It's been 2 years since my last physical therapy session. I'm not really worried too much about the pain or discomfort from whatever the PT puts me through. Whatever it is, it won't be like when the nerve block wore off after my recent shoulder surgery. Plus, any increase in my range of motion will be welcomed. I still can't touch my right shoulder. Raising my hand behind my back only reaches the top of my left glute. I'm told the PT at this Emory office is great with sports patients. Let the rehab begin....Sept 27, 2012... This is the last day I was on my bike outside.
While lying on the ground in the middle of the intersection, I couldn't believe what was happening. Movie makers do this thing where they fade the background noise of a battle scene to a muffled level while zooming or focusing on the primary actor in the scene. You think this must be what "shell shocked" feels like... This is exactly how I felt. This is exactly what I heard. All the traffic noise, car engines and exhausts faded to the background. I heard my own heartbeat. I was laying on my right side, somewhat curled up into a ball. My face was flat on the asphalt. I was bleeding from somewhere. My left shoulder really hurt. The left side of my face was throbbing. I was lying in the middle of the intersection. There were cars all around. No one was moving.
By the time I reoriented myself, 3 bystanders were by my side. I think there were two women on my left and a guy on my right. I looked to my right and kept repeating "Get the license number! Get the license number!" He reassured me that the driver had stopped and to not worry. I think I tried getting to my feet. I thought if I could stand up, I would be able to yell at the driver. I don't know for sure if I actually made it. I do know I couldn't move my left arm. I looked at it like it was a strange prosthetic that I didn't know I had. I could move my hand but not my arm. This guy put a shirt under my face so my head wasn't directly on the roadway.
In the distance I hear a siren. It kept getting louder and louder. A little part of me knew my first ambulance ride was imminent. It was the police. "We're shutting down the intersection!" I hear coming over someone's radio.
"What's your name? Do you know where you are?" I'm just keep pointing to my RoadID. It's on my left wrist, laying there attached to a limp arm I can't move. The pain and the pressure I feel on my left side is severe enough that it's taking my breath away.
"I need you to tell me your name. What is your name? Can you tell me what happened?"
I told the officer I had been hit by a car. He insisted that I give him my personal information instead of discovering it for himself. I assume it had something to do with gauging my lucidity.
A few more sirens were close-by. Then I could hear someone giving a description of the scene. "Bicycle vs Car. Male cyclist.... Conscience... Alert... " THAT WAS ME! Three firemen were next to me before I could really look up to watch all the commotion. They're telling me to lay back down on my back and onto a backboard.
I'm no stranger to TV shows about this stuff. I know what's about to happen. I'm quickly moved to a backboard. They put a cervical collar on me. They tape my head down to the board. They strap my legs and torso to the board as well. My left arm gets some attention. They add an additional strap to fix my left arm in a chicken-wing position, strapped to my already strapped torso. I'm moved to the sidewalk. At that moment, I'm thinking how awkward I feel since I'm not the lightest cyclist and there are 2 firemen, a firewoman and a policeman carrying my fat ass on a backboard over to the sidewalk.
At this point, I can't move my head and neck. This collar is definitely doing its job. I want to watch what's going on. I'm frustrated that I can't.
A fireman leans over me and asks where I was headed. I told him I was going to the Pizza Ride in Avondale. He then said "I figured that's where you were going. I do that ride sometimes." Cool! One of the firemen is a cyclist! I ask him how hurt I am. He looks me over and says I have a dislocated shoulder and a broken nose and some road rash on my back and side. I asked him to check my left collar bone. He presses against my left collar bone and follows it down to my shoulder. Since I'm not screaming in pain, I assume it's intact. Amazing!
More sirens.... A guy with a blue shirt looks over me and starts cutting my jersey off of me. I tell him it has a zipper but he's too fast with the scissors. Next to go is my left bib strap. I just got those bib shorts from my team and was upset they didn't just slip it over my shoulder. He slaps some EKG leads on me and, with the help of the other blue shirt guy and a couple firemen, they pick me up and put me on a rolling gurney. I'm rolled into the back of the ambulance and one of the paramedics tells me he's going to give me an IV. I tell him to open it up full blast. Hydration never comes that easy.
I ask the paramedic to give me my vitals. He says "140 over 70, 65, 100 percent." So my BP was a little high and my HR relatively low, all considering I just got hit by a car. I was happy to know that 100% blood-ox meant the likelihood I had a punctured lung or something like that was almost zero.
The original cop leans in, asks me again if I know what happened. I tell him that I was heading East on College and enter the intersection with a green light. Next thing I know, a car coming from the opposite direction was turning through the intersection. He then asks me for my wife's phone number and says he'll call her to let her know where I'm headed. With a little relief that someone's going to call her, I realize that this will be the phone call she's always dreaded... a call from a police officer saying her husband has been hit by a car.
In part 2, I'll describe the ambulance ride and my experience in the Grady Trauma Center.
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