sunday I had an epic adventure.
as usual, it didn't really start out to be one.
the plan was aggressive; it would be my longest, toughest ride since the fateful crash. but it wasn't a 100-miler, and it wasn't a four-canyon challenge. it was just a significantly challenging ride that I was hoping I'd be able to complete.
bill has this thing about the alpine loop. he loves the topography, he loves the challenge of riding up to the summit, and he especially loves taking a break at sundance resort. if you're not familiar with this area, let me explain. first of all, my eyes are rolling as I type this: it's not a loop. to me, a loop is remarkably similar to a circle, where one ends at the same place one begins.
this loop starts in american fork canyon, and to be honest, I'm not sure where it ends, perhaps at the base of provo canyon? no one in their right mind would begin at the base of american fork canyon, drive (or ride) all the way up and then down provo canyon, then wind their way back through provo and pleasant grove and linden and all those other little places to end up back at the mouth of the canyon where they began; the first half is stunningly beautiful, and the second half would be like sightseeing in your own neighborhood.
no one in their right mind makes a literal loop of the alpine loop.
but I digress.
american fork canyon takes one up past the entrance to timpanogos cave (a national monument, so less) and then up (and I mean up) over a narrow summit and then down past sundance ski resort, down another handful of miles until one reaches provo canyon, which one can then take east toward heber or west toward provo city.
the summit is only 8060 feet, but the base of american fork canyon is 4566 feet, and the ten miles between the two progress upward almost relentlessly.
when one drops into sundance at 6100 feet, one on a journey like ours knows one must turn around and climb those nearly 2000 feet again.
bill said let's ride the alpine loop, and I took a deep breath and said, okay.
I called it an experiment, not knowing if I'd make it, partially because we planned to start in draper, thus climbing the suncrest hill both on the way to and on the way back from the canyon.
sunday morning dawned bright and sunny, and then the clouds moved in and the rain began. it wasn't a serious rain, though, and the clouds seemed to be collecting to the north. we were headed south: out of the rain.
for a while.
it first started raining on us near timpanogos cave, maybe ninety minutes into our ride. it wasn't enough to make us stop, and after a couple miles the sun came out to join the rain, and the whole world around us sparkled and glistened, from the gently rustling tree leaves to the damp and shiny granite walls to our left. soon it dried up and the heat poured back out. It didn't rain on us again until we'd reached the summit and started down toward sundance, as we wound our way through the twisting pavement cut through a seemingly endless aspen grove. this rain was a bit more insistent, and we finally had to take shelter under the eave of a road-hugging pine, and I was shivering in my sleeveless jersey and arm warmers.
when this happens I'm always torn between hurrying to my destination to get out of the weather and warm up, and going slowly so that I won't get too much colder. wet pavement plays into the possible-speed equation as well.
this time we waited until the rain lightened, then moved on down the next four miles.
at sundance we ate, I shivered and shook and finally warmed, we watched a brief but heavy deluge come and go, and eventually hit the road again.
our hour-long climb back up to the summit was dry, and the rain didn't catch us again until about a third of the way down american fork canyon. I had been noticing all the nice cars coming up who had their lights on--how thoughtful--and then I finally realized it was because they had come through a storm, which was just about to sideline me.
this time we huddled in the shelter of an outhouse roof, watching sheets of rain fall earthward.
the rain finally eased, and a tailwind pushed us out the bottom of the canyon, and then it was down to the final climb up over suncrest, a fast cruise down the other side, and then the last, flat leg back to the car.
bottom line: I survived. it was a mental hurdle for me to clear: a tough ride with many hours in the saddle (that would be over 5 and a half).
more important bottom line: my saddle parts hurt! this area is still in its retraining phase, as well.
so, epic. rain, thunder, sunshine, dense and rich forests, a splashing river, a sea of pine, clouds and shade and goosebumps and rest, sweat and exhaustion and no small amount of conquering whatever appeared before us.
epic.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
I think I cannotyons
an organization called the Fourth Street Clinic here in salt lake works to end homelessness by providing comprehensive health care and support services to homeless Utahns. a non-profit organization, it has been in existence since 1988, currently serving about 6,000 clients each year.
one of my biking buddies is a doctor who volunteers his services there on a weekly basis and also sits on its board.
along with being an important resource to utahns who might otherwise go without medical, behavioral, and pharmaceutical assistance, the fourth street clinic is known in the cycling world here as the organization which sponsors a unique fund-raising event, the I-Think-I-Canyons ride.
this cleverly named event has been the source of many jokes amongst my biking friends over the past couple years, my favorite being from a friend who had spent entirely too much time away from his wife and son, biking, in the weeks leading up to the event. when queried via email if he might want to do this ride, his response was:
ithinki'dbesingle
the ride is a killer, beginning on 3900 south and wasatch, heading out to 9800 south then up Little Cottonwood, down and north toward the next canyon, up Big Cottonwood, down and north to the next canyon, up Millcreek, down and north toward the final of the four canyons, Emigration, then back to the start at 3900 south.
total distance of 110 miles, total elevation gain around 12,000 feet.
