Operation Bucharest (2015) by Patricia M Osborne
Everything in the Romanian café was inspiring. Gilded arches, picture frames, bright-coloured murals of grapevines, unlabelled tin cans stacked on shelves, red shiny apples filling dressers and gold glass chandeliers dangled from the ceiling.
It was wonderful to bond with fellow students. Suzi, my closest university friend, sat next to me. She’d hit sixty a few weeks ago as I would in eight days. I’d been caring for Mum for seven years until she slipped away, three months ago, after a long illness. My husband suggested I study for an MA to help fill the void. Life was moving forward. Mum would have encouraged me to go on this trip.
Sofia, the organiser, clapped her hands. ‘Tutors leave now by taxi. Rest of you go by Metro.’
‘Follow the Romanians,’ our tutor said, ‘they know the way.’
English, Austrian, Dutch, and Turkish creative writing students tailed the Romanians to the underground. A train chugged in.
‘Hurree, hurree,’ the Romanian representative called. The local accent still surprised me.
I sped down stone stairs, reached the bottom and turned to Suzi.
‘I’m coming,’ she said.
Stepping forward, I missed the final step. My body lunged into a heap, my legs spreadeagled. Everything went blank in the rush of pain. Lying sprawled across the platform I shuddered in silence.
‘Tricia.’ Suzi grabbed my arm.
‘I’ve twisted something.’ Nausea crept up my stomach. My head became light. A crowd surrounded me. Eyes peered down.
‘You lot go.’ Suzi brushed away the MA students. ‘I’ll stay with Tricia.’
‘I’ll stay too,’ Sofia said, ‘she need a translator. Go’ – she waved to the others – ‘don’t miss train.’
A young woman charged towards me and checked my pulse. ‘I Maria. I trainee paramedic. Don’t move. Ambulance on its way.’
‘I don’t need an ambulance.’
‘Where does it hurt?’ Suzi asked.
I pointed to my groin. ‘It’s like I’ve been sliced in two. Bloody stairs.’
She gripped my hand. ‘The ambulance is here, Tricia.’
Two men in green uniforms jabbered in code. They eased me onto a stretcher, lifted me up, feet first, and climbed the steps. Oh my God. I hate heights. As we approached the top, a clear blue sky and strong sun met my eyes. I gasped. Thank God, level ground at last.
The paramedics opened the doors of the transit and rolled me in.
‘Suzi, are you coming?’ I asked.
‘Sofia said she needs to go with you, but I’ll follow in a taxi.’
‘Will you be okay?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry.’
The ambulance whizzed along. I hoped Suzi would be all right. Those taxi drivers drove like mad men.
We came to a halt. The back doors flew open and Suzi was standing on the pavement ready to greet me.
‘You made it.’ I wasn’t sure how she’d got there so quickly.
She held my hand as they trundled me through the emergency doors. Men with large noses and women with patterned head scarves stared as we sped past.
Doors slammed as the paramedics shuffled up and down corridors until I was rolled into a room and steered towards a trolley.
The doctor pressed my leg. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken but I send you for X-ray.’
On the move again. This time a porter pushed me through doors, flicked the switch on an elevator, and rattled me in. Suzi stayed close. Eyes followed us as we swished past outpatients with long faces.
A ray tube manoeuvred into position. Swish, click, clang. The porter returned and wheeled me back into emergency with Suzi in tow.
The doctor placed the images onto a screen, flicking a light. ‘You’ve broken your hip.’
‘Right,’ I said.
‘You need an operation.’
‘Right.’
‘We can’t do until Monday, maybe Tuesday.’
‘But I go home tomorrow.’
He shook his head. ‘Nu.’
What am I going to do once everyone flies home? I’ll be here all on my own and I can’t even speak the language. ‘But there must be a way I can go home?’
‘Nu. Serious damage likely.’
I turned towards Suzi.
‘I’ll stay until Mark comes,’ she said.
‘He won’t be able to come,’ I said.
‘I’ll ring him so he knows what’s happened.’
A porter pushed me out of Emergency and into a small room with two iron beds, Suzi, still by my side. The nurse removed my clothes, wrapped an adult disposable nappy around me and placed a winceyette garment over my head.
Sofia strolled in. ‘Give me mobile.’ She tapped the keys. ‘See…’
I tried to look at what she was showing me.
‘When you been for pee you text, Change, and someone come.’
No way was I going in a nappy.
‘Money, give me money,’ she said to Suzi, and turned to me. ‘You must pay staff on change of shift. I go pay now.’ She waved the banknotes my friend had passed to her.
Debra crept in. ‘Oh, Tricia.’ She hugged me.
‘I’m going to stay until her husband comes,’ Suzi said.
