Adventures in Cycling

Saturday, June 25, 8:30 a.m.
I woke up Saturday morning feeling refreshed. I lay in bed a few minutes, reveling in my stolen moment of sleeping in as Gatsby purred happily on my chest. Although I knew I would be going in to work in just a couple of hours, I didn't feel upset about that. I had to finish my project and besides, today was that day I was finally going to attempt the 13 mile ride to work on my bike. Today was my test run.

10:00 a.m.
After briefly picking up my apartment (I've been getting much better at the work/fun/exersize/life in general balance so this feat has been relatively easy as of late), and having a quick breakfast, I don my expensive and awsome cycling outfit, my backpack filled with the essentials (bike map, camelbak, sandals so I don't have to wear the bike shoes and their annoying clips all day, and my oh-so-important wallet/keys/iPhone combo), and head out the door. The day is beautiful; a little warm, but slightly overcast and therefore not pushing into the 90s; perfect for a bike ride.

I decide to take a longer and more scenic route to work and avoid riding in traffic as much as possible. My thoughts are that I'll take the less scenic and more time efficient route home so can compare the two. Riding along the Platte River and Cherry Creek bike paths is especially enjoyable. The water helps keep the path relatively cool, the scenery is wonderful (trees, river, glimpses and amazing views of the city), and being on the bike path means I'm not constantly stopping for traffic lights.

I'm fairly new to this bike (I've had it a couple months and ride it shockingly little). The first couple times I rode it, I had difficulty with the sensitive-brakes/clipping-out combo, so I test both of these as I ride. Clip in, clip out, clip in, clip out, trying to make it an instinct.

After stopping a couple of times to check my map, I manage to arrive at the Cherry Creek Mall (I've ridden about 7 miles at this point). I pause again to get my bearings. A friendly older man on his bike stops, seeing my look confusion. The street I'm searching for, Bayoud, is supposed to run parallel to busy Alameda (which I don't even want to attempt to ride on). After explaining my plans (this is one of my favorite things about bikers: They're so encouraging of people on longer bike rides!), he points me in the right direction and I'm on my way. The route on Bayoud is an on-street bike path, but after taking it for a few blocks, it seems to end. Confused, I resignedly pedal down to Alameda, delighted to discover that Alameda does have a fairly wide sidewalk on it's north side.

11:00 a.m.
The sidewalk along Alameda is clearly not designed to be a bike path (judging from the angle the walk slopes down to meet the road), but it's still pretty smooth and I'm starting to feel excited again. I know I"m only a few blocks from the Alameda Bikeway (I've traveled 8.5 miles at this point, which means I'm going to have to step up the pace in the future if I ever want to use this route to bike to work) and I feel a sense of adventure and exhilaration steal through me. Most of the ride up Alameda has been uphill, so when I finally reach a downhill portion, it's with much relief.

Although the rush of wind through me as I speed up downhill feels wonderful, I realize that I'm going to fast. That's the last conscious thought I have before my fingers instinctively squeeze the brakes. Squeeze hard. (I suspect that I still have muscle memory ingrained in my from my old bike. Although I haven't ridden the thing for years, the brakes had a very difficult time persuading the bike to stop, and it took all the squeezing I had to stop the old bike. Not to mention the the thrill of going too fast down the hill sent a surge of adrenaline through my system, causing me to panic slightly.)

It's as though my bike has hit an invisible barrier and suddenly decides it must start going down. The back tire pops up off the ground, the front wheel spins forward, and I am flying through the air. I don't remember unclipping, but I got out of the pedals somehow. The bike is flipping itself over and I'm heading face first for the cement sidewalk. Even though everything happens so quickly, I still remember thinking, Oh no. Go back! Undo!.

Suddenly there is pain in my jaw. I've landed on my belly, with my jaw catching the brunt of the impact. I feel this strange pressure in my chest and I try to cry out but can't even breath. I don't understand that I've had the wind knocked out me. My hands flail desperately then hug my chest. My fingers accidentally stab under my chin and i feel them enter a wet gash. Blood feels like it's dribbling out, getting on my clothes, dripping onto my legs. I keep trying to scream and then suddenly there it is. My scream. Over and over. My thoughts are disjointed. Although I know I could call for help on my phone, I at least am able to recognize that I am not calm enough for that, not even close. My scream becomes punctuated by the word "Help!" I realize that surrounded by a busy street and 6' privacy fences no one may be able to hear me.

I start crawling toward the road, thinking this will be my best bet to attract attention. But the street really isn't that busy and it still seems so far away. I look across Alameda and feel hope in my chest. A white truck, a white fire engine is parked there. I see men in blue shirts and pants. Firefighters. I scream again and I realize that they finally see where the noise is coming from.

