There are angels in Iceland
In a country that believes in the existence of fairies and elves, we instead met angels. And how!
The icy breeze at the base camp of Langjokull Glacier in Iceland on Oct. 30, 2024 provided serenity to the place. Branches of leafless trees were in salutation to the mountain of ice before them. The mid-afternoon sun provided no heat, what with its soft, yellowish rays seemingly trapped in the clouds. It was quiet, except of course for the sound of excitement from a number of tourists waiting for their ride to Langjokull Glacier, whose highest point is recorded at 1,450 meters above sea level.
My best friend Christine Dayrit and I, after wearing our glacier boots over our shoes and our glacier jackets provided by the tour company, eagerly lined up to board the heated eight-wheeler truck. There were about 30 guests riding the truck, with 13 passengers coming from our Filipino group. At 12:24 p.m., we started our two-hour ascent to the glacier.
Iceland, our tour guide said when we resumed the trek, is not only about Aurora borealis and waterfalls. It’s also about fairies and elves. Many of them, he said, live in the glacier mountain. Even National Geographic reported that 54 percent of Iceland’s population of 300,000 people “believe in elves or say it’s possible fairies and elves exists.”
The night before, we chased the Aurora borealis and in two occasions, we found them. The following day, anticipation warmed us anew as we got ready for our glacier tour.
At 2:23 p.m., at negative 11 degrees, we reached Langjokull Glacier. It was peaceful, except for the momentary whirring wail of the wind. Christine and I were childlike as we readied ourselves to spot a fairy or an elf when we entered the glacier cave of Langjokull through a small cavity that could fit only one body — and only when entering the cave bent.
Inside the glacier cave, our tour guide sat us down for a while to wear our crampons or chain spikes that would serve as our traction devices when we explored the cave of ice. I secured my crampons first before putting the spiked chains around Christine’s glacier boots. To make sure they were properly locked, the tour guide checked that our traction devices were intact.
Our joy echoed inside the cave. Icicles came a plenty like frozen waterfalls suspended in a crevice. There were crevasses whose cracks were decorated with lighted Jack-o-lanterns because it was Halloween when we visited Langjokull.
The cave floor was wide one minute and narrow the next. Christine and I walked side by side. We were the first ones following the lead of the guide. The rest of the group came closely after us.
At 3:01 p.m., 30 minutes to our one-hour guided exploration, the icy passage tapered to become remarkably narrow that the tunnel — borrowing light from not-so-distant lamps scattered in the cave — could fit just one body. I walked ahead of her; that was the only time Christine and I did not walk hand in hand. I was only one meter away from her when I heard a sudden thud. When I looked back, I saw my best friend on the floor, unable to move. In shock. In pain.
It was an accident. She slipped and fell on the glacier tunnel floor.
By 3:07 p.m., the paramedics came to administer first aid. A staff of the cave carried her to a wider spot before she was loaded to an orange sled that served as her makeshift stretcher. The rest of the group continued the cave excursion. The paramedics huffed and huffed inside the cave carrying Christine on a sled. By 3:42 p.m., we made it back to the eight-wheeler truck, with Christine minding her swollen left ankle. She was quiet. I was coordinating with some staff for a possible airlift. But given the weather condition atop Langjokull, it was impossible for a chopper to land on the glacier at the time.
By 4:40 p.m., when all members of the group made it back to the truck, we began our descent. It took us almost two hours to reach the base camp where our van was waiting at 6:25 p.m.
Christine butt-walked to her seat in the van. And by 7:31 p.m., we reached the ER of Landspitali Hospital, where Christine was right away attended to by a doctor and three nurses. The doctor explained that it was a bad fracture that Christine sustained. But he was hoping the X-ray would say otherwise. He recommended surgery right away if the X-ray confirmed his fear of a three-way ankle fracture. His first order for the patient: no food intake to prepare just in case an operation is needed. Our last meal was at 12 noon.
Surgery? Christine looked at me, worried and puzzled.
