Dubrovnik

Dubrovnik.  Travels with a Biro.

Bruce met with an accident at the campsite about 40 kms outside Dubrovnik.  I mean, one has to have a bit of excitement !

We had been packing things away in the back of the car ready for an early start in the morning.  He hooked a bungie over one end of something, pulled hard, really hard, to stretch it out over the camping chairs …. and it released and caught him in the eye.

Bruce is a big strong man.  At first I couldn’t make out what the noise he was making was – was he trying not to laugh about something ? – and I stepped out of the caravan to find him on his knees on the grass, one hand over his eye and blood running down his face.

The German people in the caravan next to us rushed over.  We had already had our supper, and so had they, and we had all had several glasses of wine.  They rushed up to the reception to see if there was somebody there who could drive us to the hospital … it seemed to take ages … and eventually the campsite owner located a nephew who had no alcohol in him.  It was a long drive in the dark.  Bruce told me afterwards that the pain was dreadful.

The eye surgeon arrived about an hour later, hauled out of bed no doubt.  You could see she had once been beautiful, but pain and suffering was etched in to her face and, although she couldn’t have been more than forty or so, you could see hundreds of years of trauma in the set of her lips.  At that time the war had been over about ten years.

She told me that Bruce had suffered a detached retina and that she probably had no choice but to remove the eye.  No !  This was not acceptable.  Already Bruce was deaf in one ear …. an eye !  Goodness – I’d need a new husband!  All the bother of a wedding, a new dress …..!  I tried to joke to myself.  Frantically I searched around in my mind what to do.  He couldn’t get on a plane back to France or the UK – where I was sure they would save the eye – and we were not close to the border of anywhere that might …..

After some discussion the surgeon agreed that she would leave the eye for now.  She explained that, although the bleeding might stop, it was more likely that it wouldn’t and the latest she could leave the operation was the Tuesday.  This was a Sunday night.

Oddly enough I was not afraid.  Somehow I knew it would be fine.  Gut feeling.  I got a taxi back to the campsite, arriving at almost 4.00 in the morning.  I slept like a log for three hours, walked George along the cliff, got him in to the car and set off for the hospital.  (George was not the sort of dog you could leave).

Back at the hospital – which resembled hospitals from my childhood – Bruce was asleep.  He had a patch over his injured eye.  When he woke he said he was terribly hungry.  Food hunt.  A few stale sandwiches later he was asleep again.  I drove down to a nearby campsite and explored it till I spotted a caravan about the same size as ours.

“Excuse me,” I said to the man, who turned out to be Austrian, “I need you to come with me and tow our caravan back to here ….” And I explained why.  He spoke very little English.  He was wonderful.  He very nearly tipped both car and caravan over the edge in to the sea, and he kept saying “hot chair” to me as he drove us back to the new campsite.  Pre-occupied with other things it was only days later I realized the poor man was boiling because the car seat heater had been accidently switched on.  If he had patted the seat I’d have understood, but as it was he kept saying “hot chair” … and I just smiled and wondered what he was going on about.  Hot chair, hot chair.

He helped me rig up the electricity and water and then I gave him a hug and said:

“Thank you, thank you, you are a good man.”

“Yes,” he replied.

I was able to walk to the hospital from the new camp site, which was vastly better because George was fine if you left him in the back of the car (hatch-back) with the boot open.  I tied him by his lead, told him to stay, and he was perfectly happy like that.  Nobody would approach him – he looked terrifying, though he was very soppy.

All day Monday hospital-shops-campsite-hospital-shops-campsite.  Bruce was in a lot of pain but slept a lot. Perhaps they had given him something to make him drowsy.  Tuesday came around and the doctor said the bleeding had stopped – phew ! – and that he needed to lie still for several days.  He couldn’t see anything out of that eye.  Being blind in that eye would be no joke either, but it would match his ear.  So to speak.  Better than having it removed.

A week later he was released from the hospital, still with an eye patch. We spent two days at the camp site and then, leaving the caravan where it was, we set off by car for Mostar.  I drove. I felt very brave because in fact I am a bit of a wimp in that way.  The roads were rough and there had been huge forest fires.  Blackened trees and tree stumps stretched for miles and miles.  In Mostar we found an hotel – one of the best I have ever stayed in. We were able to park the car by the balcony and chat to George from there.

Mostar is a different story.