I sit in the grass as the come over to me. They ask me a lot of questions, questions that I'm to repeat the answers to many times throughout the day. Name? Age? Date of birth? What happened? Where are you hurt?

Although I can feel the burn of road rash on my thighs and my jaw is clearly lacerated, even at this moment, I know what my worst injury its. Something doesn't feel right. The sockets where my lower jaw meets the upper is in a lot of pain and my teeth are not lining up correctly. As I explain my injuries to the firefighters, I realize that I sound much more like a little kid; I sound close to tears and my voice has this child-like tone to it. I pause as I explain about the jaw pain. My panicked question slips out. Did I dislocate my jaw?. They're more concerned with my neck and back, but I assure them, truthfully, that I feel no pain there.

I think briefly of my job and all the work I was going to get done today. Strangely, I feel no stress at knowing I won't be able to get to it. It's importance has been hugely overshadowed.

An ambulance arrives shortly and I go through answering all the questions again. They want to put a collar on me to stabilize my neck, but when they start putting it on my neck they realize that it will hit the cut on my jaw. I start to feel dizzy and know what that means. For whatever reason (dehydration? stress? shock?), I'm minutes (maybe even seconds) from fainting.

"I don't feel so good," I blurt out.
"Would you rather lay down?" Someone asks me.

I nod an lay my head in the grass. They decide to give me oxygen, which does make me feel better, but I do not especially enjoy having the tubes poke up my nose. No wonder people are always ripping those things out so maliciously in movies. This new position feels better and the sense of dizziness subsides.

The paramedics and firefighters roll me onto a board and lift me onto a stretcher. They wheel me into the ambulance. The firefighters assure me that the paramedics have all my important personal effects (I insisted they get my keys, wallet, and phone out of my bag) and that the rest of my items will be at their firehouse whenever I want to come get them, including my bike. I smile gratefully at them, and mumble a thank you. Mumbling is about all I can manage without aggravating my jaw. I wonder how I was able to scream so much earlier. Adrenaline, I realize.

The ride in the ambulance seems slow, but the paramedics keep me talking, which is distracting. The buckles on the stretcher irritate the road rash on my legs. As one paramedic examines me for serious injuries, I realize I also have a nasty scrape on my right arm and left wrist. I wiggle my toes as hard as I can, eager to prove to him and myself that I have no spinal injuries. They offer me pain meds, but the road rash is the most irritating thing. I can feel the pain of my other injuries, but it isn't too terrible and I don't want to take anything if I don't feel like I have to.

Although it isn't the closest hospital, they err on the side of caution and take me to Denver Health, which supposedly has a top-notch trauma center. Once we arrive at the hospital I feel like we've entered an alternate universe. I really can't see more than the ceiling and it's clear that they're renovating. It feels like they took me to a part of the hospital that no one uses any more. I say goodbye to my paramedics (I don't realize it at the time, but I've now lost the two most attentive groups of people I will see for the rest of the day, my paramedics and my firefighters) and am wheeled into my own room.

Nurse Angie (the only person's name I can remember from the whole day) comes in to get my information. A doctor comes in midway and she and I have to rehash some of the info. I wish I could just be wearing it all around my neck. I do not enjoy talking, and cant open my mouth very wide. Again I'm offered pain meds, but I still feel like they aren't necessary. People come in and out of my room asking my questions as I lay down in the bed. I help Angie get my tight and expensive bicycle shorts off, knowing if she can't do it herself, that could mean they'd cut them off.

Everyone leaves (although Angie does hand me a remote with a button to page the nurse and ones to control the TV) and someone new comes in to check me in as a patient. She leaves and Eric comes in (aha! another name made it through) to take me to get a CT scan. Eric says he's a biker too and assures me that my cut is in a good place, the scar will be very unnoticeable. I barely notice his assurances. I'm worried about my jaw. My teeth still aren't lining up and one of my bottom teeth is definitely slightly crooked. The CT scan isn't bad. I don't go very far into the machine and keep my eyes closed most of the time. There is a picture of trees on the ceiling with lights behind it, and it makes me feel more at peace.

The CT technician comes back in the room and I search her face, looking for a sign about my jaw. It's throbbing on the left side and I know she isn't a doctor but I want her to tell me something.

She looks at me and it's almost as if I can see the calculation on her face, "We got some good pictures," she says.
"That's good," I try to smile, but I keep eye contact, wanting to shout Tell me about my jaw! What's wrong with it? Did I dislocate it?
"How's your jaw?" she asks.
"It hurts," I wince.
"On the left side, I'd bet." she says.
"Yeah."

I feel relieved. Not relieved at knowing something's is wrong, but relieved at knowing something is wrong. I'm grateful to her but don't say anything. I feel like she let, well maybe not the cat, but lets say a paw, our of the bag and I don't want to discourage this type of behavior in the future. I've already become aware of people's reluctance to tell me any definitive information in this place.

