Awww, Mem'ries (Part 2)

While we waited for the ambulance, my roommate played photographer. She had finally stopped crying and was now moving all around me trying to get the best angle. (I hadn’t cried yet. Adrenaline is a blissful thing.) It was at this point that I noticed my right fist was still clenched. When I had first fallen I subconsciously tightened my hand as if to send all of the pain and feeling there instead of my knee. The ambulance driver arrived and blurted something in Spanish to me. I looked to my teacher, Monica, for translation, and she said he was going to straighten my leg out so he could put me on the stretcher. Oh boy, I thought. I squeezed my fist even harder, anticipating the pain to shoot into my knee. Nothing. Not a thing. I looked down, and my leg looked normal again. For a millisecond, I almost believed I was healed. Then I was loaded onto the stretcher. When the ambulance doors opened, I expected to see medical supplies and IVs and such. It was empty. The only purpose of the ambulance was to transport me from there to the hospital. Thank God I didn’t have a life-threatening injury! Sheesh!

We sped to the hospital while Monica followed behind. They hurried me in and took several x-rays. It was at that moment that the adrenaline shut off. As the Costa Rican x-ray tech bent my leg in all sorts of awkward and demented ways, I held my tongue (even though I was mentally cursing and chewing him out in Espanol.) While I was being tortured, I mean, x-rayed, Monica called my parents and told them what happened. Unfortunately, her English translation was not perfect. My mom asked her if it was a compound fracture. Monica thought she meant a multiple fracture. So my parents were thinking about bloody bones sticking out of my leg, when it was not nearly that gruesome. After the x-rays, the doctor concluded that I had a broken kneecap. Brilliant job guys! They put a cast on my leg, but as they were doing it the lights kept flickering on and off. Again, I was grateful that they weren’t operating on me. When they finished, I called my mom. It wasn’t until I heard her voice that I began to cry. Moms have a funny way of making you do that, huh? She told me they were getting a plane ticket so I could fly home the next day. I assured her that I was ok, but I’m pretty certain she was freaking out inside.

The doctor said I could leave, so I waited on a stretcher out in the hallway while Monica went to take care of the bill and pull the car around. As I laid there, patients or family of patients walked up to me and gawked. And I’m not talking about casually looking over. They were rubber-necking! Some came by, shook their heads, and sighed, “Pobre chinita” which means poor little Chinese girl. I was not amused in the least. After about the 8th person said it, I wanted to scream out “I’m not from China!” But I kept my cool long enough for Monica to pull up.