Demme's Masterful Portrait of Neil Young in Concert
It took a few years until I appreciated the music and genius of Neil Young. My high-school girlfriends all loved Neil Young, Crosby Stills Nash & Young and all the other derivations. His music didn't fit into the profile of my young teenage angst. I was geared to Led Zeppelin, Blue Oyster Cult, Rush or other art rock icons such as Pink Floyd Emerson Lake & Palmer, King Crimson and... well you get the idea.
But one day I decided to actually listen to Neil Young. Go to one of his live performances. See him act in an independent film. And like many things in life, I appreciated Neil with a little age.
And my recent viewing of Jonathan Demme's "Heart of Gold" reinforced and added to the plethora of reasons of why Neil Young will always fill playlists on my iPod. At first glance you might think it odd that the director of such heavy handed dramas of Oscar winning films as Silence of the Lambs, Philadelphia and most recently the excellent remake of The Manchurian Candidate would direct a documentary and concert film of an aging hippy rock star. But Demme's appreciation and talents have enhanced musical performances for the big and small screens in the past. He's directed a number of videos for Bruce Springsteen and one for Chryssie Hynde and the Pretenders. Ironically enough, Demme recruited both Springsteen and Young to write and record songs for his 1993 Academy Award Winning (Best Picture and more) film Philadelphia. Both songs received Oscar nominations for best song, but Springsteen's took home the prize that night. Yet perhaps Demme's most groundbreaking musical film work was for his 1984 Talking Heads concert film "Stop Making Sense." All Demme's accomplishments are duly noted but for "Heart of Gold" it's the collaboration of Young and Demme that makes "Heart of Gold" glitter.
Many concerts films never see the big screen. Instead they are relegated to special features on cable television or simply go straight to the DVD racks, its refreshing to watch "Heart of Gold" on the big screen. If you ever wanted to unobtrusively sneak around the stage of a Neil Young concert capturing an intimate look at Young and his army of friends including EmmyLou Harris, Ben Keith, Spooner Oldham, The Memphis Horns and countless others Demme takes you there. Without resorting to tired special effects or hyper kinetic editing, Demme favors the use of long lenses to expose the musicians up close personal and intimate. The film is shot in 16-mm giving the film a raw, intimate and unpolished look not unlike Young's nearly 40 year catalog of music. What's more, the concert footage is virtually absent of audience shots which contributes to the on stage intimacy of being with the artist and his songs. Only during the opening of the second set and at the end of the last song does Demme gives us the perspective of sitting in the first few rose as silhouettes of fans rise to a standing ovation.
Shot in Nashville last summer at the Ryman Auditorium, the original home of the Grand Olde Opry, "Heart of Gold" is primarily a concert film featuring the debut performance of his last album, Prairie Wind. The film opens with short but pointed commentary by Young, his wife Pegi and many of the musicians as they ride to the concert. It's here we learn that during the recording of Prairie Wind Young packed his suitcase to travel to New York for neurosurgery to treat a brain aneurysm. After the successful operation he returns to Nashville to complete the album. This brush with mortality combined with the recent loss of his father results in a concert that is at once nostalgic and lonely while warm and uplifting as the poignant song list wanders through themes of death, dreams, family and friends. Yet with all this nostalgia, loss and reflecting "Heart of Gold" is a positive look at an artist who is at once comfortable in his own genre, but throughout his career never was afraid to explore, sample and play.
Unlike many guitarists who seem to spend more than half their shows switching out guitars, Neil plays the same old beat up guitar for the entire performance except at one point trading guitars with one of his band-mates. His short narratives between songs reflect memories of his career and family life growing up on the Prairie in Winnipeg, Canada. At one point he remembers how he got the guitar his guitar -- which was used to record Heart of Gold -- his only number one hit. But there's more to this guitar than that. It once belonged to Hank Williams whose last performance before he died was in this very same auditorium -- probably playing that guitar. Young laments of the change he sees in Nashville and wonders what Hank would think if he stepped out of the auditorium today to see the massive Gaylord Entertainment Complex across the street, now home to the new Opryland. But with all the change Neil sees in Nashville he looks sincerely at the audience and says "It's still got its spirit. And that's a good thing." Waving above to the heavens, Neil launches into "This Old Guitar" a tune from Prairie Wind destined to be a Young classic.
As voyeurs on stage with Neil and his friends, it's amazing how the songs and his voice sound as good as they did years ago. Young, who turned 60 last year, may feel the impending doom of his mortality, his songs are During the second set, Neil delivers heart wrenching renditions of his timeless classics Heart of Gold, Needle & The Damage Done, Comes a Time and before delivering a soulful Old Man tells us who inspired that song -- with his eyes closed during most of his performance Neil may be thinking he's the old man today.
While the army of Young's staple musicians, horn and string section and the physical beauty of EmmyLou Harris and his wife, perhaps the best part of "Heart of Gold" is the last song where Young, alone and stripped of the hat he wore during the hole show sits alone on stage in the empty auditorium as once again Demme's camera de voyeur lets us sneak up behind him and listen to Young - alone and real - with the spirit that can't burn out and refuses to fade away.
"Heart of Gold" was released on February 10th. If it's playing in your area make the time to see it. If not, put your name on the DVD waiting list!
Heart of Gold
Directed by Jonathan Demme
Starring Neil Young, EmmyLou Harris, Pegi Young, Ben Keith, Spooner Oldham & more
Produced by Bernard Shakey (aka Neil Young)
100 minutes
playing in selected theatres nationwide.
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I just got off the phone with my good friend Johnee Bee. I first met Johnee in 1987 just months after I opened the door of my advertising agency PRISCOMM. My then partner ironically sported the nickname Johnny A and together we responded to a small classified ad that Johnee Bee ran in the local free business rag that circulated the Orange County John Wayne Airport business district. I still remember the ad copy:
"If you've got the Mac
I've got the knack"
Johnee Bee was a fledging computer artist illustrator. Johnny A greeted him with a huge smile, high energy and sincere excitement and yelled into my office, "Hey Allan! Johnee Bee good is here. Wearing stylish glasses, hip clothing and two different colored socks, he just turned to Johnny A and in a deadpan monotone voice said, "It's just Johnee Bee!"
Nearly 20 years and countless designs and illustrations later we are still great friends and still have the opportunity to collaborate on creative projects. A year ago he married a beautiful woman, Cynthia who around the same time couldn't turn down a terrific career opportunity in Minnesota. So the tow of them abandoned the sunshine of Southern California for the lakes and could winters of Minneapolois/St. Paul.
Johnee swears it isn't that bad. For a guy who grew up in Southern California and never took to winter sports such as skiing, I do believe him. But I wonder when they'll be back.
He is one of the best illustrators I've ever worked with and he keeps reinventing himself and now is one of the top Flash animators in the country. But that's besides the point. While I've been galavanting around the world on my motorcycle, Johnee Bee has become the PodCast producer and host extraordinaire. Nearly a year ago when he traded in his sunglasses and sandals for wool blankets and a heating bill, he kept himself entertained and free from the brutal cold and wind-chill of the great white north by producing a wildly entertaining PodCast called Mostly Trivial.
