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| This was my prize |
TL:DR: I got into a motorcycle accident a few years ago. I knew at the time it was gonna make one hell of a story. There was swearing involved. I said some funny stuff. My family and friends are wonderful. My husband is awesome. I’m still riding my motorcycle and visited the place where that sign <--- lives a year later as a reward for living.
I dislike sad anniversaries. I generally don’t choose to recognize them l and would rather focus on the happier things in life instead. But in most of the crappiest of times, I’ve come out better at the end. That being said, May 13, 2016 is a day that goes down in my books as probably one of the shittier days in my history. I feel that I should probably acknowledge the day because, if anything, a lot of good has come from it.
Remember, this is me here. Even in my sadder moments, I’ll make terrible and utterly tasteless jokes. I can only hope, in my death, I’ll have a eulogy as awesome as Graham Chapman’s was from John Cleese.
We were on our way to PD13 (Port Dover, Ontario, for Friday the 13th). It was raining. My bike hit an oil/debris spot on the ramp. I slid and no matter what I did, the bike continued heading towards the guardrail. My bike then hit the high kerb, my foot came off the peg. My foot had come down and my leg hit the wooden post on the guard rail and sent me flying (at least, this is how I remember it).
Here’s where things go slow motion:
When I was flung off the bike, there wasn’t any kind of life flashing before my eyes moment. It was the following thoughts that went through my head:
Goddamn, that hurt. (when my bum knee hit the guard rail post(?) Whatever it hit, it was hard and it hurt).
Aw shit! This is going to hurt! (as I was going through the air and knew I was going to hit the ground or guardrail hard and I knew i wasn’t going to die from this.. yeah. I knew I was going to survive. I was just hoping that it wasn’t going to leave a mark).
Oh fuck… Paul has to watch this happen. Fuck fuck fuck…
For the split second I had to comprehend that my beloved husband was behind me on his motorcycle, having to navigate the ramp and stop safely and watch what was happening to me, I felt so guilty. So shitty. So bloody determined that I really needed to stand up as quickly as possible after crash landing. (Spoiler: I did not stand up right away).
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| Emus do not give birth. |
I was connected on my two way radio with one friend who said the first words out of my mouth, (once the emu birthing was done), were: “What the fuck was that all about?!”
So I was lying there, mad (and out of breath). Mad that I’d slipped. Mad that my bike was probably broken. Mad that I really really wanted to get up but my first aid training told me to stay put, lest I have a neck injury. Also, mad that no one was running a GoPro. I was pissed! Really! I just flew off my bike and landed on a guard rail. Internet worthy stuff! Sigh. I really just wanted to get up and look to see if my bike was okay and then hop on the bike and either go to Port Dover or go home.
And then Paul’s very worried face appeared above me.
Fuck… I can taste blood in my mouth. It’s probably residual from a nose bleed I had earlier in the day from blowing my nose too hard. Or I bit my tongue, but I gotta tell him because he’s going to be the one to assess me right? Why did it have to be Paul?
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| 'Tis but a scratch! |
“Your bike is fine, it’s standing upright. It didn’t tip.” Paul was very upset but surprisingly keeping it together and doing what he does best. Taking control of a bad situation.
Yeah right. Fucking liars. Think of a better lie! But here’s the kicker. My bike WAS fine. It had ridden along the kerb, stalled and stayed upright against the kerb. There is a tiny dent on the bottom of the tank and a scuff on the frame. We have since renamed my Precious bike Christine. I still ride her as much as possible. She’s my spirited (yes… I know what I did there. She’s a Honda Shadow Spirit) iron horse from Tennessee that will never be broken in. :) And she's Christine so I have no choice but to love her).
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| Paul makes beautiful music with this bike |
“Yeah, yeah. I know it’s not you. I blame the ministry of transportation... fucking government cutbacks..."
I could hear Paul’s bike (FYI, it’s a beauty, it roars and he was rev bombing to keep people away from him because he didn’t know the cop wasn’t trying to pull him over).
Remember that scene in Days of Thunder, where Tom Cruise is getting an MRI done after his accident and asks “Could someone talk to me? When I'm driving, I've got a guy on the radio who talks to me.” It was his bike, that sound, that Harley-Davidson roar was Paul talking to me, that gave me focus in this highly confusing and seriously inconvenienced day so far.
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| Alien Abductions feel like this |
I dislike being worried over.
“Excuse me?”
Four worried medical professionals suddenly surround me, worried looks. I can see up their noses. It's weirdly hilarious.
“Um… I just wanted to say, I am really sorry I didn’t shave my legs. I really wasn’t expecting to be here today.”
Laughter, visibly relaxed people.
I should have mentioned the bikini waxing part too, but … I wanted to see Paul. I wanted to tell him, I was okay and maybe could he go home and make sure the cats had food? And have cold beer ready for when I get there.
I won’t relate Paul’s side of the story here. I know this was one of the shittiest days of his life and that he was sad and I know he was worried. And I know, indirectly, I was the cause of it and I’ll always feel shitty about that. (Opens thesaurus.com - types in ‘shitty’ - there are no results. Did you mean shirt? - Well shit! I'm all out of synonyms for poop. That’s just crappy.💩)
It was a long day… I was in the hospital around 9 am. I didn’t leave until Monday. (mostly because the person that could have sent me home (It was someone who had to assess me and make sure I could go home) didn’t work after 5 and not on weekends. Tell me again how cutting back funding for healthcare makes sense? I took up a hospital bed for three days when I could have been home relaxing with my cats!!)
