THE LAST THREE YEARS VI

ST ANNE, OUR HOME
Three initial months of the year, we spent in St Anne, not moving Ruyam II unless it was absolutely necessary. Sounds boring? Not really, especially when sailors from Europe start pouring in. The European sailors who wish to go around the world stop at St Lucia or Martinique after the initial crossing of the Atlantic, before tackling the second leg to Panama.

It is quite interesting to watch them unloading heaps of garbage, washing multiple bags of laundry, and filling their multiple jerry-jugs with diesel, etc around town. Talking to them is always a delight,  who have so many stories. They all agree that constant beating of the waves during the crossing was not easy, but apparently they get used to it. For me, the biggest hardship would be the feeling of utter loneliness and being away from any help. We are told that, every sailboat carry a spare of almost every part imaginable, that might break on the way. I presume there is a check-list of things to gather before starting on these long voyages.

We got to meet a new couple, who had sailed from Turkey; Atilla and Ayben of Pati. He was an engineer, she a doctor, in their early forties, who thought that the urban rat-race was too much, for life so short. They rented their respective apartments, and bid good-bye to their jobs. Commendable, but not easy to emulate before retirement. I am not sure if I would want to go gallivanting around the world at that age, but I loved my job. I could not even imagine retiring, until I hit 60. However there is no turning back, I would not start working again even if they begged me. This of course is a reflection of being able to live on warm waters, away from the bitter cold of Canadian winters.

Anyway, Ayben when confronted with a little health scare, found out about an affordable diagnostic polyclinic, where CT Scans etc were performed quite readily. We drove her in Levent’s car to the place, which turned out to be a huge complex, in the heart of Fort de France, but hardly accessible without a car. However, I am impressed with the availability of abundant health services for such a small population. It seems to be a good idea to be close to the French islands while sailing, especially for the white-haired majority, who mostly have the money and the time to live aboard.

INTERSTING PERSONALITY
We encountered another Turkish sailor, whose incredible story confirms my theory that, once a vessel is launched from the shores of Africa, it somehow crosses the Atlantic and, ends up here in the Estern Caribbean.

Cengiz of S’Boro recently bought the 28 ft mono-hull from Switzerland, which sailed quite some time on a lake, never seeing salty waters. He himself had never sailed before, but determined to learn by doing, so he hauled the boat on a truck, and brought it to Turkey. Cengiz was inspired by Sadun Boro, who was the first Turkish sailor circumnavigating the earth about fifty years previously; and decided to follow the same route.

After launching S’Boro in Karasu, which is a small Blacksea town in Turkey, he reached the island of Capri without much incident, and anchored at the mouth of the entrance to the harbor at night. In the morning, he was awakened by the harbor patrol, urging him to weigh anchor, so that the entryway would be cleared for bigger boats. After labouring for an hour to release the anchor, which was tangled in the multiple chains lying on the seabed, the patrol cut his chain, and sent him on his way.

Cengiz was able to reach the Canary Islands, where he  met with Atilla and Ayben, who were waiting to start the crossing with the ARC. According to Atilla, he tried to give some tips about sailing and using the navigation instruments to Cengiz, which fell on deaf ears. Cengiz told me when we met in Martinique, that he thought he had some instruments on board, but he had no use for them (!)

Apparently, he started the crossing on his own, and decided to tighten the shrouds somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, and broke one of them, loosing the mast! It is a miracle that he was not plastered by the mast and the sail, and was able to get rid of it, which became a liability.

I have to give it to him, that he was ingenuous enough to devise a small mast and sail from the spinnaker gear that was in store. He had also ran out of fuel, trying to supplement the makeshift sail. While looking around helplessly, he spotted a large vessel nearby, and hailed them to lend him some diesel. Incredibly, they were able to send a jerry jug in a barrel!

S’Boro was able to reach Barbados in its dilapidated form. Miracle or what? After that St Lucia, where he inquired about a mast, but found it to be too expensive. A short time afterwards, he came to Martinique, where we listened to this fairy tale with open mouths. We are no authority on sailing, so we did not comment much, except among ourselves, about the bravery of ignorance. The only thing I said was that, he should try to tone his sailing and navigation skills before tackling the Pacific, which is more troublesome with shallow areas and currents etc. He expressed confidence that he learned everything on his way here, he had nothing to worry about. There is one word for it: “ignorance”.

