Normal sort of day... leave the house at about 8 a.m. and chose the Ariel (vintage 1946) to ride to work. I could have used the Lambretta, but the speedo had been making a nasty grinding sound and I need to replace it.
Besides, it was a cold day and thermals under leather seemed a better idea than jeans under waterproofs.
Somewhere on the other side of the world a butterfly flapped its wings... Trivial thoughts can change your world.
Somewhere on the other side of the world a butterfly flapped its wings... Trivial thoughts can change your world.
Normal route... up to Clapham North and join the Clapham Road toward Stockwell. No rush., just toodle along.
Normal traffic... well, that is to say that rhe car lane on the right was very slow, and the blue cycle highway was as crowded as ever, with bikes riding two and sometimes three abreast. I tailed a cyclist in the right hand half of the bus lane (yes, motorbikes are allowed) doing 15-20 mph.
The cyclist in front gave me a thumbs up signal and pulled over to the left, presumably a sign of thanks for not pushing him by getting up close. Nice guy. (Just a second faster, or a second slower... If only.)
Suddenly a car bonnet appeared from the right through the traffic queue. I had no time at all, I barely even braked, and my only thought was "Oh no, not the forks!". I couldn't even say what type of car the bonnet belonged to, or what colour it was. I didn't even see a driver's face.
As it happens, the forks survived, but the bike bounced off the front bumper and my leg got between the bike and the car.
I can still hear the sound of the crash; the plastic bumper breaking, the headlight hitting the tarmac and smashing to pieces. My next thought was that I had landed strangely. (If you fall over a lot, then you get used to breaking your fall by rolling. But this time I slammed into the road surface like a rag doll.) Maybe bashing my helmet on the road pushed my head, or maybe I quizzically looked to where I had come from, but what I saw next was my boot arcing over to hit my knee. That is; my right boot containing my right foot, swinging over to hit my right knee. I grabbed the foot and threw it back to where it should have been. Well, at least it was still attached.
I shouted; "Get an ambulance!"
Then there was the smell of petrol, and someone asking if I was hurt.
"Broken leg, both bones! Ambulance!"
"And leave my helmet on."
A cyclist made a phone call, but amazingly the medics seemed to be there as fast as if they'd been teleported. Lot's of poking and prodding; "Right leg broken, both bones! Nothing else (I think)." The cyclist asked me if he should call someone. I gave him the name of another PM at the company, it would just have been too complicated to try to explain my boss's name.
I'd often wondered how much it hurt to break a bone. The act of breaking it is not painful at all. But few moments later... Argh.
The medic tried to give me gas. I refused for a moment. I got the cyclist to extract my phone from my pocket, and I called the mechanic who fixes the bike for me. "Ned, I've had an accident, come and pick up the bike." "But I haven't left home yet." "Just come and get it please." And I told him where it was. Then I grabbed the gas and breathed deep, deeper and faster than I have ever breathed.
The familiar oily taste of nitrous (it doesn't really taste of anything, it's all in the mind) and the buzzy ears told me that I was now narc'd. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nitrous_oxide
An idiot tried to remove some plastic wreckage from under my broken leg. If I could have hit him, I would have.
The petrol really stinks. The cyclist turns the bike lights off.
"Can we cut your trousers?"
"Cut the ******g trousers!"
"On a scale of 1-10, if 10 is the most pain you've ever experienced, what are you feeling now?"
"errrr..... seven."
"I'm going to give you morphine. Is that OK?"
"Yes, yes, yes..."
I see policemen, and an arabic guy standing around. Lots of people, and stationary traffic.
I've used the term "scraped of the road" before. Now I find that it's true. They use a scoop to gently roll me onto a stretcher. Several people gather round, pick up the stretcher and I'm eased into the back of the ambulance. Something hits my leg, and it hurts.
Then the gas runs out. I can tell because the taste has gone and my head is clearing. I tell the medic. There's some discussion about a kink in the hose, but then they change the cylinder, and I'm cooking on gas again. I'm slightly perturbed to hear the medics discussing the bones in the leg, but they don't know the correct names.
Ambulances were not built for a smooth comfy ride. I seem to feel every bump.
Then we pull up at A&E and I think I'm at Guy's hospital (wrong), but it's changed... I'm wheeled into the A&E and they transfer me off the wheelie stretcher. The scissors come out and my clothes are cut away. Someone says "I'm going to give you Ketamine", and then the ceiling dissolves into dripping blocks of colour and moving lights. A ceiling tile drips down toward me, covered in beautiful patterns...
I wake up in a moving bed, on the way to a CT scan. Into a lift, along corridors, banging doors cause pain. I can see a cradle of plaster enclosing my right leg. Eventually I'm wheeled into ward, given some oral morphine, and left to sleep.