Johnee describes the PodCast Show as "a fun, general and short trivia game." But he is doing himself an understated injustice. The production quality is top notch, the subject matter varies from the sublime to the esoteric. Johnee has a knack for making his show interesting, funny and fun. He writes much of his own music, has a notorious knack for finding and researching intriguing material and makes Mostly Trivial infinitely entertaining complete with its own cast of characters.
---> Check out this show. You can subscribe to Mostly Trivial with your host Johnee Bee through iTunes here. <--
- - -
Before I set out on my WorldRider journey, Johnee Bee and I brainstormed and even recorded a few sound-bytes for what we both thought would be the start of on ongoing PodCast show documenting the sights, sounds, characters, cultures and adventure of my journey. But as solo journeys go, time for experiencing sometimes conflicts with time for documenting and recording. I kept up to a point my video coverage, but soon that became a burden. Unfortunately the PodCasts never took off at WorldRider.com.
However, today we were reinvigorate and newly inspired to finally bring the long past-due PodCasts to life. So while I'm in physical therapy and building back my strength we will bring some of the stories of my first 7 months of riding around North, Central and South America to life in WorldRider PodCasts. What's more, I will bring in interviews with other riders, adventurers and arm chair travelers to make the show interesting, stimulating and inspiring.
I've already recorded my first PodCast as an experimental and non-official first show: "Travels From The Sickbed". This first show was recorded lying in bed using my PowerBook G4, an AKG microphone and GarageBand software. It's a first stab. So check it out. But stay tuned here and to the WorldRider website for updates and continued. improvement.
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I watched a fantastic film last night. Featuring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, Before Sunset is one of those few movies that can pull off dialogue between two people for practically the entire film. And Hawke and Delpy do it with finesse. If you're looking for action, comedy or suspense don't bother with Before Sunset.
At the end of the movie I was so inspired to review the DVD's "special features" and that's where I found out the movie is a sequel to a film produced 9 years prior. Hawke plays an author who while on a book tour in Paris finds the lost love of his life and the subject of his best-selling book lingering in the back of the bookshop where he's signing autographs. The two actors played the same roles in the film "Before Sunrise" years ago. I haven't seen the original film and I never would have known there was a prequel had I not perused the "special features".
Nine years ago our characters met and enjoyed a spectacular and romantic evening of love and lust. Now 9 years later that one night short affair still weighs heavy on the minds of both characters. The writing is superb and Hawke and Delpy's dialogue is so real, heartfelt and convincing as the time since the two last met shrinks. The cover topics from politics to true love and from dreaming to cyicism. The met on a train to Vienna 9 years earlier. They never exchange phone numbers but agree to meet in Vienna six months later. Hawke's character, Jesse makes the trip from the United States to Vienna but comes up empty handed. For nine years he thinks she blew him off, yet he can't stop forgetting about the one night of true love he writes a book about it. Delpy's Celine has read the book and confesses that days before she was supposed to be in Vienna to meet him her grandmother dies.
It's filmed in real time as Jesse must make it to the airport in less than two hours, but the two spend the nearly 90 minutes of the film confessing, exploring, wondering and dreaming. Amazing dialogue and the chemistry bewteen the two makes it so beliable.
So I rarely discuss film or due reviews of movies on the Digital Tavern, but I was taken back by this film due to it's ambitous writing and superbe acting and direction in an era where studios would rather play it safe than attempt something great. Before Sunset hinges on greatness and therefore a strong Allan Karl recommendation for those confused browsing NetFlicks or through the aisles of Blockbuster wondering what to watch on a cold winter day.
While on the topic of films, I stumbled back into Wonderchicken again. Another blogger who somehow has escaped my blogroll (but will be the first new addition in nearly 3 years). A traveler and great writer he reminded me of another film I used to love to watch during those cold winter afternoons back when I was a child living in Connecticut. It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World flickered on screens in 1963 and featured the most impressive comedic cast in filmmaking history. Sadly because so many great comics are in the film, some are delt little or no lines. But that doesn't detract from the film
[...] I hadn't thought about the movie in decades, probably, media-starved and nomadic as I'd been during my wanderyears. It was, without exaggerating, one of the formative films of my young life. It helped make me the man I am today. I fired up the torrent and whispered a breathy 'woo hoo', so as not to wake up She Who Must Be Obeyed, and the downstream rate nudged its way up past 400Kb/s [...]
Now Mr. Wonderchicken goes off on a wonderful tirade of how this film awakened the sexuality of his youth (don't be offended):
[...] but it (the movie) played so regularly as the background soundtrack to the pure unalloyed joy of smacking my weiner around like a pinata at a fat kid's birthday that they eventually merged into twin double-happiness somehow, back in the root of my pubescent lizard brain [...]
Just being reminded of that movie and the image of Jim Backus (as my friend Tim Amos can so mimic this scene) wandering around the cockpit of a crashing plane wondering why he can't get a drink brings back memories. I think the next rainy day might be a mad, mad, mad, mad time!
Ahhh. Blogging. It's great to be back.
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While traveling by motorcycle for the last 7 months from Alaska to Bolivia, I spent much of my free "internet" time writing and posting stories from the road. But I'd tune in to the blogosphere and peruse some of my favorite blogs while discovering new bloggers on the travelers' circuit. With a few months of down time while I lick my wounds and heal, I've got much more time. So I've extended the open hours here at the Digital Tavern and look forward to sharing new discoveries, oddities and musings over the next few months and onward.
For me, getting back into the blogosphere meant first catching up on the writings of those bloggers that appear in my blogroll (the links in the lower part of the left column here). So many bloggers have large blogrolls, I often wonder why is it they were blogrolled in the first place. Many are just ego brushing glad-handing Some blogrolls get stale and are not very well maintained. I thought it might be fun to review the bloggers in my blogroll and share with you some of the whys and what's going ons (sic). While I tuned into them while on the road once every week or two, now I'm able to do nearly daily check ins. Some will stay and others will be replaced with other interesting writers. Meanwhile, I'd like to share a few observations or thoughts of what I've learned from my current blogroll:
Take Ross Mayfield, for example. While I've watched him for several years as he he has taken his company SocialText from a small business to the leading company providing products and services for enterprise productivity or collaboration. In 2002 I had no idea what a WIKI was. Today they are ubiquitous throughout the internet. Ross's vision was to somehow take the WIKI (wiki) concept and commercialize it while showing the enterprise and business how it adds value and increases productivity and collaboration. Perhaps about two years ago he convinced investors to inject money into SocialText -- they call wiki's and weblogs "social software" - and since then recruited some top minds in the blogosphere while signing on top-tier clients. Though Ross's blog is not "official" SocialText points of view, as CEO I see that Ross still uses it as a platform to discuss issues and ideas related to Social Software, Nonetheless it is still a business-focused weblog with a bent on software technology. Though he injects bits of his personality in as evidenced with his participation in the "Four ThingS" meme. His posts tend to be lengthy and focused on the evolution of social software, wikis and open source initiatives with the occasional personal tidbit. I like to follow Ross but have been out of it (obviously) lately and some of his subjects recently just haven't resonated.