We learned later on that he was able to get a second-hand mast from St Lucia, and started on his way westward. He stopped for some time in Venezuela, and reached Panama recently; however he had difficulty in passing through the canal. I think he is still there, trying to find a way around the regulations.

THE LAST THREE YEARS V

CANADA AND CUBA
It is always great fun to be with my brother Cihan and his wife Marlies. They arrived in Hamilton with a friend, Karin, who was celebrating her 60 th birthday, and wished to do something extraordinary that year. She did have her wish all right.

Karin was not a very considerate baby; she decided to be born right after Christmas! If we had gone to Cuba for her exact birthday, the cost would have been much more. We had delayed our trip to Cuba for a week and her birthday celebration started with a trip to Niagara Falls area, to gape at the mostly frozen, but really majestic scenery of the falls and  to walk in the snow covered and desolate park of Niagara-on-the-lake (I could have sworn that the temperature was -50 degrees Celsius, but that was me).  All the others were well prepared, and did not complain about the cold.

After also spending New Year’s Eve in Hamilton, Al drove the whole gang (eight of us) to the Toronto airport, to take off for Cuba. Then he returned to Martinique the next day. Lucky him!

Cuba was a disaster. Almost throughout the week, the temperature was between 15 and maybe 17 degrees C (in the sun with no wind), and at night about 10. The buildings were designed to keep the guests  cool, not warm. The long open corridors to the room were the worst, the winds really blew hard at the fourth storey. The bedding did not include any cover other than a thin sheet, so even in bed one could not feel warm. We were lucky to have come from Canada, we had at least our jackets, shawls and socks etc. We talked to a couple from Argentina, who had nothing substantial to wear (coming from their summer), walking about covered in bath towels.

Some of our party got sick (Devrim and Jen, my brother), but not me, thankfully. The last two days, we were able to swim a bit; water being warm, and sun kind of relaxing when sheltered from the wind. However, I was a bit alarmed by the remnants of the sea creature called Spanish men of war (a dangerous jelly fish),  covering the whole beach, not leaving much space to step around. I had never heard of them roaming the Atlantic, but they are mostly seen in Australia. When dead, they looked like blue balloons, separated from the tail, which resembled a long piece of seaweed. If we had been in water when the invasion occurred, there would have been casualties, much worse than a sore throat. Maybe the cold weather had been a blessing.

On the other hand, we missed the extremely cold weather in Canada that week; somebody had posted in Facebook that Montreal was colder than North Pole on one of those days. The people who had come to Cuba a week before us, had to return to the extreme cold in Canada. Small mercies!

Thinking about it now is amusing, but at the time we were quite frustrated. Coming back to Martinique after the whole ordeal was magical!

THE LAST THREE YEARS IV

RETURN TO MARTINIQUE
After I was free of the lung drain, Dr. Juergens suggested if I wished I could go to Martinique, and come back for treatments every four weeks. Three weeks there, one week in Hamilton. She thought it could be tiring but refreshing. I jumped on the opportunity, with no hesitation. Spending another winter in Hamilton was not appealing at all.

While we were debating, our sailor friend Sid of Liming Time, suggested that I should check with the Cancer Centre in Antigua, which was run by some Canadian doctors. Apparently he had used their service, and thought it to be a good establishment. I wrote to them from Canada with the consent of Dr. Juergens, and found them to be quite receptive. After calculations, we thought that the cost of airfare would be slightly less than the drug (when purchased from India though, the US price was 20 times more), administration extra. While I was contemplating, my brother (always adamant) begged me to reconsider, citing the drugs made elsewhere being unreliable; and told numerous stories. He really spooked me, and I decided against the idea. It could have been very convenient to anchor around Antigua and take the bus for the treatments! Possibly it was nothing but the arrogance of the European, badmouthing the drugs made to specifications, but sold at a lower price in the third world, which I think only reflects lower labour costs, not quality. Who knows? But at this juncture, I need full confidence in the treatment, even if it may be physically more demanding for my body to travel each month.

We returned to Le Marin in November, and took our baby out of the filthy marina, and anchored in our usual spot at St Anne. What a relief, to breath the salty humid air, after the dry and polluted one of Hamilton.  However this visit was to be short, since my brother was to visit Canada during holidays to see me, and travel to Cuba for a week. Al and I returned to Hamilton right before Christmas, and after New Year’s, Al returned to St Anne, and we (the whole family with the children) flew to Varadero, Cuba.