I have done rides like this before. and I have been tempted to do this one: what an accomplishment! just to have done it would give me an extraordinary sense of personal power.
last summer bill and I attempted a 3-canyon ride on our own, our plan being to start with Millcreek, then riding up Big Cottonwood, then riding Little Cottonwood and returning home. unfortunately the weather wasn't compliant, and the sleet and cold that chilled us coming down Big Cottonwood combined with the wet-looking, grey clouds hanging over Little Cottonwood kept us from heading up that one: we turned north and rode up Emigration instead. so we did ride 3 canyons, just not the toughest 3.
as I said, I've been tempted to do this one, just to have done it. not because it would be fun. and a week ago, I began contemplating the training plan I'd need to put in place to be ready for the 4-canyon ride on July 31st. I'd have to be hauling my but up some canyons soon.
yesterday, however, I came to the sad realization that I didn't think I'd be able to do it. unless some miracle jumps into my life in the next two weeks, I don't think my body will be ready for that degree of torture. I decided this after riding up Millcreek then coming back and riding Emigration, down to Little Dell and back. these are the mildest two of the four canyons, and I was quite depleted on my ride up emigration.
it might just be that I need a bit more rebuilding of my strength.
thus my chant changed from I Think I Can-yons to I Think I Cannot-yons.
you need to understand how significant this is for me. I don't give up easily, and I certainly don't like to accept that I might not be tough enough for something. I am deeply saddened to think that I physically won't be able to master this event.
and there's absolutely no way I would give it a try, and bail out if I couldn't complete it. I just don't operate that way.
I don't like feeling like the little train that couldn't. for years I've been operating under the I Think I Can, I Think I Can, I Know I Can philosophy, and this situation has just thrown a wrench into my system.
so I'm absorbing this, letting it sink it, accepting that life sometimes throws wrenches and curveballs and other assorted goodies our way.
but I would be accepting of a miracle, occurring sometime in the next two weeks, if the universe decides to send one my way.
one of my biking buddies is a doctor who volunteers his services there on a weekly basis and also sits on its board.
along with being an important resource to utahns who might otherwise go without medical, behavioral, and pharmaceutical assistance, the fourth street clinic is known in the cycling world here as the organization which sponsors a unique fund-raising event, the I-Think-I-Canyons ride.
this cleverly named event has been the source of many jokes amongst my biking friends over the past couple years, my favorite being from a friend who had spent entirely too much time away from his wife and son, biking, in the weeks leading up to the event. when queried via email if he might want to do this ride, his response was:
ithinki'dbesingle
the ride is a killer, beginning on 3900 south and wasatch, heading out to 9800 south then up Little Cottonwood, down and north toward the next canyon, up Big Cottonwood, down and north to the next canyon, up Millcreek, down and north toward the final of the four canyons, Emigration, then back to the start at 3900 south.
total distance of 110 miles, total elevation gain around 12,000 feet.
I have done rides like this before. and I have been tempted to do this one: what an accomplishment! just to have done it would give me an extraordinary sense of personal power.
last summer bill and I attempted a 3-canyon ride on our own, our plan being to start with Millcreek, then riding up Big Cottonwood, then riding Little Cottonwood and returning home. unfortunately the weather wasn't compliant, and the sleet and cold that chilled us coming down Big Cottonwood combined with the wet-looking, grey clouds hanging over Little Cottonwood kept us from heading up that one: we turned north and rode up Emigration instead. so we did ride 3 canyons, just not the toughest 3.
as I said, I've been tempted to do this one, just to have done it. not because it would be fun. and a week ago, I began contemplating the training plan I'd need to put in place to be ready for the 4-canyon ride on July 31st. I'd have to be hauling my but up some canyons soon.
yesterday, however, I came to the sad realization that I didn't think I'd be able to do it. unless some miracle jumps into my life in the next two weeks, I don't think my body will be ready for that degree of torture. I decided this after riding up Millcreek then coming back and riding Emigration, down to Little Dell and back. these are the mildest two of the four canyons, and I was quite depleted on my ride up emigration.
it might just be that I need a bit more rebuilding of my strength.
thus my chant changed from I Think I Can-yons to I Think I Cannot-yons.
you need to understand how significant this is for me. I don't give up easily, and I certainly don't like to accept that I might not be tough enough for something. I am deeply saddened to think that I physically won't be able to master this event.
and there's absolutely no way I would give it a try, and bail out if I couldn't complete it. I just don't operate that way.
I don't like feeling like the little train that couldn't. for years I've been operating under the I Think I Can, I Think I Can, I Know I Can philosophy, and this situation has just thrown a wrench into my system.
so I'm absorbing this, letting it sink it, accepting that life sometimes throws wrenches and curveballs and other assorted goodies our way.
but I would be accepting of a miracle, occurring sometime in the next two weeks, if the universe decides to send one my way.
