Digging Deep

Okay, it's almost show time. The PMC is just 34 hours away.  I'm trying to stay calm and just breathe.

I know - well, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure - that I won't have another freak bike accident sending me face first into the pavement like I did in March.  But the impending weekend just stirs it all up again for me.

That pavement hurt.  My face, though relatively unchanged to most people (or so they say) is still in the midst of healing.  To me, my face isn't what it was, but I'm still staying hopeful as I wait to  see what the next several months will bring.

Am I ready - both physically and mentally -  to ride the 163 miles from Wellesley to Provincetown this weekend?  Yes, I think I'm ready.  I'm not in perfect form, but I'm in good enough form and I will do just fine.  Not an easy admission from a lifelong perfectionist, but it is what it is.  I'll do just fine.

I'm thankful to the PMC for getting me back out on my bike after my accident.  It's been my primary driver and reason for riding the last several months.  My participation last year taught me that not much can compete with the high of riding the PMC.  The cause, the crowds along the route, the camaraderie on the road, and the knowledge that for two full days, I'm part of something big, part of the solution.  It's almost overwhelming.

We ride the PMC for a higher purpose:  To help fund life saving cancer treatment. I've tried to keep that in the front of my mind as I faced the fear of getting back on my bike to train.  The day of my accident, I was lucky in that what happened to me could be fixed.  I ride the PMC with the hope and the goal that those with cancer can also be fixed.

So as the weekend approaches, I'm trying to dig deep and just breathe.  The reward of participation will make it all worth it.

Back in the Saddle

So, quietly and without a lot of fanfare, I've gotten back on my bike and begun doing training rides again.  Riding is still scary for me, but I'm trying to put that aside as best I can and begin enjoying the ride again.

It's interesting to look back and see how I made this progression. After my accident, I couldn't even look at my bike, let alone touch it or clean it off. Eventually, I was able to take that step and then get my bike into my car and to the repair shop.

After it was fixed, I drove around with it in my car for a few weeks. I didn't even realize I was doing this until my daughter asked why it was still in the car.  It sounds funny, but I responded that I was keeping it in the car so my bike and I could be near each other. I needed to learn how to trust it again and maybe if I drove around with it in my car for a few weeks, that would help.

In fact, it did help. I then was able to get back on for a biking "light" ride with my son, as documented in my previous post.

The next challenge, which I've been told is in typical Lisa fashion, was for me to face the fear head on. So one morning when I was feeling brave, I got on my bike wearing the same clothes I had on the day of my accident and rode the route I should have finished on that unlucky day.

I had visions of what my reaction would be when I passed over "the scene".  Would I stop, get off the bike and quietly remember or would I bike right over with my fist shaking in anger?

Oddly enough, a car passed by me at the exact minute I came upon "the scene", almost knocking me off the road.  I just hung on and kept riding.  Maybe that was for the best. I've been told I'm an overthinker and maybe I've done enough thinking about my crash.

I've been out for several more rides since, both riding alone and in groups.  It's been fun and scary. It's made me anxious and calm.  I'm sure my riding will be filled with conflicting emotions for a long time, maybe forever.

But for now, I'm just trying to take it one mile at a time and one ride at a time, and hoping that it will get easier.

Back On: Biking "Light"

I should have mentioned this earlier, but about two weeks ago I actually got back on my bike for the first time since my accident.  I knew I would need some hand holding and my 12 year old son was offering to do it.

During school vacation week, we decided to take a trip down to Lexington Center and bike along the Minuteman Bikeway, as we had done on the first day of summer vacation almost two years ago.  We had a great mom and son ride that time so I thought that repeating that experience would be a nice way to ease back into the saddle.  And I was right.

But before I could get back on my bike, I had to get back in my bike clothes, which I hadn't touched since my accident.  This, it turned out, was just as emotional as getting back on my bike.  I realized that the last time I put these clothes on I was so naive. I had no idea how hard the pavement could be.  And seeing that my nice new bike jacket suffered some road rash, too, made my stomach twinge.

The act of getting back on my bike was filled with different emotions, though I couldn't wallow in them too much given I had my son along for the ride.  Being back on felt familiar but scary, natural and unnatural.

