Squash Lesson a.k.a. You are an Idiot!

And by you, I mean me.

I'll get to why in a second, but first let's recap the past month or so.

1. Safari! Was amazing, there are over 3,000 pictures to prove it. We saw every animal there is to see and with the exception of the rhino, we saw all of them within 10 feet of our car. My safari compatriots were awesome. We had an incredible time.
2. Zanzibar. Very relaxing, although we did have a couple of misadventure with a local named Bob. All I will say is that if you ever go to Zanzibar and meet Bob, slowly walk in the opposite direction.
3. Egypt. One word, HOT. Very hot, and I live in KSA so I know what I'm talking about. Other than that, it was great. The pyramids in Cairo, the temples in Luxor, the Nile. Everything you ever wanted to do or see in Egypt and we managed in three days.

So after an amazing two weeks vacation through Africa I got back to KAUST thinking, life is good and this job made that trip possible, so if A = B and B = C then clearly A = C and this job is great. Right? Wrong.

I arrived to an admissions nightmare. While I can't really go through the details (not allowed) I can say this, I have never worked in this type of environment. The s**t had hit the fan and we were all scattering around to try to clean it up. What a mess. My vacation high wore off within a matter of hours and I soon remembered why I had so desperately needed that vacation to begin with. I also then began to focus on the fact that I had another vacation coming up soon.

So on to why yours truly is an idiot.

Well, in all of the madness that was admissions a friend of mine asked me if I wanted to play squash. I had never played squash before, but it sounded like a great idea. So we coordinated to meet at 7pm on the squash courts at the gym. By 7:10pm, my lesson had begun. I was learning that unlike tennis, the squash ball does not really bounce so you have to run like hell to swing at it on time. I was also learning all about what is in, what is out and how you serve (none of which seemed particularly difficult in theory, but proved to be an arduous task). After my lesson, we started to volley a bit so that I would get the swing of things before we actually started to play. Well it seems as though my hand to eye coordination isn't so bad because I was actually hitting the ball about 90% of the time.

In all of this excitement I ran to catch a ball, hit it and then tried to run out of the way so that it wouldn't hit me. This turned out to be a bad idea. I ran into the wall with my hand behind my back and successfully hit my back with my watch and the wall. The accident was stupid (and as a result so am I) and for a bit I really didn't think it had been a big deal. That was, until I tried to sit down and couldn't. So here am I trying to sit down next the squash courts while my friend is telling me I'm fine, when someone from the gym walks by and asks me if I'm ok. I explain that I have hurt my back and he says (in a panicky type voice) "don't move ma'am. I will go get the physical therapist!" Even though I was having a hard time finding a comfortable way to sit down, I still didn't think this was a big deal. Well, five minutes later, the man had come back with three other people in tow. "Can you lay down?" "Where does it hurt?" "How did you fall?" "Did you lose consciousness?" All at once. Suffice to say, at this point I'm beginning to worry.

"We have to call 911." WHAT?!!! No, please don't call 911, I don't want to go the clinic (and I don't trust that clinic!). "Sorry, ma'am but it's procedure, they'll be here in a minute and will take you to the clinic in a stretcher." Is the stretcher really necessary? I mean can't I just walk to the ambulance? "No, you have to be immobilized. You hurt your back and we have to be very careful." Wonderful.

The EMTs arrive. Both men, both (bless them) clueless. Again they ask me, "can you lay down?" No. "Ok, then we will have to put this brace on you while you sit and then we will move to you to the back board on the stretcher." Oh joy, they put on a brace, put a collar around my neck and tape me up to some contraption so that I was "immobilized." Well, there is just one problem. I am female, they are male. They are not supposed to touch me. The brace was loose, so much for immobilization. They then try to move me to the stretcher, where again they try to lay me flat, I scream. "Ok, keep your legs up." We then begin the five minute attempt to get the stretcher up and mobile. The pain is starting to build, I am starting to cry. Everyone is starting to get more nervous, me included.

A group has gathered to watch me be rolled out of the gym, on a stretcher, taped to some immobilization thing with a neck collar and everything. "This is not why they call it squash" a friend says to me. I laugh. It hurts.

We arrive in the clinic. I am ushered to the "ER." A room of curtain-type rooms, we are the only ones there. Again, they have to move me. I brace for the pain. This time the doctor is in charge, the move is not as painful as I had envisioned. Hurray for small victories. No more ridiculous tape, neck brace or spine brace thingy. By now, I have tears streaming down my cheeks, yes it hurts, but I'm also freaking out. They give me morphine through an IV, say it should work almost immediately. It doesn't. My friends begin to arrive. Word has spread of my accident. I love my friends.

The medical history questionnaire: "How old are you?" 28. "Any allergies?" Not that I know of. "Are you married yet?" (Yet?!) No. "So you can't be pregnant" I guess not.

Ok, now the doctor. She seemed very nice. Told me she understood what I was feeling, she too had been without her family when she was studying in Canada for eight years. I think she was being condescending, but that could be a lost in translation moment or the drugs, who knows. I am being moved to radiology, they need to take x-rays to make sure nothing is broken. So they move me. We arrive in radiology, another clueless guy. They move me onto yet another bed for the x-ray, this one is really hard. It really hurts. I scream again. DON'T TOUCH ME!!! "Ma'am you need to lie flat." I CAN'T! Hmmm... Finally someone comes, more morphine. Pain continues. Dr comes "you have low threshold for pain, don't you?" (Are you kidding me? This is bedside manner?) I don't respond. "Wait a little for the medication to do it's job." Ten minutes later I'm still in pain but somehow manage to lay flat. X-rays taken. I'm crying. I get moved again.

Back in the "ER." Still crying, still hurts. Friends looking very worried, but everyone telling me I'm going to be ok and I look fine. Liars. I've been crying I know I look like crap, but I love them for trying. Back in my "room" the doctor returns along with the lady from the gym who was been watching out for me this whole time (turns out her mom runs the clinic, but she is currently on vacation). "We are going to give you more medication and then you need to sleep." Ok. She turns to my friends "You guys are going to have to go, she needs to calm down for the medicine to work." They agree, and leave. I try to sleep. Try.

After about an hour, I ask, Can I go home now? "Yes. I will have my driver drive you home" the doctor says to me. "He will be here in 15 min" An hour later, driver finally arrives. It is now almost 2am. I arrive home, in a wheelchair. My friends have moved my mattress to the first floor, it is now neatly made in the middle of my living room. My friend is waiting for me. Again, thank goodness for these people.

It is now almost 3am, I finally lay down and try to get some rest. By 6am I'm still trying...