The Greek driver was following us along the road talking to
us as we walked along the pavement and I could understand nothing. We had moved to Rhodes some four years ago and
set about the task of settling into a completely different culture. Our three boys attended Greek schools and
after a painful transition period were all now fluent in the language. My husband and I had not yet mastered it in
any shape or form. Our brains seemed
reluctant to take in the new vocabulary and grammar in which we were
surrounded.
So bemused I asked Daniel, my youngest son, who I had just
picked up from primary school, “What is he saying?” Daniel listened carefully while the Greek middle-aged
man repeated himself through the open window of his car, then he translated, “He
says Daddy’s been knocked off his scooter and has been taken to hospital.” The shock must have shown on my face as the
Greek man started talking immediately in a reassuring manner. Again Daniel provided a translation, “He says
only his middle bit has been broken!”
Not the reassurance I had hoped for.
He offered to take us directly to the hospital and Daniel and I
clambered into his small car. He was
very kind and tried to calm me by smiling and nodding.
Even when we reached the hospital he followed us in,
directing us where to go after consulting a nurse. We were shown into a tiny cluttered room
filled with about eight people milling around, smoking talking. There on a trolley lay Vessal in absolute
agony and as I reached his side he asked in trembling tones, “Can you put your
coat on me?” He was freezing and
beginning to shake with tremors. Medical
experience has shown that so many people die of shock after accidents and this
can be prevented by two basic techniques.
One keep the patient warm and two don’t leave them alone. Keep talking to them, reassuring them and
keep them warm. Almost instinctive things
you’d think of doing yourself but no one in this hospital seemed aware of them. I took my coat off and wrapped it around
him. Daniel fell to his knees sobbing at
his father’s side. The man who had
opened his car door and knocked Vessal off his scooter, found this intolerable
and tried to console Daniel by dropping to his knees beside Daniel and telling
him his father would be alright. Daniel
however, was inconsolable and my heart was beating in an uncontrollable fashion. Everything was going wrong. I shall not go into the gruesome details
except to point out my husband had a fractured back and had to lie flat on his
back for eight long weeks. The complexities
of Greek hospitals and the endless queues and pieces of paper required defy
belief. May my worst enemy be spared the
experience of a Greek hospital!
Vessal eventually, was home at last but under strict
instructions to stay in bed prone. He
spent most of the early weeks on heavy painkillers which were hard on his
stomach but did keep the pain at bay. I’m
not awfully good with sick people. Always
previously, Vessal would joke that my limit on sickness was three days. After three days my sympathy would run out
and the message conveyed implicitly was “Die or get better but don’t linger!” Now, my patience was really to be put the
test. I was having to cover my husband’s
teaching hours as well as my own, cook, clean etc for everyone. Life became a tight routine of chores that
required doing and there was little time to dwell on the situation. It could have been much worse we told
ourselves.
Then, as life so often does, it actually became worse! Vessal became completely deaf. It must have been all the lying down, but
both ears became blocked. He couldn’t
hear a thing unless you shouted. A kind
of paranoia set in were he was convinced we were plotting against him. This seemed strange but was followed by an
even worse phase in which he sank into a deep dark silence. This frightened me more than all the previous
states. Life requires effort and will
power. None of us can go on without
either of those. I decided to get his
ears fixed at all costs. The isolation deafness
brings had worsened things, but no doctor would treat him at home. So I arranged an appointment with the closest
ear, nose and throat specialist I could find.
We arrived by taxi at the surgery and after a short treatment Vessal
could hear. The genuine delight on his
face was a picture.
The last task was to get him home safe and sound. We waited at the taxi stop and waited and
waited. By his stage, Vessal was almost
passing out with pain, leaning against a nearby tree. At long last a taxi came but before we could
get in a Greek woman jumped in front of us and opened the taxi door and jumped
in the back seat. I told her this taxi was ours and
motioned for her to get out. She refused,
even when I said in poor Greek my husband was ill. In a haughty tone she replied,
that was not her problem. My husband,
meanwhile, carefully wedged himself into the taxi beside her, unable to lie
down on the back seat and told me just to
get in so we could get home as fast as possible. Reluctantly, I clambered into the front seat
beside the taxi driver and gave him our address. As he moved off, the woman gave her address
and told him to go to her address first.
I was really mad at this point and told her she was a bad woman. Unfortunately, I did not change the adjective
to suit the gender and ended up saying that she was a shit woman.
This triggered utter rage in the Greek woman and she began
shouting insults at me in fluent fast Greek.
I knew enough to understand what she was saying but was woefully incapable
of responding effectively. It is at such
times you realise the weakness and sheer vulnerability of not speaking the
language you need. On and on she raged
in aggressive tones and I lost it. I
just lost it. Eight weeks of sickness, pain,
hard work, fear and anger exploded and I tried to hit her over the seat. I know it is unforgiveable to resort to
violence. She dodged back to the corner
of the taxi door to avoid my blow and her demeanour changed from one of
shouting fury to sheer fear. The taxi
had high seats and so I could not reach her easily but tried to hit her between
the gap on either side of the headrest. I
swung from one side to the other trying to reach her and she like a demented
puppet in the back seat tried to avoid me.
At one point cringing up in a corner hugging her mobile phone to her
chest like a comforter. I was livid and
intent on smacking her and oblivious to the taxi driver and Vessal’s shouts of
remonstration. The taxi driver stopped,
we were at our flat, and an injured Vessal crawled from the back. The taxi driver put his arm across the gap
between the seats to stop me reaching the woman and shouted “Ok, Ok”. Reluctantly, I got out and the taxi drove off with
a very subdued passenger in the back. As
I helped Vessal limp slowly into our apartment, he kept muttering, “I can’t
believe you just did that!” Neither
could I.
