My limbs are feeling very heavy, my vision is blurry and somehow incomplete. From what seems like a long way away I can hear an engine rumble, I’m in a vehicle going somewhere. Am I sitting up or am I laying down? It’s hard to be sure. Nothing feels quite right. I’m vaguely aware of a sense of excited danger in the air, a copper smell (or is it taste?) of drying blood. Voices, again from miles away, to far away to be sure what they’re saying. My senses soften, my eyes close and I’m drifting away.
Light, sound, sensation, I’m conscious again, in a cotton-wool, underwater sort of way. I can hear speaking more clearly now, people are talking in clipped sentences in a language with long vowel sounds and short sharp consonants. I realise that it’s a language that I don’t understand, at least not at this moment. I’m lying on a bed, someone is coming towards my face with a silver instrument. That must be what woke me up, the distinct feeling of needles in flesh, the sharp pull of stitches forcing torn-away skin back into place. There is no pain now, just a tug by efficient hands and a dull, general type of throb behind my eyes.
At this moment two things crystallise in my mind. One, I don’t where I am. Two, this could be serious.
On point one, it’s very clear that I’m not in Australia anymore Toto. Chronic under-funding is one thing, but the room that I’m in has broken light fittings, cracks in the grey, mildewy walls and a broken window. It’s also entirely obvious by now that not a word of English has been spoken in my recent bout of consciousness.
Point two, we’ve all heard about third-world hospitals, leaches still used to treat illnesses, needles being used again and again until they finally break in a patients arm, having passed on diseases from one to the next. At this stage I can’t even be sure that I’m even in a hospital.
One saving grace is that they’re clearly tinkering with my head or face. At least they’re not trying to steal my vital organs, I need those, that’s why they’re called ‘vital’. On the down side, head injuries have a tendency to be problematic, I’ve grown quite attached to my brain over the years, we’ve shared a lot of experiences together, the last thing I need is brain damage, particularly in the current Australian job market.
There is a flurry of voices again as people become aware that I’m watching the procedure going on above my swollen shut left eye.
‘Sir, look at me sir’ someone, somewhere says with a heavy American twang to their strangely accented English. ‘Sir, you have a head injury’. I can already tell that I’m not going to be able to remember what they just said. I start to tell them that this small piece of information is greatly appreciated, but all that comes instead are slurred, unintelligible sounds and a strong hand forcing my head to stay in place. ‘Sir, you are in the Philippines, your Fiancée is going to be with you soon.’
Mystery number one solved, that must be good enough for my heavily concussed brain for now as it slams back into unconsciousness. Welcome to the Philippines, I hope you enjoy your stay.