Getting back
Saturday, July 17, 2010
As I hurtled down the hillside at a meagre 30kmh, a thought flashed into my mind; "You've no better option."
It was dark. Stupidly dark. And I had no lights. E and I had summited the 1600m climb some twenty minutes earlier as the sun dropped behind the ridgeline. And now, half way down the road, it was dark in the open and pitch black in the trees. I was, frankly, terrified.
The road, on the way up, had been shaky at best. Less than ideal for climbing, and a challenging descent, even in daylight. Wanton golf-ball rocks were strewn across a cracked and undulating bitumen tongue, each threatening a catastrophic puncture or fall from the route as it snaked its way up the Col, two gravel fords and eighteen hairpins climbing 1200m in 12km. The descent should have been quick but challenging.
Despite starting at relatively reasonable time, a wrong turn or two had put us at the bottom of the climb about half an hour longer than expected. The col, too, took another twenty minutes longer that we'd planned. And now, in the last remaining light, there were no better options.
The other option, of course, was to walk. It was getting cold, and all food and water had been consumed to recover at the summit. Walking would take four or five times as long, without walking shoes, and would increase the odds of getting hit by a car going up or down the narrow road.
So we rolled on down, hands hard on the breaks, careful not to snatch a handful of lever and send ourselves sprawling. Eyes reaching, squinting to seek out the cracks and rocks that only an hour ago had been as plain as the day. As the trees enveloped the road, only a wisp of road was visible, punctuated by a grey hairpin, open to the sliver of light and treacherously sharp, followed by a long, steep straight of black and nothing, road somewhere beneath skinny tyres.
It occured to me that the same thinking would, one day, be necessary in a medical situation. The situation is less than ideal. Everyone's in the dark and uncertain of the fastest, safest solution. There's blame to be had. Something must be done. So the options are weighed and the least risky, with best result is chosen. Textbook stuff, really.
But it doesn't make the journey any easier, nor safer. Just a heightened awareness of the risk, that, over time, changes with the situation. There's no sense dwelling on how you got there, just choose the remedy and make it happen.
At the bottom, I took a deep breath, lesson learned. E took a photo;
It was dark. Stupidly dark. And I had no lights. E and I had summited the 1600m climb some twenty minutes earlier as the sun dropped behind the ridgeline. And now, half way down the road, it was dark in the open and pitch black in the trees. I was, frankly, terrified.
The road, on the way up, had been shaky at best. Less than ideal for climbing, and a challenging descent, even in daylight. Wanton golf-ball rocks were strewn across a cracked and undulating bitumen tongue, each threatening a catastrophic puncture or fall from the route as it snaked its way up the Col, two gravel fords and eighteen hairpins climbing 1200m in 12km. The descent should have been quick but challenging.
Despite starting at relatively reasonable time, a wrong turn or two had put us at the bottom of the climb about half an hour longer than expected. The col, too, took another twenty minutes longer that we'd planned. And now, in the last remaining light, there were no better options.
The other option, of course, was to walk. It was getting cold, and all food and water had been consumed to recover at the summit. Walking would take four or five times as long, without walking shoes, and would increase the odds of getting hit by a car going up or down the narrow road.
So we rolled on down, hands hard on the breaks, careful not to snatch a handful of lever and send ourselves sprawling. Eyes reaching, squinting to seek out the cracks and rocks that only an hour ago had been as plain as the day. As the trees enveloped the road, only a wisp of road was visible, punctuated by a grey hairpin, open to the sliver of light and treacherously sharp, followed by a long, steep straight of black and nothing, road somewhere beneath skinny tyres.
It occured to me that the same thinking would, one day, be necessary in a medical situation. The situation is less than ideal. Everyone's in the dark and uncertain of the fastest, safest solution. There's blame to be had. Something must be done. So the options are weighed and the least risky, with best result is chosen. Textbook stuff, really.
But it doesn't make the journey any easier, nor safer. Just a heightened awareness of the risk, that, over time, changes with the situation. There's no sense dwelling on how you got there, just choose the remedy and make it happen.
At the bottom, I took a deep breath, lesson learned. E took a photo;
The scenerios we face as physicians are usually more in the very dark twilight than the pitch black of night, but still scary sometimes. Sometimes as the physician we're the only one who really knows how dark it is, and telling the patient doesn't help them. I like the metaphor though.