I'll caution you that some of this may be graphic, both visually and verbally. I'm going to pause briefly with the 30 days of biking posts, as it's been 6 months since the event that changed my life forever.
I was on my way home from Center City one October Saturday evening, when I noticed my bike was a little "wobbly." I didn't think much of it at first, but it worried me enough that I stopped about a half mile from my home (at the time) to check it out. The rear tire was rubbing the brake intermittently and causing it to stop somewhat abruptly, but nothing that I didn't think I couldn't handle for the next half mile.
In hindsight, that was a mistake. Because I hit pretty hard, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but the long and short of it is that something caused me to lose control of my bike, resulting in moderately severe injuries to my face. I veered sharply to the left when I was literally a stone's throw away from my house, sending me flying over my handlebars face first onto the pavement.
The next few minutes were a blur. I remember "coming to" and realizing that some of my teeth were out of place, some were horribly damaged, and blood was pouring out of my mouth. Obviously something wasn't right. I didn't know what else to do, so I screamed "HELP!" at the top of my lungs. I also screamed "FIRE," because when I was a kid, someone told me to yell that in distress instead of help. I still don't know why, but I did it anyway.
Eventually I realized that I had a piece of technology in my pocket that was still functioning, so I used it to dial 911. I don't remember most of the call, and I don't know how I didn't bleed all over my phone, but nevertheless, I stayed on the line long enough until I saw flashing lights.
Knowing help was at hand, I hung up. By this point, most of the neighbors had awakened and come outside to see what all the ruckus was about. In the midst of all this, I grabbed a memento:
At least I was wearing a helmet...
Shortly after this, I was braced up and placed on a stretcher to be loaded into the ambulance. But rather than being cooperative, as the true ignorant asshole that I am, I was more concerned about the future of my bike, which lay crumpled on the street. My neighbor assured me she would take it inside and that I should lay down. I later found out that she gave it (and my overshirt, coat, helmet and bike lock) to my roommate, who arrived on the scene after the ambulance had pulled away. That was the last nice thing she'd ever do for me.
All things considered, I was in a very low amount of pain, but I was disoriented and not at all thrilled with the situation:
This gown isn't my size. Or color. WTF?
The next 7+ hours were full of scans, tests, surgeries and other assorted procedures. My friends in the medical biz will surely think I acted unwisely when I actually refused a few additional tests, but I don't have insurance and I already couldn't afford the bevy of medical work I was about to endure (more on why that's the correct word in a minute). You should have seen the look on the hospital workers when I refused pain killers too. Well, other than novocaine. Anywho...
Back to the "enduring" comment: these few hours were easily the most physical pain I'd experience throughout this whole ordeal (including recovery), because the surgeon had to physically push my teeth back into place, and for a little while, I could feel it shooting through every part of my being. Nerves are crazy like that. Even though I'm a noted tough guy, and even with novocaine, I was reduced to tears. It happened again when they had to pull my lip and gum back together for stitching, but most of that was emotions coming out. Up until this point, everything was going smoothly. Now, I was a freaking mess.
To add insult to injury, after all was said and done, the surgeon left the "Mr. Thirsty" running rather audibly near my ear. I couldn't find an intercom button. After about 15 minutes of white noise and the clear realization he wasn't coming back and no one was coming to check on me, I couldn't help myself. I had to get out of the bed to unplug it, an action which was admonished by the technician about 45 minutes later (when someone finally came to check). I also realized that when I got out of the bed, the intercom/phone system was unplugged, so it wouldn't have mattered if I had made a call.
Whatever. I stumbled out of the ER and hailed a cab home. All things considered, the surgeon did do a very good job stitching me up:
Chicks dig scars, eh?
I had killed my cell phone battery during the night, so as soon as I got home, I called Mom and Dad to let them know I was alright. It was a relief to hear their voices, because I returned to an absolute mess. We were also in the process of moving out of 2 Street. Perfect timing right? I had tons of things on my to-do list for that Sunday, but all I could think about right then was sleep. Rightfully so, and I did. There really wasn't much else I could do anyway...
I awoke several hours later, still feeling very disoriented. The doctors told me I didn't have a concussion, but I'm pretty sure I did. I was "foggy" for several days, actually. After I woke up, I received two visits I was extremely grateful for. First, my boss, mentor and friend
Denny stopped by to drop off some macrobiotic remedies and food his wife
Susan had prepared for me:
From left: kombu tea (for pain), miso soup, creamy (but dairy-free) rice
The second visitor was my Mother, who drove all the way down from Palmerton to spend some time with me and load me up with groceries. I love to play tough, but I'll fully admit unabashedly that I wanted nothing more than my Mom's support at that point. I was a damn mess. She stayed several hours into the early evening. I felt guilty that I couldn't be a more entertaining host, but...she understood.