It also felt a little anti-climatic, like this big huge monster fear that had been living in the back of my mind actually wasn't going to come out and strike me face first to the pavement again.  Maybe it felt this way, though, because in my mind this wasn't "real" biking - it was biking "light", like going for a nice stroll through a garden.  Maybe the real demons won't come out until I'm back on the road doing training rides.

But it was a step. A good step. And the first of many baby steps.

Here is a shot my son took of me during a pit stop.  The shadows hide the remaining road rash and the healing scar on my face. The doctor said that I will get my old face back but it will take some time.


We picked a beautiful day and had a great mom and son ride.  We took in some nice views, had a leisurely ride and had some great conversations.  Thanks for getting me back in the saddle, buddy!

Repair Work: The Rider (Part II)

Here it is six weeks after my accident and I'm still working on the emotional repair.  It would be so much easier if my wounds hadn't been so visible.

I know I'm healing extremely well but I'm tired of feeling "marred".  I look in the mirror constantly and see a face that is marred.  That's all I see and I can't get past it.  Flawed. Imperfect.  Injured.  Marred.

My upper lip and chin are still discolored, though at least they've faded to the pink hues.  Although my lip still feels split to some extent, I have regained most of my lip line.  But the texture on my upper lip looks suspect and I'm starting to worry the skin there will never be smooth again.

Family and friends have been so supportive through all of this and I'm so thankful for that. Most have commented on my amazing healing abilities and tell me I barely look any different than before.  But I still worry.  I pray I'll get my old face back exactly as it was.

Did I appreciate it enough back then?  I'm sure I didn't.  But I know I'll appreciate it fully if I ever get it back again.

Repair Work: The Rider (Part I)

If only the repair of the rider was as simple and as painless as the repair of the bike.

But unfortunately, that's not the case.  Rider recovery - both physical and emotional - has been and will continue to be a process.

Speaking purely of my physical recovery, by all accounts I'm doing extremely well.  The plastic surgeon has commented on this several times.  My husband has even referred to me as a "time lapse photograph":  every time he looks at me, I look better and better and more like my old self.  Even I, my worst critic, can see significant improvement and a light at the end of the tunnel.

I started out in pretty rough shape.  As I detailed in my "Hard Fall" post, I landed face first on pavement with absolutely no warning while biking 15 mph.  For my own reference, here's an inventory of the damage done in that split second:

• I split my upper lip vertically all the way through, halfway up to my nose.  
• Four of my previously perfect top teeth were lost or chipped:  I lost a top front tooth, root and all. I also chipped three more and knocked one out of place. 
• I had significant road rash and cuts on my chin and upper lip. More road rash also appeared on my right cheek, with cuts on my nose and neck. 
• My neck and jaw were stiff and painful.  A few days later this pain extended itself to every bone and muscle in my body.
• The swelling in my jaw joints prevented me from being able to open my mouth.  It later led to painful earaches. 
• My right wrist and the knuckles on my right hand were swollen and blue. 
• I had bruises and road burns through my riding pants on the left side of both knees.   

Well that's a sucky list.  But again, I know it could be much, much worse.  Plus, the body has amazing healing abilities and I'm doing so much better now.

My repair work began at Lawrence General Hospital, where I found myself in the capable hands of Dr. Drew Remignanti.  Although there was no plastic surgeon on hand that night, he had consulted with one by phone and stitched me up with the skill and perfection that you would only find with an ER doctor who has been doing this for 30 years.  I'm seeing a top Boston plastic surgeon and he has told me I got very lucky getting this ER doctor that night and I that I should write him and thank him. (That has always been my plan but I'm waiting until I have a good "after" picture to send him.)

Two oddities exist with me being paired with Dr. Drew that night:  First off, his name.  The only other adult "Drew" I know is also my favorite riding buddy.  Second, I later learned that this doctor also graduated from my alma mater, Dartmouth College, ten years earlier.  Little did I know at the time that a fellow member of the Dartmouth family had come to my aid.  What a fortuitous paring.

