Finding Angels of Mercy in Santorini

Four Greek men who came to my rescue

(I haven’t applied myself yet to my substack, to my brand, to finding my audience, but I thought I’d post this story I just wrote on my return, somewhat wounded, from my trip to Greece. Enjoy.)

What no one tells you is that when you have a catastrophic event, the 84-year-old person (me), organizer of trips, University professor, creator of costumes, general problem solver, this person leaves the room. Who is left is a three-year-old sitting on the floor crying. 

The idea of making a plan of action, looking for help, reorganizing flights, and all of that seems overwhelming. Calling the airline and getting the menu of options, none of which seemed like the right one, waiting endlessly on hold, getting hung up on ("thank you for your call. Goodbye.”) and then starting over again, all this seemed daunting. Then, needing to find one's verification code (sent to your email), booking number, and who knows what else…..all this is just a task too much for a three-year-old.

That's when you need to find angels of mercy. And luckily, I found some.

Let me not ignore or minimize the help and support of my indomitable sister. She was at my side the entire time and did most of the reorganizing and rerouting, like the GPS when you miss a turnoff. I wouldn't have made it without her.

But we also depended on "the kindness of strangers" on three occasions. Let me introduce them.

The first was "Sortiris," our Santorini villa concierge/driver. Though he managed several properties, when we needed him, he was there in an instant, relaxed in his demeanor and with a big smile on his face. Nothing seemed too much trouble. He put his arm under my shoulder to lift me down the stairs to the car, came into the clinic, introduced us to the Greek nurses at the intake desk, and ensured we were being taken care of. Then he was off to help another client, returning later to take my sister back to the villa and back again the next morning to help get us to the port. Always with a smile and a positive attitude. A beautiful sunshine soul.

The next soul was not only an angel of mercy but, it turned out, a remarkably accomplished orthopedic surgeon who happened to be in Santorini "on rotation" from Athens. We looked him up online and found that he has reportedly done over 50,000 operations. He told me he travels to the US 3 to 4 times a year for meetings and loves Las Vegas, especially the Texas de Brazil steakhouse. I said to him, "I think you may be a fairly famous doctor, right?". He paused a moment and then, with a twinkle in his eye, said, "Maybe."

At the beginning of my operation, the anesthetist was having trouble getting the needle into my spine, which is quite twisted from scoliosis. I was crying out in pain with each new needle attempt. Dr. Papagiannopoulis (my Greek God surgeon-savior) lifted me in a bear hug and said to me, "Everything will be all right, my love." Never have I welcomed words more. The needle eventually found its mark, my ankle was repaired, and I spent the night in the clinic. In the morning my doctor had already returned to Athens, but Carol and Sortiris were there to pick up a still stunned and fragile me and get us to the ferry to Crete. (And that's a story in itself!)

In Crete, we eventually made it to our amazing villa, but I was still in my three-year-old phase, struggling to make it up to a brave ten-year-old. We did have a couple of nice days sightseeing, me in my "boot" and crutches, but my heart just wanted to go home.

Then we needed to enlist the help of our third angel of mercy, who actually were two brothers who seemed like the opposite halves of each other. Stamatis, the older brother and our host, was tall, slender, tanned, and incredibly handsome. I pictured him on a Mediterranean yacht, dressed in immaculate jeans, a white linen shirt, an expensive but not ostentations watch on his wrist, and dark glasses always hiding his eyes. The epitome of "cool." Nicos, his younger brother, was the epitome of warmth. He had an easy laugh and dark brown eyes that looked right at you when he asked about our life back home. "Don't worry," he said, we won't stop until we fix this."

What needed fixing was some red tape that the airlines required before they would let me depart Crete in a day or so, a form that needed to be filled out saying I was "fit to fly." We first tried the local doctor who had changed my bandages. No, not good enough. It had to be THE surgeon who did the operation. How do I find him? Mr Cool Brother was able to track down the doctor in Athens, who immediately sent a letter saying I was completely fit to fly. A day later, we heard this was not good enough and was not a "credible document!"

This time, Mr. Warm Brother, with the easy smile, reached the poor doctor on his mobile phone on a Saturday night at home and told him we still needed the Aegean Airlines form that would state everything he had already started!

Had it not been for these two brothers' persistence in solving the problem, I would still be in Crete, curled up in a fetal position.

But thanks to these wonderful helpers along the way, I got home. The three-year-old has stopped crying, and I think the 84-year-old may be ready to re-enter the room.