Bike versus car: No class today

There's a statement in my syllabus which goes something like this: "In the event of a class cancellation, an email will be sent out to the address you have on file in bannerweb. Make sure you check that email address regularly". Whenever we walk through the syllabus, on the first day of class, I always add, "But I don't think I've ever had to cancel class before, so don't worry about that," and all my students laugh half-heartedly, while I can read in their eyes that they wish the impossible-tough-as-nails Dr. D would cancel class. Just once. During major events such as homecoming, a general election, or major storms, some of them will even hopefully offer up the possibility of cancelling class, but it just never happens. Rain, high water, free food at the Student Union, landslide victories, and tornado watches, nothing has ever stopped my classes from happening.

If anything has ever proven that we all need to eat our words at times, that right there does, as today is the second day this week I've been unable to get up off the couch, and I do mean literally unable to get up off the couch. And it's not even my fault. Well, by earthly standards anyway.

This past Sunday, I went out for a short bike ride. I didn't want to go on the ride, but as I always do, I went anyway, because lately, if I go with my gut and only do what I want to do, I'd be doing very little indeed. As you might have surmised from my past few blogs, I have not been in the most loving, tolerant, go-with-the-flow kind of moods, which has extended from my work to pretty much everything else in my life. In fact, whenever I've been going on runs, swims, or bike rides, I have used that time to complain, either in my head, or out loud to God. I mean, what has He been thinking these past few months. Why has everything been so hard? Why can't I get a break? And, most importantly, why won't He answer me?

Well, the second lesson of this blog is that you gotta be careful what you wish for, because this past Sunday God not so much spoke to me as He gave me a big old smack on the ass. Literally. Only He used a car to do so. A white Honda, if I remember correctly.

While I was cycling down a parkway near our house, a beautiful straight four-lane highway with wide shoulders and kvetching about the crazy wind, my tired legs (unacceptable! I'd only ran nine miles the day before! C'mon!), the fact that it was Sunday which meant tomorrow was Monday, and goodness knows whatever else, life suddenly slowed down. At first there was the nose of a car that edged up to within an inch of leg. Then there was a deafening crack, and after a moment of utter silence an intense pain in my side told me that crack had been something hitting my body. I remember managing to unclip my feet from my paddles, and tumbling into the grass, where I lay wondering who was screaming. That would have been me. I looked over, and saw a white car screeching to a stop. A woman came running up to me, in tears, her cell phone in her hand, "I'm calling 911, are you OK? I'm a nurse, are you OK?"

For one second, I stopped. Was I OK? Well, obviously, I wasn't dying, I was breathing, my limbs appeared to all be working, and aside from the stinging pain in my side, I was OK. My mind, the same one that talked me into running a half marathon with two injured knees, the one that keeps me going after an eighty hour work week and twenty hours of sleep, started to pipe up, and tell me I could just get up and get home. I mean, yeah, you just got hit by a car, but you're not bleeding, you're not dying, so seriously, man up, and get your ass up off the grass.

You will all be delighted to know that for the first time in a very, very long time, I told my mind to can it. My hip was killing me, I'd been hit by a car going 55 mph, I could tell my bike was bent up, and I was not OK. I was not going to pretend to be superwoman here, lying on the side of the road.

So I told the lady my hip was hurting really badly, and it needed to be checked out. The lady relayed this information to the 911 operator, and as my breathing finally settled down, she started to get more and more upset, "I didn't see you! I was talking to the kids in the car, and I didn't see you. But look at you, how could I have not seen you (I always ride in a neon yellow jersey). I am so sorry, oh God..."
What happened to me then is what happens to me a lot when I'm upset, but people around me are even more upset, I become this really calm person. Not sure where it comes from, or why I can't conjure that woman up more often, but there she was. Patting the woman's hand, I told her I was not dying, and was probably going to be OK. I told her stuff like this just happens, and it's not as though she did it on purpose.

The ambulance showed up at the same time as about four police cars, as well as a fire truck. Apparently, our county doesn't take chances with accidents involving cyclists, and pulls out all the stops. Well, that, and the fact that, according to the EMTs, it had been a slow Sunday afternoon, probably helped to bring everyone out too. Information was taken down, and one police officer was dispatched to notify husband-dear of my accident. And it wasn't until the EMTs pulled the stretcher up to push it into the back of ambulance, when I saw all the traffic backed up on the parkway, and the broken mirror lying on the side of the road, that it hit me, I have just been in a car accident. And I'm still conscious to talk about it. What a miracle.

Anyway, the next two hours were spent in the ER, talking to doctors, nurses, police officers, and assuring the boys (as well as husband-dear) that I really was going to be OK. And I am. Nothing was broken, I was diagnosed with a "severe contusion" (as well as a case of really stinking good luck), and sent home with some wicked pain killers.

So I've spent the past day on the couch, on my right side, occasionally shifting the pillows I use to prop myself up around, and requesting a fresh ice pack. The outline of the mirror that hit me is slowly starting to show up on my behind, and the bulge means I've only been able to wear shorts or sweatpants.

While I think my back will feel good enough to go back to work tomorrow, being forced into two days of bed rest has been somewhat nice. Painful, but nice. Just note that you really do need to be careful what you wish for