going. I was excited that Reilly was coming swimming as he avoids the water here at all costs, but he was as excited as I was.

Compared to the Pacific, wow, what a treat to walk into crystal clear bathwater temp water. We probably swam and played around for an hour before grabbing our things and heading back towards our room so we could meet up with our clients over a drink at 2pm.

2 minutes from the beach, on a downhill slope of deep sand – the kind you have trouble walking in to begin with, and more so apparently if you’re me – I tripped. Instead of falling forwards, I leaned backwards to fall but my sandal remained caught in the sand so didn’t follow. I landed with my right knee bent sideways and my knee cap out of place.

Reilly was walking ahead of me so turned around horrified at the scream I’d let out, in time to see me straighten my leg and push my kneecap 2 inches back into place. I knew that I’d done something very wrong as my leg should never have gone in the position it did when it fell, but at that moment I wasn’t in much pain and could put weight on it, so I did.

I held onto Reilly and walked carefully, making it about 10 more feet before I stepped in such a way that required the ligament in my knee I would later find out I’d snapped. I fell again, and haven’t yet taken another step since.

Even after I fell the second time Reilly didn’t seem convinced of my diagnosis that I was going home. Pain is one thing – I will work through pain and smile about it – but knowing that if I tried to stand up that my knee would give out again was definitely something new. My leg didn’t work.

I sent him for the crazy ‘50’s wheelchair I’d seen in the lobby and waited in the sand, knowing our 4 week trip was over for me on day 2.

We got back to our room and I sat on the bed and sent him on a hunt for ice. The language barrier became apparent after multiple attempts to get ice from the bar (one glass only, hardly useful), the front desk, and finally room service. It wasn’t until I called room service asking where our ice was that they asked if the ice machine in our building was broken. Sure enough, on the second floor we had all the ice we could ever need.

Our clients tracked us down in our room after we didn’t show for our meetup. They walked in to a wheelchair and me with ice on my knee and ankle, but otherwise in a cheerful mood. I explained that if it were just my sprained ankle – I was convinced my ankle was merely sprained after my second fall – I would gladly grin and bear it, but my knee was seriously damaged and I wouldn’t be shooting that week. The groom got the same look Reilly had been giving me, and suggested I could sit out the engagement session on Monday and rest and maybe shoot the wedding the next day. He clearly didn’t get it.

Being a Sunday, no doctor was available in the resort and I wasn’t interested in heading in to the clinic at night, knowing there was nothing they could do. At that point I knew that I needed a cast or something to keep my leg stable, and that I needed to get home. The doctor was a formality for travel insurance.

Thankfully, our skeptical groom called a while later to let us know one of their wedding guests was a physician in the Maritimes and had offered to look at my leg. Canadian, English speaking medical advice? Perfect!

So, our groom and the doctor came to our room. My leg was poked and prodded, he declared I may have fractured my ankle, and then he held my thigh and moved my lower leg to the right. It didn’t stop.

That was the moment when both Reilly and our groom got that wide eyed look realising that legs just shouldn’t do that, and maybe I wasn’t just a wimp after all. The doctor looked at me, explained the multiple ligaments I may have torn, and told me to get an air cast and to get home to see a surgeon. I knew that already, but it was a relief to hear it in terms I could understand.

Later that night our clients came by and told Reilly to come with me to the hospital the next day rather than with them to Havana for their engagement shoot. It was never a question to me that he would go shoot as that’s what needed to be done, but I don’t know if they saw the tears of relief when they left. I couldn’t have been more thankful to know I wasn’t heading to the hospital by myself.

Monday morning we got a referral from the resort physician and headed into town. The ambulance would have been cheaper than a taxi so we said we’d do that – besides, how fun would that be?! – but as it turned out it – yes, just one – was busy, so a taxi it was.

Tourists go to a different clinic than the locals, but regardless we had a great experience. There was no wait, I immediately saw a (totally hot) doctor, and was taken in for xrays on the crazy old machine. They took one look at my films and called a specialist, and apologised profusely as the wait would be about half an hour.

All told, I ended up with 3 (totally hot) Cuban doctors. I wish Reilly had taken a photo. He was actually the one who pointed out that they should have their own soap or something.

