post script
I am not ded. I am VERY lucky. I do not have serious injuries bar trauma to elbow, ribs, hips, neck, shoulders and a cut on my eyebrow. I lost a favourite tshirt and hoodie when they cut me open at the scene. I then lost all my clothes when they stripped me down in ER. I got to ride in an ambo and inhale funky green gas before morphine sorted me out properly. I stopped traffic for a while, but i cannot fly.
I went over the handle bars down a steep hill at 35km/hr when i slammed on the brakes of my newish bike. Rear wheel kicked up, throwing me into the path of incoming traffic at peak hour on Pyrmont Bridge Road. I was reacting to a car whose movements i couldnt predict: i had the choice of either maintaining my path and maybe colliding with this vehicle, veering right to avoid the obstacle and taking a chance with the cars behind me, or braking. I didnt add gravity or momentum into the equation, math was never my strong point. Lord help me Words!
Hit the ground. Started screaming. Didnt lose consciousness, I think. Managed to get the guy who rendered immediate assistance (Mark) to also call my boss. Right elbow not good, adrenalin pumping thru me so hard i can only breathe short and fast to keep up with my heart. I’m flattened on the road with my bike on top of me; apparently the bike wanted a softer landing then mine. Right about now i remember i have my helmut and gloves on. Ambos scraped me off the road after getting my neck in a brace: the senior officer (Liz) was funny and lovely and calm, suggested i take my guardian angel for a drink.
In ER they discovered i wasnt wearing knickers under my shorts that day. One less thing for them to cut off in a hurry. Weird thought though, lying there with 6 doctors checking my vitals for spinal damage, i’m wondering if i caught them off guard with my commando routine. Then, they roll me over to check for ribs poking thru skin and open my butt cheeks to see if i’m bleeding internally. Kinda wish i was passed out completley for that bit. Next comes the xrays, right there on the table. She was a cold bitch, yanking and prodding my limbs like they werent attached. I could feel it through the fog, she didnt care, a starched white robot straight out of the Cuckoos nest. Sweet irish accent on hand to cover me up with the gown and a blanket, i’m shaking with shock and drugs hard wired in my vein.
They call it trauma. The media call it “Ride 2 Work Day“. I’m calling it “The Day I came Closest to Dying…so far”. Maybe I am overreacting. Maybe you read this and think, what a wimp. But the look on the faces of my friends who came to ER that day brings tears my eyes as i write this. I am only one woman, yet i am not alone. Had my number come up i would have left without question or regret. And so i sit re-reading this, contemplating what it means now to be here, with these friends, in this life i have built for myself and i wonder why.