More repair work was done by our dentist and good friend, Peter Eliopoulos.  Peter actually drove up to the ER to see me, prompting Dr. Drew to remark that he's never seen a dentist ever come to the ER in his 30 years practicing.  Although Peter couldn't do any treatment there, he was able to review my X rays and my jaw and let me know that fortunately, I was still in occlusion (this is a good thing).  My jaw was still aligned and he could fix everything else.

Peter's presence had a huge calming effect on me and I can't thank him enough.  My dental repair will be a process but I'm in very capable hands and know I will wind up with more perfect looking teeth than I had before my accident. Here's a link to Peter's office if you live in the Boston area and are ever looking for a good dentist.

All other repair work has been accomplished by the passage of time.  My aches and pains are gone. My scrapes and burns have been healing  My stitches are out with no evidence yet of a scar. The only thing that remains are two red and sore patches on my face - one over my lip and one on my chin.  They still occasionally burn and sting, like today, so it's been a process.  I've been told the redness should be gone in the next several weeks.  I want my old face back but I know I have to be patient and let time heal me.

People have asked me about the pain I've experienced. It's hard to describe. I know I have an extremely high tolerance for physical pain, based on past experiences.  But I also have to say that in instances of serious trauma, the body seems to have a way of capping how much pain you can feel at any one time.  It also seems to slow down your mind, so that when you have multiple injuries, as I did, your attention is only able to focus on one thing at a time, prioritizing the rest in some predetermined or innate order.  This really helped prevent me from having a complete breakdown when I first saw my face in a mirror at the ER.

I have such a new appreciation for the human body - my body - after this event.  I'm blessed with unbreakable bones in my face and neck and wrist.  And the skin I inherited from my Polish and Canadian ancestors has wonderful healing properties.

This, I'm very thankful for.  I just want my old face back now.  But I know I have to be patient and let time heal me.

Repair Work: The Bike

This is a happy story and involves the repair of my bike.

Immediately following my accident, I had been so focused on my own repair that I forgotten the other victim of that fateful day:
my bike.

As I said earlier, for two weeks my bike sat quietly in the garage - neglected, spattered with blood, immobilized by a rogue stick locked in the front fork.  A sad site indeed.

But immediately after I wiped it down and loaded into my van, I drove it to my favorite bike shop, Cycle Loft in Burlington.  Although I didn't buy my bike there, I've been to the service department a few times at the recommendation of my friend Drew and always found them extremely helpful and friendly.  My plan was to tell the guys briefly what happened, leave the bike there to be repaired and then go back several days later to pick it up.

Instead what happened was this: I was greeted right away by an experienced mechanic.  He took my bike, put it up on the rack and began to check it out.  He asked what happened.  He cringed and expressed sympathy. I showed him my stitches and the teeth I lost. He pointed to the teeth he had lost in an accident. I told him I wanted to get back on but didn't know how or when.  He talked about the emotions of falling, what it takes to get back on and his sense that I was the kind of rider that would get back on.  He took the time and made a connection.

We talked about ten minutes as he worked.  When he was finished, he introduced himself as Sean (I believe), asked me my name, shook my hand and gave me back my bike.  No charge for the repair.  (Fortunately - and I guess I have my face to thank for this -  my bike didn't suffer too much damage in the fall).  I left the shop inspired and smiling.  Up until that point since my accident, I really hadn't smiled much.

Bike repair and rider therapy - exactly what my bike and I needed.

The Blood

This may sound a bit morbid, but for some reason I'm still having trouble getting past the image of all the blood.  My blood.

It seemed like it was everywhere after my accident:  all over my riding jacket and pants, in the road, covering my sunglasses and on my bike.

Who knew facial injuries could generate so much blood?

I guess it makes sense when you think about it, though. The face is so vascular. It is also so vulnerable and so unprotected.  But thankfully, probably due to how vascular it is, the face (or at least my face) heals quickly.

But back to the blood.  Why can't I shake the image?

I guess part of it for me was the novelty of it all.  I mean, how often do you actually see your own blood scattered about on so many different things?

And then to leave it there, staining the road, for others to see or bike past or drive over.  It's such a personal thing.  A life force that was inside my body is now outside my body and on display.  How odd is that?

