Spread 3
February 22, 2009
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March 5, 2008 – A month since the accident and I’m still not sure when I’ll get back on my bike. At least the ER doc was wrong: I only had a cast on for two weeks. Kelly, the surgeon’s assistant, removed ten staples from my arm in mid-February. I got queasy when she took off the cast, the scar a raw quiver of skin running up from mid-forearm. Another warrior mark. The road burn is a shiny pink smear below the scar. It looks like split strawberry pop. Kelly told me to keep my arm in a sling.
Yesterday, I met with Kelly for the second time since surgery. She took an X-ray. When I first saw the image, I jumped out of my seat, exclaimed; “That’s a knee! That’s not my elbow!” But it was. My elbow is transformed, no longer mine, encased in enough metal to make any cyborg proud. Five screws bore into bone, like some over-enthusiastic Eastern Orthodox Cross. A steel plate unites the whole package, establishes dominion over the wayward chunk that my tricep claimed for itself when I crashed. There is some hardcore shit going on in this joint. Kelly says the bone is strong again, has knit itself back together.
Now, months of physical therapy begin. Healed bone is the first step. Range of motion and strength-building follow. My fork still stops over a foot from my mouth, so I eat with my left hand. Kelly calls the ache when I try to bend my elbow good. Discomfort indicates healing, since the joint filled with scar tissue and congealed blood that needs to be broken up and reabsorbed. Everyday actions have become deliberate and slow: pulling hair into a ponytail, pressing palms into prayer, waving hello. I hiss through teeth, fight the urge to cry out. Moving through pain is moving through the fear that I will hurt myself again.
Thirty days in, I’m a different person. It’s hard to put into words. I come straight home from work, feel oddly comforted by the hum of the refrigerator. Humility smells like dish soap. I forget what day it is. Depression is a mourning veil I peer through, feel a twinge of joy as couples embrace on the street. I show up late to work. I am small and primal – flesh compressing around bone. I really want to ride again.