‘No, you can’t,’ Debra said. ‘We need to go to the hotel and pack up her stuff.’
‘Okay.’ Suzi turned to me. ‘I’ll be back later.’
I watched them leave, wishing I was going too. Lying on my back I stared up at the high ceiling because I wasn’t allowed to turn over on my side in case I caused more damage.
*
Suzi returned, along with other students from my group, armed with luggage and shopping bags.
‘Is that my stuff?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ Suzi lifted the small suitcase.
‘Pass my nightdress, please. This is too sticky.’ I plucked at the winceyette.
Suzi helped me change into my own clothes before unloading nappies, toilet rolls, wipes, and cutlery.
Carol looked around the room. ‘I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.’
‘I know,’ Suzi said, ‘it’s like our hospitals in the sixties. Sparse, dull walls, lino floors and huge iron beds. Something you might see in Carry on Doctor.’
They giggled. I tried to laugh.
My peers stayed for a while before leaving. I couldn’t sleep. My teeth chattered. I shivered all over. There was no way Mark could fly out. I wouldn’t expect him to leave our son. I had to be strong. I laid listening to music on my iPad. I tried reading but desperately needed to pee. I’m not going in a nappy. How many hours had it been? My back and groin throbbed.
Shouting, screaming and incoherent prattling came from the ward opposite. Oh God, I need to pee. Around two-thirty in the morning urine leaked into the nappy. Once started it cascaded like a waterfall. It spurted so much that it went straight through the disposable pamper, soaked my nightdress, soaked the bedsheet, and was still going. I took my mobile from under the pillow and texted Change as instructed. After ten or fifteen minutes a Romanian auxiliary nurse arrived at my side.
‘Da?’ she said.
‘Change please.’ I pulled back the cover to reveal the soggy sheet. ‘Sorry.’
The auxiliary flung her hands into the air, swinging them up and down, walking backwards and forwards, puffing and shouting in an alien tongue. She removed my nightdress and nappy, replacing them with a t-shirt from my suitcase and one of the nappies Suzi had brought in. The auxiliary tightened the tabs. ‘Too small. Have do.’ She stripped the bed, still huffing and puffing, and managed to remake with me lying on top, unable to move.
I passed her a banknote from my purse.
‘Mulțumesc.’ Without smiling, she snatched the money, stuffed it into her pocket and left the room.
A nurse scuffled in. She muttered something. I managed to catch the word catheter so nodded. I didn’t want a catheter, but it had to be better than the degrading act of wetting myself in a nappy. She fitted the bag and left me deep in my thoughts.
If Mum had managed to cope with everything she went through in her last year then I could get through this. Especially when sensing her close to my side. The shivering of my body and chattering of teeth continued. Throughout the night I woke from a burst of dreams. I wanted my Mum. Pain shot through my groin and back. I wished Mark could come. The morning light trickled through the curtains as I lay on my back staring out the open doorway. Footsteps shuffled.
A nurse injected Heparin into my abdomen.
‘Is that my stuff?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ Suzi lifted the small suitcase.
‘Pass my nightdress, please. This is too sticky.’ I plucked at the winceyette.
Suzi helped me change into my own clothes before unloading nappies, toilet rolls, wipes, and cutlery.
Carol looked around the room. ‘I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.’
‘I know,’ Suzi said, ‘it’s like our hospitals in the sixties. Sparse, dull walls, lino floors and huge iron beds. Something you might see in Carry on Doctor.’
They giggled. I tried to laugh.
My peers stayed for a while before leaving. I couldn’t sleep. My teeth chattered. I shivered all over. There was no way Mark could fly out. I wouldn’t expect him to leave our son. I had to be strong. I laid listening to music on my iPad. I tried reading but desperately needed to pee. I’m not going in a nappy. How many hours had it been? My back and groin throbbed.
Shouting, screaming and incoherent prattling came from the ward opposite. Oh God, I need to pee. Around two-thirty in the morning urine leaked into the nappy. Once started it cascaded like a waterfall. It spurted so much that it went straight through the disposable pamper, soaked my nightdress, soaked the bedsheet, and was still going. I took my mobile from under the pillow and texted Change as instructed. After ten or fifteen minutes a Romanian auxiliary nurse arrived at my side.
‘Da?’ she said.
‘Change please.’ I pulled back the cover to reveal the soggy sheet. ‘Sorry.’
The auxiliary flung her hands into the air, swinging them up and down, walking backwards and forwards, puffing and shouting in an alien tongue. She removed my nightdress and nappy, replacing them with a t-shirt from my suitcase and one of the nappies Suzi had brought in. The auxiliary tightened the tabs. ‘Too small. Have do.’ She stripped the bed, still huffing and puffing, and managed to remake with me lying on top, unable to move.