1:00 p.m.
Eric takes me back to my room. He leaves saying I'll have the results back soon. He leaves and I feel alone for the first time since my accident. The adrenaline starts to leave my system, and as I lay in that bed, two tears leak out the sides of my eyes, running down hairline and into my ears. I lay there for a long time. The pain in my jaw starts to worsen. The lights turn off. This makes me feel even more alone. Suddenly I want pain medication and a distraction. I look around my bed for the remote, but Eric never gave it back to me. I sit up and the light remains resolutely off. I can see a little from the light streaming through the shades next to the door. I find the remote in a basket behind me but don't press the nurses button. I flip through the channels, looking for something to watch. I settle on a cooking show, although this doesn't help my slight gnawing sense of hunger.

2:15 p.m.
Angie, the first person I've seen in over an hour finally comes back. She explains that they have a couple of sick patients and that they're busier than expected. I nod in understanding. She asks about my pain level and I explain it's gone up. She says she'll get me some pain meds as soon as she can, but since the doctors are now busy...well, she doesn't say it, but I can't tell it won't be right away. It's a feeling I get. I continue to watch TV and am amazed at how much better it's making me feel.

3:00 p.m.
Finally get oral pain meds from Angie. I enjoy the water too, but don't ask for more. I wonder when I'm going to be a least stitched up. Occasionally I can feel my jaw laceration leak fluid (it's mostly clotted and dried on my neck, but it still leaks a little).

4:00
Angie comes back and tells me that they've looked at my CT scan (finally?) and tells me that they want an Ear Nose Throat (ENT) specialist to look at it. Unfortunately, he's in surgery right now, so it's going to be a while. She says they want to put an IV in me, just in case. I may need surgery today and they're taking precautionary measures. I have a fracture in my jaw. All this information seems to be coming at me as though I'd accidentally overheard a conversation. It's as though I'm not meant to hear it this way, but I am given a garbled delivery anyway. I must have looked shocked and Angie assures me that I may not need to have surgery today, but they're just taking precautions. I can tell that I won't be getting food anytime soon.

I've been poked with some pretty big needles in my life (from my days of donating plasma), but I can tell you this is the hardest stick I've ever had (even counting when I had a weird virus and was so dehydrated the nurse at my doctor's office couldn't find my vein or the time the tech missed my vein at the plasma donation center and had to "try again."). It took her forever to find my vein. This needle was long and huge and she just kept ramming it around in my arm, until finally finding the vein. Although I'd let a few tears slip earlier, they were freely flowing now. I felt so overwhelmed with "surgery" and "fracture" floating around in my head.

I mentioned feeling a little dehydrated and she assured me she'd bring me a bag of fluids to connect to my IV. She also asked me if I wanted to call anyone. I hadn't until this point. I didn't want anyone to worry needlessly and I certainly didn't want a fuss being made over me. The best part of this whole experience thus far had been watching TV and being able to just tune out my thoughts for a bit. However, if I was possibly going to have surgery, I knew I'd have to let people know, mainly my dad.

I called Shaw first. I needed someone to practice my story on and get some of my crying out. I knew he could handle the news much better than my dad and since Shaw and I had plans to go to a Rockies game the following day, I needed to give him a heads up anyway. Shaw took the news like a champ, just like I knew he would. The perfect amount of sympathy and rationality. No huge tone of overt concern and definitely no offer to come to the hospital. Exactly what I needed. He told me to call him if I needed a ride home and I hung up feeling better, more in control.

Next I called my dad. I told him to not say anything until I'd gotten through everything. He wanted to talk to a doctor, which of course, were not to be seen. I could tell he was getting very concerned, parenty...the last thing I wanted. I could feel the enormity of everything pressing on me and suddenly I wanted off the phone. Nurse Angie came back in and I told him I'd call him back. Sarah called me not to long after. If it had been anyone else, I probably wouldn't have answered. She sounded like she wanted to come to the hospital, but again that was the last thing I wanted at that moment. I just wanted to turn the TV back on and ignore everything for a while. I got off the phone by telling her I'd think about it.

4:45
The ENT specialist showed up. I answered many of the same questions again. I did not especially like this guy. He said he'd probably be sewing up my laceration himself, that facial cuts were something ENTs dealt with a lot. I was relieved, at least, that someone was talking about putting me back togehter. However, he didn't seem very friendly and hadn't even looked at my CT scans before coming in to my room. He flitted out to go peek at them and I blissfully sunk back into my distracted TV land.

