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We ended last week’s column on kind of an odd note, and I still get goose bumps when I think of the story I’m about to tell to conclude the two-part series.
As we wrote last week, my Nicaraguan adventure took an unexpected turn Aug. 6 on the Isla de Ometepe, located in the Lake of Nicaragua close to the Costa Rican-Nicaraguan border. My two friends and I had been on the island for less than one day when we had a motorcycle accident. I was driving the bike and had one of my friends on the back when we exited the road to avoid hitting a bus because the brakes on the motorcycle we had been riding did not function well.
Thankfully several people were around to help us after we jumped the curb and crashed, including a lady who might have been my guardian angel.
Shortly after the accident, several witnesses carried the two of us into the back of a pick-up truck to take us to a near-by clinic for treatment.
After we were loaded into the truck’s bed, a lady who I assume lived on the island jumped into the back with us. I don’t know where she came from, and I don’t remember seeing her right after the accident, but she was suddenly in the truck with us and directing the driver to head toward the clinic, but to drive slowly because my friend clearly had a back injury, and my bone was showing in two spots on my left leg.
As we drove, she calmly and quietly spoke to us in Spanish and kept repeating that she was going to stay with us and that everything was going to be alright. Friend Jason, who thankfully was on the other bike and was not injured too severely, had to stay behind to take care of the bikes and sort things out. He planned to meet us at the hospital as soon as possible, but for the time being, Ben and I were on our own. Ben had studied Spanish in high school several years earlier, but could not communicate fluently, meaning I would need to translate for him.
Within 15 minutes, we arrived at the clinic, and she quickly jumped from the truck to run inside to alert the staff about our injuries. Within seconds, people who had been standing outside the hospital helped us out of the truck and moved us into the clinic’s small emergency room.
The lady who had been with us the whole way stayed by our sides in the emergency room. As the doctor began to treat my wounds, she determined I needed a strong injection of some type antibiotic to prevent infection, but the hospital did not have that type of drug. Within seconds, the lady who had never left our side had a piece of paper in her hand and she was writing down the medication. She stormed out of the emergency room and headed for a pharmacy to buy two bottles of the medication, in addition to syringes and another antibiotic.
She returned quickly, and the doctor gave me a shot of the medication. By this time, however, I was having trouble communicating fluently in Spanish. Maybe it was still the shock from the accident, or the pain from the clinic personnel cleaning my wound, but I couldn’t articulate what I needed to say, and I was having trouble understanding the doctor, who seemed to be speaking quickly.
The lady, who again was by our sides, began to repeat in slower Spanish what the doctor was asking and saying. Her clam voice helped me relax as I translated for Ben and spoke for myself.
A short time later, as the doctor was stitching up my wound, friend Jason made it to the hospital, and the lady who had been with us the entire time walked out of the emergency room. The clinic staff was getting ready to move Ben and I to a room for the night, and I thought I would see the lady outside the emergency room so I could finally ask her name and say thank you for everything.
As the nurse wheeled me out of the room, however, the lady was gone. No one I asked that night knew her name, and no one could remember having ever seen her before at the hospital. She was gone almost as fast as she came into our lives. Was she really there?
Not a day has passed since Aug. 6 that I have not thought about this kind, compassionate lady. I don’t know what we would have done without her, and it horrifies me to think how easily I could have gotten an infection had she not so quickly run to the pharmacy to get the medication I needed.
The doctors, nurses and staff at the clinic in Altagracia took excellent care of us and were beyond helpful, but the Nicaraguan clinic in which we stayed was not nearly as clean as the hospitals we are used to in the United States. My biggest fear was getting an infection, but the lady whose name I don’t even know prevented that.
Today, I still wonder if she really existed. Perhaps she was my guardian angel because she helped me when I needed it the most and in my opinion saved my left leg from a serious infection.
Or, maybe she was just a humble, caring human being who wanted to make sure Ben and I were well taken care of until our friend could get to the hospital.
I may never know, but I will never forget her, and I wish more people on this planet showed the type of unselfish compassion she demonstrated.
It’s amazing how a nightmare you could have never imagined happening sometimes allows you to see the best in people. The kindness and genuine concern the Nicaraguan people showed us will forever occupy a spot in my heart. I know I can’t pay it back, but I hope to pay it forward somehow, some day.
To the Nicaraguan hospital staffs, thank you for caring for us. Despite two days of hospitalization, tests, medications and much more, we did not have to pay a penny for the care.
To my new Nicaraguan friend who helped us, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday, be it in this life or the next.
by JUSTIN PEEPER
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