The Day (Daze) of the Squirrel

March 22, 2015

~11:00 am

Steve and I finally finish the last pull into that bastard 38 degree wind from the east, turning left off of 2200N onto 2450E toward Lexington. It’s early in the season for me and I’m pleased to be matching Steve on this pull. My races and other events are off in my future, but my partner here has already begun a successful racing season. We make the turn and continue about another 100 meters on the front as the pack of 6 regroups.

The two of us drift to the rear to rest for a bit as Brad and Vicken pick up the pace, enjoying the wind giving us all a boost. The road makes a slight curve into a downhill as the pace picks up another notch. My eyes open a bit more as I hear one of the front runners call out "Squirrel!" I've encountered the furry critters in the past without a single issue (unless you consider the one that I "de-tailed" on the trail in town one time.) I watch as the varmint skitters past the other riders, and then zigs and zags around my front wheel. Then in horror I see it make a wrong turn and get caught in my spokes. I see a flash of brown and orange fur and think to myself “This isn’t good.”

Almost instantly I feel my bike decelerate violently as I’m still travelling at what I would find later is almost 30mph. I feel the sickening impact of helmet on pavement and immediately after that, the slam of my back against the road. At some point during that, my shoes detached from the pedals, the bike and I went our separate ways, and I found myself lying on my back in the road. Oof, wind knocked out of me, and a bit of pain in my back. This sequence of events all happened in the blink of an eye it seemed.

I roll over and get up onto my hands and knees, catching my breath. I feel a bit beat up, probably cracked some ribs, but nothing worse I thought. I clear my head a bit as my fellow riders turn around to check on me. Dr. Vicken tells me to lie back down, and checks a few vital signs, and makes sure I have feeling in my limbs and that I am able to move them. Everything seems to be in working order, thankfully. Vicken then gets on the phone and calls my wife to tell her of my accident, and she will meet us at the emergency room. Unfortunately, my bike did not fare as well as did I, Maude may well be terminal. So, a trip to the ER is in order for me, and a trip to Bloomington Cycle and Fitness (my bike shop) for my bike. But being 16 miles from town with no transportation posed a bit of a problem.

A quick call to good friend Chris who happens to live about two miles from the site of the accident, and that problem is solved. Rick, one of my fellow riders, sprints into Lexington to watch Chris's two kids, and Chris drives out to pick me up. With some assistance I gingerly stand up and get into the passenger side of his car for the ride to the hospital, and my damaged steed is placed in the back. I arrive at the emergency room a short while later, and am deposited in a wheelchair while all the necessary paperwork is finished and insurance information is gathered.

(Some of the details and sequence of events for the next couple days are slightly hazy, so I cannot guarantee exact accuracy of these events.) I'm wheeled into an exam room and painfully laid on a bed. By this time I'm very thirsty, kinda hungry, and starting to experience some real pain. I suppose my adrenaline is wearing off and I can now feel all of my injuries. But, the ER staff say nothing to drink or eat, and nothing for the pain until it is determined if I need to go to surgery.

Surgery. The "S" word. Hadn't even thought about that. Time for some X-rays, I am able to stand with some "discomfort" still, so I'm rolled into radiology and struggle to stand and remain still while the first of many images are taken. Back to my spot in the ER to wait for results, and I rest as best I can and wait... The doctor comes back in after viewing my pics and orders a couple CT scans. I'm starting to worry now, thinking the X-rays must have shown something more serious than I anticipated. This time I'm rolled in on a bed, no more transfers to a wheelchair, to get my scans done, (and a couple x-rays of my right hand which had now swollen and turned a lovely shade of purple) but apparently more imaging is necessary, so an MRI is ordered. Holy crap, I start to think, what did I do to myself? The ER doc comes in and says that we need to have a neurosurgeon see my test results, and that she is wrapping up with a patient at the hospital across town. Neurosurgeon? That does nothing to calm my mounting anxiety! Still no food or drink, as there is some possibility of surgery. I haven't had anything to eat or drink in about eight hours, and am getting quite hungry and thirsty, the little wet sponges they allow me just don't cut it.

