Stories: Companero in Crisis - From
Displaying 1 - 1 of 1 -- Add Story
| The following is from my novel "Unintended Witness" currently under development
La Calera de Chile, 5 de Septiembre, 1973
When Elder Hurst arose that morning, he looked just a little pale. With a few hours, he looked and acted like he had a low grade fever. We went out to check on our members and investigators, but he just didn’t seem to have his normal energy as we walked down the streets. I asked him if he was feeling OK, but he just said that he was a little tired, but otherwise he was fine.
As the day progressed, I noticed that he would hold his right side from time to time. I asked him if he was in pain. He at first denied that he was then admitted to having just a little. After dinner, while visiting with a church member, he asked to take a taxi home. At last he admitted to being ill.
When we walked into the house, Lito was in the living room. He recognized immediately what I had observed progressing throughout the day. We helped Elder Hurst into bed. Lito and I questioned him regarding his symptoms. He replied that he had a tender spot in his right lower abdomen, he felt like he had a fever, and he had little to no appetite all day.
Lito and I looked at each other, both coming to the same conclusion. Lito beat me to the draw as I was about to say it. “Appendicitis” he said.
I nodded my head affirmatively, and said, “It looks like it.”
Lito responded, “I’ll go and get the doctor.”
I must have looked looked apprehensive at the thought of trusting my companion to the local medical establishment with good reason. We had visited one of the branch members in the local hospital a few days before. I was not prepared for what I saw. I didn’t expect to find the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine in this poor Chilean town, but the contrast between the local hospital and what I had experienced in the States was a shock. The lobby of the hospital had long lines of sick and injured people waiting patiently to be seen by a nurse or “practicante”, the Chilean equivalent of a physician’s assistant. Some of these were holding wounded appendages dripping blood on the floor. One of the walls had a brown substance smeared on it that resembled feces. Instead of the faint smell of antiseptic that permeates most medical settings; this one smelled of the very odors antiseptic is used to clean.
Lito continued, “There are only two doctors in La Calera. I know the best one well.”
I nodded my head and he was off on his errand of mercy.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
About an hour later, Lito walked in with a middle-aged man carrying an old style doctor’s bag. After thanking him for coming out at night with such little notice, we proceeded to the bedroom. We brought in a chair for the doctor who sat down by Elder Hurst’s bed.
After a quick examination and the usual diagnostic questions, the doctor confirmed our suspicions. Elder Hurst had an appendicitis. Fortunately, we caught it early, but he needed to have it surgically removed within about 48 hours. Dr. Munoz said that the hospital in La Calera did not have an operating room or a surgeon to operate on him. Our best option was to get him to one of the big hospitals in Santiago, first thing in the morning.
The doctor then reached into his bag and pulled out two prepackaged bottles of medicine. The first was an antibiotic to slow the progress of the infection and the second an analgesic for pain. He gave us instructions for the medication then reminded us of the importance of getting him to Santiago as soon as possible.
We thanked the good doctor and paid him for his visit.
So there I was, in a small poor no-name town in a country on the verge of political collapse. At that point, my language skills were minimal, and my translator was seriously ill from an ailment that can be fatal if not treated in a timely manner. The house we lived in did not have a telephone and the post office that was also the only telegraph office in town was closed for the night. I could not even inform President Glade of our situation.
Just as I was starting to process the situation, Elder Hurst turned to Lito and asked if he knew of anyone with a phone we could use.
“Yes” he said. “I have a friend who owns a store a few blocks from here. You can use it if you pay for the call.”
“OK, comp”, Elder Hurst said, “you will have to go with Lito and call President Glade. Tell him that we can come into Santiago by train tomorrow morning.”
Lito and I left the house and walked through the nearly deserted streets to his friend’s store. The environs seemed surreal as we stepped into the small store. There was a glow radiating out of the front down in this hole in the wall store that sent soft beams into the outside darkness. Like most small Chilean “negocios”, the goods offered for sale were located behind a service counter. Also behind the counter were the proprietor, his wife and older children. Fortunately, there were no other customers in the small establishment.
There was a small display refrigerator sitting on the counter and next to it was an old rotary dial telephone; the key, as it were, to my companion’s very life. Lito was right. They did have the prized telephone. Now we had to negotiate its use and connect to the mission home. Given the normally unreliable service at the time and the random acts of vandalism against the communications systems in the country, our errand of mercy was not guaranteed.
As we entered, Lito, extended his hand to the proprietor with a great big smile then introduced me. The proprietor appeared to know Lito well, but was a little nervous about having a foreigner in his establishment during these tense times. Fortunately, Lito was in his best form that evening; ready to work his magic.
Lito explained the situation and its urgency. The proprietor paused for a moment then motioned to his son to close the door, then motioned to us to pick up the phone.
Lito replied, “Gracias, Senor,” then motioned for the phone number.
It seemed like a small eternity passed while Lito dialed the long distance operator, gave her the mission home number, and waited until she made the connection. When the connection was finally made, Lito explained that one of the missionaries was very sick and he needed to talk to President Glade. I was relieved when he handed the phone to me with President Glade on the line.
“Elder Summers,” he said in a calm but caring voice, “I understand that Elder Hurst is very ill and needs to come to the mission home.”
“Yes,” I replied. “The local doctor said that he has an appendicitis that needs to be removed within a couple of days. There are no surgeons in La Calera so he needs to go to Santiago for the operation.”
“Do you need me to come with the mission car tonight?” he asked.
I paused, remembering the stories and rumors that we had been hearing regarding the activities of the various political factions. I put my hand over the receiver and in my best broken Spanish said, “Can a car get from Santiago to here?”
Lito’s friend reacted with an expression that communicated to me that he knew something was going down that night. He shook his head and gestured with his hands and said, “No, muy peligroso” – No it’s too dangerous.
I then replied to President Glade, “The locals tell me that it is too dangerous to be out tonight.”
President Glade answered, “Then we will see you tomorrow morning. We will make the arrangements for Elder Hurst’s surgery and call his parents. Don’t hesitate to use a cab or an ambulance if you need to.”
I felt relieved that we at least had a plan. After the conversation, I paid the proprietor then we slipped into the night to prepare for the morn. |
| |
|
|
|
List All | Add Story
|