Friday, July 9, 2010
5 grams, or less than 2/10 of an ounce
if you know much about cycling, you know that True Cyclists are concerned about weight. their own, of course, but even more often, the weight of the bicycle and everything on it. the water bottle cages, the wheel set, what one carries in their under-seat pack, one's shoes . . . the best cycling clothes are also made out of the lightest fabrics possible.
because it all matters---all matter matters---especially when one is climbing up a hill.
none of us want to drag any unnecessary weight.
in the early morning I judge the lightening sky to determine if I really have to put my front light on or not: it weighs a good 4 1/2 ounces. (never mind that I gained a pound from eating two slices of chocolate cake the night before.)
I laugh at myself about this, because for me, it all just boils down to those darn leg muscles. either they're going to get me up the hill or not, regardless of that extra 13 ounces I might be packing along from something or another.
and what stimulated these thoughts today is that it is fully hummingbird season in the canyons. yesterday and today they danced along with me as I pedaled up, flapping their wings so that all I saw was a blur. yesterday morning I saw eight or nine of them, or I saw the same one eight or nine times, I can't be sure. there have been times when I'm certain one is following me, playing with me, teasing me onward and upward.
I've learned that when they hover, they actually are flapping their wings in a different pattern, a figure-eight pattern, to stay in one place.
like I can tell.
I'm not sure why these creatures are so delightful to me. there are songbirds, there are more colorful birds, there are birds who dip and soar and float so beautifully through the air . . . why is it that hummingbirds seem so special to me? I think, perhaps, it's because they are the only ones who dance so close to me as I ride, who hover and play and seem to guide me up the hill.
and each one weighs less than the lightest water bottle cage you can buy. in fact, the titanium (ooh, shiver) water bottle cage that weighs a mere 28 grams still weighs more than five hummingbirds together.
to hold a hummingbird would be like holding a single piece of copy paper.
and just picture their activity, their flight, their beauty and grace.
this morning I heard at least a hundred different birds calling or singing, and I saw wrens and robins and one startlingly beautiful goldfinch, darting in front of and beside me. I saw just a few hummingbirds (or one, a few times), and I felt immense gratitude for their gift of flight, and for my gift of fancying them.
because it all matters---all matter matters---especially when one is climbing up a hill.
none of us want to drag any unnecessary weight.
in the early morning I judge the lightening sky to determine if I really have to put my front light on or not: it weighs a good 4 1/2 ounces. (never mind that I gained a pound from eating two slices of chocolate cake the night before.)
I laugh at myself about this, because for me, it all just boils down to those darn leg muscles. either they're going to get me up the hill or not, regardless of that extra 13 ounces I might be packing along from something or another.
and what stimulated these thoughts today is that it is fully hummingbird season in the canyons. yesterday and today they danced along with me as I pedaled up, flapping their wings so that all I saw was a blur. yesterday morning I saw eight or nine of them, or I saw the same one eight or nine times, I can't be sure. there have been times when I'm certain one is following me, playing with me, teasing me onward and upward.
I've learned that when they hover, they actually are flapping their wings in a different pattern, a figure-eight pattern, to stay in one place.
like I can tell.
I'm not sure why these creatures are so delightful to me. there are songbirds, there are more colorful birds, there are birds who dip and soar and float so beautifully through the air . . . why is it that hummingbirds seem so special to me? I think, perhaps, it's because they are the only ones who dance so close to me as I ride, who hover and play and seem to guide me up the hill.
and each one weighs less than the lightest water bottle cage you can buy. in fact, the titanium (ooh, shiver) water bottle cage that weighs a mere 28 grams still weighs more than five hummingbirds together.
to hold a hummingbird would be like holding a single piece of copy paper.
and just picture their activity, their flight, their beauty and grace.
this morning I heard at least a hundred different birds calling or singing, and I saw wrens and robins and one startlingly beautiful goldfinch, darting in front of and beside me. I saw just a few hummingbirds (or one, a few times), and I felt immense gratitude for their gift of flight, and for my gift of fancying them.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
a mini discussion of ribs
this is from one of my doctor friends:
one can displace bone callous in a healing rib (i.e. re-break the rib) with a hard sneeze.
guess what I did this morning?
yep.
I am at the low end of my recovery-chipperness. (i.e., I don't feel chipper at all.)
let me first state that I am extremely grateful my recovery has been moving so quickly and so well. and then I must state that I am tired of hurting and not being able to do what I would normally do. sleeping is getting better, but it's still challenging, and my pain level is always at the highest first thing in the morning. so I take my ibuprofen, and it lessens, and I go about my day. the clavicle only sends out little pain messages every so often, and I can actually go for hours, sometimes, without them.
the ribs have been great ~ except at night, when they're just annoying not awful ~ until the Big Sneeze this morning, when I guess I rebroke one.
now it hurts.
chipper me is in hiding for a while.
