I haven’t had a whole lot of injuries; I am a cautious person; comes from playing around with stuff that can kill a whole bunch of you real quick if you let your mind wander. I got my ankle smashed in an armored door of a rocket launcher when I was 18, cause I wasn’t focused. That taught me quick; and the lesson could have been worse. I would have to say that the worst injury I ever sustained was a bicycling accident I had when I was seventeen and training for basic.
I rode my 10 speed about 15-20 miles a day, and in the summer, I didn’t wear much but shorts and sneakers. They didn’t have those spandex monstrosities back then, just some gym shorts that gave enough room in the legs without my nads falling out and riding alongside me. I was coming around a corner and I guess that I had the tilt a bit too extreme. I like to play like I was in a race, and so I never stopped pedaling, and I would drop over like I was on a motorcycle going around a tight curve. Well, you don’t have to pedal a motorcycle.
One of my pedals must have struck the ground, and it caused the bike to halt on a dime. I am still not sure how it happened, but all I can remember was peddling my little ass off one instant, and sailing ass over teakettle in the next.
I must have landed on my head, and then skid along on my back for a while, I don’t know. I must have been out for a pretty good bit of time, cause there were people around me when I woke up; and there weren’t any near when I was last present inside my body.
So I wake up, and there are all these people standing around me, asking me if I am OK; I don’t feel much, cause of the shock, I guess. I remember being extremely embarrassed more than anything else; here I was a grown man and I wreck my friggin bike in front of all these people, now I am laying here on the ground with my schlong hanging out and blood dripping out the back of my head.
Head injuries don’t hurt that much, but they bleed real nice. I remember gashing open my skull with a claw hammer when I was about six, hammering the shit out of a nail for only a six year old knows why. I just said Ow (I didn’t cuss back then, I was six) and continued gleefully banging the shit out of the nail. It wasn’t until I went inside that my mom screamed and I realized it wasn’t sweat running down my neck. I think that injury was worse on my mom than it was on me; I must have looked like Carrie right after the bucket got dumped on her.
So anyway, I am laying there, thinking what a schmuck I am and trying to nonchalantly put my dick back in my shorts without that little old lady noticing me and furthering my embarrassment. I finally convince them that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, nothing hurt but my pride, and a little bump on my head, and they let me up. I get up, dust myself off, attempt to regain as much of my composure (little) and dignity (none) as I could, and I get back on my bike to begin the trek home.
I ride past the hospital, because I guess my body is still, like, “shh, don’t tell him, he’ll freak out”, so I don’t notice that I am sucking wind. I must have looked quite a site riding down 23rd street with blood coming out of a hole in my head and what was left of my back.
As I got closer to home, the shock started wearing off, and I start thinking I may have been in error riding past the hospital, but I figure, I got no ID, no insurance cards; and it is just a scrape; they would laugh at me at the emergency room; nurses are way cute, and I didn’t feel the need to further my embarrassment in front of sexy women in cute white outfits. So I continued home, growing more and more aware of how much pain I was in.
I have quite a high threshold for pain. We use to do the most idiotic things with cigarettes to show how tough we were. I still have scars proving what a jackass I was. But I was the head jackass, so what the hell..
So I’m feeling pain, and noticing it, which is very disconcerting. Usually I can turn it off or tone it down. It is all about rerouting the signals; I tell my body to quit calling 911 once my control station has been made aware of the injury. But this pain hurts; like in a way that I can’t turn off; that sort of pisses me off.
So I get home and go inside. The kids are all outside with the babysitter (she’s sunbathing; and it didn’t even occur to me to ogle her, I was really feeling the pain, I guess, to miss a chance to ogle the babysitter). I holler, they don’t hear me; I am down on my knees now, trying to keep (unsuccessfully) the tears from coming out. I tried to bang on the window to get their attention.
I succeeded in putting my hand through the window; now my hand is bleeding, too, and I have a big gash alongside the ridge with shards of that flimsy window sticking out. But, the new pain gives my mind something else to think about. They heard the window break, and came running inside; saw me lying on the floor in a puddle of blood; I was trying (unsuccessfully) to be cool, but it is tough to do from the fetal position.
They called the neighbor and he took me back up to the hospital that I had passed about a half hour before. Took me in to see the cute nurses who did not laugh at me but took me back into the ER and sprinkled cocaine all over the hamburger patty that was left of my traps and lats; they then proceeded to take about a pound and a half of gravel out of my muscle tissue.
The head wound wasn’t bad; just a slight concussion and nine stitches. The back they couldn’t stitch, cause there wasn’t anything left to stitch together; so they treated it like a burn and just dressed it once it was clean. Ah, the feelings of having raw muscle scrubbed with an iodine bristle to stave off infection showed me how little control I had of the pain response. The cocaine worked great, initially, but it wears off fast; it is exceedingly difficult to wimper and quiver in a manly way, but I did my best.