Bike Accident  − 1 September, 2004 - 1 September, 2004

Everything Went Blank

I was having a dream. It was a nice dream, but I can't recall it. I woke up surrounded by faces and voices. I didn't understand what was going on. I don't recall being very alarmed. I knew something was wrong, but I don't think I was awake enough to think. I think that someone might have asked me for a phone number, because I know that they made me say something. I might have had to say that they would talk to my husband using that number.

I only remember one face, though there were others and many voices much closer to my head. At arms' length was a woman who looked very concerned. She held my hand and I kept my eyes on her face when they were open. I held her hand and looked at her and felt that as long as she was there, things would be OK.

I don't remember much about going from the ground into the ambulance. There was so much commotion, and I think I may have faded in and out of consciousness. When I knew I was going in the ambulance and would have to leave the woman behind, I did not fret. I knew it had to be.

In the ambulance, I think I may have begun to be aware that I had been biking and that I was no longer biking, but was in an ambulance, so something had gone wrong. But I couldn't remember anything going wrong. I just remembered dreaming. I thought that maybe this was still part of the dream - I didn't want it to be real. As reality tried to crowd its way in, I tried to force it back by thinking it was part of a dream. But I couldn't sustain that for very long.

There was one man and one woman in the ambulance with me. The man did most of the work, directing the woman. I think she might have been new. I knew she had a job to do, but when I could, I sought out her free hand and squeezed it. She held on as much as she could, when she didn't need it for her job. It helped me to feel that I was not alone.

I was beginning to accept that something had happened. I knew that something had happened to my teeth. Maybe back at the site of the accident someone had said something about my teeth. My tongue automatically sought out the sockets where my front teeth had been and found them empty. I knew that this wasn't good, but I had no emotional response.

In the ambulance I began to cry. I was very scared. I didn't know what had happened, and why I couldn't remember anything. I felt like I was living in a bad dream. I kept thinking to my self "this is so not what I wanted to do with my evening". When I was done crying, I told myself that it was enough, no more crying. I would be a "big girl" and be brave. I would not indulge in self pity because I knew that would get old really fast.

I remember someone saying that they'd gotten ahold of Ian, and that he'd be meeting us at the E.R. My memory is very foggy after that. I think I remember a little of being wheeled from one place to another after the ambulance got to the hospital. I must have faded in and out of consciousness, because I just don't remember that whole episode very clearly at all.

Being in the E.R.

I only became fully conscious once I was in the E.R. and in a bay on a bed. I was told that witnesses had seen me fly over my handlebars, and that my teeth had been found and were intact. I had been placed on a stiff board, probably in case any major bones were broken. My neck was in an uncomfortable brace.

Ian arrived, and I was glad to see him. I knew I must have looked frightful, and I waited to see how he would react, but he was pretty stoic. I didn't feel much emotion myself. I wasn't happy about my situation, but I wasn't feeling terrible about it either.

At this point, no one knew all the things that might be wrong with me. We just knew that my teeth had come out and that my lower lip was severely lacerated. They would have to do X-rays and whatever other tests were required to determine the full extent of the damage.

For some reason, I did not talk. I don't know exactly why; I think I just did not feel like talking. I motioned for Ian to find something I could write on. He found something, and we began to communicate. At first, I wrote what I had to say, and he started to write his response. I thought this was funny, because there was nothing wrong with his mouth or voice. I indicated to him that he could just talk, and he saw the humor, too.

For quite awhile, I wrote, and he spoke. When there was no one around but us, he talked just to keep me company, and maybe to have something to do. He told me about things that had gone on that day. Our friend Jason had interviewed at Ian's lab, so he told me about that. I was very glad that Jason might get a job there. He'd been looking for a long time for something in his field, as opposed to something just to pay the bills.

Then the doctor showed up. He looked nerdy, kind of like Bill Gates. I thought this was funny. But he was very kind, and was the first person to ask me why I wasn't talking, and whether I could talk. I tried out my voice, and said that I could croak. He agreed, it did sound like croaking. Apparently, my vocal cords had been traumatized in the accident.

He checked me out in a cursory way. He moved my legs had me stand up. My back was pretty sore, but it had been sore before I'd left on my ride. My legs were fine, and I had no trouble standing up. He also took a look inside my mouth. He told me I would be X-rayed and that I would be given a CAT scan. Obviously, we were going to be here for awhile.

Getting X-Rays

Everyone I had interacted with so far had been extremely friendly and personable, despite the many many people they must see every night, day after day, week after week. The X-Ray technicians, on the other hand, made me feel like a piece of meat that had to be processed.

They wheeled me into the X-Ray room, which also felt impersonal and clinical, despite its softer lighting. There were no people around except for my technician and the one with whom she worked. They talked to one another, sometimes joking around, other times, working out what they had to do to get my x-rays completed.

The only time my technician offered any personal kindness was when she had to move me back onto my body board from the other surface they'd moved me onto. She said she was sorry, and that it must hurt.

On the way to the x-ray room and on the way back, I was able to get a look at some of the other patients. I saw no blood or gore; it was hard to know what was wrong with them. I did see one young boy with a monitor showing an x-ray of what looked like his leg-bone.

I was glad when I returned to my bay in the E.R., where people were friendly, and there was lots of hustle and bustle of people. Despite the harsher lights of the E.R., it was overall a more personal environment.

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