Surfing and Socialized Medicine

I didn't expect my next to last full day to include an ambulance ride to the national hospital.

Foot position needs work

After a much-needed rest, I was ready to get back in the water and happy when coach Stanley said we would be surfing the El Zonte break off the hotel beach. I really didn't want to go back to La Paz, and El Zonte looked manageable and fun. Better yet, there was a rip, and I was able to make it outside with little difficulty.

The break was crowded though, with a couple turtles joining a lot of surfers. I sat near Santos who helped me with wave selection, provided tips like needing to paddle more toward the point to catch the wrapping waves, and gave me a few pushes into soft ones. 

My goals for the session were proper pop up to land with correct foot position, good surf posture, angling takeoff and looking down the line, and holding the bottom turn longer. I can see from the videos that I was thinking about those things, just not always executing them.

After I backed off a wave because I thought I might be dropping in on someone, Santos said he wouldn't tell me to go if it wasn't clear, but I wasn't confident of that.

We hadn't been out long and I was well on my way to my best surf of the trip when the session came to a screeching halt. While I was paddling back out, a blond shortboarder took off on a wave, headed straight at me. What happened next is a bit of a blur, but it ended with the pointy nose of her board, or perhaps a fin, slicing across the back of my left hand and slamming into my commitment ring, smashing my hand against my surfboard. (If you'd like to see the damage, click here.)

I looked at the bloody gash and then at her, already on her board and paddling away. "Are you OK?" I called, and she replied yes, without looking back. "I'm not!" I yelled at her retreating back, and then to my coach, "Santos, I'm hurt." 

Santos and Stanley were quickly by my side. Stanley pulled of his rash guard and told me to wrap it around the wound, then helped me to the beach. As we started for the stairs, the blond woman ran up, apologizing profusely. "I'm so so sorry," she said. "I didn't see you." "It's OK," I said, "stuff happens." Then Santos and the woman got into a shouting match in Spanish, the woman screaming words I didn't understand. Stanley said, "Let's go," and he and I proceeded up the cliffside stairs back to the hotel. 

Later, Sara told me the woman had been looking to the left, at her, and not where she was going. She'd also complained about the surf camp bringing too many people to the break, as if that was somehow causal.

In my room, I changed into dry clothes with difficulty, then met Stanley at the camp truck. We drove about 20 minutes up the road to El Tunco/Surf City, and walked several minutes on closed streets to the medical trailer at the ISA juniors surf contest.

There were no patients in the trailer and medical personnel swirled around me. They looked at my hand, cleaned and wrapped it, and gave me a shot in the butt of who knows what for pain. A female doctor who spoke English explained that since the wound was so ragged, they didn't want to try to stitch it themselves. 

Via Stanley's translation, I learned they'd called an ambulance to take me to the national hospital in San Salvador, about 40 minutes away. I was concerned about the cost and asked if we couldn't just drive there, but he explained that all health care in El Salvador is free to everyone. Wow, what a concept!

It was cool to be able to see a little of the surf contest while we waited.

 I didn't know there was a left in this land of rights

The hospital was old but they were constantly mopping. Sanitation was not up to U.S. standards - a fly zoomed around the room where they did my stitches - but there was no charge for x-rays, evaluations, an IV, local anesthetic, stitches, medication or anything else. I suspect I jumped the line as a foreign tourist though, ahead of residents in dirty gowns hooked up to IVs and waiting in the hallway.

A resident who spoke some English whisked me over the wet in a wheelchair

Long story short, the doctor said via Stanley that nothing was broken in my hand and the ligaments were fine. 'Tis but a flesh wound! (If you'd like to see the stitched wound, click here.) They sent us to the pharmacy for antibiotics and an NSAID for pain, and we eventually found the hospital exit to reach  the waiting surf camp van. On the way back to the hotel, we got stuck in traffic for Mothers' Day, which is a holiday for everyone and celebrated on Friday instead of Sunday.

I hope never to use this card which says "bring this on your next visit"