pat loughery

I’m on Airbus A330 operated by Northwest Air, in central Canada just west of the Great Lakes and inching toward Amsterdam with a freshly fractured ankle. It’s been an eventful day, and depending on what time I convince my body of, it’s either 12:33AM, Athens time (is this the same as the time in Istanbul? I’ll find out in a while), or it’s 3:33PM North Bend time.

I’m in a bulkrow seat, the forward most seat in coach class on flight 34 from Seattle to Amsterdam. The bulkrow is a great spot to sit when you’re supposed to elevate a broken ankle – you just put you feet on the wall ahead of you.

The cool thing about Airbus A330s, other than the bulkrow seat with extra room, is 110v, good ol’ American style 3-prong electric plugins, so I can write this journal entry, listen to an iTunes Genius playlist based on a song by the Young Dubliners and learn Scrivener all while watching the end of the movie Hancock from my personal on-demand video screen.

For a guy with a busted ankle, I’m pretty comfortable.

I woke up this morning with all my bones intact, actually. My mom and her friend arrived from Spokane last night ready to watch the kids through Sunday when Shannon returns from her own trip, a business trip to Boston. It was an uneventful morning – shower, take Kaileigh to the bus stop, zip together my backpack and midsized suitcase, and hope in the car.

The plan was to stop at the Apple store in Bellevue Square to pick up their airline charger for my Macbook Pro, as some airplanes have a unique and well-hidden power plug, and I’m on planes for many hours today.

So as I was carrying my backpack and my son Brogan, rolling my suitcase and holding an apple fritter, a few feet away from the truck I stepped wrong somehow, folded my right ankle all the way inward and fell on the ground, landing on my left elbow and backpack, with Brogan landing on me and scaring us both.

It was pretty clearly a good sprain; I’m used to spraining ankles but this one immediately felt like I’d done a great job of it. I hobbled to the back gate of the truck and sat inside for a moment while the ladies took care of Brogan. One of them noticed that I was bleeding from a good scrape on the elbow. I limped inside the house to clean it up, and it needed a bandage. I needed to hold the railing to get up and down my steps, and by the time I got back to the truck in the driveway I noticed that my ankle was swollen about an inch and a half out just above the edge of my new lowtop hiking boots.

Our first plan was to get an Ace bandage to wrap it, but then we thought that we’d better visit an urgent care center. For the first time in my 10 years of living in my valley, we went to the local hospital. I explained the situation: I twisted my ankle on the way to the airport for a flight to Istanbul that leaves in three and a half hours. It was swollen pretty well, so I figured it was a good idea to take a look.

From the receptionist to the nurses and the doctor, they bent over backward to see me right away – there being little trauma in the Snoqualmie Valley that day, I was first in line at the E.R.

A few x-rays were taken and initial diagnosis was a bad sprain. I was fitted with a small brace that I could fit my shoe over with some effort. But then bad news – the radiologist called back with news that I’d fractured a bone. My doctor, with whom I’d been chatting about my trip and our love of travel and historical research, immediately said I should call my primary care physician and see if he would release me to travel. He didn’t feel right doing so.

Problem is, I don’t remember this doctor’s name. I’ve seen him twice in the past few years, and know that he practices at the Virginia Mason clinic in Issaquah, but I couldn’t remember his last name. I also couldn’t get cell coverage in the hospital to call their phone line and ask them to tell me his name based on my records.

But, as I was considering my ability to simply jailbreak the place and head to the airport anyway, I could hear my ER doc talking to a specialist and advocating for me. “If he can promise to keep his foot elevated when he gets there, will you OK him going?”

Apparently my doc did a good job. They agreed that, if I was OK being fitted for the tall walking brace instead of the short one, I could fly today. I nodded – anything it takes; I didn’t want to risk missing a flight to Istanbul today even though I’m arriving early for the class.

I’m arriving two days early, with my original plan being to walk around the city with a camera and visit the markets and coffee shops, taking people pictures and looking at the details of this lovely city.

But it looks like that plan is changed.

After arriving at the airport, I got a wheelchair to take me to the gate, which is a nice way to go but not worth breaking your leg over.

And my seat assignment, given to me at the gate, is awesome. I couldn’t ask for a better situation at this point, though also not worth breaking your leg over.

I have a couple hours’ layover in Amsterdam before my flight to Istanbul. I’m hoping for another wheelchair there, and also an early arrival so I’m not rushed.

From the Istanbul airport I need to buy my visa and then take a cab to the hostel that I’m staying at in the Sultanahmet district. Then, I’ll do my best to rest my leg. They have wifi, so that’ll make it easier for me. But I do want to see if I can hobble around a few blocks, at least. Or maybe tomorrow.

Your prayers are certainly appreciated for my health and that of my family. I’ve got to wear this big brace the whole trip, and am to report immediately on my return home to the kind specialist who OK’d me to go on this trip.

Grace and peace,

Pat