Lastest Drama: The Crash
My latest love, the TN’G 150cc scooter I scored off craigslist, has been quite the trooper. It transports me to both my jobs in about the most fun way I’ve ever traveled, helps me to see my friends in far away locales – like the east side, boy I would never cross the river otherwise. But when I tried to take it to West Linn, the poor thing really started to make funny noises on the return.
I brought it in for a tune up the next day. And did they ever tune it up. My little scoot was running so smooth. They even loosened up the handlebars that were stiff to turn. Well, I was off. Headed home. The wind (and well now a little rain) on my back.
I have a couple of bridge options to get back to my abode. The best is Burnside, so I head that way. For some reason though, probably since I was already on Morrison, I go – what the heck, I’ll just cruse over the Morrison Bridge since I’m headed that way.
Big mistake
See, the Morrison Bridge is a drawbridge. Which means there are grates over the drawbridge part. I’ve ridden over the grates before. It was a little wobbly, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Well apparently not with newly loosened handlebars. When I started to wobble a bit, I corrected, but over corrected. To fix this I over corrected the other way. And then. I was over!
I remember falling and thinking – oh shit, now I’ll never be able to get a good resale value for this if it’s fallen once.
That was it, just thinking about how this was going to devalue my bike. And how I was going to get it up. The scooter was big. And heavy.
Then there were all these people around me. I stopped both lanes of traffic going down town. Asking me if I was okay. Helping me up.
I couldn’t really move. I was going to have a killer bruise on my knee. I just need a minute I tell the small crowd.
But a minute wasn’t really helping. I still couldn’t move. So I let someone help me to the side. And someone else moved my bike over.
Phones are shoved in my face.
“Call someone who can help you.”
“What’s their number? We’ll call for you!”
Come on! Like I know anyone’s phone number. I can’t even remember my own phone number half the time.
A woman points to my knee. “You seem to bleeding a little bit.”
A little bit? When I looked down. My knee was SOAKED with blood. A step up from the bruise I was predicting. I inched up my jeans, oddly enough complete without rip or tear, and saw the real results of the crash. There was knee coming out of my knee! I held down the vomit that was insisting it come up my throat. I fought the black out seeping in the corner of my eyes. And then I called my roommate.
“Jeramie, I got in an accident. I need you to pick me up”
I’m sure those words are always fun to hear. Jeramie was great. She picked me up and rushed me to the hospital. Then dealt with AAA and the scooter removal from the bridge.
Meanwhile I was waiting a small eternity in the hospital. Totally freaking out. I really love my knee. With no reason to think otherwise, my body had been indestructible. I could kill myself at the gym, drink till I puked, do cartwheels, digest entire pots of coffee, add smoke, you name it!
Then just like that, I was broken. In the absence of physical pain, I was left with a frightening emptiness. Could I run again? Is it possible I could have chronic pain? One of those people? How could I ever run a marathon if I couldn’t even walk? In the hour I waited to be checked in, I did a good job of quietly sobbing and working myself into a panic.
I get summoned later and talk to a nurse. She doesn’t even look at the knee, just puts some paper work in front of my face. Right then Jeramie calls and says they can’t tow the scooter to the shop b/c it’s closed and did I want it home or at the AAA lot? Both those options seemed terrible and so I say something like – I don’t know what the fuck to do. Pick one.
The nurse glares up at me and snaps “Excuse me! There are other people in this hospital besides you!”
Okay duh, perhaps that’s why I’ve been gushing blood in the lobby for 7 hours (funny sarcastic comment I think of in hindsight). What really came out was a burst of tears. Whatever, it worked b/c than she got really nice. Pointed to the lines where I relinquish all free will to the hospital and I signed and was carted off to the sewing ward.
Ironically enough it wasn’t until the doc was shoving a pointy thing filled with Novocain into my mangled excuse for a joint, that my shock subsided and I could feel again. A few expletives later, and I got another “This is a hospital, could you keep it down???”
Really, I don’t get this, isn’t a hospital a mecca for pain and suffering? Where do people go when they get hurt? The hospital. Traveling far and wide to the nearest one. Seems like they should be a bit more tolerant.
Well I got all sewed and glued up and sent on my way with something fun for the pain.
It took some time, but two weeks later, all I have to show for it is a gnarly scab. My limp has faded like the throbbing pain and I even went for a short run today. Once again I’m back to my invincible self. I’ve even been scooping craigslist for a new scooter. The poor TN’G got totaled. And in another ironic twist of events, was valued by my insurance at 1,000 bucks more than I paid for it. After the deductible, I made $700 on a kickass scar!
