Hospital

By the time we get to Enkhuizen, Polly is feeling nauseous and we need another plan. I'm kicking myself that I let her continue biking, plant her in a café and go looking for the boat without success. It is about 45 minutes since the accident, raining now. I ask for a doctor, but find there is none. There is only a medical post in the town we left this morning. I ask for a taxi, but there is only one and timing is uncertain. We abandon our bikes at the café and I walk Polly across the street to the train station. I fumble with change at the automatic ticket machine, a train employee warning me the train is about to leave. Seeing Polly and recognizing the urgency, she kindly gives me the 10 cents I’m short, then helps me get Polly on the train with moments to spare. It is only 25 minutes to Hoorn, an excruciating 25 minutes. The hospital is just over a pedestrian bridge from the station.

Polly sits down on the platform, unable to continue.

I leave her sitting on the train platform and sprint for a wheelchair, finding one in the hospital and hauling it up and down the pedestrian bridge stairs to pick her up. There are no elevators, and Polly barely manages to pull herself up and down the stairs. We careen across brick plazas, every bump telegraphed to Polly’s head, her moans mortifying. Arriving at the hospital, we are directed to the medical post in an adjacent building. More bricks, more moaning. We are asked to pay 101.50 euro and then directed to a waiting room. There are 9 people waiting. I return to the desk and explain that Polly can’t wait. We are directed into an examination room where she can lie down. I turn off the lights and hold her hand. She says nothing.

A young doctor arrives within 5 or 10 minutes. He is young and relaxed and direct, jeans, sneakers, polo shirt, asking Polly questions in English about the accident, and about the contusions. A nurse begins to wrap the scrapes. He feels around the lump on her head and decides there are no fractures, Polly having hit one of the thicker parts of her skull. She did not lose consciousness, nor is she at all disoriented. He discounts a concussion. The nausea results from blood pressure fluctuations and shock, and it ultimately comes down to a prescription for pain and a prescription for nausea.

I pick up the drugs at the hospital pharmacy, and after 90 minutes of rest we are somewhat abruptly kicked out of the clinic: the room may be required if someone has a heart attack for example. “Maybe” trumps misery it appears, and we are slightly miffed as we head back to the train. Bricks again…and pedestrian bridge stairs, and finding the right track and waiting for the train. I call ahead to finally advise the group on events, the 650 year anniversary celebrations around us loud and irritating, almost drowning out the call.

Enough was understood that Nic is waiting for us when we get back to Enkhuizen, and a taxi is arranged to take us to the boat. Finally, 5 hours after the accident, Polly is able to sleep. The café owner where we had abandoned our bicycles that morning had communicated with the group, they had reclaimed our bikes, and everything is already loaded on the boat. Albert, the captain, is concerned about crossing the Ijsselmeer and decides to leave immediately for our next port. Mercifully, the crossing is uneventful, and we finally finish our day on the northern shore of the Ijsselmeer, in the port of Lemmer.

Headache

Polly will be OK...she's always been slightly unusual, in a good way.

Enkhuizen, Netherlands