CHRIS THE WATER FAIRY
One day while whizzing by in the dingy, we saw a little yellow boat having a sign about delivering water, and a telephone number. We usually get our water from the service dock at the marina in Le Marin, every 10 days or so. It had started to become a burden to weigh anchor, motor half an hour, and wait our turn about the service dock, circling like sharks among numerous boats. I think the most stressful aspect of taking water was the waiting for other boats to clear a space (as soon as the boat gets tied, the world around them fade away, and life becomes slow motion). There is always plenty of wind, and not enough space to go around. So, seeing the possibility of such service was a happy moment for Al. He immediately started calling the number, at first without success, but one time it went through, and Chris came to our boat to discuss. We later learned that, we had been his first customer, and quite loyal too! Chris always talked extensively about his business aspirations, and St Anne politics while filling our tank. Apparently the mayoralty was in the hands of separatist (not Martinique separating from France, but small town of St Anne separating from all the rest). The absurdity of the scheme is not lost on Chris, and he was cursing the existing  politicians with relish, accusing them of being against all business owners at the town and the sailors anchored at the bay. We usually just listened to his frustrations, in half English, half French, and expressed wonder.

Just before leaving for Canada before Christmas, Al mentioned our travel plans, told Chris his predicament of returning on a week day, and having no one to meet him at the airport and also give him a ride to the anchored boat. We had decided to leave Ruyam II anchored at St Anne, and not tied at the marina, which had no space during the holidays. Chris immediately offered his services, complete with  delivery to the boat for a measly 50 Euros. He indicated that he was thinking of expanding his business, and hiring some people to free up his time. Well done Chris! He is such a personable and smart guy, albeit looking like a teenager. The lucky islanders, never show their age.

THE LAST THREE YEARS III

OUT OF HOSPITAL
After three days in Intensive Care, and another in a normal room (only 1,000 Euros/day), and 2 liters of effluent off my lung, the doctors gave me the go ahead to leave the hospital. The morning of discharge, Al went to see the social worker who was supposed to help with the tentative invoice in his hand: 12,000 Euros. When he explained that we did not have that kind of money to pay off-hand, she asked about what we had been doing in Martinique. As soon as she heard about the boat, she dismissed Al as not being needy at all. So that was that; we had this debt which could not be disputed or negotiated down. However, all they had as security was our address in Canada and a copy of my passport, as well as our boat in the marina. They let us go, indicating that the real invoice was to be processed and sent to our address from a French government office.

I have to say that, I felt lucky that I had been in the best possible place to get sick. In my opinion, no other island can offer comparable service as promptly and efficiently, except maybe Grenada’s St George’s university hospital, but I presume that it would be more costly, since it is owned by Americans.

On our way out, Al assisted me to the car park, and almost got a heart attack seeing the car. While being parked, the car was hit by somebody, who did not bother to leave any contact information. Al was very angry, but confident that he had full coverage and completely blameless. He was told not to worry when he returned the car. Yea, they always say don’t worry, and stab you with the news later. After we returned to Canada, he was charged 300 Euros, which was the deductible portion of the “full” coverage. People have to make sure what they are getting into while signing rental agreements! Now, we pay a few extra Euros for the “full full” coverage, and rental agency does not worry about showing the existing numerous dents and discolorations around the car.

BACK TO CANADA
While I was at the hospital, Al and Nejat brought Ruyam II to the Le Marin marina from St Anne, and tied it to a convenient dock tentatively, until our fate was to be decided. We left our keys with Levent, who promised to check on our baby from time to time, and flew to Montreal on December 13 th.

While he was looking at flight options, Al saw that there was one the next morning to Hamilton from Montreal, but we would have to stay the night for it. It was perfect for me, since it shortened the flying time for the day, and eliminated the one hour drive from Toronto. We notified our children, Devrim and his girl-friend Jen came from Ottawa, to our hotel in Montreal; and spent the night with us. They were worried sick, but were a little relieved after seeing that I did not look too bad.

Next morning, after arriving in Hamilton, my daughter Ayse and her wife Maggie met us at the airport, and drove us to St Joe’s hospital as instructed. Ayse had even gathered some necessities, in case I would be hospitalized.

