Zee Humans

“Yah, zee humane body is a strange thing. We fall off dee building, we are fine. Zen, we eat cooked speenach and chip zee tooth.�

-Gwenyth

I agree, Gwenyth. En route to Houston aboard SWA flight 679, thanks to a plane change in Las Vegas Nevada, I met German-born-turned-Vegas-high-roller Gwyneth. Even seated one could see she failed to stand more than five feet tall, and her attire and various souvenir knick-knacks revealed she often traveled internationally. As an awarded micro-biologist employed by the government (tiz top seecret, I can not reeveel), the conversation should have revolved around her work and lifestyle; but my circumstances fueled the dialogue.

I have a brace on; full leg, yes, but bendable at the knee and compact enough to fit between airplane ‘seats’. On Wednesday December 15, T-minus 42 hours till departure for Texas, a car hit me: pedaling home from the university around two p.m., a car shot out of a parking lot and side-swiped me into traffic. The irony is almost too great! Read Twisted Metal written on December 8 where I describe a horrific cycling accident and the human spirit revealed in such a situation.

This scenario failed to rekindle my trust in the human species. I picked myself up off the road and stepped down onto a sloppy left knee, immediately indicative of torn ligaments or a fractured lower leg. Hopping, then, on my right leg onto a nearby patch of grass, I looked over at the mid-thirties female driver, dressed in scrubs and apparently commuting to/from work, expecting her to get out and frantically offer help. Instead, in true “the world is lost and our species are egotistical ass-wipes fashion�, she lit her cigarette and stared blankly ahead of her. I, clutching my leg, began refocusing on the scene around me: my bike in the middle of the road, cars returning to speed and honking at each other in late-for-work frustration, and the sound of sirens already approaching.

Someone called it in, apparently, but it was not the driver. Only after an onlooker pulled my Redline out of the road, after someone pushed a cell-phone to my ear to call anyone of relation or acquaintance, did she exit the vehicle (Kia, silver, crappy) and strike up a conversation. “You have cell phone, you have?�…. Great. Any and every anti-white-bread-American fiber inside me inflamed at her obviously foreign accent. The police showed, took a report, plopped me in the ambulance and shuttled off to the ER.

To make a long story short, three hours at the ER with Lauren and her mother revealed a Tibial Plateau fracture, non-displaced, on the outside of my left knee. No torn ACL, no surgery required, and little internal bleeding. Shattered femurs sometimes turn fatal and internal bone shrapnel requires hours of surgery to fish out… I am lucky. Lauren and her mother, Mary, helped pass the time and replace some of my disillusion with mankind: we tried desperately to keep the mood light and the topics varied, and Lauren gently massaged my feelings about the impending Christmas/Training venture in Texas. She knew the potentially negative precipice my mind was balanced upon, though between her, Mary and a moderate dose of Vicadin I staved the depression.

First off, I did not even consider canceling my trip to Texas. If anything the distance from my bicycle facilitates being crutch-bound. I still fully subscribe to the idea “things happen for a reason�, so maybe I was meant to catch more fish, read more books, and of course spend more time with my family here in the South.

It is still a jagged pill to swallow, primarily since I have witnessed a phenomenal build-up of fitness in anticipation of three weeks pedaling in 68-degree Texas “winter� sunshine. To my left, through the large bay-windows overlooking Houston County Lake, the sun’s glare reflects off glassy-smooth water, dissecting itself through dense Oak leaves before invading my retina. Curse this beautiful weather with its summer breezes, pinched Fall-like sunshine, and cornucopia of rich, moist, living scents.

So here I am. Surely I would enjoy two weeks away from home and visiting family, though I fear that three weeks without diversion might push it. I may be happy that third week, but I do not want my grandparents fearing my boredom… I suppose that the “Calvinisms� in me try and always will try to make everyone happy. Thanks for reading. Wish me luck in healing; I view this as a great opportunity for my health and lifestyle to reveal itself through unprecedented recovery.
Regards-
Calvino