Hit by a Truck

While riding my bike home from work Tuesday night, a
white GMC pickup truck struck me from behind, while I was
in the bike lane on the 101 overpass. I was not wearing
bright or reflective clothing, I had no lights on
my bike, but (thankfully) I was wearing my helmet.

I heard screeching tires before I was hit. I bounced
off the hood of the vehicle, and hit the pavement. I
don't recall exactly how I landed, but I soon realized
that I was still conscious, and that I was lying in the
road. After a few seconds of panic, I realized I needed
to get out of the road. I stumbled/crawled to the
sidewalk, and in the process realized that my back hurt
quite a bit while moving. I decided to lay on the sidewalk
until paramedics arrived, since I didn't know what was
wrong with my back. (I thank GIJOE and Boy Scouts for
this instinct, btw.) Somebody called 911.

The (very
shaken) driver of the vehicle kept saying how sorry
he was in between his oh-my-god-oh-my-gods. I told him
to relax, I didn't seem to be seriously injured, etc.. At this point,
he was much more upset than I was. I had gone
into some sort of amazingly rational mental state, where
I tried to observe the novel new situation that was unfolding
around me. I'll stress for days about stressful work
situations or social situations, to the point that it makes
me ill, but apparently if you hit me with a truck, I won't
get stressed at all. (I mentioned this to one of the EMTs,
later on, and he suggested that I might enjoy being an EMT
myself. I was amused.)

A female driver and a male cyclist(?) stopped to check
on me, and to verify that 911 had been called. (It had,
although I can't recall who made the original call.) Someone
advised me that I was bleeding from my legs fairly
heavily. I felt no pain at all, as long as I didn't move.
Endorphins are awesome, but this meant that it took some
visual inspection
to find where the blood was coming from. I realized it
was coming from my left calf. I dug my black hoodie
out of my backpack and wrapped it around the cut.

At some
point, I dug my cell phone out of my bag and called Kirsten,
told her I was hit by a car, and
told her where to find me. (My recollection of the absolute
sequence of events is rather imperfect, at this point.)
Some ment in reflective vests arrived (firemen?) and
said they would block traffic. Later some paramedics and
some police arrived. The police asked about my recollection
of the accident (where was I, was I in the
bike lane, how fast was the driver going), and checked my
ID. The medics asked me about my injuries. I recall being
rather insistant about the fact that I was worried about my
back, and that I wanted
to get it checked. They put a brace around my neck, and rolled
me onto
a board. Kirsten arrived at some point, and said she would
take care of my bike and my bag. (Apparently Jared, who was
visiting us this week, was waiting
in the car Kirsten drove, but I wasn't aware of this until
later.)

The medics wheeled
me into an ambulance, and I had a fairly pleasant chat with
the guy in the back, while we drove to a hospital. (Found
out later that it was Stanford Medical.) At some point
I was shown that I had holes in my left leg that looked
like they came from the sprockets on my bike. Since the
bike chain and sprockets are on the right side of my bike,
I can only guess that I must have fallen from the hood on to
the bike in some interesting twisted arrangement.

The doctors
and nurses at the Stanford ER were very nice and seemed very
competent, if a bit overworked.
I was given an IV, lots of electrodes, a by-touch inspection
of my spine, an ultra-sound-thingie?, a tetanous shot,
some xrays, and then I waited, still lying on the board. I
wasn't in any real pain, as long as I didn't move, until my tailbone
started to hurt from lying on a board for so long. Kirsten
came into visit, filled out some paperwork, and mentioned that
Jared was in the waiting room, and that she had a burrito for me.
(I was coming home for dinner.) I asked to see the wedding bands
she had picked up from the jewelry store that afternoon. (She
had them in her bag.) She disappeared again.

There were obviously
several patients hurt worse than I was, judging by the ambient
level of screaming and moaning, and I felt bad for not being in
more pain. Eventually someone told me that my xrays were fine,
my spine was checked again by hand, and I was doing reasonable
well, until they
tried to sit me up in the bed. My back hurt tremendously, and
spasmed, and I found it very difficult to sit up. They gave me
some pain killer through the IV, asked me about the pain, and started giving
me a rundown on strained lumbar muscles. I was advised to use
ice for 48 hours, heat afterwards, and to take lots and lots
of ibuprofen. They seemed to think that I would be in quite a bit
of pain the following day or two, and although they didn't use
the phrase "you'll feel like you've been hit by a truck", I
had my suspicions.

My leg cut was cleaned and bandaged by a
particularly attractive nurse. I gave a urine sample. (Apparently
there's an acceptible amount of blood in urine, at least for
getting discharged from the ER...? Them: "+2".
Me: "That's good, right?" Them: "uhh...no.") I was discharged.

Walking slowly to the car was fine, but sitting down in the front
seat was particularly painful and tricky. I went home. Took
quite some effort to get to sleep, as my recollection of the night's
adventure kept replaying through my mind. (That's what happened
tonight, as well, which is why I'm writing this, instead of
sleeping. I think my mind is in worse shape than my body.)

I took it easy today, and was encouraged by how mild
the pain has been. I haven't felt the need to take the
huge doses of ibuprfen they recommended. It hurts a little or a lot,
when I move certain ways, but sitting still isn't so bad. My
range of motion without pain has been increasing. My muscles have
been getting stiff, particularly in my neck and lower back. My
right ankle is bothering me a bit, and was probably sprained in
the fall, although I did not notice it until later. The
sprocket-shaped holes in my left leg were still bleeding through
the bandage this afternoon, but the pain isn't bad.

And...pretty much, I'm fine. Just taking a few days off to rest,
get back most of my mobility,
and to try to come to grips with the "I could have died" thing.
If at all possible, I'd like to mentally digest this experience
without resorting to "finding Jesus" or something equally cheesy.
(When my dad flipped a car over in an accident, he suddenly developed
an interest in Buddhism. I'd like my near-death experience without
the side of religion, thank you very much.)

Seriously, I almost feel guilty for not going to work, since the pain
is so mild. But I got really, really lucky. Time for bed.