A couple more people came in, new doctors. I didn't know exactly who they were, but one of them (a guy with some pretty cool mutton chops and kind eyes) said he was going to be stitching me up. Although I had been expecting Mr. ENT Doctor, I wasn't complaining. Mutton Chops mentioned that I'd be coming back on Monday, as he was sure I knew. No, I didn't know. No one was communicating with me very well. He said the worst part about the sutures would be the numbing medication that he'd have to inject into my chin, that it would pinch and burn. However, most of them I could barely feel because of the nerve damage the laceration had already caused to my face (even before the numbing injections, my chin felt like it was coming off of the effects of novocaine). Just a couple really hurt and I still thought Angie's mis-attempt at the IV was worse.

Just as Mutton Chops was finishing up, ENT Doctor came back in and told me that I had a couple of options. I could either come back to the ENT clinic at Denver Health or go to a private hospital. Illogically I likened going to a private hospital to dealing with more unfriendly people and said staying with Denver Health was just fine with me. He said I should contact someone early on Monday morning to make an appointment. Ahhh...I was starting to understand better. He also explained that I'd be having surgery on my jaw and that it have to be wired shut in order to heal. More tears welled up out of the sheer exhaustion of the day and at the words "wired shut." I'd seen what that had done to friends in the past.

I wondered when I was going to get discharged. It felt like I was going to be there forever. But the fast-paced barrage of information continued as Angie bustled in and handed me a discharge chart.

"Is someone coming to pick you up?" she asked.
"Well I didn't know when I'd be getting out of here?"
"I just a couple minutes," she intoned, as though it should have been obvious.

She gave me my discharge papers and a couple of prescriptions (antibiotic and a narcotic). It was as though I'd been waiting all day to find out information and get stitched up. And suddenly it had all happened in less than an hour. It felt like waiting in line all day and then suddenly getting pushed out the door before I'd realized I'd gotten what I'd been waiting for. She gave me directions out of the hospital and suddenly I was alone.

I called Shaw but he was in Brighton taking care of his parents' dogs so I called Sarah. I couldn't call my dad. I needed someone who wouldn't make a big deal about it and who wasn't a parent. I put my bloody cycling shorts back on and looked down sadly at my cycling shirt. It looked ruined. I remembered one of the paramedics suggesting peroxide to get out the stain. I thought I might just wash it and ride it around with stains and all. Way tougher. I slipped my socks on and left the redressing at that. My cycling shoes with their clips wouldn't make walking any easier.

5:45 p.m.
I hobbled out of the room (the road rash on my left thigh wasn't making this movement very easy), noticing that the hospital felt like a ghost town even when I wasn't staring at the ceiling. All day I'd been listening to strange beeps and noises but as I walked out it was as though I wasn't there. The waiting room was quite. Just a few people. Although a couple stole surreptitious glances at me, I could tell none wanted to look like they were staring. I couldn't blame them. I felt the dried blood on my throat and could see it on my legs and clothes.

Sitting there I finally thought about food again. I was starving and that sense of dizziness stole over me again. It felt like to took forever for Sarah to get there. Her expression looked pained as she watched me limp out the the car to meet her. I made her go to Jamba Juice to get me a smoothie (I stayed in the car). The next order of business was to get my prescriptions filled, but the pharmacy was closed by the time we got there. She got me ibuprofen instead and I decided to try that in lieu of the Percoset narcotic (which I hadn't been too keen on taking anyway because I wasn't allowed to drive while taking it). Finally we went to Taco Bell to get me pintos and cheese (I can't chew anything).

It was with relief that I walked in the front door of my apartment, washed myself off a little, plopped on the couch next to my sister, ate my soft dinner, and watched a movie. My jaw wouldn't line up right (it feels like I have an underbite again) and it ached on the left side.

I can't wait for sleep.

Running/Romanticizing Wash Park

There's a bizarre weather phenomenon that only seems to happen when the weather's hot, the sun's going down, and there's a motley cloud collection in the sky. These clouds are not just thunderstorm clouds. They're not just fluffy white Nimbys. They're not anemic wispy things. They cannot just be some etherial Michelangelo-inspired dream. Everywhere you look the sky is different and when you aren't looking at the sky at all, when you stare at the green trees and the green grass around you, at the pavement beneath your feet as you run, at the water as the geese splash around in it, you realize that everything looks a little...red. And not a sinister red. A sepia red. A red that washes over the land, romanticizing everything in its path. No rose-colored glasses necessary. There's a timeless quality to the world.

I'm sure the endorphins coursing through my blood stream are partly responsible for my current state of euphoria, but I can't help that the beautiful summer evening I just witnessed (and yes, I know it's spring, but really when it's 80 out at 7:30 and you experience the weather phenomenon I just experienced, you'd know the soul of today was a summer soul) put me in a blissful state of wonderment.

For those of you who know about waiting for magic, attempting a fresh start, lounging in the bitter barn, and listening to the Conscious Conscience, this might have you wondering, just how many blogs does one Dana need? I don't know, but I may never run out of themes. So here you go. My devotion to living life as an adventure and how the bizarre dichotomies of life make it all the more exciting.