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The
Operation
About this time a
small boat sailed in that I knew well. It was the boat of two friends,
Hillary and Neil, who I had shared many pleasant evenings with. Neil was
an English physicist, and Hillary was a mathematician. They were very
highly educated people, and a joy to talk with.
Of course, when they
sailed in, I had to go over and join them the first evening they were in
port. I was in a very poor mood because the wound on my leg was developing
blood poisoning, and I felt that my future was going to be quite short at
that point. There was little or no medical help to be had in Bequia. I
hoped that Hillary could help me.
When I came aboard I
failed to mention Dart's sale, in my concern for my health. I sat with
them drinking some of their home made beer while discussing the stinking
mess that my leg had become. Hillary decided to have a close look at it,
which I thought was very brave considering. She got out a magnifying glass
and a sharp knife to explore the wound with. After some time poking and
prodding, while Neil held a light for her, she announced that she could
see seven distinct "cores" in the center of the wound that must
relate to seven bites.
After an extended
period of discussion of the options, Hillary decided that the only option
was for her to operate! She proposed cutting out all the infected tissue,
and the cores, and then using tape to tie the hole together instead of
stitches. At that point it sounded wonderful to me, other than the fact
that it would have to be cut away without the benefit of pain killer. Neil
came to the rescue on that front, and produced a new bottle of rum. The
pain killer was in hand.
We talked far into the
night while I steadily worked on the rum. When a significant portion of
the bottle was gone Hillary decided the time was at hand to operate. I
continued to talk with Neil ,and enjoy his rum, while Hillary started
cutting the rot out of my leg. I can empathize with the soldiers of the
Civil War. The rum helped but was far from a pain killer. I would have to
stop talking every now and again when Hillary made a particularly deep
cut. By concentrating on Neil's face, and the subject of the conversation,
I made it through the ordeal. When it was all cut away Hillary produced a
can of sulfa powder, and covered it all with the wonderful substance. She
then bandaged it expertly, and it was over.
All signs of the
infection quickly vanished, replaced by healthy healing tissue. Within
three days I was back in the sea diving for my dinner once again. It was a
tremendous load off my shoulders to know that I was not going to die. I
owed it all to Hillary and Neil, but especially Hillary for having the
stomach to operate on such an ugly mess. I loved them both for what they
had done for me.
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Copyright © 2001
- 2003
by Donald R. Swartz
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