By this time I have a small crowd of friends and family in the emergency room. Of course, as one would expect from this motley crew, it was all fun and games (until someone breaks a bone.) While the doctor performed a particular test to see if a certain set of muscles were still functional, the onlookers excused themselves to give me a bit of privacy. A few minutes later they returned...with a stuffed squirrel from the gift shop in hand. Funny guys. This would only be the first of many squirrel paraphernalia "gifts" my friends would bestow upon me. Good thing I have an active sense of humor!

Oh, back to the neurosurgeon. Finally, after some eight hours in the ER, she shows up. Reading my charts, she looks concerned, and I am informed that I've broken three bones. T5 and T7 vertebrae in my upper/middle back, and the left condyle on my occipital plate. T7 is a compression fracture, where the vertebra is crushed down to about 70% of normal. T5 is a burst fracture, where the vertebra is under such pressure it shatters. This one was of some concern, because one of the fragments was within a couple millimeters of my spinal cord. The occipital plate is at the rear base of one's skull, and the condyle is an extension of that which sits on top of one's spinal column. (I'm obviously not a doctor, but this is how I recall this being described to me.) These fractures would need to be stabilized, so I was fitted with a cervical collar (neck brace), and corset (back brace.) Surgery was still a possibility at this point, and I would be admitted to the hospital for the time being. I was kept under observation that night, with a close watch on my vital signs and periodic neurological checks. This entailed the old "hammer on the kneecap" we see on television to check reflexes, and poking my extremities with pins to see if I could feel it. Ouch, of course I can! They also would run a pen or pencil on the sole of my feet to see if I could feel that...in case you wondered, I'm quite ticklish there, and always reacted with a jerk. I got what sleep I could that night, but was very uncomfortable despite all the pain meds I was fed through the IV.

March 23

Not much sleep last night. Between the staff constantly checking on me, and the battle being waged between the narcotics and my damaged body, I didn’t get any more than 30 minutes of sleep at a time. I think I may have been something of a pest for the staff, asking for food, drink, and more drugs. The drugs can only be administered per prescription, but by the time came for my next dose I was in significant "discomfort." By morning it had been decided that surgery was not immediately necessary, but was a future possibility. I could now eat and drink, but I now found that my appetite was gone. Not sure if that was from the drugs or the pain, but I was just not interested in food. This day was mostly spent in a fog for me, but I'll attempt to relate what I can recall from it:

Apparently nobody had anything better to do today, since I had a steady stream of visitors all day long. I don't dare try to name all my visitors, for fear of leaving about ten names out, but thanks to all for stopping by. I may not have been a perfect host, as I had a bit of trouble concentrating with all the drugs flowing through my veins, but the distraction from my situation was much appreciated. Late in the day during a lull of visitors, one of the doctors visited. She said that I would not be having surgery in the immediate future, but we would let my body heal while stabilized in the braces and re-assess when that process was finished. She wanted me to be as active as my pain (which by now was a constant assault on my senses) would allow. She also told me I would likely be going home the next evening, once I proved I was mobile, and the doctors got my pain under control. In the afternoon my nurse got me out of bed and took me for a short walk down the hall. All I could think while doing this was that about 24 hours previously I could ride my bike at speed almost effortlessly, but now could barely walk. One fun thing I could do was set off an alarm on one of my monitors. My temperature, oxygen levels, blood pressure and pulse rate were all hooked up to a display. I found that if I'd relax for a few moments I could bring my heart rate down to about 46 bpm. The first time I did that I got a visit from a nurse, and I explained that my resting HR was indeed that low, and to ignore the alert.

That day was one of those that simultaneously went by in an instant and also took forever to get through. The hospital staff was outstanding, and the near constant stream of visitors kept my spirits up. I can't thank you all enough for being there.

March 24

I awoke in a daze, as was quickly becoming the norm now. The routine at the hospital had already become, well, routine. My nurse came in early to check on me, and told me they would like me to walk the hallway several times today, and then I could hopefully go home that afternoon. Walking the halls was easier today, but no less painful. I was informed that I'd be discharged early evening, once all the paperwork and medication was arranged. The neurosurgeon came in and told me I'd have to remain in the braces for about seven weeks, 24 hours a day, but I'd soon be more comfortable. My belongings and drugs were bundled up and I was set in a wheelchair for the trip to Nancy's car. While I had only been in the hospital for just over two days, it was great to get home.