Even more exciting than the hot Cuban doctors, however, were the nurses. Oh, the nurses! These ladies were dressed to the nines in heels, fishnet stockings, mini skirts, and nurses hats. I kid not! I wish we had a photo.

When the specialist came he ordered another x-ray of my knee. Knowing I might also have an ankle fracture but unsure how much cash we’d need on hand to pay for this all, I asked how much the xrays were. $25 each! For that price, I told them to go ahead and xray my ankle too. It was worth knowing where it was at, even though I knew I was out of commission for a while with my knee.

My official Cuban diagnosis was that my ankle was completely fine, and then Hot Cuban Doctor looked at my last knee xray. He looked at me, and with wide eyes said “Rupture Ligamento! NO WALK!! Go home. Need suture!” It matched pretty much what I was told by the Canadian doctor at the resort, so that was good enough for me.

They sent someone out to buy more gauze, and I got myself a nice plaster slab cast from the bottom of my foot to my thigh with gauze around the front so I could still fly. I tried to buy crutches knowing it would make my trip through the airports by myself a little easier not knowing what the wheelchair situation would be, but after a few calls it was determined no crutches were available in Cuba at that time. We paid our whopping $215 bill and were on our way.

Back at the resort, we found the vacation rep who spent a lot of time on his cell in very fast Spanish trying to find me a flight home. Eventually, he determined there was room on a flight to Toronto the following night at 9pm. I was handed a hand scrawled piece of paper with my flight details – I was to go to the airport, find a man named Adolfo, and hand him $383 cash. He would get me my ticket.

Tuesday came and Reilly was shooting a wedding. I put my carryon on my lap, and I wheeled myself in the rickety hotel wheelchair to the Taxi stand and had the front desk call me a taxi.

A few minutes later, a car pulled up. I think it was a ’92 Corolla. Spray paint matte black and not holding up very well. The driver hopped out – maybe 25 years old, with his shirt unbuttoned a few too many and with gold chains around his neck. Bad techno was blaring from the blown speakers.

I tried to communicate that the wheelchair I was in needed to stay, but that he would have to get me a new one at the airport. He seemed to figure that out. I got in the back seat cross ways – the only way I could fit anywhere with a full leg cast – and was able to fully take in the situation once we started to move.

The inside of the car was worse off than the outside. There was a red and black striped fun fur cover on the back seat, with no seat belts to be had. The dash had pieces missing, and he had a tint job such that his field of view was about one foot high as a strip across his windshield, with the top and bottom a dark limo tint.

We started to drive and as he was busy writing down the details of the fare he slowly swerved into the other lane, occasionally looking up to correct his course. I went back through the situation in my mind – he had made it through the resort gate, so he must have been legit. I could see a radio and a trip log, so he was probably actually a cabbie. I was a very overweight foreign girl with a full cast, and probably not all that enticing.

I realized that at that moment, I was completely dependant on the help of strangers who didn’t speak the same language as me to get me home. I couldn’t walk, and had no wheelchair. If there were a problem I couldn’t get away on my own. I was being taken to an airport with a scrawled name on a piece of paper and a large pile of cash, hoping this would get me on a plane. I had no choice but to trust that it would all work out.

I enjoyed the scenery the rest of the way to the airport.

Once we arrived, my cabbie quickly rushed to find me a wheelchair and I tipped him very well for getting me there safely. To my relief and surprise, I was passed off to an airport employee who knew exactly where to find Adolfo and wheeled me straight to him. I handed over my wad of cash and was given my ticket.

The Cubans at the airport were awesome. I didn’t end up pushing myself anywhere, at all times I had a guy who would park me somewhere and then fetch me when it was time to go through getting my boarding pass, pay my departure fee, go through security, and get to my gate. I had gone prepared with many pesos and tipped everyone who helped me very well, but they were all genuinely surprised and appreciative when I did.

My flight to Toronto was short – 3 ½ hours – but uncomfortable. The plane was small so I sat in the first row on the left with my leg in the aisle praying I was sufficiently dehydrated so that I wouldn’t need to use the loo as it would have involved leaving the door wide open for my cast. Luckily, that was a success.

