The Hazards of Inner Tubing

The sun was just going down as my friend, Sveta, and I walked through the snow from the cabin. There was not a cloud in sight and the bare trees rose black against the pale sky. I was with Sveta and her family for the weekend, at a remote village in the mountains to do some skiing. We headed to where their car was parked, on the edge of a large field, blanketed in fresh snow. Sveta's mom stood ready with the camera, as Sveta and I climbed onto the innertube. I was on the back, and clung to Sveta, giggling all the while. The car slowly rolled away and we whooped as we were pulled along. It was exhilarating, we went faster and faster, hollering louder and louder. The car turned and we went whizzing around in a long arc. It was fast, so fast I had to cling to the handles with all my might to stay on. I saw it for a moment out of the corner of my eye: the wooden staircase leading to the platform of the tubing run. We had clean forgotten it. I slammed sideways into the corner of the stairs, as the inner tube was ripped away. 

By the grace of God, Sveta was not hurt, and was at my side immediately as I lay, unable to move, in the snow. I hadn't hit my head, which was a miracle in itself. However, my left side was in too much pain to move. Sveta's parents were there in a flash, lifting me up into the van. We zipped around to the cabin, where they carried me to a bunk. They gathered their things, while thinking of what to do next. We were much too far away for an ambulance. There was nothing else to do but drive right away to Vladivostok, to get to the hospital.

With the initial tears cried, the pain was bearable as I was carried in the blanket by four people and slid into the back seat of the van. We set off, along the back roads to Vladivostok, three hours all together. With every jolt came pain, but thankfully it gradually subsided. I was concerned that I couldn't move my leg, but I was grateful it wasn't worse. It could have been my head, or my back. 

We eventually pulled up to the hospital. There, we waited while Yulia (Sveta's mom) went in. I was actually extremely interested to experience the Russian health care system, as I had heard so many horror stories. At the very least, I was expecting the usual deal: the stretcher, the sympathetic concern and instant response. I mean, after all, we were at an emergency room in a major city. 

Yulia came out after about twenty minutes, and Slava (Sveta's dad) picked me up once again and carried me into the hospital. The waiting room had several people there, sitting on benches. We looked around for a place to put me, and, with no other options, pulled two benches together to lay me down. We waited for a while for the doctor to come. The few nurses that were there walked by me, barely sparing me a glance, going in and out of rooms. There was one doctor, and about three nurses. We had attracted the attention of the rest of the patients, who crowded around, asking if I was okay. 

At long last, the doctor emerged from his office, and asking who was next, everyone pointed to me. He came over and simply started patting me down, while Yulia explained what had happened. "Does this hurt, how about here..." was all he said, as he none-too-gently patted my left side. Within about thirty seconds of this, a stretcher was brought. By stretcher, I mean a rolling metal table. Slava and some of the other people in the waiting room lifted me up onto it, with the doctor barking how they weren't holding me right. I was rolled away into the X-ray room. It seemed to me like they had put the monstrous machine into a store room, as boxes of medical supplies were stacked to the ceiling on one side of the room. I was slid from the "stretcher" to the X-ray table.

I don't know if the machine was old or what, but instead of position-the-machine-over-the-person, it was position-the-person-under-the-machine. By now the pain had returned. With every transfer: from the van to the bench, from the bench to the stretcher, from the stretcher to the table, and being moved around on the table, it had gotten worse. 

The X-rays were taken quickly: one of my hip, which took most of the force of the hit, and one of my chest. They had no lead protection and they took the X-rays like someone would snap photos. The nurse said barely anything, and I waited again on the freezing table while she took the films to the doctor. After fifteen minutes or so, a wheelchair was brought. Slava set me down, and I found sitting to be more comfortable. However, the wheelchair had only one arm rest, and no foot rests, so Sveta hadto bend down and shuffle along, holding my legs up. What an angel!

We returned to the waiting room area, where we waited yet again. When he was ready, we all shuffled into the doctor's office, where he promptly said nothing was broken and asked me to stand up on my left leg. He seemed genuinely surprised when I couldn't, and then felt my hip again. He sat down and wrote instructions down on a sticky note.

I was to not move my leg for at least five days; after that, if I couldn't stand on it, I was to simply lay there until I could, for however long that would take. I was to wear a bandage on it for two weeks. I was to drink two packs of a powdered painkiller twice a day. I was to be given a shot twice a day for three days, and a special rub for where the skin broke (it's green, not red like ours). They sent us off to buy everything at a pharmacy, and once again I was carried back to the van. We bought everything,and at long last headed home.

I wasn't even sure who was home when I called. My host mom and dad, as it turned out, were working in the other city, and it was my host brother and his wife, and Anna, at home. One last time, I was carried up to the apartment, and set on the bed. Sveta's mom administered the medication, and the shot. I was not looking forward to the shot, especially when I saw the sheer size of the needle. It was administered to the bum, and my sister and brother's wife thought it was absolutely hysterical, as I lay gritting my teeth in pain through the whole process. The needle was ready, and when the question arose of a sterilizer, the vodka bottle was promptly brought from the kitchen. With the vodka applied, the shot was administered, and it hurt like a bullet (at least how I would imagine a bullet would feel). I couldn't believe it. The pain lingered for an hour, and the solution to that: cabbage leaves, applied directly to the area. 

When all was said and done, it was one in the morning. I lay on my cabbage leaves, my bum stinging, leg throbbing, and feeling grimy from the weekend. No one in my family felt they could give me the shot twice a day, so Yulia would have to come morning and night to do it. Sveta stayed with me the first night, and spent the next day, Sunday (her one free day of the week), with me. It was clever Sveta who came up with the brilliant idea of using the rolling office chair as a wheelchair so I could get to the bathroom and kitchen. Along with my sister, Anna, we watched movies and played games. I directed them in the making of an apple pie, and by the time evening came, and Sveta had to go home, I felt like she and I had been friends forever. 

I am so grateful I was with Sveta and her family. They were with me every step of the way, holding my hand and assuring me that everything was going to be fine. They took such good care of me, and really welcomed me into their family. I do feel close to them. After all, they saw me at my best, laughing and enjoying their generous invitation to join them for the weekend, and at my absolute worst, crying and in pain. I was overwhelmed by the kindness and dedication of these people I had met only a few times. 

I will be fine; I just need some rest. On the bright side, it was very interesting for me to experience the ER in Russia. It turned out fine for me, because my injury was not all that serious, mostly a whole lot of pain. However, had it been serious, I don't know how they would have handled it. They had very few staff on duty, it was just in a regular apartment building with some walls knocked out, and it had limited accessibility for a wheelchair or stretcher. The doctor sent me home, unable to walk, with no type of crutches, or way to get up and around. He didn't check to see if there was going to be anyone at home who would be able to take care of me. There just didn't seem to be any comparison between the medical system here and in the United States. I'm grateful for the great care we get in the US.