I passed her a banknote from my purse.
‘Mulțumesc.’ Without smiling, she snatched the money, stuffed it into her pocket and left the room.
A nurse scuffled in. She muttered something. I managed to catch the word catheter so nodded. I didn’t want a catheter, but it had to be better than the degrading act of wetting myself in a nappy. She fitted the bag and left me deep in my thoughts.
If Mum had managed to cope with everything she went through in her last year then I could get through this. Especially when sensing her close to my side. The shivering of my body and chattering of teeth continued. Throughout the night I woke from a burst of dreams. I wanted my Mum. Pain shot through my groin and back. I wished Mark could come. The morning light trickled through the curtains as I lay on my back staring out the open doorway. Footsteps shuffled.
A nurse injected Heparin into my abdomen.
*
Two by two, my peers visited, showering me with gifts.
Carol spooned the soup. ‘Suzi said to make you eat.’
‘It’s got meat in it. I’m vegetarian.’
‘You need to keep up your strength. I won’t give you the meat.’
I forced myself to swallow two spoonfuls of the lukewarm fluid. ‘That’s enough.’ I gently pushed her hand away.
John and Carol kissed me goodbye. Two more students strolled in.
Suzi was last. ‘I’ve spoken to Mark. He’ll be here tomorrow.’
‘He’s coming? He’s really coming?’
‘Yes, Tricia. He arrives in the morning.’
Saying goodbye to Suzi was hard. My stomach rolled and chest tingled. There was only tonight to get through alone. I can do that, surely.
Carol spooned the soup. ‘Suzi said to make you eat.’
‘It’s got meat in it. I’m vegetarian.’
‘You need to keep up your strength. I won’t give you the meat.’
I forced myself to swallow two spoonfuls of the lukewarm fluid. ‘That’s enough.’ I gently pushed her hand away.
John and Carol kissed me goodbye. Two more students strolled in.
Suzi was last. ‘I’ve spoken to Mark. He’ll be here tomorrow.’
‘He’s coming? He’s really coming?’
‘Yes, Tricia. He arrives in the morning.’
Saying goodbye to Suzi was hard. My stomach rolled and chest tingled. There was only tonight to get through alone. I can do that, surely.
*
At six in the morning a nurse injected Heparin into my abdomen. Afterwards she poured water from a plastic bottle onto a flannel and rubbed it under my arms and across my chest. It was ice cold. She dabbed the flannel down below before sending in a woman resembling a mannequin with brassy blonde hair and bright red lipstick. The mannequin held a blade and moved low to swing.
I turned my face away.
There was a delay with theatre. I should’ve gone down at midday. Mark still hadn’t arrived. Time ticked on. It was almost three o’clock when the porter pushed my bed out to the corridor. At that moment Mark hurried to my side.
‘Thank God, I thought I’d missed you. They’re not putting you out. You’re having a spinal anaesthetic, the doctor just told me.’ Mark bent his head to kiss me. Our tears mingled.
‘Will you be here when I get back?’
‘Of course.’
So instead of being dressed in a hospital robe, washed with hot water, and tissue wrapped around my wedding ring to keep me sterile, I set off wearing a T-shirt and disposable nappy after a brief lick in cold water.
The porter wheeled me along muffled corridors, past patients waiting in chairs, pushed me into a lift, and I was left parked beside rubbish. A cleaner puffed pungent smoke rings.
Minutes later, I was steered into theatre. A pillion hung down from the ceiling, circled by retro lights. Green gowns heaved me up, settled me onto the saddle, strapped my feet into sandals and suspended me into space.
A sheet was draped over a frame to hide my legs and feet. Lights moved closer. Romanian voices chattered. Mobile phones bleeped. Hanging in air I formed a poem in my head.
A saw panted, growled, splinters splattered. Rivets groaned, clinked and clanked. A hammer pounded. Something stabbed my chest. I peered down and spied a pair of scissors. I was the operating table.
Unsaddled and rolled back onto the trolley, I was pushed into Recovery. Recovery consisted of a warm room where a man with black curly hair lay snoring. I was steered next to him, our beds almost touching. The room was stifling. My throat and mouth were dry.
I turned my face away.
There was a delay with theatre. I should’ve gone down at midday. Mark still hadn’t arrived. Time ticked on. It was almost three o’clock when the porter pushed my bed out to the corridor. At that moment Mark hurried to my side.
‘Thank God, I thought I’d missed you. They’re not putting you out. You’re having a spinal anaesthetic, the doctor just told me.’ Mark bent his head to kiss me. Our tears mingled.
‘Will you be here when I get back?’
‘Of course.’
