Change In Plans

INJURED SURFER

Greetings from Waimarama, New Zealand!

Despite the dramatic title of the blog post, everyone is fine.  Our young friend, Ginny, dislocated her shoulder while we were surfing, and we made a trip to the emergency room in Hastings.  The whole experience made India and me think a lot (and unfavorably) about the U.S. healthcare system. 

Some background would probably be useful.  

Ginny is a 27-year-old friend of ours, who lives in Durham, North Carolina.  She is a social worker at Duke’s hospital, in the pediatric neuro-oncology department.  She takes care of children with brain tumors, and counsels their families.  She has a grim job (70% mortality), but is a lovely and upbeat person.  She used to be a counselor at Zola’s camp in the Catskills, and is a first cousin to our dear friend, Kate.  In the last few summers, Ginny and India have been partners in 20-mile Saturday morning runs, and they ran the Boston Marathon together.

Yesterday morning, India and Ginny went for a 30 kilometer run through the mountains and along the beach.  Later in the morning, India had booked us for surfing lessons with Pete, an aspiring surf instructor here in Waimarama.  Pete and India have spoken on the phone at least six times, confirming the booking and getting the details on participants, wetsuit sizes, etc.

We showed up at Pete’s house, as planned, at 11 am.  Pete was nowhere to be found, but his wife told us he was off scrounging up boards and wetsuits.  Could we come back at 12?  Surfers are not generally known for their organization.

Fortunately, Waimarama is a tiny village.  We drove the two minutes back to our beach house, and huddled around the fireplace for an hour.  It is very cold and rainy here at the moment.

At 12, we went back to Pete’s house, met the man, and got into our wet suits.  We drove another two minutes down to the beach.  Pete gave an on-sand demonstration of how to lie on a surfboard, paddle, and stand up.  Ginny had never surfed before, so the “lesson” was really for her benefit.  

Zola’s only question after the demonstration was, “Excuse me, Pete, but how did your pinky finger get cut off?”

SHREDDING!

The waves were big and beautiful, and the water was much warmer than the air.  Pete’s son, Mike, and I walked our boards in chest-deep water out to a sand bar in the back.  Zola and Ginny stayed inside with Pete.  I was thrilled to see Zola immediately get up and have a few terrific rides all the way back to the beach.  I struggled a little with the short board, but was getting the hang of it, and had a couple of good rides.

As I came up from a fall, I saw Ginny walking out of the surf, slumped over and clutching her right shoulder.  India started gesturing wildly for us to come and help.  

Apparently, Ginny’s rotator cuff was destroyed in a long-ago gymnastics injury, and her shoulder dislocates easily.  When she pushed up from the surf board to stand, her shoulder popped out.  The wet suit was compressing the shoulder in an out-of-joint position.  Ginny is a very tough person, but she was clearly in a lot of pain.

Standing on the beach, I embraced Ginny and tried, ineffectually, to pop the shoulder back in.  After a few minutes, we agreed that we should go to the emergency room in Hastings, about 30 kilometers away.  There is no medical care (or much of anything else, really) here in Waimarama.

With Ginny still in her wetsuit, grimacing every time I hit a bump in the road, we made the longish trip back to civilization.  We found the Hastings Medical Centre, and went to the urgent care desk.  India filled out a simple form, and literally three minutes later, Ginny was being attended to by a doctor and two nurses.  

They gently removed the wetsuit, and slid the shoulder joint back into place.  After checking for more significant damage, and giving Ginny some ibuprofen, the doctor sent us on our way.  He suggested that she see an orthopedist when she got home.  The total cost of the visit was $NZ 2o, or $US 10.  The receptionist insisted that we take a claim form from the Accident Compensation fund, because our $NZ 20 should be fully refundable.  

There is no tort system in New Zealand law: accident victims are compensated out of this general fund, and “blame” for malpractice or negligence is dealt with administratively.   This seems very sensible.

We were glad that Ginny was OK, and in much less pain than before.  We found a nice place in Hastings for lunch, and had a relaxed, rainy afternoon by the fire back in Waimarama.

ALL BETTER!

Our experience with New Zealand’s medical system (and similarly positive ones with Australia’s and South Africa’s) highlighted how relatively bad the U.S. system is for most medical situations.

