Pink platypus bike wreck therapy

So about that pink platypus...

Looking back over this blog, I see that I never posted about S's bike wreck last November. The first day of last fall's Durham County Pottery Tour, while I was busy selling pots, S decided to go for a nice long bike ride. About half an hour after he left, he phoned to say "I'm fine, but I got hit by a car and I need a ride home."

Potter P was also showing at my studio, so he held down the fort and I left with E to pick up S. The very apologetic driver who had hit him was there, and the EMTs were there, and S was there still in one piece. "I used the judo moves I learned [38 years ago]," he said, "and curled into a ball, so all the impact went into the [totalled] windshield and I just rolled over the car." The EMTs said "he's refused an ambulance ride to the ER, but you should take him there anyway." E and S spent the next several hours in the ER, while I went back to the pottery sale. S had a shoulder injury that would take a few months to heal. His bike was totaled.

Bent wheels

Cracked carbon frame

Trashed seat

Cracked helmet

Miraculously intact S

This is all to explain that last month, when S phoned about 30 minutes after setting off for a Tuesday evening ride, and he said "I'm fine, but somehow I wrecked my bike and I need a ride home," E and I were pretty sure we'd be heading to the ER with him again, even though S said "nah, I don't need to go."

We knew this not only from November's accident, but also from a wreck S had had in Oregon in 1992. That time, I was waiting for him to pick me up after a rehearsal. He was chronically late, so I wasn't surprised when he didn't show up--until our next door neighbors arrived and said "S had an accident and we're taking you to the ER." They didn't say "S is OK, but he had an accident and we're taking you to the ER," which was a valuable lesson in how not to convey information after an accident. I was deeply relieved, when we arrived, to find him conscious instead of dead. Turns out he had crashed while speeding down a hill outside of town. He hitched a ride home and wanted to take a shower to clean himself up, but he didn't have any Band-Aids, so he went next door to borrow some, and they took one look at him and took him to the ER, where the doctor spent an hour plucking impacted gravel out of his bloody arms and knees and face before sending him into a shower ("you won't be able to move tomorrow, so you should shower now") and bandaging him up. They wouldn't send him home until I promised to wake him up at 4am and check his pupils.

So on that Tuesday evening this past July, it was off to the ER once again.

Here are some things we learned: (1) if you're dehydrated after a bike ride but the ER folks don't want you to eat or drink until the doctor says it's OK, then your blood will be hard to draw, and what they manage to get out of your veins will be gummy and will probably clot before they can run the blood tests, so they'll have to draw blood a second time. You will need to explain to the nurses that bicyclists need to drink and eat after riding. (2) Folks who are in the ER with blood dripping down their legs will stand out to the non-dripping patients, but not to the staff; you have to wait your turn just like everyone else, but at least you'll give the non-dripping folks something to watch and talk about. (3) If the triage nurse is also a biker jock, he might give you different--i.e. less informed--i.e. wrong--advice about treating abrasions than, say, your knowledgeable dermatologist would. Your dermatologist would tell you to cover wounds with petroleum jelly (no need for antibiotics unless the wound is infected) and a bandage; ER biker jock nurses might tell you to keep the wound uncovered so it dries out faster (and the scab cracks every time you bend your knee).

Helmets save lives. Note that S's instinct to smile for a photo was still intact.

Drip drip drip. S wanted us to save his shredded bloody bike gloves, but we threw them out.

On the plus side, S's cat-scan looked great. On the minus side, the reason his arms hurt so much was that he fractured the radial heads of both elbows. The ER doc referred S to an orthopedist and sent us home.

I called Ortho the next day to make an appointment. "Our next available appointment is August 12," said the cheerful Ortho scheduler. "That's not going to work for us," I said. The Ortho scheduler actually sounded surprised and asked why. "Because today is July 18, and he has two broken elbows, and he needs to know what to do" I said. Ortho scheduler said, "Well, you've been referred to Dr. X, and that's the soonest Dr. X is available." "Can we see someone else?" I asked. Really. I had to ask that. And Ortho scheduler had to check with the doctor first and then get back to us. Thus it was that S saw a physician's assistant the next day.

On the plus side, S's fractures were the best of all possible elbow fractures. No surgery, no casts, not even splints. He was to wear his slings in public to deter hugs and handshakes, until he no longer needed to deter them, and beyond that, elbow and arm movement were encouraged.

So you can see why, ten days later, when we arrived in the Truckee Safeway, and S came across the stuffed pink platypus at 50% off, he bought it and spent a few hours every day squeezing it to build his hand strength back up.

And that is the story of how a stuffed pink platypus ended up on a log watching the ocean on Point Reyes.