Sunday, April 26, 2009
One Down, Eleven To Go (My Collarbone Speaks)
Hi. Most of us haven't been formally introduced. I'm Mark's collarbone, and I have a problem.
*Hi, Mark's collarbone.*
I've only been broken for about one week, but I have learned a lot in this short amount of time.
First of all, I don't like being broken. I hurt at inconvenient times for Mark, like when breathing. Breathing seems to be essential, so I wish I could be more accommodating. Also, things like coughing or sneezing really seem like a no-no right now. I have been with Mark for 33 long (and sometimes stinky) years...and I don't remember him ever saying "Ha-Choo AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" before, but it's not like I always paid attention. Not to mention, I can wake Mark up in the middle of the night very easily...sometimes with that same screaming. I have never had so much power before.
I have also discovered that people love to tell me about their broken bones when they see me. They usually ask Mark, "What happened???" and they tend to listen for about thirty seconds before saying "Yeah...I broke my __________ before. It was terrible." And then they go on and on about what happened to them. This really bothers me and so I start to really throb at these times...
People keep asking me how this happened, and I really don't know. Mark and I were riding at about 20 to 25 mph on a flat road...and the next thing I know, Mark, his head, his face, and I were sliding along the asphalt. I have never slid on asphalt before, and I don't think I want to ever again. It's a weird feeling to have small rocks seep into other parts of Mark's body. The worst experience had to be while flying through the air, right before hitting the ground. Floating, for what seemed a lifetime, waiting to hit what would not be a forgiving surface. I felt Mark's helmet hit the ground, and I had a second of paralyzing fear that this was going to be more serious than just my breaking. Oh, I knew I was broken right away, you see. I crunched into the ground with a snap, and I think Mark noticed me for the first time in his life. This is when he started to writhe and say a nasty, nasty word over and over again: FUCK, I believe it was. He also had an interesting series of thoughts:
Can I feel my legs?
Can I feel my arms?
Oh shit, my shoulder is broken.
Fuck, I can't do my triathlon.
How is my bike?
Can I ride home?
I better lie down.
And he did, for a bit.
Some nice people came to help him, too. Some gave him first aid, others just waited with him until his girlfriend came and took him to the emergency room. It's funny, he didn't think about me too much until the doctor said his CAT scan was fine. Then he was VERY concerned about me. Typical.
It appears I won't be back to normal for TWELVE weeks, and it's kind of annoying to Mark that he trained for six months only to get hurt two weeks before his race...but there will be other races.