Hours before, we were hoping to see a glimpse of fairies and elves inside the glacier cave. The fairies and elves we did not see were the angels we met at Landspitali Hospital.
We met two Filipino nurses at the hospital — Ian Muñoz and Dane Niño Marquez, both from Cebu. Armed with compassion and TLC, they made Christine’s emergency situation bearable.
When Christine was wheeled in from the ER to the fifth floor for her X-ray, Ian, who has been a nurse in Iceland for 25 years already, saw us at the holding room. When his Icelander colleagues told him of a Filipino patient grimacing in pain, Ian, who was winding down his duty for the day, extended his hours in the hospital. Just in time when I joined the hospital attendant in bringing Christine to the high-tech X-ray room, Ian scooped some M&Ms from a jar and slid them through the pocket of my bubble jacket. Silently, he pointed to me the pantry for water, milk and juice—for free! He even told me someone would attend to me, as caregiver, for my hot meal after Christine underwent an X-ray.
Ian never left our side when Christine’s X-ray result showed she had a three-way fracture on her left ankle. He explained the dosage of the pain killers to be administered to Christine when doctors put a splint on her left foot, a procedure that was so painful that even when Christine was heavy on opioid pain medication, she still scowled in pain.
After the procedure, Ian relayed to Christine the need for another X-ray to determine if the splint was properly put because the patient moved a lot and resisted the procedure the first time. When the second X-ray revealed that a new splint should be placed properly, Ian acted as an interpreter to explain that as per doctors’ advice, she could undergo an operation instead of another splint. Consultation was done between Christine and her siblings in the Philippines. She opted not to be operated on in Iceland because she would spend one week in the hospital and another week of recovery in a hotel.
It was on the second splint procedure that we met Dane Niño Marquez, who has been with the hospital for six years. Ian endorsed us to him. During the second splint procedure, Christine was sedated, “para hindi manlaban” as Dane put it. That way, the splint would be properly placed. It was successful this time.
Dane took extra care of Christine, never left her side and gave her water and an orange when she woke up.
After 10 hours in the hospital, at 5:32 a.m. of Oct. 31, 2024, the patient was ready to be discharged—on a wheelchair. The doctors in Iceland recommended that she have surgery soon in Manila.
Before leaving the hospital, I presented to Dane our flight itinerary because we were flying back to Manila on Nov. 1 at 3 am. Due to time differences, I asked him to help me compute the exact time I would give Christine her injectable anti-thrombosis medicine while on the 32-hour flight back to the Philippines. Thrombosis was a threat we could face once airborne, the doctors at the hospital warned us.
Ten hours before our flight back to Manila via Rekjavik, a dear friend sent a concerned message that we also need to secure a fit-to-fly permit. When I looked at the medical certificate given us, there was no mention that Christine could safely fly back to Manila. Our friend, talking from experience because she also fractured her ankle overseas, told us it would help facilitate easy boarding if we had the permit.
I went back to the hospital where Ian left a fit-to-fly certificate at the concierge. True enough, the lady at the check-in counter of Reykjavik airport looked for one and with a smile, Christine, from her wheel chair, handed it to the airport staff. She was whisked off to the plane via an ambulift, a vehicle with a makeshift elevator for mobility challenged passengers.
All is well that ends well. We made friends with the Filipino flight attendants of Qatar airline (from Amsterdam to Doha, then Doha to Manila) who helped us monitor the change in time so Christine would not miss her meds. And at every stopover, Ian and Dane would check on us via Facebook Messenger.
We arrived in Manila at 6:30 p.m. of Nov. 2. We went straight to St. Luke’s BGC where Christine had her successful ankle operation by Dr. Jose Miguel Marco Lumawig after three days.
Now, my best friend is walking freely on her two feet after almost two months of therapy and being on a wheelchair, crutches and air-cast boot . She’s never forgotten the kindness of people to her. There are angels on earth. Their compassion made Christine fly in more ways than one. *
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