So instead of being dressed in a hospital robe, washed with hot water, and tissue wrapped around my wedding ring to keep me sterile, I set off wearing a T-shirt and disposable nappy after a brief lick in cold water.
The porter wheeled me along muffled corridors, past patients waiting in chairs, pushed me into a lift, and I was left parked beside rubbish. A cleaner puffed pungent smoke rings.
Minutes later, I was steered into theatre. A pillion hung down from the ceiling, circled by retro lights. Green gowns heaved me up, settled me onto the saddle, strapped my feet into sandals and suspended me into space.
A sheet was draped over a frame to hide my legs and feet. Lights moved closer. Romanian voices chattered. Mobile phones bleeped. Hanging in air I formed a poem in my head.
A saw panted, growled, splinters splattered. Rivets groaned, clinked and clanked. A hammer pounded. Something stabbed my chest. I peered down and spied a pair of scissors. I was the operating table.
Unsaddled and rolled back onto the trolley, I was pushed into Recovery. Recovery consisted of a warm room where a man with black curly hair lay snoring. I was steered next to him, our beds almost touching. The room was stifling. My throat and mouth were dry.
*
I managed to sleep better that night, possibly because Mark was in the other bed at the foot of my feet. It was comforting to hear his breathing amongst the shouts and screams from the opposite ward.
He opened his eyes. ‘I didn’t get much sleep, too much noise.’
A sister or matron came in to check on me. Her face tightened, lips pressed together.
‘Give her some money,’ I said to Mark.
‘No, I’m not doing that.’
‘Sofia said to give money at every shift change. Here’s my purse.’
Mark offered Sister a banknote. She brushed it away. ‘Nu, my job. My job.’ She left the room.
‘See, I told you,’ he said.
I shrugged. ‘Will you stay again tonight?’
‘No, I must go to the hotel. I need to shower and find something to eat.’
‘Okay. Can you get me some water please, before you go?’
‘Sure.’ He disappeared for a while and came back armed with crutches, a Mars bar and a bottle of sparkling water.
I held up the water. ‘I don’t like this.’
‘They’d nothing else.’
‘It’ll have to do.’ I sipped the fizzy liquid, scrunching my nose. ‘Can you bring some still water from the hotel?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘The doctor wandered in.
I went to stand up.
‘No weight on that leg.’ The doctor pointed. ‘Hop.’
‘For how long?’
‘Eight weeks.’ He left the room.
With the aid of crutches, I struggled to hobble, flamingo style but only managed a few steps.
‘How am I going to get you on a plane tomorrow – Mark sighed – ‘if you can’t even get out of this room?’
‘Let me try again.’ I hopped into the corridor. The catheter bag hung heavy. ‘See, I did it.’ I reached the end of the corridor, turned around, and back to my room.
Mark glanced at his watch. ‘I need to leave.’
‘But it’s only early.’
‘It’s gone five. It’ll be dark soon. I need to avoid those potholes. I’ve managed to get internet on your iPad.’ He kissed me on the lips and left.
He opened his eyes. ‘I didn’t get much sleep, too much noise.’
A sister or matron came in to check on me. Her face tightened, lips pressed together.
‘Give her some money,’ I said to Mark.
‘No, I’m not doing that.’
‘Sofia said to give money at every shift change. Here’s my purse.’
Mark offered Sister a banknote. She brushed it away. ‘Nu, my job. My job.’ She left the room.
‘See, I told you,’ he said.
I shrugged. ‘Will you stay again tonight?’
‘No, I must go to the hotel. I need to shower and find something to eat.’
‘Okay. Can you get me some water please, before you go?’
‘Sure.’ He disappeared for a while and came back armed with crutches, a Mars bar and a bottle of sparkling water.
I held up the water. ‘I don’t like this.’
‘They’d nothing else.’
‘It’ll have to do.’ I sipped the fizzy liquid, scrunching my nose. ‘Can you bring some still water from the hotel?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘The doctor wandered in.
I went to stand up.
‘No weight on that leg.’ The doctor pointed. ‘Hop.’
‘For how long?’
‘Eight weeks.’ He left the room.
With the aid of crutches, I struggled to hobble, flamingo style but only managed a few steps.
‘How am I going to get you on a plane tomorrow – Mark sighed – ‘if you can’t even get out of this room?’
‘Let me try again.’ I hopped into the corridor. The catheter bag hung heavy. ‘See, I did it.’ I reached the end of the corridor, turned around, and back to my room.
Mark glanced at his watch. ‘I need to leave.’
‘But it’s only early.’
‘It’s gone five. It’ll be dark soon. I need to avoid those potholes. I’ve managed to get internet on your iPad.’ He kissed me on the lips and left.
*
I lifted the medicine from the cabinet, checked its label, and Googled Metamizole on my iPad. My God it’s banned everywhere except Romania.
