A Trail of Blood at the Museo Amparo

Yesterday, Bob and I were in the courtyard and had just entered the Museo Amparo when I heard someone call for a first aid kit. I turned toward the central fountain. Two older women were walking slowly toward the desk where backpacks were secured. One of the women was leaving a long trail of blood behind her.

An employee brought the first aid kit as the woman's friends helped her onto a bench and elevated her leg. Someone pulled up her pant leg and the employee opened the first aid kit. I looked inside. There was a puffer and a couple of enormous rolls of something. Well stocked kit, I said to myself.

I bent over the woman and introduced myself. I checked her leg. She had a deep, jagged gash from just below the knee to just above the ankle. I asked someone to get a plastic bag for a tourniquet. Someone gave me a man's necktie and I secured it around her upper leg.

The woman, her name was Harriet, was amazingly. calm. Her four friends were at a loss as to what to do, though. I said that if Harriet had her Visa, she be OK for suturing at the hospital. But she need her passport at some point.

The group of women, who were Smith College alumni from the Seattle area, had just taken another member of their group to the airport for an early flight home. She had a detached retina. There but the grace of God go we. They were lovely women. I wish I'd known them in their younger years.

I overheard one of the museum employees say that the museum would cover medical expenses. I told Harriet what I'd overheard. I suggested she get s Tetanus booster shot if she hadn't had one recently. The Red Cross arrived, the cleaners washed away the trail of blood from the ancient stones and Bob and I carried on our way to view the Pre Columbian exhibits.

Later I visited Harriet in her room in our hotel. All had gone well and the museum folks had been wonderful, one of them had gone with her to the hospital. She was going to claim expenses on her own insurance so I offered to email her a photo of the fountain gutter she'd fallen into.

Last night we attended a jazz concert -- bass violin, electric violin and keyboard at the same museum. As we passed by the fountain I looked to the ground. Not a trace of blood.