L'Îlet du Malheur

Excerpts from my diary (post dated: Feb. 1st, 2009):

Here the story begins…
I was supposed to leave Guadeloupe on January 29 (Thursday) at 3pm. On Wed. afternoon I went for a “goodbye swim,” together with Christine and Wilfrid. And… “c’est le drame,” as Wilfrid would put it.

Around 5:30pm we were all in the water. A beautiful sunset, the ocean - quite stormy, but no bad signs besides. Wilfrid and I went a bit faster – with “palmes” on our feet. Christine was slightly behind so I would turn back from time to time to see if she was doing ok. Then I would continue swimming. We were almost reaching the shore of the Îlet du Gosier when suddenly I heard the sound of a fast-approaching motor boat. When I looked to my right, I saw the front of the boat (no idea how big), coming straight into my face. I dived as fast as I could and just a moment later touched the sand at the bottom. Too late though – the propeller of the boat slid on my right calf. At first I only sensed it touch my leg slightly. Not feeling any pain (water!), I was relieved to have avoided scars. Once I appeared back at the surface though, I glimpsed at my calf and saw “meat” stick out of it.

I cried out to Wilfrid, who had been swimming slightly to my left, to come help me as I was injured. I saw him talk to the guy in the motor-boat. I later learned that Wilfrid too was touched on his back (fortunately, he was not wounded) and that at that moment he was yelling at the fisherman for not having noticed him. Once he heard my calling, Wilfrid had the guy return to pick me up from the surface and both of them took me back to the embarcadero in Gosier. Christine continued swimming behind, unaware of the whole incident.

Waiting for the ambulance seemed like ages. The calf was hurting like hell and above all I did not want to look at it. Wilfrid was right next to me when we were waiting for the ambulance in the rain. Then he ran back home to grab my insurance documents. Chantal accompanied me to the CHU (hospital in Pointe-à-Pitre).

Fortunately, our stay at the CHU lasted for only an hour or so. But I will retain it as a particularly painful experience. First, they did not give me any painkiller when I was still in the ambulance (these were actually les pompiers, the fire brigade, and as far as I know they are not allowed to treat transported patients with any medication). Then the doctor seemed quite brutal (potentially because of la grève... - The strike had begun only one week before) – he first yelled at me because I was not looking at him when answering his questions (I was in pain!) and then criticized me for having been swimming where I should not have (although we were in the “swimmer zone”).

The surgery took ages. I now have 20 stitches on my calf – 3 big scars and a “representative” hématome right below. Quite a souvenir from Gwada! (Even now, after these 3 days – although the cuts have started to heal, my leg is very sensitive to touch…)

I was only comforted when I saw Wilfrid, and Chantal, and Yourek, previously waiting for me in the hospital salle d’attente. Wilfrid was the first one to appear in the door. He was visibly relieved to see me “in all pieces” (I have to admit that – although conscious at all times – I had some difficulties speaking and reacting while being transported to the hospital – all due to the pain). Yourek was particularly preoccupied. He constantly made sure that I did not need anything.

Clearly, the evening at the CHU left me with some unpleasant memories – all the pain, many unnecessary questions, the visit of a police officer who came to interview me right when I was having the stitches put on (!), the atmosphere of the strike at the hospital,… and at last, the impossibility to find a nurse who’d take care of me in the days to come.

I was truly happy to finally arrive back “home” in Gosier – surrounded by friends, being taken good care of, in my bed, calmed…

Danièle passed by around 10-11pm, as soon as she learned about the accident. At first she cried out that we should immediately return to the hospital, as the wounds were bleeding profusely. But this was probably due to the fact that I had been holding the leg too high up and that when lying on the sofa, I had been pressing directly on the wounds.

Right when I was about to go to bed I fainted by the bathroom (I stood up too fast from the sofa). I only remember having said to Wilfrid: “j’ai la tête qui tourne.” When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on my bed, surrounded by those who came to visit (Danièle, Yourek, Chantal, Michel, Océane, Christine, and Marine). Then, having taken the antibiotic and the painkiller – I went to sleep…

PS. Unfortunately, Danièle was right. Because of a skin necrosis, on February 6 I was back at the CHU.