A nurse swung in, picked up the drug to administer intravenously.
‘No.’ I pushed it away. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘Okay.’ She placed it back down before leaving.
The night-time screams and shouts persisted. A female patient hobbled into my doorway, her face dazed. She waved her stick towards me yelling something incomprehensible. I shrank down into the bedcovers. Palpitations quickened. Footsteps and shadows guided the patient away. I tried to focus on music from my iPad and begged sleep to take me.
A nurse swung in, picked up the drug to administer intravenously.
‘No.’ I pushed it away. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘Okay.’ She placed it back down before leaving.
The night-time screams and shouts persisted. A female patient hobbled into my doorway, her face dazed. She waved her stick towards me yelling something incomprehensible. I shrank down into the bedcovers. Palpitations quickened. Footsteps and shadows guided the patient away. I tried to focus on music from my iPad and begged sleep to take me.
*
My phone bleeped. I read the text. Happy Anniversary, Darling, I’ll be there shortly.
A young nurse rushed down the corridor. ‘Patreecia.’
‘Hello.’ I took money from my purse and handed it to her.
‘Nu, nu.’ She pushed the banknote away. ‘Me Patreecia too.’
She helped me onto the chair next to the bed.
I winced.
‘Why you not have painkiller?’
‘Not good for me.’
Mark arrived with a feast. A croissant, fresh fruit, and still water. I didn’t want to eat but he’d gone to so much trouble. I nibbled at the piece of melon, orange and strawberries. ‘Thank you, darling.’
It was our twentieth wedding anniversary and here we were in a Bucharest hospital with me laid up on a hospital bed. Not quite how we’d planned our special day.
I flinched.
‘Do you need painkillers?’ Mark asked.
‘I’m not taking it. It’s banned.’
‘Good God, Tricia, how the hell am I going to get you home if you don’t?’
‘You’re not listening. It’s banned. I Googled. Look.’ I picked up a phial. ‘Check yourself. It messes with your blood. I’m not taking it.’
‘I’m telling you’ – he panted – ‘you need to take something otherwise I’ll never get you on that plane.’
‘Then get me some proper Paracetamol.’
‘We’re in Bucharest not the UK.’
‘I know. But they must have it. Ask. Please. This is dangerous.’ I waved the phial.
He huffed. ‘Excuse me, Sister.’
‘Da?’
‘My wife needs Paracetamol.’
She took the phial off me.
‘Nu,’ I said, ‘that’s not Paracetamol.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All we have. Otherwise you have pay.’ She placed the medicine onto the cabinet.
‘That’s okay, we’ll pay,’ Mark said.
‘I arrange it.’
My friendly nurse, Patreecia, came in, took the money, and headed to the pharmacy. She returned carrying three bottles of IV Infusion. I checked it read Paracetamol before allowing her to hook one up to the intravenous drip and attach it to the canula in my hand.
Later the doctor touched the swinging bottle. ‘You buy?’
‘Yes,’ Mark said.
‘Why not these?’ He picked up the Metamizole.
‘Not good for me,’ I answered.
‘Oh.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll send a nurse to remove that.’ He pointed to the leaking catheter.
A young nurse rushed down the corridor. ‘Patreecia.’
‘Hello.’ I took money from my purse and handed it to her.
‘Nu, nu.’ She pushed the banknote away. ‘Me Patreecia too.’
She helped me onto the chair next to the bed.
I winced.
‘Why you not have painkiller?’
‘Not good for me.’
Mark arrived with a feast. A croissant, fresh fruit, and still water. I didn’t want to eat but he’d gone to so much trouble. I nibbled at the piece of melon, orange and strawberries. ‘Thank you, darling.’
It was our twentieth wedding anniversary and here we were in a Bucharest hospital with me laid up on a hospital bed. Not quite how we’d planned our special day.
I flinched.
‘Do you need painkillers?’ Mark asked.
‘I’m not taking it. It’s banned.’
‘Good God, Tricia, how the hell am I going to get you home if you don’t?’
‘You’re not listening. It’s banned. I Googled. Look.’ I picked up a phial. ‘Check yourself. It messes with your blood. I’m not taking it.’
‘I’m telling you’ – he panted – ‘you need to take something otherwise I’ll never get you on that plane.’
‘Then get me some proper Paracetamol.’
‘We’re in Bucharest not the UK.’
‘I know. But they must have it. Ask. Please. This is dangerous.’ I waved the phial.
He huffed. ‘Excuse me, Sister.’
‘Da?’
‘My wife needs Paracetamol.’
She took the phial off me.
‘Nu,’ I said, ‘that’s not Paracetamol.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All we have. Otherwise you have pay.’ She placed the medicine onto the cabinet.