The experience at the emergency was nothing less than awesome. We only waited an hour before getting my story told, seeing a doctor, having X-ray and CT Scan as well as ultra-sound performed. The longest wait was for the blood test, but the whole operation was finished before 4:00 pm. We had arrived around 10:00 am.

They told  me that all appointments with doctors were going to be done by them, and I should just wait for calls from nurses, and let me go home. And they did. I saw three doctors  before  Christmas. There was some talk about taking a biopsy, but they decided against it, since there were enough of the cancer cells in the fluid.  So the only intrusive procedure was pushing another drain tube to my lung to get a sample of the effluent for the lab.

CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR’S EVE
The whole family gathered at Hamilton for the holidays. It was kind of bitter-sweet for me, but since diagnosis was not completed, it was not completely hopeless for the children. We had a great time, and I was able to cook and enjoy the company. We even visited Toronto for sight-seeing. I was having a little difficulty in walking fast, but feeling fine.

Right before the end of the month, I received a call from my lung specialist to see him first thing on January 2nd, 2017.

DIAGNOSIS / PROGNOSIS
The lab results confirmed the existence of cancer cells, which appeared to have gone all around the body (stage 4), but not on any major organs. The doctor indicated that the  chemotherapy was to be administered by an oncologist at the Juravinski  Cancer Centre, and he did not have much to say about it. When I asked about prognosis, he asked me what I thought was likely to happen. I do not usually have too much confidence in most of the drugs anyway, but what I had heard about chemo was quite bleak. So I responded that my immune system was probably going to be shot without a cure, and he shook his head in agreement. He also said that I had heart disease on top of the cancer. I confidently corrected him, that it was not the case, my poor heart was as strong was ever, and that fluid had been the excess of the lung. I declared that the doctors at  Martinique had assured me of that, and kind of prepared me for the diagnosis as well.

The way that the doctor handled the news made me so angry that, I swore to show him what I was made of. I did not believe that I could be dying before the end of the year.

ONCOLOGIST
Dr Juergens at Juravinski is also a professor at McMaster, and doing research in immunotherapy. She decided to use conventional chemotherapy first, and maybe proceed to immuno later, if chemo failed. It has been longer than two years now (first administration was mid-February, 2017) that I have been receiving chemo, and I am going strong, thank god. The fist part of the treatment was full force for six sessions, three weeks apart. Two separate drugs were given over two hours, and the expectation was such that, the poison would affect one’s stomach, as well as all the renewed cells growing in the body. Hence, hair, nails, skin would be adversely affected, and nausea would set in. A battery of other drugs were prescribed for the side-effects. Thankfully, I had no need for the nausea pills, and reduced the intake of steroids to one per treatment.

Before the chemo sessions started, I got a very short hair-cut in anticipation, so that if my hair fell out, it would be easier. Didn't happen, and my hair grew back instead. I started to joke with friends, whether I was getting a placebo or what. Every time I see the doctor, first question is about appetite. Unfortunately, thanks to the steroids, my appetite is growing, so are my hips and tummy.

FLUID IN THE LUNG
Unfortunately, chemo did not dry the effluent in my lung quickly as expected. In March, a surgeon in St Joe’s stuck a permanent drain to the lung, leaving the plugged end dangling, and arranged a nurse to come home and drain it three times per week. They said home care was more efficient and clean, and I tended to agree. My brother (doctor) was adamant that keeping the tube clean was utmost important, since it gave direct access to my lung, and any bacteria entering it, in my vulnerable condition, would be fatal. Moral of the story is to keep it and the environment clean.

I turned the sectional couch in our living room, and its coffee table, into our nursing station. First gave a thorough cleaning and sterilizing to the leather of the couch, and found a plastic picnic tablecloth for the table,  which was to be wiped by Lysol before using. 

Every time right before the arrival of the nurse, I would wash the floors, starting with the front door, all the way down to the station. I even washed the only piece of carpet under the coffee table. Fortunately for me, the draining operation was concluded without any incident. I was able to live my life between drainings, by  covering the plugged tube, looped at my left side, by adhesive plastic. I even traveled to Linz, Austria with Ayse, on her business trip in June, 2017. She pampered me with first class tickets from Condor airlines (only $500 more than a regular Lufthansa ticket).

The best were the fully reclining seats during the long flight, and admittance to the lounge while waiting at the Frankfurt airport. Al and Ayse were trained by the nurse to operate the draining bottles, which gave me the freedom to travel wherever.

