Well, I almost did it. After doing some open water tests and a 1000m stretch in the pool, I was ready* for the triathlon this Sunday. I planned to do one final big bike+run combo on Wednesday before the big day, which was cut short by what can only be described as my own foolishness. Not being used to "working" hardware, I hit the front break on my new aluminum bike, which, combined with my elevated center of gravity, should properly be called the "somersault button". I hit the asphalt head first, followed by my elbow. The helmet did its job, and when I came to a standstill, a crowd of astonished onlookers brought my various bits and pieces to me. Thinking that I was in better shape than I was, I opted to walk home, where I asked a frightened Kelley to help me remove my shirt and clean my road rash before getting checked out at the hospital. Bending over sent my back into a painful spasm and my normally enviable blood pressure into the pits. Kelley managed to get an ambulance at our front door within 5 minutes while I was sweating like a faucet, all the while watching my vision fade away. After a short list of questions I was on my way to VGH, as the campus hospital was not equipped for trauma. I never knew 10th avenue had so many potholes. A battery of seven X-rays showed that my spine was ok, but that I had a fractured elbow. Unfortunately a band-aid wasn't an option.
After a two-and-a-half day stay in the orthopaedic ward with my loving Kelley by my side, and several nurses who deserve just as much praise, I had finally climbed to number one on the O.R.'s to-do list, and my elbow became the permanent new home to two stainless steel pins and some wire. The operation (my first) was done under an arm block, which meant that I got to stay awake for all the drilling and hammering, and especially the smart-ass remarks of my Irish anesthesiologist, who resembles Robin Williams in more way than one (the good ways, I should say). This was roughly at 10am, and 4 Tylenols, 2 Tylenol #3s, and a strangely welcome lunch of "mac and cheese product" later, Kelley and I took the express bus home around 3 o'clock.
While sensation returned within minutes of the operation, I only felt the full brunt of my elbow's revenge around 11pm. Two more #3s (which I was arrogant enough to take two hours apart) and two ibuprofens did little to numb the pain, which can be described as the worst tooth-ache of your life — if your tooth were the size of your arm. I already had almost 3 grams of acetaminophen in my system, and god knows what else, so I thought I'd give my virgin liver a break. The pain subsided and I managed to get a decent amount of sleep. As we had recently moved in, our mattress is still on the floor, and neither Kelley nor I am in any condition to assemble our bed frame. Hopefully my back will shape up by the time our box spring arrives.
* Roughly half of the comments I got from nurses were about my "athletic" heart rate of 45bpm, which I'm proud of. The other half were about the accident, which I'm not so proud of.
This might all sound very dramatic, but if I hadn't been wearing my helmet, I would instead be looking forward to learning how to walk... or talk.
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