Yesterday was an exciting day for Steve. It was the day he’s been waiting for all week. He was to finally take possession of his new (or rather, new to him) car.
It’s an older Saab but in fantastic condition. We found it through a local classifieds advertisement. It’s owned by a vivaciously, pinkish-red haired somewhat older British lesbian woman who is an avid horsewoman. “Sue”, as I’ll call her, has only owned the car for less than a year but found it wasn’t the best of choices for hauling horse feed and needed something more practical. Earlier this week we arranged to meet so Steve could take it for a test drive. While Sue and I waited for Steve to return I freed my children from their car seats and told them to race each other back and forth down the road, hoping to burn off some of their endless energy. Shivering and jumping from foot to foot while keeping an eye on the children, Sue shared with me an incredible story.
While riding her horse on a local country road a few months ago, an American woman came driving down the road talking on her cell phone (illegal to use in England while driving) and going too fast. English driving law advises that cars stop when coming upon a horse and rider until the rider signals that he/she has the horse under control, then you can slowly drive past. This woman didn’t stop nor slow down and ran directly into Sue’s horse. The horse made a mad dash forward and ran into an oncoming car which catapulted Sue off the horse and directly into the car’s open sunroof. (Really--what are the chances she’d land directly IN the sunroof? She said a polite hello to the driver while hanging upside down.) The American woman just sat there staring while local passerby tried to catch the horse who was bleeding profusely. The horse eventually recovered and Sue spent the next two months healing the broken hip she received when she was thrown into the car.
I thought this an incredible story and made note to always watch for horses. Sue said she had only recently returned to normal mobility and was happy to finally be able to ride again. At this point, Steve returned and told Sue we would buy the car. They set a date for the following Friday to transfer ownership and payment.
Fast forward to Friday. Steve is beyond excited. I’m excited to turn in our tiny rental car that started out cute but had quickly progressed to cramped. We drive out to the stables where Sue wanted us to meet her. It’s a foggy and damp morning. We pulled in and saw Sue’s (soon to be Steve’s) car, but there was no sign of Sue. We got out and walked around but all was quiet except for the enormous black horse in the stable behind us who was making soft nickering noises. I finally went and knocked on the door of a nearby house and asked if they knew where we could find Sue. The two boys who answered said that Sue had just been taken by ambulance to the hospital five minutes earlier. Apparently she had fallen in the barn when leading her horse inside and broken her leg. The luck of this poor woman! We were shocked.
Sue got in touch with us the next day. We decided it would be best if I took over the negotiations and arrangements for the car to maintain Sue’s modesty since the process would have to happen in Sue’s hospital room where she lay in traction. So barely a week in the UK, and we’re navigating our way to the local hospital to pay Sue a visit.
This was my first experience with a British National Health Service (NHS) hospital. As an American, I’m used to expensive health care plans but beautiful hospitals with private rooms and a Starbucks in the lobby. This hospital came as somewhat of a surprise. It was a large system of buildings, not unlike most hospitals in the U.S. but this was where all similarities ended. Inside was like stepping into a scary movie where a group of young busty and unintelligent co-eds are trapped in an old, psychiatric hospital with green walls, flickering, dim fluorescent lighting, the inevitable demented spirits and the smell of decay. Obviously I have a bit of an imagination, and I couldn’t help being somewhat creeped out as I navigated the miles of mostly deserted hallways and floors to find Sue’s room. Not that hospitals are supposed to always be overly joyous places, but this one just seemed exceedingly grim.
Eventually, I found her, in a room as depressing as the rest of the hospital. Sue was sharing it with six other women which I learned was fairly standard. Everyone just lay there staring at one another. Sue looked so happy to see me I immediately felt my original mission change (from quickly signing the paperwork, giving her the payment, grabbing the keys, and running like crazy for the nearest exit), to slowing down and taking the time to sit and have a chat with her, fetching her some snacks and beverages, and taking down a list of anything else she needed from the outside world. I could tell she was feeling horribly downtrodden after having just recovered from two months of bed rest for her hip, then having to repeat the whole experience so soon for her broken leg.
I eventually did emerge from the hospital the owner of Sue’s old car, but the experience was humbling. I know our U.S. health care policy has many problems but next time I’m in an American hospital I think I’ll be a great deal more appreciative. We kept in touch with Sue and continued to bring her magazines and treats. We also helped feed and care for her giant horse, which was also quite an experience. He can be a bit cheeky (can you tell I’m picking up the local slang?) and has a tendency to bite first and ask questions later. Thankfully we all survived with fingers and skin intact. :)
Our first week in England, we’re still living in a hotel, but we’ve made a friend and have bought a car. The adventure has begun.
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