Concussion and resulting TBI (traumatic brain injury) is an interesting state. It is as if some bits of data were corrupted or deleted from my hard drive. Thankfully it IS hard or it might have been a lot worse.
I do remember 4 buddies were an hour or so into our ride. From the bike lane, I crossed over Skyline Blvd. to make a left turn onto Sharp Park - anticipating the miles of screaming downhill to the beach. I only saw an eye-blink’s worth of the road coming up to meet my helmet. The rest is a CSI reconstruction based on scrapes, breaks and eyewitness accounts - it happed in an instant.
Sitting up, I had taken my left hand off the bars slowing to signal to the cars coming up behind. Unseen, a big blob of bad road-patch left a curb an inch plus in the middle of the left-turn lane. My front wheel snapped hard over to the left. The bike stopped, I did not. My shoes clipped out about the time the helmet hit, releasing me to continue a front-flip to bounce on my right butt - breaking my pelvis - twice. The bike was then free to come down on the left hip, removing a bit more skin. All this at about 8 MPH.
A big bus stopped and out jumped a Sheriff on his way to the jail. His prisoners had an elevated view as a radio call produced a fleet of responders - fire trucks, Sheriff cars, CHP, and two ambulances. First I knew, I was collared like a dog and getting the “how many fingers” treatment as we did a Code 3 run to San Francisco General - and some real entertainment.
SF General is a top trauma hospital, after that - yuck! They make sure you are not gonna die, then lose interest. Up in a ward with the rest of San Francisco’s castoffs - to a ward with yesterday’s date on the greaseboard opposite my bed. I am too late for dinner - tough. Loudspeaker bellows instructions to the staff all night, and my air-mattress automatically changes pressures - seemingly timed to keep the patient awake between proddings and vital signs. Doctors visit at 6AM to pull off the covers and bend my legs. Gone before I can clear the morphine from my thoughts much less ask a question. I can’t reach the covers. A truly wretched place.
But the VA is sending the cavalry to my rescue. Meanwhile, how do I chew with my jaw clamped in this damn collar?
- Road Kill Rod
No comments:
Post a Comment