Life is unpredictable.
On Wednesday morning I was riding to Brooklyn for a meeting. I was psyched to be riding again after a long winter of awful weather, during which my riding had been mostly confined to quick trips to the East River Park, with Flea in his basked on the front of my bike. Sure, there was a bit of drizzle about, but I figured the fresh air would do me good, even if it was a bit moist. I had put on my tights, my fluorescent green Pearl Izumi jacket, fingerless gloves, crazy iridescent blue sneaks, and my helmet. Helmet, helmet, helmet! Thank God. I was headed down the Bowery towards the Manhattan Bridge, going at a nice pace. My lungs were starting to work, my heart-rate climbing. I’d be in Fort Greene in no time.
A few blocks south of Houston, in a shared roadway (bikes and motor vehicles use the same space-no dedicated bike lane), I moved a bit further into the road to go around some orange traffic cones, and I was suddenly struck by a speeding van. Just remembering this sensation is terrifying… the OMG moment, when you realize that you are about to die, flying through the air uncontrollably, but somehow trying to contort your body so that you can escape further impact with the van, and not get run over by the turning wheels. I don’t know the ratio of pure luck to shear willpower, but I managed to propel myself away from the vehicle. Spinning, and spinning and bouncing and bouncing. My head hit the pavement hard. I mean HARD. My helmet was so effective in diffusing the impact, that I kind of fell in love with it at that second. I remember the feeling… it was like Thank you, Helmet!
I never lost consciousness, but jumped up off the ground in the way that most adrenalin-fueled accident victims do, and scrambled to the side of the road, whereupon it seemed foolish not to lie back down right away. I was having a hard time getting enough air in my lungs. The wind had been knocked right out of me. Some kindly passersby came to my aid. One pillowed my head with her handbag, while the other dialed 911 and collected the spilled contents of my pockets from the roadway. An ambulance arrived quickly and I was hit this time with a barrage of questions, I guess to determine whether I had sustained any head injuries. I proudly answered all questions correctly, and asked the van driver (he stopped) to lock my bike up… the instructions included removing the front wheel, which is funny, because the police arrived just as he was doing that, and assumed he was a petty thief, taking advantage of a confused situation. I found it laughable, but the police were intent on being serious.
A few moments later, after a scream-out-loud transfer to the inside of the ambulance, I managed to call Zofi, and Pat, who I had intended to meet in Fort Greene. I kind of knew that I was going to be OK at that point and planned to carry on with MovieNight the next day. As you probably know, things are never quite as simple as you expect them to be. After x-rays, a sonogram, a CT scan, and more x-rays, it seemed that my injuries were limited to a broken clavicle, and lots of bruising, most painfully on my spinal lumbar nerves. My neck was fine, and my blood pressure normal. I could go home right away. Well, I could if I passed a simple standing up and walking test.
Even with a healthy dose of Morphine in me, standing up turned out to be more painful than I could have imagined. The pain (mostly in my back) was excruciating, and I felt a rush of dizziness and nausea, that made me cry. Cry. I usually reserve my crying for something which doesn’t really warrant it, like a cheesy pet-food commercial or the last scene of Rabbit Hole, but I was overtaken with a feeling of helplessness now, and crying seemed ok.
Anyway…
There’s no need to elaborate further here on my hospital stay (I could, but I won’t), and you know that MovieNight didn’t happen this week, but I wanted to say thanks to all of you lovely people who reached out to me and Zofi with words, deeds, things, in support (it was funny how many of you suggested that I enjoy the painkillers. I’ve learned that enjoying painkillers works best when you start off without pain). Of course, I feel lucky that that spot on the Bowery is not marked with a white “ghost bike”, but more than that, I feel loved. Uh oh… might have to cry again. : )