I am hoping to coax her back out with a cool and beautiful ride tomorrow morning, up her favorite canyon, at a slow and easy pace that is more about enjoyment than about fitness.
I'll let you know if I find her, hiding in the babbling creek or tucked behind a weeping willow, breathing in that moist and joyful early morning air, listening to the birds chatter, settling herself in, patiently, for the rest of her recovery process.
one can displace bone callous in a healing rib (i.e. re-break the rib) with a hard sneeze.
guess what I did this morning?
yep.
I am at the low end of my recovery-chipperness. (i.e., I don't feel chipper at all.)
let me first state that I am extremely grateful my recovery has been moving so quickly and so well. and then I must state that I am tired of hurting and not being able to do what I would normally do. sleeping is getting better, but it's still challenging, and my pain level is always at the highest first thing in the morning. so I take my ibuprofen, and it lessens, and I go about my day. the clavicle only sends out little pain messages every so often, and I can actually go for hours, sometimes, without them.
the ribs have been great ~ except at night, when they're just annoying not awful ~ until the Big Sneeze this morning, when I guess I rebroke one.
now it hurts.
chipper me is in hiding for a while.
I am hoping to coax her back out with a cool and beautiful ride tomorrow morning, up her favorite canyon, at a slow and easy pace that is more about enjoyment than about fitness.
I'll let you know if I find her, hiding in the babbling creek or tucked behind a weeping willow, breathing in that moist and joyful early morning air, listening to the birds chatter, settling herself in, patiently, for the rest of her recovery process.
Monday, July 5, 2010
chronology
for posterity's sake, so I can, down the road, look back and have an accurate record of the details of my Big Crash, this is my timeline:
june 15, 6:35 am I set off for my Big Anniversary Ride up big cottonwood canyon
june 15, 6:49-ish I am tackled by a weed and thrown to the ground
june 15, 6:52-ish I am helped off my bike, out of my clips, and back up to vertical by a mysterious cyclist in a white and blue kit
june 15, 6:54-ish I begin walking back northward on the bike path, toward home and hospital
june 15th, 6:55-ish two cyclists heading south ask me if I'm ok, to which I reply "yes" and they respond "no, you're not." they walk me back to foothill and have a friend meet us there in his suburban; said friend then gives me a ride to the U of U ER. thank you kris, matt, and the nameless urologist.
june 15, the next few hours: I am admitted to ER and my bike stays in my room with me, I am assessed and have my jersey (carefully) removed, have xrays taken and am asked many questions including whether or not I do drugs or am pregnant. am eventually told I have a few broken ribs, a chipped acromion, and two breaks in my right clavicle. am then told I must wait for more docs to review xrays, and since they're in surgery, it might be a while. am given a shot of morphine and am allowed nothing to eat or drink, just in case. they are concerned about possible internal bleeding, and then decide to xray my right knee because it's a bit bloody. I now have a hospital gown on over my sports bra and bike shorts and am feeling terribly attractive. later comes the CT scan of my brain (I'm okay) and then they decide to admit me. I want a diet coke.
june 15, the next 11 or so hours: I have a room on the trauma/surgical floor where I am given an IV and more morphine, where I vomit, where I am visited by friends and my kids, where my mom sets up camp, where someone knocks on the door every twelve minutes. I'm given something to moisten my lips and I am visited by a fellow cyclist who's an orthopedic surgeon, who tells me all about how he could fix my clavicle. I vomit. after a few hours I no longer want a diet coke. they decide to keep me overnight, my mom brings me some pajama pants so I can change out of my bike shorts, and I am two degrees shy of completely miserable.
june 16, morning. I brush my teeth and am so very happy to have a clean mouth. they give me some jello and I eat a little, they bring me breakfast and I have two bites of blueberry pancakes, which look very good but don't seem to be able to get down my throat. I am discharged shortly before noon with a prescription of oxycodone and an appointment to see a surgeon the next day. I make john stop and get me a frosty from wendy's on the way home. I sit on the couch for a minute at home, have a bite or two of the frosty and a pill, and then I throw up. I go to bed.
june 16, afternoon and evening: I lie in bed, trying to be comfortable, then get up every few hours to either take a pill or to throw up. gee, this is fun.
june 17th, early morning: go see the surgeon who suggests that a titanium plate will help immensely in my healing process and long-term prognosis. he's cute, so I say okay.
june 17, rest of day: a blur of bed and couch and a decision to stop with the oxycodone because although I've stopped vomiting, I'm tired of feeling woozy and weird. switch to tylenol.
june 18: am able to read now, and I take a walk to my bank, as I can't drive my car. big ugly bump where my nice, smooth clavicle used to be. wish surgery could be today, but it has to wait until monday because the residents are graduating today. like they're more important than me?
june 19: quiet day, I spend most of it working gently and slowly on a photo album of my oldest son's picture. this project has been staring at me for almost 5 months, waiting for me to have some down time, which I now have. I can't work for too long at a time because, well, you can figure that out. a nap, some couch time, and a wish I could do more than I can.
