I do not normally fear for my life when taking a shower. I use a
shower mat to prevent slipping and carefully step into and out of the
tub. If I get soap in my eyes, I rinse it out before attempting to exit
the tub. Those simple precautions sufficed for over 40 years of
showering in 30 countries on three continents.
Then there was that Tuesday in Warsaw.
I thought I heard a hissing sound, but the sound of water escaping from
a Polish showerhead makes everything sound like a hissing sound. Then I
heard a very loud hissing sound and saw steam shooting from the water
heater, conveniently situated in the shower itself, you understand.
With a violent metallic KAAAKLANG-KAAAWHANG one of the pipes inside the
heater broke loose and catapulted a large rectangular piece of the
metal cover at my head. I tried to duck, but the edge hit me full force
on my right temple.
Ouch!
So there I was, teetering half-conscious in a Polish bathtub, blood
flowing freely down the right side of my head, onto my shoulder, down
my right side and right arm, and onto the side of the tub (half in half
out), and water gushing out of the broken pipe in a valiant attempt to
bore a hole through the opposing wall.
The bathroom was a mess. It was also rapidly filling up with water. I
stumbled out of the tub, trying to shake the stars out of my eyes, and
groped for the water supply shut-off valve, also conveniently located,
you guessed it, in the shower itself. Was it a lucky guess, or do you
think somebody saw this one coming?
The water stopped, but the blood just kept on coming.
I paused momentarily, waiting for the phone and doorbell to ring.
Nothing.
Be thankful for small favors, I thought.
I cleaned things up as best I could, sloshing as much of the water into
the tub and down the drain as possible. This did not stop the blood,
mind you, but it gave me something to do while I waited for my eyes to
focus. I got dressed and left the apartment for my 10am Polish language
lesson, blood still slowly flowing.
Why, you might ask, would I go to a Polish language lesson still
bleeding and half unconscious? Why not go to a doctor? I wish all of
life's questions were that simple: The doctors would still be there
tomorrow if I needed them. What I really needed was sympathy, and that
I could only find at the school, right now. Besides, they might even
have a band-aid, and anyway, I was expected.
I walked up Nowy Swiat towards the school. I had my books and papers
under my left arm and held a white handkerchief to my right temple with
my right hand in an attempt to staunch the last of the bleeding. The
white handkerchief was more red than white by now.
I heard a female voice coming from behind and just to the left of me.
"Excuse me. Excuse me, sir." I heard her say in Polish. At first I
thought maybe she was addressing someone else. Then I heard the
footsteps accelerate towards me, so I turned and saw a rather
well-dressed middle-aged woman handing me a band-aid! At first I tried
to decline, why I don't know, but she insisted, so I took the band-aid
and said "thank you." "You're welcome," she said and clicked past me on
her way.
Now I really felt silly. There I was, holding a blood-soaked white
handkerchief in my right hand and a band-aid in my left hand, books and
papers trapped under my left arm, slouching toward erudition in a
daze.
The real fun began when I arrived at the school. The entire office
mobilized, as only a squadron of Polish women can.
"Oh no, what happened?"
"Here, let me see."
"Oh, I know what will help."
"Yak. Yak."
"Jadda. Jadda."
I loved it.
Sympathy at last.
Dorota held my head still while Anya applied liberal doses of clear
fingernail polish to stop the last of the bleeding. They giggled softly
as I squirmed in anticipation of the sting. "Oh, just like a man," they
said. "Such a baby. It won't kill you. Besides, the more it hurts, the
better it is." Learn something every day, I thought, gritting my teeth
for the pain that never came.
Then with great ceremony Marisa tore off the top edge of the paper
wrapper containing the band-aid, peeled back the rest of the paper,
removed the band-aid from its sheath, slowly peeled off first one then
the other of the little plastic strips protecting the sticky wings of
the band-aid, and firmly pressed it to my temple. With mock solemnity
she proclaimed the operation a success and assured me that the patient
would live. Amen.
I dispensed my thanks to one and all as they bustled back to work and I
got on with my language lesson.
Later, of course, there was a plumber to call, a landlady to alert, and
a headache to drown, but I never did go to a doctor. Maybe traditional
Polish home remedies are the best after all, I thought.
