Sunday, bloody Sunday... on a Thursday

Last night in Roatan! So sad to be leaving, we went out for a big celebration! It was memorable to say the least. Emi and I got a late start because we cooked up a yummy dinner for two at our sweet hotel room which consisted of pasta for the third time this week... YUM! This time we cooked it alone though... no strange Douglass cook to intercede... don't ask. During dinner we vegged out on the couch and watched some much needed American television... HBO to be exact. It was a crazy White Trash movie with Charlize Theron and Patrick Swazey but amazing no less.
We started the evening's adventure at a bar called Nova. Really cool outside bar with black lights and dancing. Talked a bit to an Italian who lives in Roatan until Emi and I distinguished that the BO smell was absolutely coming from him... EW. Needless to say we scooted as subtlely as possible away from Martin and struck up a fun conversation with an American girl who was there with the Peace Corps... INTERESTING! Have always considered that opportunity... Back on track for a fun night! Our local friends, Carlos and Cuny showed up and we all decided to head down the street for some Reggae dancing - YAY!
Bars in Roatan strictly enforce a closing hour of midnight no matter who or where you are... LAME! So a group of us jet out of the Reggae club to head to an after party and lord knows whos casa. Well on our way out in true clumsy Krissie fashion, I missed a step and rolled my right ankle. Bending my left knee reflexsively, I caught myself hard and popped right back up. In seconds Cuny and Carlos were at my elbows ensuring that I was ok. I thought I was totally fine other than a scrape on the knee and a sore ankle that would subside in a moment or two. Gritting my teeth, I tried to explain this to them. Carlos wasn't buying it and he bent down to get a closer look at the "scrape" on my knee... I believe his exact words were "WHOA! That shit deep!"
Emi took me back to the hotel where we attempted to wash the gravel out on our own to no avail... that shit was in fact deep! Carlos drove us about twenty mins into town to the emergency 24 hour doctor. 1:30AM we woke the doc up but banging on the metal gate that covered the office entrance. Inside the doctor took a look at my knee and was like "wow!" I did, in fact, need stitches. NOW the tears came! OHHH man stitches in Honduras! OHHH no! The doc comes back with all the proper materials, cuts open the saline bag for cleaning, and hands it to Carlos! CARLOS! Carlos looks at us and goes... "oh, I doctor now." At the doctor's instruction he then pours the saline over my knee... YOUCH! No alcohol can mask the pain now... The doc gives me FIVE shots of anethesia in the wound. OH MAN! Each time Cuny said, "one more, just one more." FIVE TIMES one more! Once it was numb though, the cleaning was easy. FOUR (although I thought he SAID five) Honduran stitches later we hobble out of the office all patched up and head back to the hotel.
Rolled ankle and stitches in Honduras! Check out the pics!