june 20: more scrapbook work, naps, couch time, sighs. I stay up until 11, having something to eat and some tylenol because I have a midnight cut-off pre-surgery.
june 21, morning: okay, they said I could have water up until 7 am, so at 5 am I have half a glass of water with my tylenol. check-in time for surgery is 9:30, and john takes me and hangs out there with me. they take me away at 11:30, the anesthesiologist telling me he's going to put something in my IV so that I'll still be aware of everything, but I won't care . . .
june 21, afternoon: I next saw the clock at 1:30 pm, while listening to the nurse far, far away telling me to breathe, susan, take a deep breath. this went on for about the next 4 hours, until finally a nurse decided to put oxygen on me and let me take a nap. at 6:30 they started packing me up, deciding I was well enough to leave. another prescription for oxycodone, and I am on my way.
june 21, evening: I get home, eat a little applesauce, take a pill, and throw up. go to bed. I get up at eleven, take a pill, and go back to bed.
june 22, morning: wake up at 4:30 am, throw up. take a pill. wake up at 8 am, throw up. another pill and a little applesauce at 11 am, and it all stays down.
june 22, afternoon: in bed, pill every 4 hours or so, and by 7pm I am ready to eat half a bagel and three grapes. the vomiting is over, though I still carry a little plastic tub with me everywhere I go, just in case.
june 22, evening: bed, pill, bed, pill . . .
june 23: pill every 4 hours, I am groggy and weird and just able to eat applesauce, saltines, pieces of bagel, grapes. I lie in bed and wish the hour away, wish the day away.
june 24: decide it's time to give up oxycodone and switch to naproxen. a friend brings me lunch and I eat half a turkey and cranberry sandwich. this is progress. stomach is queasy all day and night, but I don't throw up.
june 25: stomach still uncomfortable, but am feeling more human. go for a walk, am able to read. give up on naproxen by end of day, switching to tylenol. sleep is difficult.
june 26: mope all day because my bad ass teammates and many friends are up in logan, riding the MS ride that I'd been planning to do. additional moping because the previous day was my birthday and I'm now officially a year older than I was. blah. highlight of day: I get to remove the surgical dressing! now I just have a criss-cross of surgi-strips decorating my right clavicle and shoulder. am still not sleeping well at night.
june 27: have now switched to ibuprofen every four hours, and am doing pretty well. get up at 4:40 and drive to hyrum, then drive up blacksmith fork canyon to volunteer my help at the Bad Ass-supported rest stop for the 2nd-day MS riders. chat with lots of people and try to reconcile the fact that I was supposed to be riding with the fact that I can't ride and that all is well either way. a challenge. spend 4 hours there and then drive home. am so depleted I can do nothing but lie on the couch and watch old dvd's I've seen at least a dozen times. finally go to bed at 8:30 pm and finally have a good night's sleep.
june 28: get up and go to 6 am spin class, just to see if my leg muscles still work. the answer: yes! my heart even seems to behave, and is willing to travel all over the map. I am careful with my right upper body, and leave sweaty and pretty happy. later that day I go to my favorite bike shop and buy a new helmet, because the next day will be two weeks since my crash, and I have it in my head that I might need to get back on my bike for at least a little spin . . .
june 29: I go for a whopping 6-mile ride on my real bike with my new helmet! I wear tennies instead of clipping in, because I'm not really confident in my balance and reaction time. all is well.
june 30: 6 am spin class again . . .
july 1: ride my real bike with new helmet and real cycling shoes, up emigration and back down and 20 miles was plenty, thank you. go to surgical follow-up appointment, where I am given permission to now raise my right arm above shoulder height (this has been my only restriction). he asks if I've been on my bike yet, and I respond, just twice . . . he tells me not to be sheepish, saying this is how you tell a real cyclist, if you tell them not to ride and they do it anyway. like a climber will go climb when you tell them no . . . he grins at me. then he says go ride.
july 2: I take the day off. I'm tired.
july 3: eighteen days and a few broken bones later, I finally celebrate my 4-year cycling anniversary up at the top of brighton. it was an okay climb, though my heart rate hovered in zone 5 for most of the climb. I hit a record heart rate on that last short, heart-breakingly steep section right before the top: 190. am down to ibuprofen just at night and in the morning. sleep is still difficult and I always wake up hurting.
but I am back on the bike, back to what I love, in an amazingly short period of time. many thanks to all of my friends and well-wishers, the cute doctor, an obviously loving God, and a benevolent universe.
and that's more than anyone ever needed to know about my broken-clavicle experience.
but now I have lived it, it's been documented, and I can release it into the past.
