Finally! I got a chance to take a break and go to the beach in Montego Bay. Living on an island doesn’t mean you have the opportunity to visit the beach regularly. On the contrary, many Jamaicans cannot afford a trip to the beach as this, for many, is a luxury. I was happy to go hang with my friends and just bask in the sun whilst listening to the waves roll up against the shore.
- One of the many beautiful beaches in Jamaica
Unfortunately, my relaxation came to an abrupt end with a dislocation. Yep, yet again, I dislocated my shoulder. This time it came from one not so smooth stroke. Seriously, no joke, one breast stroke and it was out.
The last time that I had dislocated my shoulder I was cheering for the Jamaican 4x100 meters team in the 2012 London Olympics. What can I say? I am a proud Jamaican and I have gone through excruciating pain to prove it. I felt like Humpty Dumpty, without having that great of a fall, but unlike the unfortunate Humpty, I was put back together again by the UWI hospital medical team in Kingston.
Now, I faced a similar situation on the opposite end of the island. Needless to say, I became quite a spectacle at this highly frequented tourist spot. However, many people came to my aid. There are definitely many good people still living in this world. My friend who was at the hotel with me is a nurse, and she did not panic but simply told the amazing lifeguards how they could be of assistance. And, a newly found friend from Canada who is a masseuse massaged my neck while insisting that I smell eucalyptus oil. A fantastic beach, a soothing massage and two good looking strong men lifting me. This would have been the life, if it weren’t for the gentle sea breeze pounding against my upper left arm like Mohammed Ali - everything made my shoulder hurt.
A rasta taxi driver came and cordially offered to take me to the hospital for US $30. Definitely a problem mon. I would have rather walked the less than three mile journey in my state rather than pay that amount. Everyone else tried to figure out what to do. The consensus was to get my shoulder back in its socket without going to the hospital as the private hospital would have been way too expensive (they charge United States prices) and the public hospital would have been way too much drama along with a long wait time. So, one lifeguard tried to put a bottle of water under my shoulder to move it out, back up and in. Good idea in theory, but practically it didn’t go so well. A medic came, but same result. Alas, the public hospital would be the answer to my old friend’s and new Canadian friend’s prayers to get my shoulders back in place.
The lifeguard who failed at the attempt to relocate my shoulder with a water bottle succeeded at driving me and my friend to the Cornwall Regional Hospital. Finally, relief was in sight. Or was it?
Actually, that is where my drama really started . . . all over again.
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