Like Baby Jessica in the 1980s, I achieved mild fame by falling in a hole. (Youngsters may not remember how the nation was rivited for three days when a baby named Jessica fell down a narrow but deep well. The nation sat glued to the television as we waited in suspense for three days to see if Baby Jessica would make it out of there. She was saved with only minor injuries. Nancy Reagan, that pioneer of compassionate conservatism, sent her a doll. Whoopi Goldberg, still doing edgy stand-up comedy at that point, wrote a whole comedy routine about the incident. The Simpsons eventually did a parody episode in which Sting saved Bart under similar circumstances.)

Podgorica has lots of uncovered storm drains as well as holes from construction in the concrete. Both are surprisingly deep. After racing across a street (yielding to pedestrians is even less known here than at home), I walked right into a hole, broke my fall with my left arm, and dislocated my shoulder.

It has not exactly been a dream of mine to have a major accident in a country where I don't speak the language and worry about the level of medical care. A kind local cigarette seller tried to help me but he spoke only German and the local language. (So much for all those years I spent studying Spanish and French.) I gimped back to my hotel in agony where the extremely kind receptionist phoned Saša, my minder from the consulate, who came to my aid. At urgent care, they said I had a fracture, insisted on putting my arm in a splint (unbelievably painful), and sent me to the hospital.

Podgorica General, as I have named it in my mind, is Montenegro's premier medical facility but it is not the Mayo Clinic. It is more like a county hospital with far less public funding. The X-ray machine looked like it was from a previous technological age though they developed the photos instantaneously. Despite the lack of funding, the nurses and doctors were great and very professional. Poor Saša had to really stretch his English in an effort to translate medical terms. The doc ended my agony by popping my shoulder back in about one second. I was even happier than those people who play the "relief" moment in a Tums or Preparation H commercial.

Perhaps most amazingly to this American, they didn't ask for either my insurance or money before treating me. Montenegro has public health care for its citizens and it still hasn't figured out what to charge foreigners. Since I didn't need anaesthesia, they decided to charge me nothing. When I came back the next day to replace my bandages with an arm sling, I gave the doctor a bottle of Chivas Regal which still cost less than it does to breathe inside an American doctor's office.

News travels fast in Podgorica. There may be six degrees of separation in the US but my guess is that there are only two or three here. When I called someone I didn't know in the consulate, they asked how my arm was doing. Out of the blue, locals on the street asked me in English about my arm.

Embarassingly, Montenegrins felt bad that I had this accident in their country as if it reflected badly on Montenegro in some way. It did highlight for me that the Americans with Disabilities Act has led to great strides in the integration of disabled people in our society. I haven't seen a single Montenegrin in a wheelchair during my visit. Money rather than callousness may be the source of the problem. Montenegro cannot afford to fix its sidewalks let alone make buildings accessible.

After my accident, I was tempted to rush home. However, in the end, I decided to finish my program; I've been helping my recovery along by sitting outside for hours in Podgorica's cafes -- a very Serbian or Montenegrin activity. I figure that enjoying the perfect weather has to beat fending off cicadas at home.

However, I'm still waiting for Laura Bush to send me a get-well gift.