‘That’s okay, we’ll pay,’ Mark said.
‘I arrange it.’
My friendly nurse, Patreecia, came in, took the money, and headed to the pharmacy. She returned carrying three bottles of IV Infusion. I checked it read Paracetamol before allowing her to hook one up to the intravenous drip and attach it to the canula in my hand.
Later the doctor touched the swinging bottle. ‘You buy?’
‘Yes,’ Mark said.
‘Why not these?’ He picked up the Metamizole.
‘Not good for me,’ I answered.
‘Oh.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll send a nurse to remove that.’ He pointed to the leaking catheter.
*
I woke early and excited after a restless night. I’m going home. I beckoned the auxiliary as she wandered by my doorway.
‘Pan pat, please.’
She huffed, squinted her eyes, shook her head, and trotted into the corridor. ‘Patreecia.’
My favourite red-headed nurse came skipping in.
‘Pan pat, please.’
She shook her head and pulled a funny face.
Pointing to the bed, I tried to mime, bed pan. ‘Pee,’ I said. Google translation on my iPad caused roars of laughter.
Not long afterwards Mark turned up. ‘Morning, darling.’ He kissed me. ‘We’re going home, hurrah. Are you ready?’
‘Nearly. The nurse is coming to do the Paracetamol. Oh look, here she is now. She hooked me up onto the last infusion.
The doctor strode in. ‘Ah, you have painkiller. Good.’ He passed me a yellow needle. ‘Heparin. Get more in UK. Must take for six weeks.’
‘Did you book the taxi?’ Mark asked the doctor.
‘Yes, in ten minutes. This nurse take you.’
The nurse removed the canula from my hand. Mark helped me into a wheelchair and following the nurse, he steered me down the corridor into the car park.
I winced with pain struggling onto the backseat. The driver drove off fast. Mark and I smiled at each other.
We’d not been on the road for long when the driver turned around and drove into a different direction. He repeated this several times.
‘What’s happening? We’re never going to get to the airport,’ I said.
Mark tapped the driver partition. ‘Excuse me but what seems to be the problem?’
‘Road blocks.’
‘We’ve a plane to catch. How long will it take?’ Mark gripped my hand.
‘Soon, soon. Don’t worry.’ The driver continued this endless terror ride, eventually pulling up outside the airport.
Mark paid the fare. ‘I’ll go and find Assistance. I won’t be long.’ He left me in the taxi.
The driver turned the ignition key and drove away.
‘Where are you going?’
He didn’t answer.
I stared at the door handle to make my get-away. How can I escape when I can’t even leave the cab without help? Images of him dragging me into the middle of nowhere, raping me, stabbing me, and dumping my body in a land tip flooded my mind.
‘My husband, he’s coming back.’ My voice shook.
The taxi driver stopped further down, got out and disappeared leaving me alone with palpitations. Within a few moments he returned navigating a wheelchair. ‘I help you.’
‘What about my husband? And the British Embassy is waiting,’ I lied in desperation.
‘We find Husband. You telephone.’ He aided me into the chair and swung the crutches across my lap.
‘I can’t get through.’ I held up the phone.
‘Keep trying. We find him.’ He pushed me through glass sliding doors into the airport.
‘He’s over there,’ I shouted and let myself breathe again.
Mark stood under a sign, Assistance. He glanced up and waved.
The taxi driver wheeled me over. ‘Pa. I go now.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Mark looked around me. ‘Where’s our bags?’
‘I thought you had them.’
‘No.’ He held his brow and turned to the assistance man. ‘I need to find our luggage. I’ll leave my wife here.’ Mark ran towards the exit, shouting after the taxi driver.
Oh my God, what else can go wrong? The whole trip was turning into a Carry-On film except this wasn’t funny. Passengers swept in and out of the glass doors but no sign of Mark.
‘I feel stupid,’ I said to Assistance. ‘I thought my husband had the luggage.’
‘Don’t worry. Our taxi drivers aren’t in the habit of stealing passenger suitcases.’
Look here comes Husband.’
I turned around. Mark was striding towards me, wheeling our luggage.
‘Thank God.’
‘Stay here.’ Assistance pointed to the blue plastic seats. ‘I’ll be out shortly.’
Half-an-hour later he came out of the door. ‘We need to pick up someone else.’ He pushed the wheelchair while Mark manoeuvred our luggage, en route we found the other passenger, a woman who was visually impaired. Assistance guided us through to Departures. ‘I’ll be back before plane.’
‘Do I have time to take my wife to the toilet?’
He nodded. ‘Plenty time. Back in an hour.’
Mark turned to the visually impaired woman. ‘May we leave our things with you?’
‘Da. Of course.’