Rebecca Blood is a blog old-timer. Her blog covers a wide range of subjects that are usually quick reads with plenty of links that can send you wandering through the blogosophere collecting tons of interesting if not trivial information at times. It's a great daily quick read and very rewarding when she brings to your attention something that rings and resonates with you. Even she has a recent post with her contribution to the "Four Things" meme that Ross and many others have jumped on. Just for fun today she points to a Yahoo search on the cities with the cleanest water in the USA.
I got turned onto Stanford University professor, author, lawyer and intellectual copyright kingpin Lawrence Lessig more than 3 years ago when he was leading the battle for changing outdated copyright laws when he fought and presented his case in front of the Supreme Court. He pioneered Creative Commons licensing and the Creative Commons organization. His blog is still focused on copyright laws and includes links to dozens of Creative Commons licensed work. I've not yet read any of his books but suffice to say he's the expert and champion for liberating strict copyright laws and so that our culture can maintain our "freedom to create, our freedom to build, and, ultimately, our freedom to imagine." It's interesting that Lessig has recently created a wiki for those who want to criticize his work and thinking. Off subjects, I noticed that Sony Pictures has created a website platform for those with strong religious beliefs and that have issue with the upcoming Sony Picture "The DaVinci" code. Could this be a trend?
For those of you who've followed my blog over the years you probably recall a number of my posts relate to marketing and advertising. As a former advertising and marketing communications agency principal, I can't ever leave well enough alone. For the past 15 years or so, John Porcaro has worked in marketing and communications at Microsoft. Though when I added him to my blogroll Microsoft might not have even released the XBox, today he leads the group running PR for Microsoft's very successful XBox. Though John is very politically correct in disclaiming his views on his weblog aren't necessarily of those of his employer, I find that it is a quick read and interesting to watch.
Then there's Meredith at Invisible Shoebox (which I have incorrectly referred to as "Grumpy Girl" for too many years on my blogroll). Here interesting drawings and provocative dialog of "Grumpy Girl" and "Ant" is a fresh today as it was 3 years or more ago when I discovered her. Her blog and writing have evolved quite a bit. Now a mother and with the demands of that job, she clearly is in a dilemma of what to do as evidenced by her January 18th post:
[...] So I'm not sure what to do. Do I ditch the MA and concentrate on the paid writing? Do I ditch the blog and keep up with the occasional blog entry or do I try to throw myself back into the blog as research thing and attempt to get the MA finished? [...]
Good god, my friend and longtime blogger (she started mamamusings just a few months after me) Liz Lawley has even jumped on the "Four Things" meme. Last year Liz migrated to Seattle from Rochester taking a hiatus off her professor duties at Rochester Institute of Technology to spend some time working at Microsoft, MSN and its search engine. Liz is fun, interesting, introspective and genuinely fun to read -- plus she is a hardcore Mac user working at Microsoft. Love that.
I've been following Stowe Boyd since the beginning. His posts are always interesting and usually short and to the point. His work at Corante has been equally digestible. He can be technical, philosophical and at times academic. The many sides of Stowe and the interesting "stuff" he gleans and brigs to his "GetReal" blog are often things I wish I'd found first. But that's the beauty of blogging and following blogs of your peers and those who inspire you. Just a few weeks ago Stove started a new blog /Messages. New to me and everyone I'm eager to continue to follow his posts.
A couple years ago Stuart Henshall and I chatted about how we might help corporate marketing or human resource departments use Blogs to increase communications efficiencies. We both got busy with other projects and Stuart eventually found his calling and passion in Skype. Months later he started a single subject-focused blog "Skype Journal". His old blog fell to the way side, not unlike how the Digital Tavern was neglected while I was riding my motorcycle from the top of the world to the bottom. But an October post on his "legacy" blog indicates some hope that Unbound Spiral may be reborn.
[...] Did my blog miss me?
It's been months and months since I wrote here. This is a tentative step. Not necessarily back, but also recognizing that the vehicle - Skype Journal - I've become a part of also restricts some of the things I want to blog about.
I've learned much by blogging hard on one subject "Skype" and how powerful a single minded focus is. The Skype Journal has far eclipsed any exposure I ever managed here. That success also paralleled Skype's success. Still one's personal blog is their own playground. This one remains mine.[...]
Hey at least Meredith, Stowe and Stuart haven't fallen for the "Four Things" thing...
Flemming Funch, (aka Ming the Mechanic) a european gentlemen I met a couple years ago in Los Angeles made the move back to Europe about a year ago. His blog continues to explore and educate. A truck techie with a knack for history, sociology and technology, Flemming's blog will always remain in my blogroll.
In Busblog Tony Pierce blends reality with fiction and fantasy in writing that hems around pop culture, sports and well girls. Sometimes insightful, other times longwinded but always fun. He's been around forever and he has a knack of finding some of the most interesting imagery on the internet. Tune in, he doesn't disappoint.
I'm in love with Dina Mehta and her "Conversations With Dina" blog. Geez. Even today she finds something about Podcasting in the mountains of Peru. Well, I was just riding through those magnificent Andes about a month ago and had no clue. But in her corner of the blogosphere she uncovers this. Sometimes technology, other times marketing and always some personality and insight into he life and culture gets across in her writing.
And Joi Ito? What can I say? He knows everybody and I can say I knew him when. A pioneer in blogging and responsible for much thinking and propagating of ideas and products here. He's on the board of Ross's SocialText, helped Mena and Ben bring MovableType to the masses through TypePad and is very active in Creative Commons with Lawrence Lessig. Seems to be a pattern here on my blogroll. How did that happen. Shit, I haven't changed the characters practically since I started this weblog in the spring of 2002.
Jeneane Sessum is another long time blogger. A marketer and promoter of using blogs in the workplace, her white papers -- To Blog, Or Not To Blog -- on blogging for business are simple, to the point and right on. Back in May 2003 I wrote "It's Time For Marketing To Embrace Weblog Concepts & Technologies". This was barely a year after I started the Digital Tavern. I continued for a short time writing a corporate weblog series, but where I left off (or dropped the ball to focus on my more time consuming project of riding around the world on a motorcycle) Jeneane picked up the slack. Her personal blog Allied is witty and fun with great writing. Hey, but she did get caught up in the "Four Thing" meme.
Halley Suitt captured my heart with her wit and wisdom years ago. I admire her heroics when a couple years ago she made a mad dash to catch a cap after leaving a Joi Ito party in Washington DC at Supernova and sprained her poor ankle. A writer, marketer and longtime blogger, who doesn't dig Halley?
And Doc Searls? Well, he's last in the list because frankly he's the best. Although he may take offense to this but I consider him to be a founding father of the blogosphere and my inspiration for starting and again kick-starting the Digital Tavern nearly 4 years ago. Doc covers everything. And is always inspiring and interesting.
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It's like coming back to your hometown and running into an old friend. While times has passed, the conversation, familiarity and common ground makes it seem like yesterday. That is time apart has been scrunched up and the difference between now and then is irrelevant.
I'm talking about The Digital Tavern: For The Sake of Clarity. I've been away and focused on my travel blog. I will continue to focus on the travel blog and encourage all of you who have not visited to take a moment and read some of the exciting stories form my Around The World Journey of Adventure & Discovery on a Motorcycle.
