Back on the Bear

A lot of thoughts pass quickly through one’s mind in an acute crisis, especially an emergency occurring in a foreign, third-world land, and involving one’s most beloved.

Sitting there in the dark on a Luang Prabang side-street, in a small concrete storm-channel, holding and supporting Alix (whose lower right leg was hanging at 90 degrees below the knee) was one such event.

In such occasions I tend to become slightly detached, and I am almost able to think and act as a casual onlooker. People say that I am very calm in a crisis, and I think that is because I’m in this paranormal state of mind: the logical half of my brain is now firmly in charge, overseeing events, and constantly coaching - and mildly berating - the other half of my brain that might be prone to flight or panic.

A few locals had seen us two in the ditch, and - as seems to be the case in the modern world - the locals’ hands were already on mobile phones taking photos and videos, rather than offering any assistance.

Amidst the handheld lightshow, time stood still. I was constantly reassuring Alix that everything would be fine, despite having to admit to her that she had probably broken her leg. Although there were clean breaks to both her right tibia and fibula, she seemed to be in no pain. Her right shoulder was sore, and we discovered later that she had also smashed the head of her humerus ("like a lump hammer hitting a hard-boiled egg", as it was later described to us.

Fortunately, we soon heard an English voice. Alix had stepped up (onto what she thought was the pavement) just outside the rear entrance to our hotel, and the hotel manager’s husband, Ivan, was now standing next to us. He had been fetched by our friendly bar tender, who had heard the commotion. I quickly briefed Ivan, who then immediately had an ambulance called. Alix lay back in my arms as I tried to reassure her that she would be OK, and that help was on its way.

Cleanly broken tibia and fibula

So, what of those fleeting thoughts? Well, I had visions of Alix in a plaster cast for 6-months, unable to move. And, selfishly I admit, I wondered if Alix would ever get back onboard Missy Bear. This fall would have knocked her confidence for six…

And yet, 7 months later and after much hard graft and determination, we were lowering our floating home back into the warm Aegean waters for our Autumn cruise. Alix, in a T-shirt and shorts, sporting her new scars with pride.

Re-launch, Sep 28