june 15, 6:35 am I set off for my Big Anniversary Ride up big cottonwood canyon
june 15, 6:49-ish I am tackled by a weed and thrown to the ground
june 15, 6:52-ish I am helped off my bike, out of my clips, and back up to vertical by a mysterious cyclist in a white and blue kit
june 15, 6:54-ish I begin walking back northward on the bike path, toward home and hospital
june 15th, 6:55-ish two cyclists heading south ask me if I'm ok, to which I reply "yes" and they respond "no, you're not." they walk me back to foothill and have a friend meet us there in his suburban; said friend then gives me a ride to the U of U ER. thank you kris, matt, and the nameless urologist.
june 15, the next few hours: I am admitted to ER and my bike stays in my room with me, I am assessed and have my jersey (carefully) removed, have xrays taken and am asked many questions including whether or not I do drugs or am pregnant. am eventually told I have a few broken ribs, a chipped acromion, and two breaks in my right clavicle. am then told I must wait for more docs to review xrays, and since they're in surgery, it might be a while. am given a shot of morphine and am allowed nothing to eat or drink, just in case. they are concerned about possible internal bleeding, and then decide to xray my right knee because it's a bit bloody. I now have a hospital gown on over my sports bra and bike shorts and am feeling terribly attractive. later comes the CT scan of my brain (I'm okay) and then they decide to admit me. I want a diet coke.
june 15, the next 11 or so hours: I have a room on the trauma/surgical floor where I am given an IV and more morphine, where I vomit, where I am visited by friends and my kids, where my mom sets up camp, where someone knocks on the door every twelve minutes. I'm given something to moisten my lips and I am visited by a fellow cyclist who's an orthopedic surgeon, who tells me all about how he could fix my clavicle. I vomit. after a few hours I no longer want a diet coke. they decide to keep me overnight, my mom brings me some pajama pants so I can change out of my bike shorts, and I am two degrees shy of completely miserable.
june 16, morning. I brush my teeth and am so very happy to have a clean mouth. they give me some jello and I eat a little, they bring me breakfast and I have two bites of blueberry pancakes, which look very good but don't seem to be able to get down my throat. I am discharged shortly before noon with a prescription of oxycodone and an appointment to see a surgeon the next day. I make john stop and get me a frosty from wendy's on the way home. I sit on the couch for a minute at home, have a bite or two of the frosty and a pill, and then I throw up. I go to bed.
june 16, afternoon and evening: I lie in bed, trying to be comfortable, then get up every few hours to either take a pill or to throw up. gee, this is fun.
june 17th, early morning: go see the surgeon who suggests that a titanium plate will help immensely in my healing process and long-term prognosis. he's cute, so I say okay.
june 17, rest of day: a blur of bed and couch and a decision to stop with the oxycodone because although I've stopped vomiting, I'm tired of feeling woozy and weird. switch to tylenol.
june 18: am able to read now, and I take a walk to my bank, as I can't drive my car. big ugly bump where my nice, smooth clavicle used to be. wish surgery could be today, but it has to wait until monday because the residents are graduating today. like they're more important than me?
june 19: quiet day, I spend most of it working gently and slowly on a photo album of my oldest son's picture. this project has been staring at me for almost 5 months, waiting for me to have some down time, which I now have. I can't work for too long at a time because, well, you can figure that out. a nap, some couch time, and a wish I could do more than I can.
june 20: more scrapbook work, naps, couch time, sighs. I stay up until 11, having something to eat and some tylenol because I have a midnight cut-off pre-surgery.
june 21, morning: okay, they said I could have water up until 7 am, so at 5 am I have half a glass of water with my tylenol. check-in time for surgery is 9:30, and john takes me and hangs out there with me. they take me away at 11:30, the anesthesiologist telling me he's going to put something in my IV so that I'll still be aware of everything, but I won't care . . .
june 21, afternoon: I next saw the clock at 1:30 pm, while listening to the nurse far, far away telling me to breathe, susan, take a deep breath. this went on for about the next 4 hours, until finally a nurse decided to put oxygen on me and let me take a nap. at 6:30 they started packing me up, deciding I was well enough to leave. another prescription for oxycodone, and I am on my way.
june 21, evening: I get home, eat a little applesauce, take a pill, and throw up. go to bed. I get up at eleven, take a pill, and go back to bed.
june 22, morning: wake up at 4:30 am, throw up. take a pill. wake up at 8 am, throw up. another pill and a little applesauce at 11 am, and it all stays down.
june 22, afternoon: in bed, pill every 4 hours or so, and by 7pm I am ready to eat half a bagel and three grapes. the vomiting is over, though I still carry a little plastic tub with me everywhere I go, just in case.
june 22, evening: bed, pill, bed, pill . . .
june 23: pill every 4 hours, I am groggy and weird and just able to eat applesauce, saltines, pieces of bagel, grapes. I lie in bed and wish the hour away, wish the day away.
june 24: decide it's time to give up oxycodone and switch to naproxen. a friend brings me lunch and I eat half a turkey and cranberry sandwich. this is progress. stomach is queasy all day and night, but I don't throw up.
june 25: stomach still uncomfortable, but am feeling more human. go for a walk, am able to read. give up on naproxen by end of day, switching to tylenol. sleep is difficult.