Mark raced me away and paced around the airport searching for Disabled Ladies. The first one was closed for cleaning. We continued further until we found one open. Mark pushed me into the cubicle.
‘Now we need to try and get me on it.’ I laughed.
Mark shuffled me towards the toilet. I lowered my trousers and pants, cringing with pain. Mark eased me down onto the seat. I closed my eyes. ‘There goes my dignity.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He caressed my arm.
I winced with pain as I struggled off the loo, leaning on my husband. We’d been longer than anticipated. Mark sprinted us past shops and back to Departures.
I glared at the empty seats. ‘She’s gone.’
‘So have our bags.’
‘Almost everyone’s gone. They must’ve boarded. We’re never going to get home.’
‘Stop panicking.’ Mark swept me along the aisles in the almost empty departure room but there was no sign of the woman or our bags.
My cries turned to sobs.
‘Stop it. I’ll find someone.’
Suddenly I spotted a woman in a row of seats tucked around a corner. ‘Wait. Is that her?’ I pointed.
‘Yes. Yes it is.’ Mark steered the wheelchair. ‘You gave us a fright,’ he said to the woman.
‘Sorry, a big group needed the seats so I moved.’
Assistance turned up and took the wheelchair from Mark. The visually impaired woman gripped one of the handles while Mark chased to the side with our luggage and coats.
‘Any metal items?’ Security asked.
‘I have metal screws in my hip.’ I pointed to the top of my thigh.
Without explanation I was pushed into a small room.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked Assistance. ‘Where’s my husband?’
‘He’s outside with your bags.’
A female security guard brushed a scanner over me.
‘That hurts. I’ve just had an operation.’ No one answered. ‘Why can’t my husband be here?’
‘He’s having your bags checked,’ Assistance said. ‘Let them do their job. Sooner you get out of here.’
Security flicked the handheld detector backwards and forwards, skimming the top of my leg across my fresh wound. I flinched with pain.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I finish now.’
Assistance backed me out. I was reunited with Mark and we headed towards the plane.
Mark rolled me onto the plane entrance. ‘Can you manage to get to our seats? We’re on the second row.’
‘I’ll try.’ I just wanted to be on board. Each hop sent torturous spasms through my body. Mark eased me into the seat. My leg throbbed.
The plane took off into the air, rotated and settled smoothly. I picked up the menu in the pocket of the chair. ‘Let’s celebrate.’
‘Any refreshments?’ asked the hostess.
‘One white wine, and one red, and two cheese rolls, please.’ Mark paid.
‘Happy Anniversary, darling,’ I said. We clinked glasses.
After six days with barely a crumb touching my lips, I took a bite of the cheese roll, sipped the wine, and tasted Heaven.
‘Pan pat, please.’
She huffed, squinted her eyes, shook her head, and trotted into the corridor. ‘Patreecia.’
My favourite red-headed nurse came skipping in.
‘Pan pat, please.’
She shook her head and pulled a funny face.
Pointing to the bed, I tried to mime, bed pan. ‘Pee,’ I said. Google translation on my iPad caused roars of laughter.
Not long afterwards Mark turned up. ‘Morning, darling.’ He kissed me. ‘We’re going home, hurrah. Are you ready?’
‘Nearly. The nurse is coming to do the Paracetamol. Oh look, here she is now. She hooked me up onto the last infusion.
The doctor strode in. ‘Ah, you have painkiller. Good.’ He passed me a yellow needle. ‘Heparin. Get more in UK. Must take for six weeks.’
‘Did you book the taxi?’ Mark asked the doctor.
‘Yes, in ten minutes. This nurse take you.’
The nurse removed the canula from my hand. Mark helped me into a wheelchair and following the nurse, he steered me down the corridor into the car park.
I winced with pain struggling onto the backseat. The driver drove off fast. Mark and I smiled at each other.
We’d not been on the road for long when the driver turned around and drove into a different direction. He repeated this several times.
‘What’s happening? We’re never going to get to the airport,’ I said.
Mark tapped the driver partition. ‘Excuse me but what seems to be the problem?’
‘Road blocks.’
‘We’ve a plane to catch. How long will it take?’ Mark gripped my hand.
‘Soon, soon. Don’t worry.’ The driver continued this endless terror ride, eventually pulling up outside the airport.
Mark paid the fare. ‘I’ll go and find Assistance. I won’t be long.’ He left me in the taxi.
The driver turned the ignition key and drove away.
‘Where are you going?’
He didn’t answer.
I stared at the door handle to make my get-away. How can I escape when I can’t even leave the cab without help? Images of him dragging me into the middle of nowhere, raping me, stabbing me, and dumping my body in a land tip flooded my mind.
‘My husband, he’s coming back.’ My voice shook.