Actually, I'll admit that the blood in the road did come in handy the day immediately after my accident. We were told by the ER trauma nurse that if you lose a tooth whole, as I did, that it can often be reinserted back into place if done quickly.  We didn't have the tooth and were wondering later if we had missed an opportunity.

So the next day, my husband, Ted, drove over to "the scene," as I now refer to it, followed the blood and looked for the tooth.  Alas, no whole tooth, so no missed opportunity.  However, he did find pieces of my teeth (here I go being morbid again) which he collected and handed to me when he returned home. This might sound odd but it was actually one of the nicest things Ted could have done for me at the time.  I could see the relief on his face as he told me he couldn't stand to have parts of his wife still scattered on the streets of North Andover.  In fact, that was his real motivation for going over there.

But back to the blood.

My bloody clothes were whisked off as soon as I returned home from the hospital, soaked in cold water and all evidence was washed out thoroughly.  So facing them later wasn't an issue.

The blood in the road was something I knew I had to see again to help make sense of it all.  Ted and I went back to "the scene" a few days later. I stood in the road and stared at the blood for several minutes. Then we got back in the car and went home.  The next day it was washed away by heavy rain showers.

My sunglasses were another thing. They sat tucked away in a corner, still covered in dried blood, for almost a week before I could muster up the courage to touch them.  Once I did, I quickly ran them under hot water, wiped them clean and bent them back into shape.  They now await my face if I'm ever ready to use them again.

The blood on the bike was the hardest to face.  Ted offered but I knew I had to do it.  A full two weeks passed before I was mentally able to pull my bike out of the garage and wipe it clean.  (Oddly, I found the most blood was located under my seat.)  After I removed any evidence of DNA, I loaded my bike into my van and brought to the repair shop (more on that later).  

So now, all evidence of my insides has been washed away or finally cleaned up.  I'm hoping it won't make an appearance again any time soon.

I think I'm ready to put this image behind me now.

What If...

These two words can be really powerful. They are equally capable of leading one down the path to a very dark place or to a very enlightened place.

A paradox. Much like the statement I made in my last post when I said that I was profoundly unlucky and profoundly lucky in less than an instant.

So what if? What if what?

Well, what if the worst happened?

Define worst.

Dying, brain damage, broken neck, paralyzed all come to mind. Next up would be broken jaw, crushed face bones, and nerve damage.

Okay, this is depressing.  I don't like this path.

There are other what ifs, though.  What if I didn't go biking that day? What if I left my house a split second sooner or later?  What if I didn't stop to take the picture of the swamp?  What if the car didn't pass me?  What if I had ridden with a friend instead of alone? Would the stick still have been kicked up into my front fork in that very instant anyway?

And what if it didn't happen?  Was I meant to fall face first on pavement at this point of my riding career to help protect me from an even worse biking accident in the future?  Had I already been pushing my luck by being accident free for my first 3,450 miles?  Did my accident happen so something far worse wouldn't happen when I converged on the road with the passing car and the boy on the bike at that instant in time?

I know I'm thinking too much here.  Someone even told me the other day to quit thinking about it and just put it behind me.  Let it go.

Yet it's only been 14 days.  I still have stitches in my face and I'm still in the midst of dental repair. My neck and wrist still ache.  My voice is still shaky at times.  I want my old face back.

And if there were ever a time for introspection in life, wouldn't that time be now??

A small enlightened voice in my head has been asking me this:
Even though this was a freak accident, what if this was really supposed to happen to me?

What if it happened so I would realize how many wonderful people I have in my life?  What if it happened so I would hear loud and clear from those wonderful people how much I really mean to them?  What if it happened so that I would recognize that I have more important work left to do in life before my time is over?  What if it happened so I would truly and fully appreciate all the wonderful blessings in my life, today and every day?

Those are the good what ifs.  And those are the ones that I hope will stay with me long after my wounds are healed.

A Hard Fall

This is one of those occasions when a picture is worth a thousand words.

I was totally taken down by a stick.  Out of the blue.  On a beautiful day.  On my first day out for the 2010 riding season.

I had a really hard fall.  Flat on my face. On very hard pavement.