Injury count: A bruised lung, four fractured ribs on my left, fractured sternum, dislocated and broken right shoulder, broken left thumb that required surgery and wires to hold it into place while it healed, (it was grossly awesome, picture link at the end so if you don't like gross don't click on that link…) broken right toe and bruised left knee that wouldn’t hold much weight on the other leg, so I was a hobbling mess.
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| It's just a flesh wound. Can I go home now? |
Lesson 1. It’s cold in emergency when you’re naked.
Lesson 2. I threw up on a nurse. It hurts like hell puking when you have broken ribs. I can apologize and throw up at the same time. *Promptly adds this to my list of skills on a resume* Nurses (my mom was a nurse) are generally awesome and overworked and inadvertently abused by people like me. Again... very sorry.
Lesson 3. Surgery on thumbs is performed by a plastic surgeon. The opportunity to enhance the two bad girls on my chest missed. When I woke up from surgery, I had pulled my gown open and looked down at my chest and commented that my boobs were still the same size, which was much disappointment. There were worried looking friends and relatives around me when I woke up. I didn’t like that. I made that joke. It was funny. They laughed at my missed opportunity to go up a few cup sizes.
Lesson 4. My husband brought my iPhone and headphones in. I had music to keep me company for the next two days. I’d like to lie to you and tell you it was Talk Talk or Duran Duran that kept me going. I honestly don’t remember if any of their songs came up. I honestly don’t remember what music was playing (Plus, anyone who's paying attention... I didn't get that into Talk Talk until last August). Given my mood, I likely stuck it on classical and listened to selections of Beethoven and Nigel Kennedy playing Vivaldi. I wanted to go home. I wasn’t comfortable here. I had to pee.
Lesson 5. I HAD TO PEE! My body forgot how to pee (I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since 6 that morning. And after surgery, I was drinking water and juice and stuff.
I don’t do bedpans. I need to pee. They got me set up with this portable toilet seat thing. I sat. Nothing happened.
Fuck me. I’ve forgotten how to pee.
Another good friend of mind had related her tale of peeing when she had gall bladder surgery. She is my post-surgery pee guru.
“I just let gravity take over” she said. I'll lie and tell you she appeared to me like Ben Kenobi on Hoth. All glowing and mystical, repeating that I needed to go to the Degobah system.
And just like that, the pee flowed.
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| Koreans are as awesome as we are nuts. |
Lesson 7. Bikers are really friendly people. The lady in the next bed’s husband bought me a piece of lemon meringue pie from Fran’s restaurant next-door because he wanted to make me feel better after hearing I’d come in because of a bike accident. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name. I know his wife was really sick. I really hope she recovered and they are happy. Also, some awesome friends made it a point to get me that Friday, May 13th, 2016 patch. It is one of the most important patches I have. Oh, and a T-shirt. I was humbled.
Lesson 8. Don't try to do chores like sweeping when you have that many broken bones. Your body will remind you pretty damn quickly that you should flake out on the couch instead of trying to sweep. I got winded after 30 seconds. (I was sweeping because I was determined to get back to normal... bad idea).
Lesson 9. Murdoch Mysteries is on Canadian television at least three times a day (or it was in May 2016). It is a really good show and I highly recommend it. It kept me company for the six weeks I was recovering. True to my fangirly ways, I obviously developed a giant crush on Yannick Bisson and Jonny Harris.
Lesson 10. The song 'It’s My Life' by Talk Talk is no longer about a human relationship. It is now squarely a song which I sing loudly and often at my bike that may or may not have tried to kill me. Don't judge me. I'll sing what I want.
Lesson 11. When I got home on Monday, I sat on my bike. Despite the fact she just tried to kill me, I was happy and whispered that as soon as I was able, we’d be traveling again and in six weeks time, the moment that cast came off my clutch hand, I was on it and riding (the clutching was about amateurish and terrible for the first day, but what better way to build the strength back up in my thumb than doing stuff like using the clutch on my bike? Motorcycle physiotherapy!)
Lesson 12. My brother and his wife are awesome baby sitters. They babysat my sorry ass during the time Paul was at work until I was well enough to sort of fend for myself. My nephew was also awesome and kept me company when he wasn't at school.
Lesson 13. If you need to sneeze or cough with broken ribs, hug a pillow. No thanks to anyone at the hospital who never bothered to tell me this. Thanks to another friend who informed me of this.
Lesson 14. I have some wonderful friends in my life. Everyone who came by to see me in the hospital, who dropped in to see me after, messaged me, called me, sent well wishes, and presents! Thank you! You made this Peanut feel all warm and fuzzy. I'd go further but I'll turn into a snivelling mess a la Mike Myers in Wayne's World where he promised he wouldn't cry.
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| You can actually see where my cast was. |
Lesson 16. I will never doubt that my husband loves me. Ever. I remember everything he said to me over those few days, both verbal and non-verbal. *warm fuzzies*
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| Whee! Wheee! WHEEEEEE! |
Blog visitor bonus! This scene from True Lies is how I like to remember my accident. While I wish my motorcycle event was as awesome as said scene, in real life I was not the fleeing terrorist. I was Arnold Schwarzenegger and my motorcycle was the horse. And there were injuries. If my life were to become a movie, this would be much more audience pleasing:
As promised, slightly gross photos of my thumb after the cast was removed in the link: (Yeah.. don't click if you're in the least bit squeemish. I don't think the photos are super gross, but hey. I don't gross out easy).
Edit update 1: Yeah, yeah.. I know Lesson 4 doesn't sound like a lesson. I was going to make some comment about the healing power of music, but as it was three years ago and the time when I wrote this post, I actually had to pee and seriously derailed my train of thought.
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