2017 WINTER AND SUMMER
The whole time between February and September was occupied by visits to the hospitals and receiving nurses at home. The drainage operation was a success, after a while, every session was yielding a lesser amount of effluent, until it became negligible at the end. My surgeon decided to yank the tube out at the end of September, and we started thinking of reuniting with Ruyam II. 

SUMMER IN MARTINIQUE
In June, while I was away, Al decided to go to Le Marin, to effectively close the boat for the summer season. He got it cleaned, covered up all the hatches etc, and hired a guy to keep an eye on our baby while tied at the marina. Since we did not know when we would be back, we wanted to keep it safe.

Al always follows the hurricanes on the Internet. Every summer we had left Ruyam II at Grenada, and no major hurricanes occurred in the south Caribbean until 2017. The only year that we left it in Martinique, the major hurricane Maria happened to come disturbingly close. At the last moment it changed course to the north and hit Dominica instead. Even though its tail end created some havoc in Le Marin and St Anne, our side of the marina was safe from any damage.

Talk about a close call. While we were following its course, we were so anxious, that we called our guardian (in French that’s the title of the person looking after boats) several times during a day. He assured us that there were no loose objects lying around the  deck, and the ties to the dock were tripled at every direction, etc. Last couple of days we were on constant watch, biting our nails. What a relief that it changed course, but also very sad for Dominica. Our hearts bled for the nice people of that beautiful island. In our opinion, it is one of the best in the whole Caribbean to spend time. And they are not rich, but independent, dignified and very industrious. They grow vegetables and sell in even in St Martin (not that close) and Martinique. We had bought from those merchants and talked to them about some vegetables we had never encountered before, got recipes.

Poor Dominicans were hit very hard that time, and once more slightly a year after. Apparently they started to recover, but what a blow to the people, who are trying so hard to carve out a living.

THE LAST THREE YEARS II

THE BOMBSHELL
In the morning, a group of doctors came to see me, a lung specialist among them. She bluntly advised that, the CT Scan showed a tumor in my left lung, and the fluid in the lung was my body's reaction to it. When asked, she speculated that the growth was probably cancerous, but she could not say without histogram investigation. She also indicated that, if it were cancer, the only treatment available was chemotherapy, since the fluid was saturated by the cancer cells, ready to invade the rest of the body.
I can't explain the shock I felt. I did not feel sick at all, when did this happen? I felt young and strong, and could not believe that my days on earth were numbered. Until it was to be proven, I decided to keep the information to ourselves (Al and I), and not to alarm the children. It was my daughter Ayse’s tenure year; she needed to focus on her work, and not to be distracted. I even thought after returning to Hamilton to stay with a friend during the diagnosis process. But Al could not carry the burden of such magnitude, and sat down to share it with everybody!

That day was like a dream (nightmare) when my life turned upside down, and I did not know what to think. However, I took stock of my life and decided that it had been great so far. I had always been surrounded by love and did whatever I wanted. I have no regrets, and considered myself lucky. It gave me a will to fight this calamity to the end, so there!

That evening, one of the cardiologist declared that he wanted to drain the fluid in my heart, since it was not draining by itself. So, he inserted another tube to my chest and completed the procedure in a few minutes. Then I felt my heart beating like crazy, and told the doctor that it gave me palpitations. He laughed, saying that I just started feeling the beating of my heart, which had been buried in fluid until now. Wow! Talk about ignorance.

As it turned out, I could have died while walking up and down the stairs and hills from cardiac arrest, or from the blood clot, if it had not been disbursed into smaller parts in my lung. Lucky or what.

NEXT FEW DAYS
Al rented a car, and started spending all his time with me during the day. The doctors were adamant that I needed to rest under supervision, until all the fluid was drained from my lung. Yea, but a night at Intensive Care Unit costs 2,200 Euros, who is going to pay for this? When I asked, the doctors dismissed the concern. They indicated that it was their responsibility to give me the best care and prevent any adverse effect of being discharged prematurely. Also, there were organizations who helped the needy. No need to worry. Yea, right!

DEALING WITH FAMILY DOCTOR IN HAMILTON
They said I should make arrangements to get a hospital in Canada to admit me as soon as possible. So thinking of knowing the Canadian system, we thought the best way to ensure it was to call Dr Au, and get her work on our behalf. The conversation with her assistant was the second shock we had to endure. Dr Au did not have hospital admittance priliviledges, there was nothing she could do for me. End of story.

