I'd Walk a Mile for a Camel

Between the bruising, swelling, pain, and lack of sleep, by morning I looked like death and didn’t feel far from it. I had assumed the pain would lessen by morning, as it had done last time I broke this arm, but unfortunately, it was worse. Not a good sign.

The car finally came to get us, but since he had other people to pick up, he didn’t stay for the usual pleasantries. This morning, wiser from yesterday’s experiences, I refused to ride across the dirt to the paved road. Instead, I walked out to the road and boarded the minibus there. The first three hours were a snap, as we cruised along new pavement, stopping only once to load up the rest of the minibus with the planned passengers. Just in sight of the end of the pavement, we took a brief stop, which gave us time to prepare for the onslaught of bumps, ditches, and hills.

In addition to my krama holding my arm in a traditional sling position, we had tied another scarf around my arms and torso horizontally to add some stability. I sat in the middle, with Kerry pulling on this additional scarf from the right and Liz pushing on the upper arm from the left. I grasped my left forearm with my free hand and we all braced for the road ahead. The pain was immediately excruciating, but there were no options left, save walking the rest of the way to Ulaan Baatar. So, I gritted my teeth and searched deep inside for that place that might allow me to be both absolutely present and a million miles away at the same time.

I relived yesterday’s pain as we bounded over the bumpy dirt “road”, slid through shallow pools of mud (once getting stuck), bounced across deep tire tracks, dodged around bumps, and climbed up and down hills. Our driver was the same one from yesterday’s failed attempt. He was spending more time looking at me, with concern and panic on his face because he might be responsible for my pain, rather than watching the road. Because of this, all the while, I had to remain absolutely silent – no screaming or moaning or even squeaking.

When we were close to the end, Liz encouraged me to look at the driver to let him know I was OK. I smiled and nodded at him, which made him beam, but also added the weight of confidence to the accelerator. When we reached the city, he whipped around traffic, drove on potholed shoulders, and stopped short many times, making for another extremely painful hour. He dropped off everyone else first, and then struggled to find the clinic. At this point, we were all exhausted.

"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them: 'Hold on!'"

-Rudyard Kipling