A U.S. emergency-room visit would have involved much more paperwork, and a lot of questions about insurance coverage and ability to pay.  We likely would have waited for a couple of hours at least before anyone saw us.  Ginny would have been sent for an x-ray and/or an MRI, and a group of specialists would have been involved.  It all would have taken 6-8 hours, and would have cost at least $2,000, for basically the same outcome.

I was sorry to see Senator Daschle not get confirmed as U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services.  I wish Governor Sebellius (and Nancy-Ann De Parle) all the best in their efforts to reform U.S. healthcare.  In the meantime, except for very complicated and/or life-threatening health issues, I would rather be treated in New Zealand.

Zola and I are going back over to Pete’s this morning, hoping to surf for another hour or so.  Ginny has decided to watch from the beach today.

Note: this was written a few days ago.

Down in New Zealand, we are glad we are reading about Peter’s trek and the perils of the route after he is safely down and knocking back beers with South African mercenaries. Somehow the conversations we had over crackling cell phone connections did not mention much of the danger. While he was scaling cliff faces and getting frostbite, we are coming to a better understanding of what makes New Zealanders love living on the edge of the world.

On Monday, we moved to the Beach House, a fabulous understated house steps away from a kilometers long beach. It is in a tiny surfing village called Waimarama (could be a boy band) with only a small cafe and a shop selling cool drinks and tinned goods. While we are only 25 kilometers from the house in the wine estate, it feels like an entirely different place. The beach and the incredibly good weather have improved our moods dramatically and we are slowly understanding why people fall in love with New Zealand. It has been a gradual affair for us, but we are coming to appreciate the quiet beauty of this far away country and the modest courage of its people.

Two days ago the kids and I ventured out for what we thought would be a short horseback ride. As we are in the middle of farmland, we were told to look for someone on horseback about 20 kilometers north of here to guide us to the track. I was not expecting the handsome man who greeted us, holding a gorgeous baby atop his horse. He smiled warmly and we followed him up a hillside to where an equally beautiful, petite woman was waiting with four saddled horses. We all hopped out and were soon headed up the mountain. It was an exquisite fall day - brilliant blue skies, some of the trees turning golden already - perfect for a ride.

As always, I was a bit nervous with both Lu and Zola on new horses going up an extremely steep incline. My fears were soon alleviated when I discovered that Peter, the handsome Maori man who greeted us, is the Horse Whisperer. None of the horses were using bits in their mouths, and all would stop with a gentle tug and move forward with a slight kick. Not your usual trail horses. Peter told me that he and Colleen, his pretty wife, have 60 horses and six kids (all under age 11). I was genuinely surprised - they look like they are in their 20s and are actually both about 35. They doted on the adorable two-year old, Salem, who went on the ride with us like she was their first-born. As the ride progressed, we all feel a little bit in love with this family.

To Zola’s delight, Peter asked him to take the lead on the way to the top of the mountain. When Zola turned around to ask if he could canter, Peter shouted, “Of course!” Before I could stop him, Zola was running up the narrow ascent, whooping with glee. I quickly followed him and together we raced around the turns. Lu hung back with Colleen, but Peter, holding his tiny daughter with one arm, galloped up behind. We took turns leading the way up and as we rounded a final corner, came upon the perfect picnic setting.

There was a lone picnic table, decked with a white tablecloth, perched on the rocky ledge with 360 degree views looking back over the Tuki Tuki river valley, the wine estates, Te Mata Peak, and the turquoise Pacific ocean. Unexpected and fabulous.

Peter quickly laid out a feast of salmon, New Zealand mussels, cheeses, bread and fruit. The adults and Zola sat talking in the warm sunshine while Lu and Salem built castles out of rocks and took turns peering off the ledge. I could have stayed forever. Peter and his wife Colleen were lovely, entertaining company, the kids were blissfully unaware of time, and the views were spectacular. Finally, however, Zola got to urge to ride fast on his horse again. Before we could stop him, he was back on his horse and raring to go.

Since neither Peter, Colleen, or baby Salem wore helmets, Zola begged to take his off. I relented, partly because I also wanted to feel the sun in my face as we headed back down the mountain but mostly because I felt so safe on these amazing horses. We started our descent and alternated between cantering on the uphills and gawking at the views on the downhills. Lu asked to ride with Peter and before I knew it, she was cantering along beside me and urging him to go faster, faster, faster! It was a joy to be riding on such well-trained horses, out in the mountains, with my kids.