I haven't made it around the world. Yet.
Please continue reading forward here and you'll learn of a bit of a bummer. That is a mishap I had while riding the Bolivian Altiplano. I had to be evacuated back to the United States. I'm here now and you'll read the story.
Meanwhile, I'm going to try to bring more non-travel writing back to The Digital Tavern. I started this blog before most knew what a blog was -- back in early 2002. Today blogs are ubiquitous. That is perhaps except for the Digital Tavern.
Though it was intentional to leave this blog hanging in the balance while I focused on learning a bit about MovableType and developed a blog focused on my around the world motorcycle tour. Yet occasionally I'd post a few duplicate entries from the WorldRider blog here just to keep it somewhat fresh.
Are any of my readers out there? Did you follow the WorldRider blog? Fact is I'm in recovery and the downtime gives me a chance to pick up some of the pieces here on the Digital Tavern. I may move this yet to MovableType. I'm so frustrated with Radio, I'd forgotten how bad it could be. Just posting today's stories on my evacuation out of Bolivia the upstreaming server at Radio Userland took seemingly forever.
Well that's my story for now. Hope all of you are well and will tune in.
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Glorious ocean view private room and the sunset taken from my hospital bed.
Hoag Hospital sits on the bluffs in Newport Beach overlooking the Pacific Ocean. In the north end of this Southern California playground that has captured the country's attention through the silly TV program "The O.C.", the hospital is the tallest structure around. Angie pushed me to the nurses' station after checking in. Sitting in a wheel chair with my Bolivian splint in this modern, high-tech and clean hospital, I suddenly felt I was checking into a four-star resort rather than a hospital -- quite the contrast from my last couple days at Daniel Bracamonte in Potosi, Bolivia.
My room wasn't quite ready, so we slowly wheeled down the corridor until the nurse's assistant prepared my bed in my private room with a view of the ocean. Amazing.
Soon I was stripped and put into a hospital robe. And why is it these things never cover your back? When the nurse tried to start my IV she gulped. And I said ouch. A second try yielded the same results. It's the small vein, big heart syndrome, I guess. She wasn't about to put me through another needle in the arm for a third time, so she recruited another nurse. They said maybe I was dehydrated and therefore making it more difficult to locate the vein. I had a nice vein at the end of the elbow. But she explained that it's important to start the IV closer to the hand, because if there are problems the IV must move up the arm. Starting at the elbow would be doom if a problem occurred. The new nurse shook her head and said this is a job for Lydia who was recruited form the 10th floor. A thing and charming redhead in her late 30's showed up and in seconds fluids were flowing into my vein. Morphine was too.
The little button I got to push would send a drizzle of morphine into my body and smooth out the scenery while making the pain take a back-seat.
Reviewing my x-rays and Dr. Chang's plan. Other photo above clinching onto my morphine button.
As I noted before, my favorite and best damn orthopedic doctor in Orange County had fallen ill. Later I learned that he ironically was diagnosed with bone cancer. I felt so bad. But I was nervous as it was clear that my leg was going to require surgery with hardware. I was referred to Dr. Chang. Speaking on the phone I could feel his defensiveness as I interrogated him about his experience and why I was so adamant about Dr. B, my "regular" orthopedist. We agreed we needed to meet each other and during his lunch break from his clinic he stopped by the room. About 5'8" with a very boyish round Asian face and a disarming smile complete with clear braces, he introduced himself, reviewed my x-ray and told me his plan. I was still nervous.
"I'm not sure, Allan," he tried reassuring me, "but you still seem hesitant, maybe you should get a second opinion from another doctor." I thought about this and the timing and the hassle. But he was right.
"Maybe," he jumped in with an off-the-fly idea, "I can get Dr. B to give you a call. He's very sick and I'm 'just not sure, but I'll try to call him."
Several hours later the phone by my med rings. It's Dr. B. "Hi Allan, it's Chuck," i was amazed. It was my friend and my doctor. He explained how he wanted to be there for me but that he was just not well and could not perform the surgery. He reviewed with me the details of my fracture and Dr. Chang's plan. He agreed. And he gave glowing reviews for Dr. Chang. I wished him a
successful recovery and in moments my anxiety and apprehension disappeared.
Chang didn't think they could get an operating room that day, but at 7pm I was wheeled out of my room, down the elevator to the operating room. It was 7pm. Once again the plan was reviewed, I answered the anesthesiologists questions. My girlfriend Angie and good friend Rob stood by the bed as they fitted me with another silly surgical cap and prepped me and my caretakers of the process. Taking all the precautions to make sure surgery would go smooth, they took a black Sharpie to my right (good) leg and scribbled "NO" on my skin. They just want to keep Dr. Chang honest and make sure they don't go after the wrong leg. Surgery would take 1 1/2 to 2 hours. I'd be in recovery for an hour or two. Then I would go back to my room.
(L) Angie and Rob by my side until being wheeled through the O.R. doors; (R) Preparing me for anesthesia. Love my hat?
Dr. Chang assured me things would be okay. "You've got a real tough fracture there," he said referring to the break in my tibia close to my knee." I'm going to put a plate in there. And for the other fracture in the tib, I'll put a rod," he calmly reviewed his plan which sounded like he had to make a stop at Home Depot for some hardware before joining me in the O.R. "We're not going to touch the break in the fibula," he said, because there is a nerve that controls the lateral movement of the heel and foot which was in jeopardy if compromised.
"if you come out of the surgery with a splint below the knee, I'll be very pleased with the surgery. If not, well it's a longer road to recovery and the operation was more complicated. Great words and hope and fear as I closed my eyes.
The anesthesia starting doing it's business. Then I was out.
The only thing I remember when still three quarters out of it and moving from recovery to my room is yelling at the nurse interns to "take that tube out of my dick." I'm sure they were laughing, but it wasn't funny to me. "Take that tube out. I don't like that. Why'd you do that." Angie later told me they pacified me by saying it would only be in there temporarily because coming out of surgery I couldn't go to the bathroom. The nasty catheter would be my urinal drain, I guess. Good god. Turns out it was there for more than two days. Liars!
As for the operation: The splint started below my knee!
A rod and four screws. The only way to put Allan back together again.
Chang told Angie and Rob that he was extremely pleased with the procedure. He had started to use the plate in the upper tibia, but was able to stabilize and secure the fracture with three screws instead -- a much better option. Another screw anchored the rod close to my ankle. When I asked Dr. Chang the next day how he felt about everything, he told me that he was energized coming out of the operating room and it was one of those procedures he felt like telling all his peers about. I could see Chang with his youthful exuberance excited and talking shop with his ortho friends as much as we motorcyclists or macintosh users like sharing new discoveries. I knew I was in good hands and was confident things would work out alright.
I soon had the morphine button, a beautiful girl by my side and an ocean view. Things seemed to be going alright for me. I'm very lucky.
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When I woke up from the anesthesia I was back in my hospital room with my roommates. A crowd of visitors had gathered by the elderly man in the corner diagonally from me. Last night my moans of pain didn't bother him as he muttered and spoke in his sleep. But he didn't speak Spanish. Must have been Quechua, the native language of the Incas and other Andes people. A frail frame with boney limbs, every time he had to go to the bathroom he went about a laboriously and seemingly painful process of getting out of bed, then bracing himself with one hand on the side table and the other holding his bedpan. I thought he'd collapse and fall on the floor. His visitors elevated his spirits for before he was just a lump on the bed. Combing his hair and cleansing his face, his visitors brought small gifts and surrounded his bed. His eyes glowed.
