It’s been almost 36 hours since the accident and boy am I smelling the funk. Besides breaking my collarbone I also pulled some serious musclage in my leg which makes it difficult to walk. I’ve got Debbie coming by later today with some giant wetwipes that the red cross is handing out to Katrina survivors. I plan on taking a bath with them sometime tonight. I finally have internet here at Julies now (I faked the date when typing that last post so it would look like it was from the night after the accident. hehe)
Along with the net access comes the obsessive need to research broken clavicle related sites. and post the news to Bike Forums.
I have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow. Now sure how that’s going to go, but I sincerly hope I don’t need surgery.
Also, I want to say thanks to all my friends for calling and such. It means a lot to me.
I set out home from the Pub last night, following the same routine I always do: wrap the chain around the stem and lock the lock on so it dangles to the side of the bike. As I took off, I made a wide s-swerve down the street like I like to do and noticed the lock had shifted to behind the headset, preventing the handlebars from turning properly. “I should fix that at the next intersection” I think to myself. However, the next intersection has a taxi cab entering it from the right hand side and I instictively attempt to turn to avoid it. Since my bars can’t turn, I tried to force it a bit and the lock popped loose and the front wheel spun around perpendicular to the proper travel of the bicycle, throwing me over the bars where I landed in the middle of the intersection square on my left shoulder; breaking my collarbone, dislocating my shoulder, tearing a muscle in my leg and generally making a spectical of myself.
It was totally my fault, as I was going down St. Ann the wrong way, but the cab driver could have at least stopped and ask me if I was OK before he left the scene, rolling over my glasses.
I crawled out of the street, dragging my bike behind me and collapsed on the doorstep of Moon Wok where I began to realise my shoulder was in bad shape. Stumbling into Good Friends, I stepped up to the first guy I see and in a calming tone I say, “Excuse me, could I ask a favor of you? I just flipped over my handlebars and I think I dislocated my shoulder. Could you help me lock up my bike while I call 911?” To which he replies, “Are you going to kill me?”
What the fuck?
I went to the tent hospital’s ER at the Convention Center and got taken good care of after being treated like total shit by the EMT/Ambulance drivers. The docs told me that I had broken my collarbone and may have dislocated my shoulder and should expect several days of the worst pain imaginable and 6 weeks of recovery. Joy. The guy in the partition next me me repeatedly called the nurse a bitch, and dared her to hurt him after giving him morphine for his police-dog bites, “Yeah bitch, make it hurt. I cant feel anything, make it hurt bitch. Yeeeaaah, give me that needle. Stick it in, you fucking bitch.”
Part of me was hoping to see a cute male-nurse I met at the Pub a couple of weeks ago, but no luck. Probably for the best.
Anyway, I get drugs tomorrow and I just want to get to bed tonght.