Punctured lung. Broken shoulder blade. Broken rib. Staples in my head. Assorted contusions and moderate road rash. As you might’ve guessed, I went bike riding. I wasn’t jumping a canyon,
I was pedaling along a bike trail, missed the turn and went speeding into a concrete wall. As a result, I’m hooked up to a chest pump, a morphine drip, and inflatable leg compression: I can’t go to the bathroom alone or walk without an entourage of equipment and medical personnel.
I’m finally the person I most feared becoming: an invalid.
This is the stoopidest thing I’ve done so far. Stoopider than the pressure cooker incident: stoopider than the scissors as bottle opener incident; stoopider than fighting with a dumpster. Oy, such a laundry list of dumb.
If any good comes from this fiasco, it will be me realizing I’m not 12 any longer. Bones do break and it hurts a whole effing lot. So I’m going to think hard while I’m shackled like a hostage and the question I’ll be asking is: so, genius, how much fun is this part?
On a related note, I cooked up a way to convert the hospitalization experience from clinical and scary to entertaining: bunk beds. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? A hospital stay as summer camp.
I know, it’s wildly impractical and beyond reckless, but big deal. Patients are more likely to die of boredom than falling out of bed. In nursing homes, too. Let’s liven up the joints with bunk beds and mosquito netting; I bet we’d reduce mortality rates at the same time.
Two birds, one stone.
copyright © 2016 the whirly girl
the whirly girl 
10 responses to “: notes from a hospital bed :”
Oh my! You really did a number on yourself. You now have the perfect excuse for being a lazy ass the rest of the summer. I hope you are mending well.
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I did and I scared the crap out of myself in the process. Maybe I’ll start using better judgment from now on. But probably not.
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Next time, body armor. And no tunnels or curbs or even cracks in the sidewalk. Heal up quickly, my friend. Get the hell out of that hospital.
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The Salt Flats in Utah would be a good place for me.
In the good news dept., they turned off the suction this a.m. and tomorrow the tube comes out. Next step, home! Yay.
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OMG. Get well quick.. I worry about ending up like that every time I get on my bike…..which isn’t very often…..getting on the bike I mean.
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With my track record, I expect accidents. But a punctured lung? From a bike ride? I’m blazing a new trail for idiots.
I’ll follow your advice, though, and get well PDQ.
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Like is NOT the concept we’re going for here…!!!
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You’re the best!
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Bunk beds…?
Seriously…?!?
Did the bike teach you nothing?
Get well, will you…?
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I wasn’t expecting your comment and burst out laughing until a searing pain shot though me. That’s the most fun I’ve had in 6 long days. Thanks :o)
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