The other patients received visitors too. For me, slightly out of it from the anesthesia, I was comforted by the fact that my leg seemed to feel better and instead of a heavy cast, i was splinted very professionally and not too tightly wrapped in gauze. No more cardboard box and ace bandage. Once again, the water splash lady paid a visit to our room and mopped it clean. Later she returned with a plate of food for me -- soup of some sort with chicken, noodles and vegetables -- I ate every drop.
I longed for visitors, a call from MedJetAssist or some sort of sign that I will be making progress to heal and get out of here. Later, two men appeared at the foot of my bed. They inspected my splinted leg, mumbled a bit and then approached me. "En la manana a la seis y media vamos al aeropuerto." Tomorrow at 6:30am we are going to the airport. I was hoping to get out of there today or tonight. But my wish would remain unfulfilled. I'd spend one more night in the Daniel Bracamonte Hospital here in Potosi -- the highest city in the world.
The plan was I'd fly to Santa Cruz from Potosi where I'd catch an American Airlines flight to Miami. From Miami I'd be transferred to a flight to Los Angeles and from there an ambulance would take me to a hospital of my choice in Southern California. I provided MedJetAssist with my doctor's information, hospital, insurance and instructed them to communicate and field calls from my girlfriend Angelique who'd coordinate with them and handle the logistics of insurance and doctors from California and help get me home. Together Angie and MedJet would arrange for me to be admitted and alert my doctor (broken bones were not new to me, and I insisted on an excellent orthopedist who operated on me before). According to plan I'd be in the Hospital in the States by late Tuesday night -- tomorrow.
The hours ticked by slowly as I fielded questions about airplanes and flying to the United States from my roommates. I was the talk of patients and hospital staff. They'd mutter "he's going to fly to the United States". None of my roommates had ever been in a plane. My attention switched to Doc. I tried to contact a noted Honda dealer in La Paz who i hoped would be able to retrieve my motorcycle and store it while I mended stateside. My efforts were futile as I couldn't connect with any of his phone numbers. Oh well. Time for sleep.
The morning didn't come soon enough. But at dawn a police officer and the ambulance driver showed up at my bed. The two of them tried to move me to a rolling stretcher that sat only a few inches off the floor. I pleaded that they get more help -- someone to hold my leg while the others heaved me over. Getting into the ambulance was more of a challenge. Without a gurney the two struggled to lift the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, pushing me into the back at a 45 degree angle. With no straps on the stretcher I started to slide but they somehow managed. Securing just one corner of the wheeled stretcher to the floor of the ambulance, the ride was a challenge as I tried to grab the window frame to keep the other three wheels from sliding and rolling the stretcher in the back.
First ambulance riding cop pulls me through Bracamonte Hospital in Potosi.
Getting ready to be loaded into my Bolivian ambulance
After a quick stop at the emergency room to pick up all of my bags, which included everything i'd been carrying on my bike since July 2005 including the Jesse Bags, BMW top box, tank panniers, dry bags and an extra duffel which contained my riding gear. The streets of Potosi were fairly quiet as we made the 20 minute trip to the airport on the outskirts of the city. When we arrived the gates to the airport were closed and locked. The terminal building sat dormant and vacant a quarter mile past the gate. There wasn't a car or airplane in sight. The cop and the driver hovered outside the gate, periodically blowing their hands to keep warm in the chilling mountain air. Then they joined me back in the ambulance. They said there was no one there and asked if I knew anything. I was in the dark too. So they started honking the horn. Then blasted the siren.
Just as they were about to give up a man on a bicycle heading our way appeared in the distance. Soon he was unlocked the gate and the ambulance sped toward the terminal where my bags and my stretcher were unloaded and moved inside the cavernous terminal building. I laid there just inches above the tiled floor. The building had all the usual hints of an airport with signs pointing to departure gates, arrivals, baggage claim, ticketing. But the building was void of life. Not a light on, no signs of airplanes, passengers or employees. Just an ambulance rider, cop and a bicycle riding airport caretaker. A huge mural of flight related imagery towered above me. Then echoing through the empty building was the sound of a telephone ringing -- a traditional analog ring that's virtually extinct in any office, home or public building in the States. Bicycle man jets up a set of stairs running after the phone.
(L) Caretaker locking the airport gates after granting ambulance entry.
(R) Reflection of Bolivian ambulance through windows of Potosi Airport.
When i asked about the airport, the ambulance driver told me that only one flight a week lands or takes off from here. I asked why such a big and fancy airport for a town of barely 25,000 people. He shook his head in disgust and mumbled something about the government. The airport was built about 10 years ago and my driver was disgusted with how much money the government spent on this project. He lamented that people in Potosi just don't have the money to travel by air. I wondered if drug money was involved in its construction. Plus, if Potosi was the highest city in the Andes, chances are this airport ranked as one of the highest in South America. As such, it was one of the most difficult to fly in and out of due to climate changes.
Something was wrong. Within minutes they were loading me and my bags back in the ambulance. Turns out the airplane coming from La Paz couldn't make a landing because the clouds were hanging too low. Soon I was back at Daniel Bracamonte Hospital with my roommates and the pail splashing squatty lady. So there I waited. And waited. Water lady brought me another bowl of soup and a banana. Several hours passed. Then at 12:30 another cop and elderly ambulance driver appeared at the foot of the bed.
Once again I was wheeled along the ground to the ambulance parked outside the hospital. This crew had an even rougher time getting me into the back of the ambulance. At one point I feared they'd drop me. Before I knew it we were whisked past the hospital gate and on city streets heading toward the airport. None of my bags were in the ambulance. I panicked and screamed, "Donde esta mis cosas?" Confused and showing signs of panic that we were short on time they flipped a u-turn and retrieved my bags.
When we returned to the airport the gates were open, but the airport was void and vacant as before. The bicycle-riding caretaker was no where to be found. There was no plane and the doors to the terminal were locked. I could hear an airplane. Or at least that's what I thought I heard. The clouds were still low. Looking the same as the morning. I feared another night in Potosi. Craning my neck from the back of the ambulance trying to get a view through the windows. I didn't see a plane. But I heard one. Then in the distance I saw a truck heaving itself up a steep incline just outside the airport. Was it the truck? Then from the direction of the airport control tower I saw a bicycle riding our way. It was the caretaker. I guess he serves as the air traffic controller too. They drove the ambulance around to the runway where an orange tiny 6-seater Cessna 337 was parked.
Looking at the small and aging plane I wondered if I could sit in it with my leg extended and slightly elevated with all my bags. But I kept my spirits up and remained confident that we'd be out of there soon. However, due to the weather delay early this morning I missed my connecting flight bound for Miami from Santa Cruz, Bolivia. MedJetAssist was scrambling to find another flight where they could get a first class ticket to get me, my splinted leg and earthly belongings back to the States.
