Well it had to happen one day. It was last Thursday, a sunny afternoon and I was riding my motor bike home from work, dreaming of a cold beer on the verandah.
I was on the outside of a row of five motorbikes when the young guy next to me decided to take a right hand turn into a side street. It was like a football tackle. My bike hit the road at 40km ph and I followed hitting the road with my shoulder. Like stunned rabbit I just lay there face down while I tried to make sense of things. I could not seem to move,
My chest muscles tightened and the thought flashed through my mind like neon sign “heart Attack”
People quickly gathered around and lifted me to my feet and walked me a few meters to the kerb where I sat. Every thing seems ok I just feel a bit shaken. There was a lump on my right shoulder blade and I had difficulty in moving my right arm. Within a minute a policeman was by my side with a teenage boy.
He said I will take you to hospital. I said which one; he replied the Muslim hospital close by. He rode my motorbike, carrying my computer bag and I managed to climb on the back.
He ushered me in to emergency and waited while I had some injections and an x-ray taken. The doctor showed me the x-ray and I could see a gap between my shoulder bone and my collar bone. He said that the injury was not life threatening but advised me to return the following day to have it attended to and gave me some painkillers to take with me.
Before leaving I had to pay the bill Rp264, 000 (A$33). I emptied my wallet but could only manage Rp250, 000. The policeman pulled out his wallet and paid the rest and we went back on the motor bike to his traffic office where the young man who has caused the accident was waiting. Sitting face to face with the lad who was quite nervous the policeman asked me if I wanted to take the matter further. With my right hand on my chest (I could not move it anywhere else) and intense pain I said no, let’s go home. I asked for a police report. The police man asked to boy to go and buy a Rp 5,000 (50cent) stamp while he filled out the form. With the stamp in place we both signed and the policeman’s partner went to a nearby shop and made three photocopies and that was that. The policeman took me home on my motor bike accompanied by his partner who carried my computer bag on his motor bike. The journey home was excruciatingly painful. I felt every bump while holding on to the policeman’s gun with one hand and his ammunition with the other.
At home we sat and drank iced tea as the policeman explained that his first priority was to look after the injured before doing anything else. As the pain was gnawing away at me I said I wanted to lie down. I gave him Rp100, 000 but he did not want to take it. He said he was just doing his job. I insisted and thanked both policemen and they left.
In Indonesia like in Greece it is normal to pay public servants for ‘service’ but in this case The policeman really cared about my welfare.
The next morning I went to the hospital. The orthopedic surgeon made several X-rays and told me to check in to the hospital that evening and he would operate the following day inserting some screws and wire to bind the bones together.
The hospital Rumah Sakit Panti Rapih, is a Catholic hospital founded by a Dutch family in the 1930’s. This is now a very modern hospital with Dutch trained nurses but with the large number of crucifixes on the walls I was beginning to lose my faith in medical training. In a country where ‘God is great ‘and everywhere I just went with the flow.
After a drug induced sleep I waited all day for the big event. Watching the ceiling pass as I was wheeled along passageways and into elevators I realized that my life and wellbeing was out of my control. At least I was comfortable in the preparation ward as the world faded away.
My next memory was trying to focus on fuzzy images of ceiling lights an hour later when it was all over. The euphoria of Morphine faded quickly. Pulsating pain took charge and I was back in the real world. There is not very much interesting to say about being a patient apart from being fussed over and cared for by beautiful women in white uniforms. There is an authority in a uniform; a feeling that at least some one is in charge. For me lying quiet and still was a silent of surrender to the situation.
During my several days in hospital I began to understand Javanese culture a little better. The collective obligation people have for the well being of those around them Is real.
It is humbling and comforting.
A few days later at home nursing my malady one afternoon I was visited by the boss and the staff of where I work. They care about my well being . It was very touching considering how critical I have been about poor managing practices in the organization.
They stayed for about an hour and when they left they presented me with a gift. It was an envelope containing about A$ 120. This was collected from the staff. This was quite overwhelming when the amount is almost equivalent of one month’s salary for one person.
In Indonesia there is no Medicare of free hospitals. When some one gets sick, money is given by family and friends to cope with the problem. How could one not feel obligatedto family and friends? ’What goes around comes around’
In the emails I received from my colleagues their care was expressed along with the acknowledgement of help from God.
That was quite humbling even for a black sheep like me.
This is the way we live