When we landed one of the stewardesses felt so bad that I had another flight ahead of me that she raided the snack cupboard and sent me on my way with a couple cans of pop and handfuls of pretzel mix and chocolate mints. That flight was a Sunwing flight, and I would choose them just because of that stewardess.

Pearson’s Airport in Toronto is huge and involves trains, but I was met at the plane with a wheelchair and a team of people on radios who wheeled me and passed me off to get me to where I needed to be. We landed around 1 am Toronto time and my flight to Vancouver would leave around 6.

I was parked outside the Westjet counter waiting for it to open, and was excited to finally get online. I’d only been away from the internet for a few days but it was easy to kill a few hours catching up and keeping my mind off of things.

Westjet was awesome for my 5 ½ hour flight to Van, rearranging passengers so I could have the entire second row to myself. I sat with my leg up across the seats, and finally got a bit of sleep.

My Mom flew in from Edmonton landing at the same gate just an hour before I did on Wednesday morning, and it was a relief to finally see a familiar face when I got off the plane. Darren met us at the airport with a rented wheelchair and borrowed crutches thanks to the collaboration of some great friends…. Love and thanks to all of you - Darren, Kimli, Shan, Josh, Tanya for making sure it was all arranged.

We went straight to emerg at VGH.

My Cuban xrays were a huge hit. Slightly out of focus, very old school, and so unlike the digital ones everyone we came across had been so accustomed to seeing. They cut off my cast to see the damage and I was surprised to see my ankle had turned a very dark shade of black almost the whole way around.

Xrays were done, immediately refuting my Cuban ankle diagnosis. Not only had I fractured it, but I’d managed to shear off a large chunk of the bottom of my tibia. I was admitted and booked for surgery.

Reilly finally made it home on Sunday, which is when my Mom left so that worked out well. I couldn’t have handled sitting in the hopital for days by myself.

I ended up having surgery to repair my ankle with 3 screws and a washer on Saturday morning, and got out of the hospital on the Monday. My knee was diagnosed as a grade 3 medial collateral ligament tear (completely snapped), but as most MCL tears will scar over on their own was just put in an immobilizer and told to stay off my leg for 6 weeks.

On June 19th I saw my surgeon who confirmed what I already knew – my knee hadn’t healed, and still had the same instability. My ankle xrays look great but there’s still no walking for me.

On July 17th I’ll be going in again and barring a knee ligament miracle (not holding my breath) will be booked for surgery for an MCL reconstruction/artificial ligament. At that time I’ll also hopefully find out if – as I also suspect – I’ve also torn my ACL and will be looking forward to a second knee surgery once my MCL has healed.

So, that’s where I’m at! It’s definitely not what I’d planned on for the summer, and I *really* just want to start physio, but in the grand scheme of life it’s all temporary.

We’ve got some awesome people hired to work with us this year, but I really wish I could be out shooting. It’s strange to be editing weddings that I wasn’t involved in.

Overall, I’ve been in a really good mood. There’s no point to be miserable, because then I would just be miserable. It’s not worth it. It’s a challenge – believe me – but not worth getting down about. I have my moments, but I’m doing my best.

First and foremost, the whole thing really puts things into perspective. The little things seem that much more little, and you spend more time looking at the bigger picture. Things can change in a heartbeat. Life is too short. As far as I’m concerned, I’m alive and otherwise healthy, so life is pretty damn good. Apparently I needed a few months unable to walk to make me realize what’s important and what isn’t and to give my perspective a kick in the pants.

It also makes you realize pretty quickly that your worst case scenario probably isn’t that bad. If you had asked me before we left what would happen if I broke my leg and ended up unable to walk for a few months, I would have told you it was one of the worst things that could happen. I am a self employed photographer, I’d be unable to make a living, it would be impossible to get around, I’d be miserable.

But you know what? We’ve hired great photographers to shoot. I still do all the back end stuff, I’m as busy as ever. Getting around has new challenges, but I can still do most things. We went camping this weekend through some crazy 4×4 roads and had a blast. Squatting to pee in the bush with one working leg – THAT is a challenge, but even that wasn’t insurmountable.

All in all, we’re all pretty adaptable. Life is a little inconvenient, but on the whole pretty damn good. I’m just thankful that all I have to deal with is a broken leg.

This too shall pass.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 1st, 2008 at 7:48 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.