june 26: mope all day because my bad ass teammates and many friends are up in logan, riding the MS ride that I'd been planning to do. additional moping because the previous day was my birthday and I'm now officially a year older than I was. blah. highlight of day: I get to remove the surgical dressing! now I just have a criss-cross of surgi-strips decorating my right clavicle and shoulder. am still not sleeping well at night.
june 27: have now switched to ibuprofen every four hours, and am doing pretty well. get up at 4:40 and drive to hyrum, then drive up blacksmith fork canyon to volunteer my help at the Bad Ass-supported rest stop for the 2nd-day MS riders. chat with lots of people and try to reconcile the fact that I was supposed to be riding with the fact that I can't ride and that all is well either way. a challenge. spend 4 hours there and then drive home. am so depleted I can do nothing but lie on the couch and watch old dvd's I've seen at least a dozen times. finally go to bed at 8:30 pm and finally have a good night's sleep.
june 28: get up and go to 6 am spin class, just to see if my leg muscles still work. the answer: yes! my heart even seems to behave, and is willing to travel all over the map. I am careful with my right upper body, and leave sweaty and pretty happy. later that day I go to my favorite bike shop and buy a new helmet, because the next day will be two weeks since my crash, and I have it in my head that I might need to get back on my bike for at least a little spin . . .
june 29: I go for a whopping 6-mile ride on my real bike with my new helmet! I wear tennies instead of clipping in, because I'm not really confident in my balance and reaction time. all is well.
june 30: 6 am spin class again . . .
july 1: ride my real bike with new helmet and real cycling shoes, up emigration and back down and 20 miles was plenty, thank you. go to surgical follow-up appointment, where I am given permission to now raise my right arm above shoulder height (this has been my only restriction). he asks if I've been on my bike yet, and I respond, just twice . . . he tells me not to be sheepish, saying this is how you tell a real cyclist, if you tell them not to ride and they do it anyway. like a climber will go climb when you tell them no . . . he grins at me. then he says go ride.
july 2: I take the day off. I'm tired.
july 3: eighteen days and a few broken bones later, I finally celebrate my 4-year cycling anniversary up at the top of brighton. it was an okay climb, though my heart rate hovered in zone 5 for most of the climb. I hit a record heart rate on that last short, heart-breakingly steep section right before the top: 190. am down to ibuprofen just at night and in the morning. sleep is still difficult and I always wake up hurting.
but I am back on the bike, back to what I love, in an amazingly short period of time. many thanks to all of my friends and well-wishers, the cute doctor, an obviously loving God, and a benevolent universe.
and that's more than anyone ever needed to know about my broken-clavicle experience.
but now I have lived it, it's been documented, and I can release it into the past.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
the chinese fortune
a month or so ago I cracked open a fortune cookie, pulled out the skinny little paper and read,
you will be showered by good luck before your next birthday.
seeing as my birthday was only a few weeks ahead, I was quite excited. this was finally one of those fortunes you could prove to either be a correct prediction or a bunch of hooey.
I was hoping for the former.
I am an optimist, I am always hopeful. every time I open a fortune cookie and read something good about myself or my future, I believe it. I wouldn't consider myself superstitious, I just believe that there aren't many accidents in life, that coincidences really aren't, and that serendipity loves to dance around, teasing us with her playfulness.
thus I haven't been surprised as I've tallied up my list of how I've been showered with good luck in the weeks leading up to my birthday:
that skinny little piece of shiny paper with 11 magical words on it was thus proven to be an accurate predictor of my future.
and I think I might just keep it around, and apply it toward my next birthday as well.
you will be showered by good luck before your next birthday.
seeing as my birthday was only a few weeks ahead, I was quite excited. this was finally one of those fortunes you could prove to either be a correct prediction or a bunch of hooey.
I was hoping for the former.
I am an optimist, I am always hopeful. every time I open a fortune cookie and read something good about myself or my future, I believe it. I wouldn't consider myself superstitious, I just believe that there aren't many accidents in life, that coincidences really aren't, and that serendipity loves to dance around, teasing us with her playfulness.
thus I haven't been surprised as I've tallied up my list of how I've been showered with good luck in the weeks leading up to my birthday:
- I've been given a (paid) writing assignment
- I've been invited to go do things with new people
- two saving angels rescued me after I crashed, calling a friend to take me to the ER
- I met a cute doctor (okay, he's married and a decade younger than me, but still)
- people have brought dinner to my home, twice
- john lent me his smooth, automatic-shifting car so I could drive
- someone sent me flowers
- someone brought me lunch and lent me their i-pad to play with for a couple days
- I have at least one hundred cheery orange day lilies blooming in my yard
- I found a great sale at one of my favorite clothing stores
- my mom baked me peach pie for my birthday
- someone left a gently tied bundle of fresh lavender on my doorstep
- I've received no less than three exquisite, small boxes of (yummy) chocolate
- I've been gifted with cards, texts, phone calls, emails, presents, hugs, and heartfelt wishes on my birthday
- my son has been mowing the lawn for me because I can't (woo hoo!)
