September 28 2010 was a day when things seemed destined to go completely off the rails. Rick had been unable to sleep for much of the previous night and woke with a nagging headache. We had a late start, lingering over coffee in the cockpit, staring at the panoramic view from the Gemiler Adasi anchorage and debating the options for our last stop before Marmaris. We decided to try Tersane, with Tomb Bay as our back-up plan. We finally got underway, snapped a few more photos of Gemiler Adasi on the way out, and approached the entrance to Tersane shortly after noon. (By the way, this was not the same cove we had visited in Kekova Roads; this was a different Tersane, in Skopea Limani)

On the WorldCruisingGuide site, Howard from the boat "Just Imagine" had this to say about Tersane: "Since I was single-handed, I dropped my stern anchor in deep water, aiming for bollard to which I planned to tie, and then dropped a few meters of bow anchor in the shallow water near the shore. I was then able to take my time rowing a bow line to shore."

Sounds simple, doesn't it? If we'd read Howard's comment first and tried this method, perhaps the whole day might have turned out differently. Instead, we tried dropping our bow anchor and reversing in. In the very narrow channel with the wind suddenly piping up, things didn't go well. Rick tried again, motoring outside the channel and reversing into the anchorage at full speed, but the strong wind was pushing Aisling's bow in exactly the wrong direction and she was determined not to cooperate. After providing twenty minutes of entertainment for the crews of several capably-anchored yachts and a flock of bleating goats, we decided that Tomb Bay might be a better place to spend the night. We motored out of the channel feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs. Aisling may be a thoroughbred on the high seas but, in reverse with any breeze, she acts more like a mangy mutt.

I cheered up a lot as we sailed into Tomb Bay, passing underneath the ancient Lycian rock tombs nestled into the cliffs overlooking the anchorage. There appeared to be lots of room for Aisling, but after a quick tour we realized that every boat in the anchorage was positioned between two bollards with double lines off the stern, effectively halving the capacity of the small cove. We decided to make an attempt at tucking into the last spot on the north side, where we would have to improvise by taking a stern line around a tree on shore. (We later learned that this is forbidden, so I don't advise that you do this). We dropped the bow anchor and reversed toward shore, then Rick rowed ashore with the stern line. But the wind was still giving us grief and the flat-rope stern line (from our reel device) was slipping badly on the winch as I tried to pull it in. I became increasingly concerned as I watched Rick struggle on shore and fall from the slippery rocks into the water. Eventually, with the help of the captain of a Turkish charter gulet, we managed to get the boat into position. When Rick returned to the boat, he was drenched to mid-chest. He looked tired, and a bit worried.

Thinking that we would do our usual debrief, I asked him "What went wrong?" He looked at me blankly and said "I don't know". That struck me as strange, because generally he knows exactly what I should have done differently! Then he looked back toward the stern and said "How did that line get ashore?" After a few more questions, I realized that he had no recollection of recent events. It was as though someone had turned off the switch to his short-term memory.

I knew that I had to take Rick to a doctor as quickly as possible, but since I had no idea how to find the nearest hospital, or even the nearest road, this wasn't a straightforward matter. Also, I wasn't confident that the anchor was well set and was worried about leaving Aisling unattended. Since Rick didn't seem to be in any immediate distress or danger, I decided to take the boat to the closest marina, then take Rick to a hospital as soon as possible. Calling across the water to the gulet captain, I explained that Rick was ill and asked for his help releasing the shore line. He told me that there was a hospital in Gocek, and also that he could call for a hospital boat if it was an emergency. With no idea of how long it would take for the hospital boat to arrive, and suspecting that they would do nothing other than transport us to Gocek, it seemed best to weigh anchor and take both Aisling and Rick to Gocek. Looking back, Rick is convinced I made the right decision, although I still wonder if waiting for the hospital boat might have been wiser. I can at least say that it turned out well and, as the day unfolded, I was glad we didn't have the added stress of worrying about the security of the boat.

On the way to Gocek, I asked Rick a series of questions to assess the extent of the problem. Although his short-term memory seemed to have gone south, he was alert and fully functional in every other way. He remembered all the key facts about our lives, was able to interpret the navigational information on the chart plotter and pointed out hazards along the way.

At this point, I was feeling pretty distressed myself. As we entered Gocek bay, I attempted to reach the Skopea marina on the VHF, with no response. After several fruitless attempts, I put out a call for a radio check, asking if any boat in Gocek Bay could hear me. The skipper of the vessel "Golden Horn" responded and offered to contact the marina on his mobile phone. Almost immediately, he called back on the VHF to say that someone would be waiting on the dock to take our lines, then came out in his tender to lead us to our berth. As I secured the lines, the marina manager passed up a hand-drawn map with directions to the hospital. I tried to collect my wits along with credit cards, money and passports. "Don't forget to bring a notebook" said Rick, "We might need to take notes".