March 25

Home. Away for less than three days, but so much had changed, it seemed so much longer. Still fairly doped up, I went to bed early that night. Pillows, must find many pillows. I needed to duplicate the sleeping position I was in at the hospital. Six turned out to be the magic number of pillows I needed. Sleep came in spurts, as I often had to adjust my position to help alleviate the pain. I watched the clock constantly to see if it was time for my next dose of pain meds. I could see that my immediate future would consist of dealing with pain.

I survived the first night home, but as the next day progressed, I could sense that the meds I was sent home with were not sufficient to ease my suffering. Any movement, any adjustment of position brought waves of pain. (Ask me about sneezes sometime, those were exquisitely painful.) Dinner time, and I tell Nancy I'm not hungry and will just lie in bed. As she is finishing her meal, I struggle out of bed and into the kitchen to tell her I need to go to the emergency room, these meds were just not working well enough.

She drives me there, and I relate my "discomfort" to the nurse and a doctor quickly takes me back for an exam, and administers an injection. Within minutes my pain abates  and I start to feel human again. A new, stronger prescription is sent to the pharmacy and we head back home.

These next few days my sleep was sporadic, turning, repositioning, and even trying different places trying to find one that I could call comfortable. I went from our bed to the couch, the recliner, an upright chair, even the hard floor as I tried in vain to sleep for more than hour at a time. I was so restless that poor Nancy began sleeping in the guest room because all my moving about kept her awake. My days were spent lying about, reading, watching television, and napping. And wondering just how long I would have to go through this.

Undated:

(A few of the more memorable moments from my ordeal)

That stopped-up feeling…. One unexpected issue I had developed was constipation. The near-constant stream of pain control meds had reduced my bowels to a lifeless and motionless lump of clay. The doctors had warned me of this, and I was taking over-the-counter and prescription laxatives and stool softeners, but for seven days, no activity. A good friend of mine happens to be a geriatric nurse, and has some experience in this situation. She gave me the ingredients and the recipe for a concoction to alleviate my problem. I followed her directions, and the next morning all of my problem was flushed down the toilet! What a relief. Thanks!

First long time out…. My first real excursion out of the house was about 3 weeks after my accident. I was part of a relay team registered for Sullivan triathlon, but for obvious reasons I was unable to compete. Another member of the team invited me to ride along to watch as the other members, including my fine replacement, competed. I wasn't sure if I was up to it, but the thought of getting out and socializing was too much to pass up. I got up early, had a bit of breakfast (my appetite was still not in full swing), pocketed my pain pills, and rode down with the team. By this time I had weaned myself off of the medications, but I brought these as a precaution. An hour and a half in the car each way and three hours on my feet at the event were way beyond what I'd been able to tolerate so far, but I was hungry for any way to ease my boredom. The day went well, but I was in some discomfort for much of the trip. I didn't share this with my companions, but just endured as best I could. Overall it was a fun excursion, and honestly it was just the diversion I needed to maintain some semblance of sanity. I was dropped off afterwards, and proceeded to take a much-needed nap.

Concert trip…. Within a few weeks my pain had decreased to a level where I no longer needed any meds for control. (Except for when I'd sneeze. I wish someone had warned me about that, it felt like an ice pick being jabbed in my back!) Since I was still unable to go to work, I could spend my time as I wished, as long as I didn't twist my back or lift anything over five pounds. This left me with much idle time, and I took advantage. I made a trip to Chicago to visit a good friend, and to see Crosby, Stills, and Nash. We hit a few microbreweries in the afternoon, met with friends for dinner, and then enjoyed a fantastic concert. Long day, and I was beat by the end, but not too tired to have a quick visit with my daughter before turning in.