When we got to the bottom, I realized that I needed to go into the nearby village for some cash. Peter quickly jumped in and asked if Zola wanted to stay to ride the horses back up to the paddock. He was in his saddle in an instant. Of course, Lu also wanted to stay and Colleen insisted that it was be just fine for her to continue playing with Salem. I did a quick dash into town for cash and groceries. When I returned, I found two very happy children, covered in mud and horse hair. Zola was washing the horses, his city-boy Vans covered in muck and his face plastered with a grin. Lu was digging in the dirt with Salem, sitting at the top of a small hillock with an amazing view out over the river valley. Peter and Colleen were busy putting saddles away and laughing together. Although they needed to be back in town by 4:30 to pick up their other kids, they seemed to be in no rush. I finally dragged the kids to the car, Lu wailing to stay until she feel asleep exhausted on the drive home.

Throughout the day, Peter and Colleen professed their love for Hawkes Bay (the area where we rode), New Zealand, and their family. Their happiness was contagious and I found myself envious of their contentment with their homeland and their lifestyle. I am sure that it is not all bliss, but on this day, it seemed idyllic.

Yesterday I decided to go for a run along the beach. I had read that at low tide you can get from Waimarama beach to Ocean Beach, 8 kilometers north, along the coast. About 15 minutes into the run, I came to a wide river about two feet deep. I decided to take off my shoes and run barefoot for a while. I ended up running for almost two hours, through the shallow warm water. On one side, there were steep cliffs, on the other, tidal pools and crashing waves. I realized at one point that if a rouge wave took me, or a landslide came crashing down, no one would know where I was or what happened to me. Perhaps not entirely responsible on my part, but it was a fabulous feeling to be so completely free. I could have run for hours (although my shins are paying the price today for running barefoot).

This, I believe, is what people love about New Zealand. Not as dangerous as the Haute Route, but for a brief moment I was living on the edge here.

Our own Peter arrives back today and we have only a week or so before our own search for a home and a place to call our own hits us.

HAPPY EASTER!

Greetings from Waimarama, New Zealand!

After a series of long flights, confusing layovers, and a narrowly missed connection, I am finally back with India, Tallulah and Zola.  We are in Waimarama, on the east coast of New Zealand’s North island.  Waimarama is about a 45-minute drive from Napier, which is an hour flight from Auckland, which (as I found out) is about 30 hours’ travel from Europe.  India continues to seek out the remote and beautiful.  This house, and its beach-side setting, are spectacular.

VIEW FROM THE HOUSE (PLUS KITE SURFER)

It is wonderful to be back in the bosom of my family.  They greeted me at the airport in Napier, and I was very happy and relieved to see all three of them.  Tallulah appears to have grown about three inches in the last two weeks.  India said she has “also grown an attitude to go with her height.”  Zola’s height appears unchanged, but his hair is at least three inches longer.

The kids seemed happy with the gifts and chocolate that I brought back.  Tallulah’s shirt from the Cabane des Vignettes was too big, but she decided it was a dress.  I gave Zola all of the specialized equipment that I bought for the Haute Route, so he spent the evening marching around the house wearing the heavy backpack, gloves and glacier glasses, and holding the clasp knife and water bottle.  It was fun showing the kids my pictures (although I really am a terrible photographer), so they could put names and faces together, and see a little of what my trip was like.  Their main conclusion was that it looked cold, and that the huts were bigger than they expected.

Intellectually I knew that the family traveling group (plus Ginny) has continued to evolve since I left them, but it was still strange to experience how they have changed.  They have been in Waimarama for nearly a week already, and have explored it thoroughly.  Everyone is singing along to a new series of songs -Britney, Pink and Taylor Swift- from a CD that Ginny bought at a petrol station in Wellington.  They all dyed Easter eggs together without me, and they talk about places and people that I don’t know.  I have been hearing a lot, in particular, about the handsome Maori horse trainer who took the family for a ride in the mountains earlier in the week.

India and Ginny are out for a two-hour run, which they timed for low tide, so they could come back along the beach.  Zola and I did on-line math, and Lu and I played Twister together.  Later this morning, Zola and I are going surfing.  Within  a few days, I’m sure I will be back in the swing of family travel.  Unfortunately, a few days after that, we fly back to New York, and start reintegrating into a more normal life.

This has been an amazing year.  We will miss this lifestyle, for sure.