A few weeks ago I wrote about dealing with set backs. I said that when you’re faced with adversity you should push through it and persevere (pshh), which everyone already knew from the lessons learned from any sit-com or movie. When I wrote that ish I had just had a bad couple rides at Mount Hood and after reconciling my overreaction about those bad rides, I shrugged them off, took my own advice and had myself a good last day of racing. Then, on the bike, I felt even better a few days later. And even better a few days later after that! Amazing. Things really were turning around, just like in the movies! But since then I’ve come to realize the errors of my teachings. I was wrong.
I crashed, got hurt, and now can’t ride for weeks, if not decades. When you fall off the horse you shouldn’t get back on because you’ll most likely get knocked off again and get paralyzed. When Life gives you lemons it’s probably time to just curl up in a dark place and let yourself slowly die from dehydration and malnourishment. In other words, you should admit defeat sooner rather than later, because we’re all going to die at some point and our short, stupid lives are pointless to begin with so we might as well just get it over with.
As you may know, I’ve been off the bike for four days now. It’s been…rough. My injury is not a great one. I’m in no pain and I’ll recover relatively shortly. But that’s not the point. This is the horse bucking me off. Do I get back on and open myself up to another bucking? Possibly the LAST bucking? Or do I humbly and shamefully admit defeat and spend the rest of my days as a normal simpleton, avoiding risk while also avoiding life’s thrills. The answer is neither, duh. I already said the answer in the first paragraph! I said to go find a dark closet and let oneself die of malnourishment. Come on, pay attention. I wasn’t speaking figuratively. That’s how all of our problems need to be solved. Then there’d be no more problems.
In other news my legs are extremely sore today. Yesterday I went on a walk and later did 200 squats in the kitchen while I was eating a couple bananas. Any wincing I catch myself doing is in response to my aching legs, not my broken collarbone, which doesn’t hurt at all and is a pretty lame excuse for an injury if I do say so myself. I mean, if I’m going to be sidelined it might as well HURT a bit, come on!
I went to the doctor’s today and was looking forward to some good news about my collarbone. First of all, since I was seeing a specialist, this could be information that I’d be able to trust, unlike what I was told at the Tulsa hospital, in which I had lost all confidence.
Turns out the doctor I saw today used to teach pre-med at Tulsa University–the university hospital that I went to.
Uhhh, whoa. Small world. Turns out I was basically given all correct information at that first hospital, so the ER guy there knew his stuff. My new doctor also said that ER rooms are always like that–they ignore you if you aren’t about to die. In my defense, they never asked me if I was about to die so how would they know, especially without even looking at any of my injuries upon the fist hour and a half of my arrival? I suspect that when they ask you what kind of pain you’re in on a scale of 1 to 10, you shouldn’t reply with, “Zero. Or one I guess. I don’t know, it doesn’t really hurt. I mean, if you punched me in the shoulder it would hurt like hell. Like a five or so.” I think they might rate the importance of seeing you based on the number you say. Next time, even if I go in for a large splinter in my toe like my brother once did, I’m screaming a blood curdling “TEEEENNN!!!” at the top of my lungs.
Anyways, the diagnosis: fracture near the end of the bone, no surgery needed, little or no AC ligament separation, 8 weeks to full healing time–meaning I could be back on the bike in two weeks (that’s what I heard anyways), though he did not recommend it in case I crash again. But what are the chances of that? Zero. Or 100%. Those are the only two options, so therefore the only two percentages. Just like the weather. What’s the chance of rain? Zero or 100%. It’s going to rain or it isn’t. Or if it’s Oregon, it’s just 100%. I didn’t pay attention during statistics in high school. I was too preoccupied staring out the window at the rain.
3 thoughts on “Just end me”
My husband and I in our early 80’s have been to the ER many times over the years and find it never takes less than three hours or longer to get out. The question I hate most is what is the pain level? Compared to what, falling off a ladder and breaking a rib a few years ago, falling off the high rings in my 20’s breaking my wrist or just getting out of bed with a bad back every morning? And some people feel pain a lot more then others. I do and I find it is best to give a high number for quicker service.
What if you replied, “just end it now”! Avoid numbers all together, don’t give into their oversimplified system. They don’t care about your paid nor are they in a hurry to fix you up so you can go break yourself again…But give them your horse and lemon analogy and you are in business! They will more than likely call in a specialist to watch you 24/7, ask you questions, possibly even read you bed-time stories. They will talk to you about your feelings and find ways to make you feel better as quickly as possible. If for no other reason than the simple fact that nobody… I mean NOBODY, not even a shitty ER wants to keep a crazy hanging around!
we like crazies but only when they’re not in direct contact with us. basically being crazy brings out all the best and truest personality in people. this is why we like seeing monkeys in cages at the zoo. and, take for example, their most beloved behavior: poop-throwing and screeching at each other. in our society we like to keep the crazies in DC.