My curse for Dr Au to be in a situation where she would feel utterly helpless and alone in a foreign country some day!

Thank God for Internet. Al looked up for hospitals in Hamilton with thorax specialists, and found the telephone number for St Joe’s Hospital. The person who answered instructed Al to take me to the emergency immediately, and they would take it from there. Instant relief. Could not that damned assistant say this to Al, instead of dismissing him with not even a kind word. What do they teach these young physicians about humanity. Being a doctor is a calling, to serve other people. I come from a family of doctors, my grand father, my father, my brother, uncle, cousins.  Never observed such utter disinterest about the patient, who is apparently only seen as dollar signs. The arrogance of the new generation of doctors is incredible. After returning to Hamilton, I immediately changed my family doctor, and talked to a few in the process. Afterwards, I learned from a professor at the Calgary University that the new doctors were not doing any rotation among the different clinics, so know nothing. What do they really learn? To push drugs, without really investigating the real causes of diabetes, high blood pressure etc. They prescribe tests, and give drugs. Period. No physical examination, listening to the heart/lungs etc. They seem to be afraid of catching a disease by touch. When we first met Dr Au, Al had asked about that, indicating that our previous doctor, Marc Langille of Ottawa, used to examine our bodies during the yearly physicals. Dr Au’s response: “what did he find?”. There was nothing to find at the time, but how did she propose to find anything if she did not look? I should have found somebody else at that instant, maybe I would have a better chance with the cancer. But I was invincible at the time.

I have another beef with Dr Au. Both my daughter Ayse and I needed a dermatologist, but she postponed referring us a year. Mine was a rash on my leg, so maybe not very important, but hers was a cyst on her back, around her shoulder blade. Apparently Dr Au looked at it, and declared that things like that were tricky, and she would not touch it. OK, send her to somebody who can. No, not until I put my foot down after a year, and got her to find a specialist. As soon as the doctor looked at Ayse’s cyst, she operated it out, saying that it was about to burst. Go figure!

THE LAST THREE YEARS I

The last time I wrote was about our sail to Antigua in 2016. After returning to Martinique, we left for Grenada after a short time. We had decided to take advantage of the low prices offered at Clark’s Court marina, which was in the process of being established at the time.

After reaching the bay, we tied to Whisper Cove marina (across the bay) to get Ruyam II ready for summer, since Clark’s Court did not have good facilities to live aboard at the time. After a week or so, and having celebrated my birthday, we got the baby on ground and left Grenada for the summer.

SUMMER OF 2016
After coming to Hamilton, Devrim, Ayse and I left for Turkey for a short vacation. By the time we were back, the summer was half way over, and I did not have the energy to renew my membership at McMaster University gym. I was feeling tired and started lazing around all day, and hence put on a little weight. Since it did not seem right, I went to see our new family doctor Emily Au to complain.

She asked what the problem was, and decided without any physical examination that I should start eating less, and exercising. Doctor’s orders, get back to work I said. Every morning, I spent an hour and a half, going up and down the two escarpment stairs (300+ steps), walking or biking in the middle. I don’t think I lost any weight, but I started to feel a bit better.

BACK TO THE CARIBBEAN
Beginning of November 2016, we were back at Clark’s Court. We found that they had finished the small hotel building, and renting suits with a bathroom and kitchenette. That was convenient, and I spent most of my time reading in the air-conditioned room, while poor Al was getting the boat ready, almost broke a limb or head in the process. He fell from the make-shift ladder to the boat on hard, with the outboard engine. He is always so sure-footed that, it did not occur to him, or the helper, to secure the engine before bringing it down. Anyway, most to the damage was a scratch on his big toe. When I think about it I shudder. He could have broken his arm/leg or head, since there were big blocks of concrete near by, where Ruyam II was attached.

MARTINIQUE
After a week of preparation and bottom paint, we went our merry way to St Anne, Martinique.

Around mid- November I started to feel out of breath while walking up the small hill passing by the cemetery. That was quite surprising, since I always walk up very fast and wait for Al at the peak. I thought I might be under the weather or something. After a week or so, I noticed that my left leg was swelling.