My view from the floor Inside the vacant and eerie Potosi airport terminal building.
My MediVac plane sitting on the Potosi runway while the clouds hang low and rain pelts the runway.
Getting loaded into the tiny Cessna 337. (click photos for bigger images)
Bicycle riding airport caretaker rides to control tower to give my plane clearance for take-off.
The cop asked for my passport while the pilot and caretaker exchanged paper work. With his documentation demands satisfied the caretaker hopped back on his bike and rode back to the airport control tower. Minutes later the Cessna was fired up and we prepared for take-off. The pilot told me he took his chances landing here this afternoon. Per the book, he shouldn't have landed. But he knew I needed to get to Santa Cruz, so he went for it. I dreaded a turbulence ridden bouncy flight. But I was gratified that the hour long flight to Santa Cruz hovering above the Andes was magnificently scenic and incredibly smooth.
Vacant and bizarre Potosi airport from the air. (big parking lot, no cars; no people)
Glorious Andes from my MediVac plane on way to Santa Cruz, Bolivia.
When I landed in Santa Cruz I was met on the runway by a stretcher, an ambulance and Shane West, an Atlanta-area native, firemen and EMT medic sent by MedJetAssist. With a bag full of painkillers and medicine and instructions to get me back to the States safely and comfortably he calmly coordinated getting all my baggage cleared through customs and checked on a flight that would depart Santa Cruz for Sao Paulo, Brazil on Varig Airlines. We would connect in Sao Paulo for another Varig flight bound for Los Angeles. But there was one slight problem. Even thought MedJet Assist had purchased first-class tickets, this afternoon flight to Sao Paulo was not equipped with first or business class seating. It would be impossible for me to sit in a standard coach class seat. My leg was splinted in an extended position, and to keep swelling and pain controlled I had to keep it slightly elevated.
But Shane and the Varig managers worked wonders and eventually accommodated my challenging predicament by securing three seats in the bulkhead in the front of the plane. My medic Shane with his bag of tricks would sit behind me. All during the flight he monitored my vital signs, and did his best staving my pain with Toridol injections. While not perfect, I managed to remain somewhat comfortable by spreading out across the three coach seats. In Sao Paulo we were met with a wheel chair and ushered quickly to the first class VIP lounge while we waited a couple hours for our connecting flight.
Landed in Santa Cruz, Bolivia being transported to the terminal.
Missed my first connection and first class seats. Bulkhead gets me to
Sao Paulo where I get comfort of first class seats to Los Angeles.
In Sao Paulo I learned that while that my chosen orthopedic, Dr. Belleti had gone through the motions of admitting me and arranging for a bed at Hoag Hospital in Newport Beach, it was cancelled because I didn't show up last night. Even worse, Dr. Belleti was hit by his own medical emergency and all his patient appointments for the next week or two were cancelled or referred to another doctor. Angie and I exchanged numerous text messages keeping me abreast of her challenges trying to get me admitted into the hospital with a new doctor referred by Belleti. But I had to board my flight and simply had to cross my fingers and hope that Angie, MedJet and the hospital were all in sync by the time I landed.
Thanks to the first class seats and my growing weariness, I slept most the entire 11 hour flight from Sao Paulo to Los Angeles where my only real challenge was figuring out how to go to the bathroom. Since leaving Santa Cruz I've been whisked around airports on wheel chairs. Sans crutches it takes two or three people to lift me and my leg to get me in and out of the airline seat or wheelchair. My medic handed me an empty water bottle which failed to work after I attempted to discreetly do my business under the big airline blanket. The flight attendant took the bottle and cut off the top. This worked.
Once in Los Angeles Shane retrieved my bags and we were through customs, immigration and into a stretch limousine heading down the freeway to the hospital. Getting in and out of this monster car proved challenging, I think an ambulance would've made an easier journey. Plus it seemed apropos to be riding down the 12 lane freeway in this oversized vehicle while passing masses of SUVs, luxury cars and all the other trappings of excessive consumerism -- big box stores, massive retail centers, malls -- quite the contrast to where I've been over the last 4 months. Am I ready for this? I guess my leg is.
In less than an hour at 9am on Wednesday I was admitted into the hospital and my things checked in with hospital security.
Home. But a long road ahead.
9:32:14 AM permalink | | trackback disabled due to spam
I wake up to the sound of water splashing on the floor of my hospital room. A squatty lady in a smock holding a bucket of water hanging on her arm flicks water over the floor with her other hand. She leaves and quickly returns with a mop which she pushes through the room, under the beds and out the door.
What do you expect from a hospital in the middle of nowhere? The place is clean, the bed is comfortable and the only annoyance is whenever I ask for my urinal jar to be emptied, they never bring it back. I guess I have to ask permission to take a piss. My roommates get breakfast. I don't. Haven't eaten or drunken a thing since that last Vicadin. The doctor says they'll put me under anaesthesia so the trauma doctor can reduce the fractures and re-splint the leg for my long journey back to the States.
(continued below the photographs that follow)
* * * * *
More shots from WorldRider's last day in the saddle on the road from Potosí to Uyuni.
Rocky cliffs and canyons. (photo by Miah)
Dynamic Duo hours before muddy bike dump (photo by Miah)
Spectacular ride through sand, dirt, clay and desert scapes. (photo by Miah).
* * * * *
Around 9:30 Doctor Rolando appears. He looks disappointed and tells me the trauma doctor is here but won't be able to attend to me until after he does his morning rounds. It might be 11:30 or noon until I can lose this cardboard box and get a real splint. Meanwhile, calls to MedJetAssist assure me that they are working on finding flights back to the United States. Last night they had asked for general information about the airport in Potosi, such as the length of the runway. I didn't have a chance to measure it while in town, and the hospital personnel shook their heads and said not very long. They were considering another ambulance ride, but it would take 2-3 hours to get to Sucre and even longer to Santa Cruz where larger airports with commercial flights could be used to evacuate me.
Last night, Doctor Sylvia stayed with her parents who live in Potosi. Today she and Jeremiah were to take a bus back to Tica Tica where Sylvia could attend to other patients and Jeremiah would arrange to have Doc, my motorcycle, trucked back to Potosi. I suggested he get it back to the hotel we spent a couple nights before taking off on that fateful morning. They had underground parking and it seems would be open to storing the bike for a few days until I could figure out what to do with it.
Later, Jeremiah appeared at my bedside slightly panicked. "I can't find her." Referring to Sylvia who had told us that she would take the 7:30am bus. Jeremiah had been wandering the streets of Potosi this morning in search of an internet cafe, Doctor Sylvia and a bank that would take his ATM. Ever since arriving in Bolivia the ATM card issued by his local Colorado bank had given him problems. After three attempts in La Paz he finally succeeded in getting cash. In two days in Potosi no ATM machine worked.
Later the intern who masterfully managed to set up my IV checked in with me and in rapid fire Spanish with a difficult accent asked me for money. Geeez. Not a beggar in the hospital? No. But I couldn't understand him as he pointed to one of the other patients in my room and talked about medicine from last night. Later Dr. Rolando explained that the local anaesthesia that he shot in my leg last night had been paid for and belonged to the other patient. In the early hours of the morning, when my groans, moans and severe pain were alleviated with the help of scissors and the shot, the pharmacy was closed. Accommodating my need for relief they used this patient's medicine. It was up to me to provide the funds for reimbursement so it could be replaced. I also learned that the IV and pain medicine I received after my x-ray were borrowed from the intensive care unit. It amazed me how they kept track of all this. I was also happy that they were resourceful enough to accommodate this patient given the bizarre requirement of payment up front for goods and services.