Even though the picture says it all, I'm going to write those thousand words anyway.  I don't care if this is too detailed, too self pitying or too self indulgent. I write this for me since I don't think I can get past this thing without writing about it.  So here goes.

In less than an instant, I was profoundly unlucky and profoundly lucky.

How can that happen?  I can still barely get my head around it.

Here's what I know:  Saturday, March 6, was a beautiful, sunny day.  I'd been looking forward to dusting off my bike and getting out there for the first time since Thanksgiving morning.  My husband brought up my bike from the basement, then I spent the next hour getting myself and my bike ready.  It took longer than I expected to get out of my driveway.  Equipment and gear needed to be found, tires needed to be pumped, chain needed to be oiled and odometer needed to be reset for the year. And who can ever remember how to do that?

I consciously reminded myself to be on the lookout for potholes, sand and sticks given the wild weather we've had this wet winter season. Then I was off for an easy 11 mile loop.

I was feeling surprisingly strong despite being off my bike for exactly 100 days.  The roads were unexpectedly clear of debris. I even stopped to take a picture of my favorite roadside image:  a swamp.

I was less than two miles from home and going up the long, gradual hill that always challenges me at the end of my rides. A boy was biking up the same road as me on the opposite side. He was biking against traffic, I was biking with traffic and an oncoming car was approaching.  Given the timing, I thought it would be best to speed up and pass the boy so that the oncoming car wouldn't have to drive between two adjacent bikers on a relatively narrow and windy road.  Murphy's Law always seems to play out in these instances, where the road is completely clear. then traffic of all sorts comes out of nowhere and passes at exactly the same time.

So there I was. Clipped in, feeling strong, speeding up, facing forward in climb position.

The car approached. As the car passed, I heard a split second cracking noise.  My front tire locked instantly.  I went straight over the handlebars.  And in less than a second I was down.

It's hard to describe exactly how it felt to land face first on pavement while going 15 mph with absolutely no warning.

To say that it hurt is such a profound understatement, it's almost laughable. It was one of the most violent experiences I think anyone could ever encounter without dying.

I landed on my chin and mouth.  My top jaw went to the right; my bottom jaw went to the left.  There were missing and broken teeth, torn skin and blood.  Lots of it.  In the road, on my bike, on my florescent yellow riding jacket, on my unbroken sunglasses.  The pain was excruciating. I felt like the bottom half of my face was crushed in.

I rolled off my face and sat up in the road, stunned and disoriented. The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was.  I felt like I was in some alternate reality.  Then I looked over and saw the shocked boy stopped, staring at me, not sure whether to come over or flee.

Miraculously, I was able to stand up.  I dragged my bike out of the road, found my phone and manged to call my husband.  I remember screaming into the phone but he tells me I was relatively calm, coherent and provided all the necessary details.

I sat by the side of the road and waited for him to drive the 1.5 miles to get me.  Blood was still pouring off my face. The boy came over and handed me my thrown water bottle.  A car drove by as if nothing happened.  Another car stopped and asked if I was okay.  The woman driver turned into a side street to stay near me until my husband came.  The boy stood next to me looking like he was going into deeper shock with each passing second. I remember thanking him for his help, assuring him that my accident had nothing to do with him and then telling him he could head home.

My husband appeared and rushed over. I could barely speak but he said all the right things:  We can fix this. You'll be okay.  We're going to take you to the hospital.  We'll take care of you.

I didn't even see the stick in my front fork until he put the bike in the car.  Until that point I had no idea how I landed in the street.

We went to Lawrence General Hospital.  I was seen right away.  Examined, X rayed, stitched up and sent home four hours later to recover.  Shockingly, I broke no bones. Not my neck, not my jaw, not any of the bones in my right cheek, not even my bruised and swollen right wrist.  I was profoundly lucky.

Driving home I remember wondering if my life would be forever changed from this.  Did this happen at the exact halfway point of my life, now to send me off in a different direction than I would have ever gone before?  I guess I can save the philosophizing for another post.

So I've shared the picture and written the thousand words.  Maybe now that it's down in print I can finally put the details of my accident behind me and focus on my recovery.  Or more accurately, my recoveries - both physically and mentally.