HOSPITAL
On December 2 nd, my leg was double its size and hot to the touch. We thought that it was time to see a doctor. We jumped to the bus and went to see our friends Levent and Guylaine at their kebab shop. At first Guylaine took me to the doctor at the Marina in Le Marin, but it was closed. So she called a “mobile doctor”, and let me talk to him. He asked what my complaint was, and I said swollen leg and difficulty in breathing. Afterwards, the doctor told Guylaine that he did not think it was serious enough for him to come. Unbeknownst to me at the time, that this was the symptom of a blood clot forming in my leg, which launched itself into my lung. So much for the doctor. Apparently, he was listening to my voice, rather than my words. My voice was not faint enough and I might have laughed while talking. Al started admonishing me for not displaying a more patient-like way of speaking. Well, I did not know how to act, sorry.

It was obvious that the only help I could get was to be at the hospital. We took the car that was rented by our sailor friends  Melike and Nejat of North. We got the directions for the university hospital in Fort de France, and went to the emergency. However, that particular emergency was for the children’s hospital, so I had to walk up a path to the real emergency. By the time I walked in, I was completely out of breath. The nurse saw me and asked if I had asthma. They told us to wait, it was noon (sacred in  France). I watched the admission lady finish her foot-long baguette, and turn to me to fill my form. Immediately afterwards I was taken to a small room, where a doctor and nurse examined me, took a cardiogram, attached a drip to my right arm, put me on a gurney. She thought that it could be an aneurysm, so gave  a shot of blood thinner. Then they put me in a corridor full of other gurneys, mostly old people. I was worried about Al, because he had no idea what was happening to me, left at the waiting room, without his lunch. So I got hold of one of the doctors running here and there, and with my great French, begged to tell Al that he should go and find something to eat.

Hours passed, but nothing happened. I got up, and dragging my ivy stand, walked to the bathroom. When I was out, a distraught looking orderly shouted that I should have waited to be wheeled to the bathroom. That was a surprise, I had no trouble walking!

It was almost quitting time, and I was still lying down, twirling my fingers. At last my doctor came by, and announced that I was not going anywhere that night, except the CT Scan room. They had an archaic  machine, which made a lot of noise, but did the job. Al came to walk by me to the intensive care at the Cardiology department, and left.

The doctor informed me that my lung and heart was full of fluid, and they had to be drained. They placed a tube through my ribs to my lung, and started the process of draining my lung into a closed box. I was left alone for the night, but  could not sleep. I was looking at my heart rate (over 120) on the  monitor. Unbelievable, it usually 60 at rest.

TO JOLLY HARBOUR

After a week of twists and turns in English Harbour, we headed west. Up to Old Road Bluff, which is almost the mid-way, water is free of hazards 100 yards away from the shore; however almost after the bluff, a mile square of reefs lie to the south of the island, leaving a narrow channel to navigate through, in order to get to the west shore. It is possible to go from either side of the reefs, but the channel is more protected with calm waters, and south of the scattered reefs is exposed to the east winds and high seas.

Against my character, I insisted that we take the channel, against Al's suggestion to the other route, fearing that his patience might run out while making such a big arc, and run into trouble. After going  into the channel, it became obvious that; first of all it was not very narrow, secondly, the reefs to the south were quite visible, and the rocks on the way to the north were avoidable, and not too far out of the shore. The most amazing part is the varying colours of the water, the shallow parts being a watery turquoise, navigable parts (mostly around 16 - 20 ft) a little deeper, but in no way dark. However, the water was calm, while the outer seas kept on roaring and breaking on the reefs in the distance.

After turning the south west corner, getting to Jolly harbour takes half an hour. The sea in the whole area is very shallow, with some even shallower points here and there. North of Jolly bay, leading to the harbour is protected by a cluster of rocks called Five Islands, and a connected bluff. A smaller mound to the south separates it from a long strip of sparkling white sandy beach, called Jolly beach, a famous destination for the cruise-ship passengers and vacationers. There are a number of resorts / short duration rental homes etc around the area, which drive prices high for the cruisers. The marina at the end of the harbour is popular, the long term storage fees for the boatyard is supposed to be competitive to Grenada and Trinidad. However, everything else is expensive.

We came to the Jolly Bay, and dropped anchor in 8 ft of water, close to the harbour entrance.

According to Doyle, a long and narrow channel was dredged in the middle of the bay to form the entrance to the harbour, which is well marked (intended for boats with deep draft). Of course we don't care.

We will stay here for a week and start our way back to martinique.