Just before lunch my squatty lady appeared once again splashing water over the floor from the bucket hanging on her arm. Gotta keep that floor clean. Dr. Rolando showed up again, this time with a more positive look on his face. "They are preparing to take you to the casting room," he said assuredly. "We must buy the anaesthesia and pay for the operating room. And you need another IV," he asserted looking at the depleting sack of IV fluid hanging above my bed. I pulled a handful of Bolivianos from my neck pouch wallet and he shuffled off to the pharmacy only to return moments later with a bagful of goodies which he placed next to my bed.
another view of the two breaks near my knee
A couple more hours pass. Still no word from MedJetAssist nor had I visited the casting/operating room. It was pushing 3 o'clock. And I was still waiting. Jeremiah and Sylvia showed up. I thought they were long gone, though in the back of my mind I couldn't imagine him leaving without saying goodbye. At one point he said he'd stay until he was confident that MedJetAssist had a definitive evacuation plan. "She needs her blanket," Jeremiah quipped as they stood bedside, "it belongs to the clinic." Great. And I thought they came back to check in on me and say good bye. The blanket that they threw on me in Tica Tica had kept me warm and comfortable all night. But today I'd have to kiss it good bye. With the help of a nurse, Jeremiah and Doctor Sylvia wrested the blanked from under my frame and tucked it under their arms. Then they were off.
Now I was truly and officially alone in Bolivia. In the Daniel Bracamonte Hospital. Still no sign of the trauma doctor, but my bedside table was loaded with anesthesia and I had a receipt form the casting/operating room. Things couldn't be better. Or could they?
Dr. Rolando appeared an hour later. "There's a young boy who hasn't eaten in two days. He must go first," he apologized but stemmed my impatience and building anger from waiting with a bit of guilt. A young boy hasn't eaten in two days. But I'm next in line. An hour later my water splashing lady came by my bed and handed me a cap that I needed to wear when in the operating room.
When they wheeled me into the operating/casting room sometime after 6pm I was greeted by an army of people dressed in blue scrubs. An elderly man sat on a bench in the corner. His mouth covered by a blue mask and beads of perspiration speckled his wrinkled brow. His eyes looked tired as he sat with his palms pressed deep into the cushion. Our eyes locked for a brief moment, then I swung my gaze to a women in a similar mask holding a syringe above her head. There was no sign of Doctor Rolando. I suddenly felt scared. Alone. This wasn't the last thing I wanted to see should I never wake from a dose of Bolivian anesthesia.
"Esperar", I cried. "Tengo que saber lo que usted va a hacer."
Silently I wondered what were all these people doing in here. I counted 7 or 8. The lady with the syringe assured me she was the anesthesiologist. Just then Doctor Rolando blasted through the swinging doors. I heaved a sigh of relief when I spotted a familiar face. He assured me this was light anesthesia and that I'd only be under for 10 minutes while they splinted my leg.
"Are you sure," my voice slightly trembling.
"Claro!"
They injected the anaesthesia into my IV and put an oxygen mask over my face.
I'm in Bolivia and I'm going under anaesthesia. And the last connection to my homeland was well on his way on a bus to Tica Tica. The unknown killed me. Then I was out.
9:26:42 AM permalink | | trackback disabled due to spam
In a state somewhere between awake and sleep three hours had passed. The rain, thunder and lightning added dramatic effect to my sprawled body with my left leg in a cardboard box splint as I laid in the Tica Tica medical clinic. Still no ambulance. In a town with one telephone, one restaurant and no motel I wondered if I'd ever get out of Tica Tica. Doctor Sylvia and her assistant Jacoba checked in on me periodically while Jeremiah braved the rain, secured our bikes, and worked wonders getting my gear consolidated and ready to join me on the trip home.
Waiting in the Tica Tica medical clinic for a plane or ambulance. My leg splinted in a cardboard box.
Doctor Sylvia studied medicine in Sucre for six years. Now she was the only doctor for miles and tended to a primitive impoverished population base of more than 2,000 people. Many of them in villages accessible by only dirt trails. When I saw her running down the road to the muddy mess where my bike and I laid desperately, I wondered; why not drive? I guess she would have if she had a car -- or a motorcycle. Serving hundreds of patients with many too sick to get to the clinic, on foot Doctor Sylvia hikes hours, crosses rivers and braves inclement weather carrying her medical bag to treat sick people, deliver babies and bring medicine to villagers.
I learn later that her father and brother are miners working in the horrible conditions of the cooperative mines in Potosí. Her mother is dying of kidney failure. There's a transplant available, but they cannot afford it. Suddenly my broken leg and my sullen let down of an interrupted journey around the world on my motorcycle seems petty and miniscule in the scope of things. I'm happy I'm in her care and with Jeremiah's cool demeanor, professionalism and somewhat calm if not frantic at times handling of things. It's expected. I'm in good hands. And as long as I lie in this bed and don't move my leg, I feel no pain. No drugs either.
Four hours passed since the ambulance was called. Sylvia and Jeremiah grab my umbrella and brave the rain once more to hike to the only phone in town. When they return the concerned look on their faces distresses me -- slightly. The ambulance should be here. The rains have made the road very difficult and very slow. And it was getting dark. Did the ambulance get into an accident? Just as we were falling deeply into a fit of doom a Toyota Land Cruiser wagon pulls up to the clinic. Three young men hop out and cart a low slung wheeled stretcher into my room. Not quite a gurney, but with all hands they slide me onto the it and wheel me to the front of the building. As the group carries me my leg swings back and forth sending bolts of pain messages to my brain. Ouch. They don't have any straps to secure me to the stretcher. Nothing. Thinking fast I guide Jeremiah through my bags and direct him to my stash of tie-down straps. Working as best as he can, he straps and secures me and my leg to the stretcher hoping to prevent much movement as we make the four-hour ride in the pouring rain over rough dirt roads, through rivers, scaling switchbacks to Potosi -- where I had left just 12 hours earlier.
The true color of friendship shines under the worse circumstances. Unable to fend for myself Jeremiah took control of the situation and handled requests barked from me without hesitation. We are both on our separate journeys. Meeting in October in Creel, Mexico we rode together for a couple weeks before bidding farewell In Oaxaca. We reunited just over a week ago in Peru. Today he was putting his trip on hold while helping me. He asked if I wanted him to ride the ambulance with me. Sylvia offered to come too. I wanted the company and until MedJetAssist was fully commissioned, I wanted strength in numbers.
