Now What?!

The Retreat is right on the water and filled with magnificent design and little touches -- the piece of driftwood that serves as a pot rack, the outside sink set up by the waterfall, the bowl roughly fashioned out of a log. A large deck with inviting lounge chairs overlooked the water, kayaks leaned against the rocks, and healthy, lush plants adorned every nook and cranny.

I turned from the kayaks and there it was -- the view from the picture (at least most of it!). I thought to myself, "Is this where I want to wake up on my birthday morning? Yes." But it was the idea of a much-needed nap (and you know I had to be tired if I was considering napping!) on a lounge chair with a surf lullaby that cinched the decision. (And to the cynics among you who are thinking that seeing Pihi's sweet face was the deciding factor, I didn't see it until I woke up from said nap. So there.) That's the setting -- beautiful in all ways -- what could possibly go wrong?

This.

Look closely -- what is wrong with this picture? If you said why is her pinky toe jutting out at a 45 degree angle from the rest of the foot then you'd get the Most Observant Award.

As Pihi had said, the answer would come to me and the voice inside my head revealed the answer to be OUCH!! Hurrying to join in the dance, I had whammed my toe on a rock or piece of driftwood. Now that I'm better at getting in touch with my Inner Pain, I have started to notice such affronts more and let out a hearty, "Yowwwww!!" This was followed with an immediate, "Ewwwww" when I looked down and saw my wee-wee-wee-all-the-way-home toe pointing East when the rest of the group were pointing North. My toe looked floppy, like a baby that can't quite hold its head up yet. Like a pineapple gumdrop. Like a piece of puffed rice on steroids. Like a broken toe.

Within seconds it swelled to the size of Montana and the astonishment of what I had done interrupted the immense pain and an unnecessary thought crept in, "Well, at least it'll be easier to paint that toenail now." Then the realization that I was far, far, far from any reasonable medical care burst into the pedicure reverie and I assessed my situation. "Pihi," who was still dancing unaware of the reasons for his partner's delay, "I think I just broke my toe!" I determined that the thing to do was to tape the toe to the one next to it and directed Pihi to find my medical kit in my suitcase. To reassure my diagnosis, I first consulted both medical guides I had with me and found nothing -- cuts, bruises, snakebites, frostbite, yes. But broken limbs of any kind, no. It occured to me that I might not know what I was talking about, so I called my healthcare provider back in the states and was told not to tape it until the swelling went down, to elevate it (I had figured this part out only because it felt better that way), and to ice it twenty minutes of each hour. So that's how I spent my birthday. Quietly sitting on a sunny deck, foot elevated, looking out at the water, petting a cat, and being tended to by Pihi.

The Powers-That-Be had given me a birthday gift -- SLOW DOWN.

That night because my foot was chilly (while lying on a lounge chair looking at the millions of stars presented just for my birthday), I put a sock on it. In the morning, when I took it off, I realized that it apparently was a Magic Sock (the zodiac one, Patti) because the toe had migrated back to join the others, albeit still a bit out of alignment and now only the size of New Jersey. Unfortunately, I don't listen to subtle messages too well and true to form, I kept moving the next day, ever eager to see more of this fine country.

The mobility limitation has been frustrating, however. By the time I reached Auckland five days later the injury had taken its toll, physically and psychically. Since it wasn't getting better I finally decided to do something about it. Continuing my study of NZ health care, I ventured into the Emergency Room of Auckland Hospital where I was told it was easily a 3-4 hour wait -- more reminiscent of US hospitals that the glory day I spent in Christchurch. Yet I wasn't deterred because I had packed several travel books and material to begin to plan for Australia, my journal so as to write more stories just for you, a good novel, and some food. But when I went into the waiting room and found it dirty and confining, full of sick people, I knew I didn't have the will to stay. The people who had checked me in told me about private Accident and Medical Centers (I still don't know if these are for-profit or not-for-profit) that could attend to me -- at a higher rate -- without much waiting. However, when we called a few to see if their xray department was still open, none were, so I decided to deal with it the next day.

The next day I went to one of these Centers and again had a very positive experience. The care was efficiently and promptly delivered and -- this part is very interesting to me -- because the injury was a result of an accident my costs were reduced since the ACC (I know part of that is Accident Commission and am wondering if the other C stands for "clumsy.") subsidizes the cost. Thus I paid $10NZ for the xray and $28 for the doctor's visit.

The xray was clear to any eyes -- the toe was indeed fractured. This had two effects on me: 1) I was relieved that I hadn't imagined it, that I had been justified in a week's worth of whining, and 2) it made me want to cry because once again I was hurt and away from home and somehow that has a powerful woe-is-me affect. My toe was taped to the one next to it and I was sent off with the remaining roll of special tape and wishes for a safer journey.

I felt very alone. Being sick and single has always been a drag; being "sick," single, and far from anyone who might minister tea and sympathy was even more so. My feelings of self-pity turned briefly to despair when, realizing that I had forgotten to ask how long to splint the toe, I called the nurse to enquire. That's when I heard the words "6 to 8 weeks" for this toe to heal. That's almost all of Australia. I'll be in the Land of Oz not really able to hike or walk hours exploring a city or dance all night or take surfing lessons. Bummer, bummer, bummer. This is not good. This is not what I had in mind. This is definitely not good.

The next morning, adding injury to injury, my contact lens decided to rip while in my eye and each piece independently worked its way to the far nederlands of my eyeball, lodging firmly out of sight under my upper lid. I could feel them, but not see them to dislodge them myself. This only served to amplify my Pity Party into a full out Pity Rave as I cursed the fact that I had no one to ask for help but strangers. One hostel employee was able to get one piece out, but I had to visit an optometrist to get out the rest! She had to put dye in my eye to tint the lens and peer through one of those fancy complicated machines to find it. Sweetly, she didn't charge me anything.

At that point I left town, for the beach, to try to be still and relax (see Relax, Will Ya?! coming soon to a screen near you). And I am trying very hard to heed the original message -- slow down!.

Pihi dancing in front of the view that brought me there in the first place.