That time I went to hospital in Bali

I would like to say that my accompanying photo to this post gives you an insight to an amazing holiday in Bali. But I’m going to be honest with you, about 40 minutes after this photo was taken I was being driven to a hospital in Kuta.

Don’t get me wrong, the first day and a half into my working holiday in Bali was bliss.  Drinking with my work friends and going to the beach was just the start of what was going to be an amazing 4 day getaway for our travel managers conference.


But halfway into my second day I made the mistake of assuming that a one-way street in Bali actually meant it was a one-way street.  Walking across the road (and here’s the funny part) to get a pedicure, I was knocked over by 2 Indonesians on a scooter that must have been in a big hurry as they quickly reversed off me and drove off.

I was  carried off the road by a team of locals who managed to translate that this happens to tourists ALL the time.  My new Indonesian friend on his motorbike not only ran over but also braked while on my foot,  which meant that I ended up with a lovely looking toe covered in blood and bitumen.


This is the part in the story where I admit that I’m a bit of a wimp, anytime I injure myself my body usually goes into shock and I pass out.  After trying to tell my friends mid black-out that I didn’t want a mani/pedi combo anymore, I was put on the back of a scooter and whisked back to my hotel by one of the locals.

Arriving at my hotel,  tear stained and bleeding the first thing the lobby staff did was make sure I didn’t hurt myself on hotel property then offer me a fruit basket.  Asking if I could have a gin instead and being told no, I politely declined the offer of fruit and crawled to my room.

Needing some family comfort I called my sister Cassie to milk  a little sympathy. Safe to say I made the wrong choice,  instead it was zero care factor and a burst of laughter in true sisterly fashion.


I was lucky that my work friends Murray and Briarley were with me throughout the whole ordeal, and that they made sure to take care of the “adult” stuff. Calling my mum, checking my insurance & telling me to “stop being a dickhead and just go to hospital to get it checked Hollie!”

I hate hospitals, anyone who knows me knows that I resent them with every fibre of my body. And a tourist hospital isn’t any different.  The saving grace however was the right next to the “Stupid Tourist” room was the Anti-ageing suite, which I jokingly suggested to my Indonesian nurse was actually the room I needed to be taken too. She didn’t appreciate my sense of humour.


After tears, mostly Briarley’s, I was given the usual clean and cover and was free to wheel myself out of there to carry on with my trip!  I’m happy to report that it only took 3 bandage changes, 6 Panadene Forte, a pair of Briarley’s thongs and literally being carried by Murray, but I made it to the bar just in time to party in true travel agent style. Surprisingly I wasn’t the only person to end up in hospital over the 4 days.

Fast forward past hundreds of shots, some wicked dance moves and photos that included a wooden penis, I can safely say that Bali was a wicked good holiday… even with a trip to the emergency room.

Murray and I post hospital.






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