CRACK!! The sound of
the impact was loud, very loud. I knew
my wife was hit, hit hard. Was she
seriously injured? Will she be
paralyzed? Will she die? These are the thoughts that flashed through
my mind, as I got off my bike. I shouted out her name, and ran over to her. She
was lying motionless on the road. It
didn’t look good.
We were on the second day of a four-day bike tour centered
in the town of Beaune, a lovely little town in the heart of the wine country of Burgundy. Three
American friends accompanied us.
We had been biking for an hour or so. We were lost; the
directions we received from the tour group were sometimes vague and often inaccurate. We were a bit frustrated.
My wife pedaled onto a roundabout—traffic circles are very
common in France. Crack! A car, traveling fast from the right, hit her
bike. She flew onto the hood, cracked
the windshield, then flew into the air.
She landed on the road, onto her left side. Thank God she was wearing a helmet! She would
have suffered a serious concussion--at the very least--without it.
I held her hand; she was confused, but conscious. Several people came to our aid.
A young man, a paramedic, held her head to keep it from moving until the ambulance
arrived. (If her neck had been broken, any movement could make the injury worse.) Somehow I
managed to remain calm. I told her not to worry; everything will be all right.
The driver of the car that hit her was a young woman around
twenty years old. She was crying
profusely. Before getting into the
ambulance, I gave her a hug and told her that things were probably not as bad
as they looked. Did I believe it?
A paramedic put a brace on Nirmala to stabilize her
neck. After she lay on the stretcher for
a while, a policeman entered and gave her a breathalyzer test, to determine
whether she had been biking ‘under the influence,’ as they say. I didn’t
think this was a good idea, since we did not know the extent of her injuries at the time. “Elle n’avait bu rien qu’une tasse
de té ce matin!,” I told him. He ignored
me. The result was an alcohol level of
0.00.
They took us to L’Hôpital Philippe le Bon, a regional
hospital for Beaune and its environs. Despite this being an emergency, Nirmala lay for some
time on a stretcher in the hallway of the emergency room. (Since medicine for the French is free, many
come to the emergency room for the treatment of minor problems.)
The triage nurse told us to prepare for a four-hour wait,
but it wasn’t quite that long before the doctor arrived. She was a short, young vivacious woman, very competent
and very kind. She spoke to Nirmala very
slowly in French—as one would do with someone who had suffered a stroke. I told
her that Nirmala’s understanding of French was limited. The doctor then told me that Nirmala needed a
total body scan to determine the extent of the injuries.
The result: three broken ribs, a pneumothorax (one of the
edges of a broken rib penetrated her left lung) and a fractured left
scapula. What a relief--No broken neck, her spinal cord was intact.
She also had a leg wound.
It is medically contraindicated to travel by plane with a
pneumothorax. As the plane ascends, the cabin pressure decreases, which may cause a pocket of air in the thorax to expand and press against the lung,
restricting breathing. This, albeit very rarely, could lead
to a life-threatening medical emergency.
The doctor told us we had to stay in France and get a repeat X-ray in
one week. You can't get an ambulance at 30,000 feet; we, of course, agreed.
The local representative of Randonnée tours, a Canadian concern which had arranged our sojourn in Beaune, called us. He had a friend who was fixing up a little apartment just behind the
railroad tracks. We could stay there at a bargain rate.
Nirmala was discharged from the hospital on the third
day, June 14th. Her left arm was in a sling; the effects of the minor concussion had resolved; she had to take pain medicine, but was otherwise mobile and in good spirits. We spent one more night at the
hotel; our friends had left for Paris the day before. I am writing this
shortly after our arrival at the apartment.
It is spacious and comfortable, but not
air-conditioned. The temperature
subsequently rose to almost 100 degrees Fahrenheit, but I’m not complaining. I am too thankful to kvetch about anything.
A close call with death knocks the nonsense out of you. I am amazed that Nirmala hadn't suffered more
serious injuries. If you had witnessed
the accident, you would be amazed as well.
We were very, very lucky.
What’s left
to say? Je me promets de ne pas sortir de la vie avec même une trace de haine,
sinon avec beaucoup d'amour.
Vive
Nirmala ! Vive la France ! Vive le monde entier !
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