At the Gocek hospital, we waited less than 5 minutes before being seen by a physician named "Jamie" who spoke excellent English. He examined Rick, checked his vital signs and had him repeat some tongue twisters. Jamie reassured us that Rick was not having a stroke but recommended that he be taken by ambulance to the hospital in Fethiye, where he could be examined by a neurologist. I was grateful and relieved when Jamie told us that he would accompany us to Fethiye, and even more grateful when he was able to convince the driver to break policy and allow me to ride in the back of the ambulance with Rick. "Under the circumstances" he said, "I think it's best".

Throughout the ambulance ride, Rick looped through a series of repetitive questions, always using identical phrases and gestures. Everything began to take on a nightmarish quality. Fortunately, it was a quick ride to the Lokman Hekim Esnaf hospital, where Rick was examined by a neurosurgeon almost immediately. The neurosurgeon was convinced that Rick had a head injury, and ordered an MRI. The neurosurgeon and the nurses spoke very little English, but a representative of the hospital's "tourism" department, wearing a cheerful red jacket, assured us brightly that she and her co-workers would be there to help us throughout our stay.

Then, as is usually the case in hospitals, we began waiting. Waiting for the MRI, waiting for a diagnosis, waiting for the nurse to start an IV....but most importantly, waiting for Rick's symptoms to improve. At 6 p.m., approximately three hours after the episode began, I heard Rick thank a nurse using the Turkish words "Tesekkur ederim" and realized that he was beginning to recover. During the next hour, he continued to improve, but the period between 3 p.m.and 6 p.m. remained a blank for him.

The day had been hot and I was frantically thirsty. By 7 o'clock, I decided that I could dare to leave Rick for a few minutes and went out to buy water. I gulped down a bottle like a man who had been lost in the desert (oh, it tasted so good!). Then I bought a T shirt to cover my skimpy tank top, which had clearly not been producing a favorable impression on the nurses. Things were looking up. Unfortunately, back at the hospital, I realized that the chest of the T shirt featured a cartoon of a perky looking rabbit wearing sunglasses. I decided that the sin of tastelessness was infinitely preferable to the sin of indecency and pulled it on.

Shortly afterward, Rick was given an MRI and was told that he would have to stay in the hospital overnight for observation. He was given a private room with a TV and a phone to call for in-room dining and English translation. To my amazement, I was also provided with a divan in his room, along with pillows and a blanket. Unfortunately, since Rick was not permitted to eat or drink anything, we couldn't take advantage of the in-room dining, but we were so tired that we barely noticed we were hungry. My brother James called our cellphone just as we were getting settled, and suddenly I didn't feel quite so alone.

The next morning, the neurosurgeon dropped by and reassured us that Rick was not in any danger. "But you should go back to Canada soon and get more tests" he said, "and no smoking!" After a delicious Turkish breakfast (a very happy moment) we were cleared for discharge.

We can only hope that a Turkish tourist visiting Canada would have as favorable an impression of our healthcare system as we have of theirs. And our entire bill, including the MRI, was roughly $750 Canadian! We were treated with great competence and compassion at both hospitals and we will always be grateful, especially for Jamie's kindness. We would also like to thank the captain of the Golden Horn, for helping us get Aisling safely berthed at Skopea marina.

Back in Canada, Rick was given a clean bill of health by a neurologist, who confirmed that his MRI was completely normal.

We had a long debate about whether to include this story on our blog. We decided to post it because 1) it's part of our story, and we're trying to include both the good and the bad and 2) it really made us realize the importance of both partners knowing how to operate the boat. The experience of watching a spouse become suddenly vulnerable is terrifying, perhaps even more so in a foreign country without support from friends and family. It could have been much worse if we had been on a passage. Much has been written about the "suddenly alone" experiences of those who rely on their spouses to operate the boat. At risk of getting on a soapbox, it's really important to at least know how to perform basic navigation, steer, operate the engine and use the radio. Back in the days when our children were small, I probably would have had great difficulty coping if anything had happened to Rick while we were sailing. Since then, I've had the benefit of a lot more experience and several courses from the Canadian Power Squadron (something I would highly recommend to anyone who plans do to any extended double-handed cruising). But I still need to work on docking, undocking and.... lots of other stuff.

I've decided to take a stand and practice everything until it becomes easy. On the way back to Marmaris from Gocek, I told Rick that I'd be taking the wheel to dock the boat at Yacht Marine. Aisling, the dock and the neighbouring boats all came through it without a scratch. How about that?