- and to top it all off, I have a brand new, beautiful piece of titanium decorating my clavicle, with a possible airport security release card in my future!
that skinny little piece of shiny paper with 11 magical words on it was thus proven to be an accurate predictor of my future.
and I think I might just keep it around, and apply it toward my next birthday as well.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
homing pigeon
after attending two spin classes this week and going for a whopping 6-mile ride on my bike two days ago, I decided to try a real ride this morning. my 6-mile ride was done in tennies because I didn't feel ready to be clipped into my pedals, not being certain of my stability.
my surgical site is healing well, and I'm able to do most everything except lift my right arm above shoulder height (doctor's orders). but I've been nervous about asking too much from that section of my body, not wanting to overtax or stress anything that's still involved in healing itself.
my ride of two days ago was just enough: I felt a little soreness in the shoulder area afterward, but it just felt like it had been used, not abused. I tried not to put much weight onto that arm, staying out of my aggressive mode. (yes, I have a little one.)
I had an offer to join a couple people this morning at 5:45 for a ride up emigration, to which I had replied are you kidding? are you trying to kill me?
instead, I slept in a bit, pulled on my biking gear and cycling shoes, clipped in, and rode up emigration.
can you feel my eyeballs rolling?
my research tells me that no one truly understands how homing or carrier pigeons do what they do. that it could have something to do with magnetic fields, or possibly the spatial distribution of atmospheric odors, or some "map and compass" system that involves the sun. a number of theories exist, and the only known fact is that these pigeons continue to find their way home one way or another. their desire and drive to return to the familiar and comfortable is embedded deep within their dna, and not much thwarts them in their quests.
my bike, this morning, played the role of carrier pigeon. ruby wasn't carrying a message to anyone, though, she was carrying me to a familiar destination which appears to be something of a second home to me. I left my driveway uncertain of my path (only that it would be gentle and I would be careful and cautious), and found that I couldn't stop my chariot from turning right onto Logan, turning left on 23rd, crossing Foothill, turning right onto Beacon, left on Wasatch . . . and following what was known, what was familiar, up to the top of little mountain summit.
I survived: I was cognizant of every little rock/pebble/twig/piece of flotsam in my path, and I slowed more than usual around downhill curves. my shoulder felt relatively fine, and my leg muscles complained very little. on the way uphill I was concerned about going downhill, wondering if I would throw caution like a cape around my body. the answer was that I did, and I feel that cape, but it is ultralight and super thin, and it didn't hinder me much at all.
the canyon hasn't changed too much in two weeks, and it's unique position relative to the sun, the electromagnetic field, and olfactory markers enabled me to find it quite easily, honing in on the place that makes me feel, well, at home.
my surgical site is healing well, and I'm able to do most everything except lift my right arm above shoulder height (doctor's orders). but I've been nervous about asking too much from that section of my body, not wanting to overtax or stress anything that's still involved in healing itself.
my ride of two days ago was just enough: I felt a little soreness in the shoulder area afterward, but it just felt like it had been used, not abused. I tried not to put much weight onto that arm, staying out of my aggressive mode. (yes, I have a little one.)
I had an offer to join a couple people this morning at 5:45 for a ride up emigration, to which I had replied are you kidding? are you trying to kill me?
instead, I slept in a bit, pulled on my biking gear and cycling shoes, clipped in, and rode up emigration.
can you feel my eyeballs rolling?
my research tells me that no one truly understands how homing or carrier pigeons do what they do. that it could have something to do with magnetic fields, or possibly the spatial distribution of atmospheric odors, or some "map and compass" system that involves the sun. a number of theories exist, and the only known fact is that these pigeons continue to find their way home one way or another. their desire and drive to return to the familiar and comfortable is embedded deep within their dna, and not much thwarts them in their quests.
my bike, this morning, played the role of carrier pigeon. ruby wasn't carrying a message to anyone, though, she was carrying me to a familiar destination which appears to be something of a second home to me. I left my driveway uncertain of my path (only that it would be gentle and I would be careful and cautious), and found that I couldn't stop my chariot from turning right onto Logan, turning left on 23rd, crossing Foothill, turning right onto Beacon, left on Wasatch . . . and following what was known, what was familiar, up to the top of little mountain summit.
I survived: I was cognizant of every little rock/pebble/twig/piece of flotsam in my path, and I slowed more than usual around downhill curves. my shoulder felt relatively fine, and my leg muscles complained very little. on the way uphill I was concerned about going downhill, wondering if I would throw caution like a cape around my body. the answer was that I did, and I feel that cape, but it is ultralight and super thin, and it didn't hinder me much at all.
the canyon hasn't changed too much in two weeks, and it's unique position relative to the sun, the electromagnetic field, and olfactory markers enabled me to find it quite easily, honing in on the place that makes me feel, well, at home.
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