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.