The ride from Tica Tica back to Potosí could have been a nightmare. With a bag of coca leaves sitting on the dash of the ambulance, my driver and his two buddies kept stuffing the natural stimulant into their mouths giving them the energy to make the four hour ride. They'd have to turn around once in Potosi and ride 6 or more hours back to Uyuni. With every rut, rock, bump and groove in the dirt road my leg bounced, rocked and pulled from side to side and end to end. Jeremiah, the legend, hunched over my leg with one hand above my knee and one hand below did his best to brace my leg and reduce the shock and jolt of the bumpy ride. He did this for the entire three hours of the journey. His back ached as he writhed and wiggled trying to remain somewhat comfortable. The ambulance rolled on as these boys made good time. They obviously made this trip before. With windshield wipers flapping and the suspension working overtime, we passed the gray walls of a canyon where I noticed the reflection of the emergency lights flashing. I didn't even notice that the ambulance actually had such gear. But no straps nor gurney. Hmmmm.
As the hours clicked by and the miles added up my foot became numb. Miah would rub and kneed it trying to stimulate circulation. The ambulance seemed to jump off a couple drop-offs sending my leg in the air and crashing down. I'd scream. "Ouch!" Jesus, that hurt! But Jeremiah like a statue, steadfast and secure just held onto my leg, minimizing its movement and my pain. Sylvia spoke of her clinic, background and patients. The driver and his buddies pulled another handful of coca leaves and stuffed them in their mouths. I finally pulled a couple vicadin from my pocket and sucked them down. This is one long ambulance ride. Bounce. Jolt. And shake.
When we finally pulled into the hospital at 10pm Sunday night the ambulance team wanted their stretcher, pillows and payment. And they wanted to get out of there. My things were unloaded and stashed in a hospital office while a crew of people rushed around looking for a bed they could move me to. I simply I laid on my stretcher in the middle of the lobby of the "emergency room" of the Daniel Bracamonte Hospital in Potosi, Bolivia -- the highest city in the world. That's when I noticed the short thin doctor with glasses, dark hair and dressed in a casual windbreaker carrying a messenger bag walk out the door of the emergency room. I thought he was leaving for the night. i was wrong. This was my doctor.
Before I was moved from the lobby I had to pay for my x-ray and my hospital bed. Coughing up the equivalent of about $8 in Bolivian currency I was then wheeled through the dark and quiet hospital corridors toward radiology while Jeremiah and Sylvia dealt with my things and the coca leaf-chewing ambulance crew. As I was ushered into the x-ray room an intern who had the demeanor and look of a janitor and the x-ray technician started pulling and tugging me onto the x-ray table. I screamed as they tried to lift my 155lb mass up six inches from the bed onto the table. Any slight move of my leg sent zings of pain through my leg. They ignored my screaming and please in Spanish to stop and wait for more help. Someone HAD to hold my leg stable and level. My vicadin was wearing off. Actually, I'm not sure if it ever did any good. Just as they were flopping my limbs onto the table Jeremiah showed up and provided better late than never help.
My be-speckled and windbreaker donning Doctor -- Doctor. Rosando -- had a good command of the english language. He reviewed the x-ray. So efficient and fiscally prudent was the radiologist, he got two views of my tibia and fibula on one piece of film. The doctor confirmed what I already knew. "Your leg is broken." Then he added the new information. "In three places." We looked at the x-ray. Sure enough the tibia and fibula were both broken close to the knee with a third break in the tibula halfway between my knee and ankle. Damn heavy motorcycle. Would have stronger boots prevented the fractures? The what ifs didn't matter. My leg was broken, my trip interrupted and I needed to get back to the States for proper medical care. Meanwhile the rest of my clothing is cut from my body. My BMW ComforTemp long underwear and my Patagonia capilene underwear. All victims to my fateful muddy bike dump.
Fortunately my cell phone had service in Bolivia. I was on the phone to MedJetAssist as they wheeled me into a room with three other patients. I sent text messages to my girlfriend in California. Jeremiah got clearance from the hospital to sleep there. But he couldn't have a bed. I directed him to my sleeping bag and mattress in my things and he set up camp on the floor in the hall just outside my room. It was getting close to midnight. My Doctor Rolando wanted to set me up with an IV and pain medicine. But first they needed to be purchased from the hospital pharmacy. Apparently nobody gets credit at the pharmacy. I stuffed a handful of Bolivianos into Doc Roladno's hand and he served as my medicine messenger and trucked over to the pharmacy. I wanted to know more about the pain medicine and was worried about syringes and needles in my arm. Dutifully questioning every move, I'm sure they thought I was the biggest pain in the ass. But it's my life. My leg. And I'm in a place that is arguably the poorest city in the poorest country in South America. I'd better watch out. Meanwhile Miah drifted about the hospital and when he returned to my side he said "this place is scary," and offered other words of encouragement regarding the patients and conditions he witnessed. But it was all I had. I was simply turning back -- and this was a momentary pit stop.
I hadn't even begun to think about Doc, my bike.
My intern prepares my IV at the hospital in Potosí.
MedJetAssist quickly took the information necessary to start the research and process of evacuating me out of Bolivia and getting me to a hospital in the United States. I put my girlfriend Angie in touch with them so together they could communicate and coordinate. MedJet connected me with a doctor in the States who informed me the pain medicine Dr. Rolando had purchased was a high-grade of ibuprofen (Motrin/Advil). I asked if they had something stronger like morphine. "Oh no. We don't have anything like that. It's controlled by the government." Great. The third largest cocaine producing country in the world and I'm getting Advil for a leg broken in three places. I sucked down another Vicadin under the orders of the MedJetAssist doctor while the janitor looking intern gracefully and in one easy step found a vein in my left arm and started the IV. My doctor said that a trauma doctor would be in the hospital in the morning and he would look to further stabilize my leg, reduce the fracture and prepare it for the long journey back to the United States. Until then, I'd try to get some sleep and ignore the pain.
The lights went out in my room at just after 1am. It's been a long day and the peaceful serenity of the solitude of riding the wide expanse of the Bolivian altiplano seemed so distant. Yet here I lay with my leg inside a cardboard box, wrapped in gauze and an ace bandage. I slowly closed my eyes.
As the clock ticked on my foot grew numb and hot. I couldn't move my leg. I started to moan. First silently to myself. Then more vocally. Soon i was unleashing at regular intervals strings of profanity. "Shit!" The list goes on. After a while one of my roommates starts repeating and mimicking my English words. It makes me laugh hearing the swear words with his Spanish accent and I wonder if he knows what he's saying. I'm sorry I'm keeping them awake with my groans and moans. But the pain just got stronger and stronger. My foot felt like it was on fire. But the pain wasn't coming from the broken bones. Or at least I thought so. Perhaps my makeshift splint was too tight. Circulation felt cut off. I finally can't handle it and I raise my voice trying to awake Jeremiah from his resting place in the hallway outside my room. One of my roommates reaches for his buzzer to call the nurse.
Jeremiah's hospital hallway bed in Potosi.
Jeremiah inspects my leg and sure enough there are problems down there. Seems the cardboard box had slowly slid down my leg and now was digging into the top of my foot which by now was beet red as the edge of the cardboard had dug a canyon sized gouge in it. Soon the intern and an assistant nurse are in the room wiping the sleep from their eyes. Jeremiah quickly gets them scrambling for a pair of scissors pointing to my circulation deprived foot. A small pair shows up but can't get through the cardboard. The intern says he's going to get some local anaesthesia to help reduce the p
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