Braces off..... After just over seven weeks in my braces I'm about to be finally freed! A visit to the doctor, some more X-rays, and..."the doc is not in the office today" I'm told, and only she can read the images and allow me out of my prison. Argh! I receive a call the following day from her nurse...yes, I may finally remove these shackles of awkwardness that had bound me for two months, and begin to resume life as I know it. Immediately I felt lighter, more mobile, and...weak. Like a newborn baby. For 52 days my head had been wholly supported by this plastic and foam contraption. For those 52 days all of the muscles in my neck sat idle, turning into a soft, gelatinous mass. My head now felt as if it weighed 100 pounds, and my neck wanted no part of it. I had to make a conscious effort to keep my head upright, and I found myself wanting to sit in a tall backed chair just so I could rest my neck. This passed quickly, thankfully, and a day later it was much easier to to keep my head up.

Therapy....Now that I was braceless my medical care was shifted to the doctor who would oversee my physical rehabilitation. I was set up for four weeks, three sessions per week at Accelerated Rehab. Josh and company did an assessment of my condition and my goals, and set a plan for my recovery. The first sessions were directed toward regaining my lost flexibility and range of motion, I was amazed at how rigid and unyielding I'd become. As the sessions progressed we began to work on strength. I soon found that two months of almost no physical activity will have a significant deterrent effect on one's muscle tone. As my flexibility improved, the focus shifted entirely to rebuilding strength. It was a long, tough, and sometimes painful rehabilitation, but necessary. By the end I was feeling pretty good and fit. Ready to take on the world. I thought.

June 22, 2015

Today marks three months since the accident. Perhaps most importantly tomorrow is my final (hopefully) doctor’s appointment. The one in which I am cleared to go back to work...and to ride my bike!!! My appointment is at 12:45pm, so I expect to be out of there about 1:30. A quick drive home, a spin around the block to test the new bike out (remember, it’s never been ridden by anybody), and I’ll load everything up and drive to TNTT, my home on Tuesday evenings. My plan (I’ve had plenty of time to think this through) is to arrive there early and ride an easy 20+ miles to clear the cobwebs, and then if I feel up to it...TNTT!

June 23, 2015

12:45pm. I'm in the exam room waiting for the doctor. He walks in, reads my chart, asks me how I feel, and performs a quick neuro exam. Everything checks out, and he asks me when I want to go back to work. Remembering the other doctor's comment that I can ride my bike when I'm cleared to work, I tell him I'd like to go back the next day. He says it's okay, he'll get the paperwork sent in. I ask him if I can ride my bike too, and he says "Let's wait two weeks for that." Wait a second...that's not what I want to hear. He explained that he wanted me to work a couple weeks to see how my back would do, so if there were a problem it could be attributed to my job. Damn. That makes perfect sense, and I hate it. He walked out to finish my papers as I sat in the room in shock. Two more weeks without riding? Not sure I can take that! Hang on, two weeks...I have two weeks off of work after the first three days. Why not let me ride for those two weeks and see if that causes any problems. The nurse came in with my return-to-work order, and I asked her about that. She thought for a second and agreed with my plan. Yippee! So, now I can ride and work.

That first evening back on the bike showed me that, while I had made some huge strides, I still had a long way to go. Endurance and power were almost non-existent. I couldn't even hold my head up to see the road ahead. As with most of my other issues, these passed, although it will take time to get back to my former self on the bike.

Work. Ugh. Physically I am able to do what is required, but by the day's end I'm spent. Before the squirrel incident, I thought of my job as easy, just a way to pass time and make a couple bucks. I soon realized that the job is indeed physically demanding, and I'd have to make an effort to get back in the swing. I need to find some patience.

Epilogue

My bones are healed, and my muscles (and all the connective tissues) are coming back now. I still have a few minor aches and pains, but even those are slowly going by the wayside. I look at the big picture and must admit I am one lucky son of a bitch. Without a good helmet I might well be deceased. That bone fragment that was so close to my spinal cord could just as easily have been in the cord, rendering me crippled or paralyzed. I have an amazing support group of friends and family that stood by me through my ordeal offering support, and even raising funds to help replace my destroyed frameset. I even have a new-found love of squirrel gumbo! I can never fully express my appreciation for all that you have done. My life is now rapidly approaching normal, and I look forward to sharing rides, drinks, laughs, smiles, and everything else that makes this community so dear to me.

Thank you all, and I'll see you on the road.