I brought it in for a tune up the next day. And did they ever tune it up. My little scoot was running so smooth. They even loosened up the handlebars that were stiff to turn. Well, I was off. Headed home. The wind (and well now a little rain) on my back.
I have a couple of bridge options to get back to my abode. The best is Burnside, so I head that way. For some reason though, probably since I was already on Morrison, I go – what the heck, I’ll just cruse over the Morrison Bridge since I’m headed that way.
Big mistake
See, the Morrison Bridge is a drawbridge. Which means there are grates over the drawbridge part. I’ve ridden over the grates before. It was a little wobbly, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Well apparently not with newly loosened handlebars. When I started to wobble a bit, I corrected, but over corrected. To fix this I over corrected the other way. And then. I was over!
I remember falling and thinking – oh shit, now I’ll never be able to get a good resale value for this if it’s fallen once.
That was it, just thinking about how this was going to devalue my bike. And how I was going to get it up. The scooter was big. And heavy.
Then there were all these people around me. I stopped both lanes of traffic going down town. Asking me if I was okay. Helping me up.
I couldn’t really move. I was going to have a killer bruise on my knee. I just need a minute I tell the small crowd.
But a minute wasn’t really helping. I still couldn’t move. So I let someone help me to the side. And someone else moved my bike over.
Phones are shoved in my face.
“Call someone who can help you.”
“What’s their number? We’ll call for you!”
Come on! Like I know anyone’s phone number. I can’t even remember my own phone number half the time.
A woman points to my knee. “You seem to bleeding a little bit.”
A little bit? When I looked down. My knee was SOAKED with blood. A step up from the bruise I was predicting. I inched up my jeans, oddly enough complete without rip or tear, and saw the real results of the crash. There was knee coming out of my knee! I held down the vomit that was insisting it come up my throat. I fought the black out seeping in the corner of my eyes. And then I called my roommate.
“Jeramie, I got in an accident. I need you to pick me up”
I’m sure those words are always fun to hear. Jeramie was great. She picked me up and rushed me to the hospital. Then dealt with AAA and the scooter removal from the bridge.
Meanwhile I was waiting a small eternity in the hospital. Totally freaking out. I really love my knee. With no reason to think otherwise, my body had been indestructible. I could kill myself at the gym, drink till I puked, do cartwheels, digest entire pots of coffee, add smoke, you name it!
Then just like that, I was broken. In the absence of physical pain, I was left with a frightening emptiness. Could I run again? Is it possible I could have chronic pain? One of those people? How could I ever run a marathon if I couldn’t even walk? In the hour I waited to be checked in, I did a good job of quietly sobbing and working myself into a panic.
I get summoned later and talk to a nurse. She doesn’t even look at the knee, just puts some paper work in front of my face. Right then Jeramie calls and says they can’t tow the scooter to the shop b/c it’s closed and did I want it home or at the AAA lot? Both those options seemed terrible and so I say something like – I don’t know what the fuck to do. Pick one.
The nurse glares up at me and snaps “Excuse me! There are other people in this hospital besides you!”
Okay duh, perhaps that’s why I’ve been gushing blood in the lobby for 7 hours (funny sarcastic comment I think of in hindsight). What really came out was a burst of tears. Whatever, it worked b/c than she got really nice. Pointed to the lines where I relinquish all free will to the hospital and I signed and was carted off to the sewing ward.
Ironically enough it wasn’t until the doc was shoving a pointy thing filled with Novocain into my mangled excuse for a joint, that my shock subsided and I could feel again. A few expletives later, and I got another “This is a hospital, could you keep it down???”
Really, I don’t get this, isn’t a hospital a mecca for pain and suffering? Where do people go when they get hurt? The hospital. Traveling far and wide to the nearest one. Seems like they should be a bit more tolerant.
Well I got all sewed and glued up and sent on my way with something fun for the pain.
It took some time, but two weeks later, all I have to show for it is a gnarly scab. My limp has faded like the throbbing pain and I even went for a short run today. Once again I’m back to my invincible self. I’ve even been scooping craigslist for a new scooter. The poor TN’G got totaled. And in another ironic twist of events, was valued by my insurance at 1,000 bucks more than I paid for it. After the deductible, I made $700 on a kickass scar!
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