After Mom left, I decided to briefly re-visit my crash scene:
Well, I got him as good as he got me...or something
Yikes. That's enough for day one, I suppose. I went back in and posted up on the couch for the evening. I turned on the Eagles game, but I fell asleep soon after it started. It was for the better. They got killed.
The next couple days were strangely eventful for a recovery. I did spend most of my time sleeping, but somewhere in there I signed a lease for a new house and packed the remainder of my belongings for the impending move. The moving process was nothing short of fucking awful. Moving is depressing and it sucks to begin with, sapping all of your physical and mental energy. On top of that, serious injuries are also depressing, sapping all of your physical and mental energy. So basically, I was in a depressing environment in a depressed state of mind with double negative energy. Throw in an already unpleasant soon-to-be-ex-roommate who says nice things like "Boy, you don't look pretty" and "Man, it's gotta be tough to eat like that" and you have all the makings of a suicide note. But at least she brought my stuff in the night I got hurt...pfft.
By day 4, the annoyance factor had reached its peak:
You'd be annoyed too if you had scabs in your beard...
If you've ever gotten your wisdom teeth or tonsils removed, you were probably told to avoid solid foods for several days. It sounds great when the doctor tells you to eat nothing but ice cream, apple sauce, jell-o and things of that consistency. Except that I choose not to eat those things (with the exception of apple sauce), AND on top of that, I was avoiding alcohol, coffee and other toxins to speed my recovery (which does work, by the way).
Don't ask me how I got my stuff out of my old house and into my new one. My present roommate helped a TON, but I still don't really remember what went on those few days. I'm certain I had a mild concussion. I'm glad I took pictures to remember most of this stuff.
On the day I made my first visit to the dentist I stopped in to visit my "nephew":
I've eaten so much soft food that even the cat looks tasty by this point...
Of course, I wasn't psyched about incurring so many dental expenses, but this was genuinely the first good day since the crash. It had only been 5 days, but they seemed much, much longer given the circumstances. But, on the brightest of sides, by day 6 I was able to eat solid food, sort of...
Because I can't hold up two thumbs while taking a selfie
As you can see, my scab had gone down greatly by that point, and I was certainly through the worst part of my physical recovery after just 6 days. I got the stitches taken out thanks to the aid of a family friend (he does it for a living - this wasn't back alley surgery), and eventually the dentist put my teeth back together. Actually, that's still in the works - I get my permanent replacements in about a month.
What I've realized more than anything in the recovery process over the last 6 months is that this was not just a physical injury, even though it appears that way. I don't want to let on, but this shook me to my very core and made me doubt a whole lot of things about my life. All of the effort I had made to eat healthy, live well and plant seeds of a good life over the last 3ish years was seemingly uprooted in one night. The activity I do for a living could have led to my ultimate downfall. Way further beyond the physical pain, emotional issues have been coming to the surface ever since it happened, and I'm still not "myself" some days...
Of course, the old adage is true - everything does happen for a reason. I attribute my speedy physical recovery to how I eat and try to live my life, and on the whole, this reminded me that even though I've made tremendous progress, I need to take better care of myself. My internal digestion has actually strengthened in the process, so maybe I needed to eat "simply" for a week and this was my body's way of getting it done.
I learned how to be a better, more responsible cyclist and person overall. I changed my role at
SHI to better utilize my talents for them and for myself. I also got a new job working in marketing for
Wash Cycle Laundry that I absolutely LOVE, in case you haven't noticed by my recent posts. I've also started taking more time to do
other things that I love, like practicing guitar, and writing on this blog, just as some examples. Mom also bought me a bike for Christmas/Birthday that I totally didn't deserve, but I'd be absolutely miserable without it.
It never hurts to have a wake up call, right? OK, in this case, it did hurt. Regardless, I'm extremely lucky my crash wasn't worse. I'm extremely lucky I still have a job and a life. I'm extremely lucky to have my family and friends. I needed to be reminded of that, just how extremely lucky I really am.
I'm not gonna blow more sunshine up your butt and tell you everything is 100% alright 100% of the time. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I'm fully healed physically and mentally, but I will tell you that I'm getting there, and I'm thankful I'm still here to pretend that I am...
Safe cycling, everyone. Enjoy your week.