The taxi driver stopped further down, got out and disappeared leaving me alone with palpitations. Within a few moments he returned navigating a wheelchair. ‘I help you.’
‘What about my husband? And the British Embassy is waiting,’ I lied in desperation.
‘We find Husband. You telephone.’ He aided me into the chair and swung the crutches across my lap.
‘I can’t get through.’ I held up the phone.
‘Keep trying. We find him.’ He pushed me through glass sliding doors into the airport.
‘He’s over there,’ I shouted and let myself breathe again.
Mark stood under a sign, Assistance. He glanced up and waved.
The taxi driver wheeled me over. ‘Pa. I go now.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Mark looked around me. ‘Where’s our bags?’
‘I thought you had them.’
‘No.’ He held his brow and turned to the assistance man. ‘I need to find our luggage. I’ll leave my wife here.’ Mark ran towards the exit, shouting after the taxi driver.
Oh my God, what else can go wrong? The whole trip was turning into a Carry-On film except this wasn’t funny. Passengers swept in and out of the glass doors but no sign of Mark.
‘I feel stupid,’ I said to Assistance. ‘I thought my husband had the luggage.’
‘Don’t worry. Our taxi drivers aren’t in the habit of stealing passenger suitcases.’
Look here comes Husband.’
I turned around. Mark was striding towards me, wheeling our luggage.
‘Thank God.’
‘Stay here.’ Assistance pointed to the blue plastic seats. ‘I’ll be out shortly.’
Half-an-hour later he came out of the door. ‘We need to pick up someone else.’ He pushed the wheelchair while Mark manoeuvred our luggage, en route we found the other passenger, a woman who was visually impaired. Assistance guided us through to Departures. ‘I’ll be back before plane.’
‘Do I have time to take my wife to the toilet?’
He nodded. ‘Plenty time. Back in an hour.’
Mark turned to the visually impaired woman. ‘May we leave our things with you?’
‘Da. Of course.’
Mark raced me away and paced around the airport searching for Disabled Ladies. The first one was closed for cleaning. We continued further until we found one open. Mark pushed me into the cubicle.
‘Now we need to try and get me on it.’ I laughed.
Mark shuffled me towards the toilet. I lowered my trousers and pants, cringing with pain. Mark eased me down onto the seat. I closed my eyes. ‘There goes my dignity.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He caressed my arm.
I winced with pain as I struggled off the loo, leaning on my husband. We’d been longer than anticipated. Mark sprinted us past shops and back to Departures.
I glared at the empty seats. ‘She’s gone.’
‘So have our bags.’
‘Almost everyone’s gone. They must’ve boarded. We’re never going to get home.’
‘Stop panicking.’ Mark swept me along the aisles in the almost empty departure room but there was no sign of the woman or our bags.
My cries turned to sobs.
‘Stop it. I’ll find someone.’
Suddenly I spotted a woman in a row of seats tucked around a corner. ‘Wait. Is that her?’ I pointed.
‘Yes. Yes it is.’ Mark steered the wheelchair. ‘You gave us a fright,’ he said to the woman.
‘Sorry, a big group needed the seats so I moved.’
Assistance turned up and took the wheelchair from Mark. The visually impaired woman gripped one of the handles while Mark chased to the side with our luggage and coats.
‘Any metal items?’ Security asked.
‘I have metal screws in my hip.’ I pointed to the top of my thigh.
Without explanation I was pushed into a small room.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked Assistance. ‘Where’s my husband?’
‘He’s outside with your bags.’
A female security guard brushed a scanner over me.
‘That hurts. I’ve just had an operation.’ No one answered. ‘Why can’t my husband be here?’
‘He’s having your bags checked,’ Assistance said. ‘Let them do their job. Sooner you get out of here.’
Security flicked the handheld detector backwards and forwards, skimming the top of my leg across my fresh wound. I flinched with pain.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I finish now.’
Assistance backed me out. I was reunited with Mark and we headed towards the plane.
Mark rolled me onto the plane entrance. ‘Can you manage to get to our seats? We’re on the second row.’
‘I’ll try.’ I just wanted to be on board. Each hop sent torturous spasms through my body. Mark eased me into the seat. My leg throbbed.
The plane took off into the air, rotated and settled smoothly. I picked up the menu in the pocket of the chair. ‘Let’s celebrate.’
‘Any refreshments?’ asked the hostess.
‘One white wine, and one red, and two cheese rolls, please.’ Mark paid.
‘Happy Anniversary, darling,’ I said. We clinked glasses.
After six days with barely a crumb touching my lips, I took a bite of the cheese roll, sipped the wine, and tasted Heaven.
A building in Bucharest - credit to Suzi Bamblett
