![\"NSW_Ambulance_Service_Mercedes_Benz_Sprinter_-_Flickr_-_Highway_Patrol_Images\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/NSW_Ambulance_Service_Mercedes_Benz_Sprinter_-_Flickr_-_Highway_Patrol_Images.jpg\")
A most comforting sight once you have beheld a most discomforting sight<\/p><\/div>\n
It was lying on its left side in an assortment of its puddling internal liquids, its front wheel tucked hard against the front cylinder of its wondrous engine, and pieces of it were strewn around the impact area. I wanted to cry. That such a great-looking bike (or any great-looking bike) could be turned into ugly scrap so easily and quickly has always upset me. But this dismay has always been tempered by a spark of perverted glee I feel whenever the Road Gods contrive to send an ugly bike to the scrap-heap.<\/p>\n
![\"13-hd-night-rod-special-bs\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/13-hd-night-rod-special-bs.jpg\")
I can forgive smashed bones. But smashed art? Never!<\/p><\/div>\n
I grabbed the handlebars with both hands, bent my knees and started to heave the slowly haemorrhaging beast upright, but my left hand refused to co-operate. I could move my fingers, but they felt tingly and weak. I must have banged it hard. I shrugged, changed my stance and somehow levered the bike upright with my right arm and some serious quadriceps action. Yes, adrenaline is a glorious thing, but so is being able to bench 140kg. But I could not push it very far because once again, my left hand would not provide the pushing needed.<\/p>\n
A bloke approached me.<\/p>\n
\u201cMate, you might wanna sit down,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou might wanna give me a hand pushing this off the road,\u201d I panted. I was suddenly panting. And thirsty. And I hate people telling me what to do, especially when I\u2019m panting and thirsty.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re bleeding,\u201d the bloke said.<\/p>\n
I looked down. There was lots of coolant and petrol, but I could see no blood. My pants were intact.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s just petrol,\u201d I puffed, heaving on the bike, which was still being a very stubborn \u2018I\u2019m in gear and my front wheel is stuck to my front cylinder\u2019 kinda thing.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, from your sleeve,\u201d he said, pointing at my left arm.<\/p>\n
Sure enough, drops of blood were dripping from the cuff.<\/p>\n
I undid the zip with my right hand and lifted back the leather. An unseemly amount of blood-covered bone greeted me.<\/p>\n
I zipped my sleeve back up and went to sit on the kerb, while the bloke who told me about the blood was joined by another bloke.<\/p>\n
\u201cTake it out of gear,\u201d I advised them.<\/p>\n
They did that. The VROD began to eeep at them. It does that when it is parted from its proximity fob, which was in my pocket. They looked frightened and confused, so I levered myself up to my feet again. I cannot access my jeans’ pocket sitting in the gutter. I got the fob out, tossed it to one of the blokes and then shrugged my way out of my jacket. I was gonna be fucked before I permitted my new Gimoto masterpiece to scissored from my body, because I knew what was going to happen not long from now \u2013 I had travelled this road before. Certainly with less gore-flecked bone poking through my hide, but the back of an ambulance is not unfamiliar to me.<\/p>\n
My hoodie kept the cruel-looking protrusions covered, but I did allow the firemen who were first on the scene to have a look.<\/p>\n
\u201cNice job,\u201d the looker said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I smiled. It is always nice when a professional comments on your work.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think I might have some water?\u201d I asked, as he very tenderly, but very expertly bandaged and slung my arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure,\u201d he said, handing me a cold Mount Franklin. \u201cThe ambos should be here soon.\u201d<\/p>\n
But it was the cops who arrived next.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow you doing there, mate?\u201d one of them asked while the other directed traffic.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d I grinned. All thing considered, I wasn\u2019t lying.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou remember what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to tell me about it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot right now,\u201d I said. One should never speak to the police when one has one\u2019s arm bones glinting in the morning sun. Everyone knows that.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe later?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnything\u2019s possible,\u201d I smiled.<\/p>\n
And then the ambos arrived. They exchanged a few words with the firies, while I spoke to a tow-truck driver about where the bike needed to go.<\/p>\n
Then I rang home.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s mum, boy?\u201d I asked my son.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the shower.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell her that I am fine, but I have had a slight accident, and I may have broken my arm. I\u2019m gonna go to hospital and I\u2019ll call her from there.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then I rang my brother, Al.<\/p>\n
\u201cAl, I have a seriously fucked arm. Some cunt turned in front of me and I centre-punched her car. I\u2019m being taken to Westmead, hopefully before I bleed out. Call the following people, please\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
I walked to the ambulance, climbed in and lay down on the gurney. I was still not in anything that could be described as pain, I could wiggle my fingers, and I appeared to be lucid and focused. Of course, I could drop dead at any second from a massive stroke or cardiac apocalypse, but right then, the good ship Borrie seemed to sailing before a fair wind.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re going to Westmead hospital.\u201d I said to the ambo driver.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were going to Blacktown,\u201d he replied to a question I had not asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease take me to Westmead,\u201d I said through gritted teeth.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019ll be a bit of a wait there,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen I shall wait.\u201d<\/p>\n
Westmead hospital, in my vastly experienced opinion, is a vile, crumbling shithole. It needs new beds, new trolleys, a new menu, three times the number of nurses, a coat of paint and some new carpet. But it has all the lights and buzzers when it comes to the best doctors, surgeons, and anesthetists in this country. If you\u2019re gonna stick your arm-bones in the air and wave them around like you just don\u2019t care, Westmead is where you should be doing it.<\/p>\n
Not fucking Blacktown. Never fucking Blacktown. Threaten to rip out your cannula and stab the driver in the face with it if he takes you to Blacktown. Stay conscious. Even if you only have a litre of blood left. It\u2019s the only chance you have.<\/p>\n
![\"Corbis-42-26030764\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/Corbis-42-26030764.jpg\")
This is not Blacktown Hospital. Honest.<\/p><\/div>\n
We pulled up at Westmead and I was wheeled into Emergency.<\/p>\n
It was Tuesday morning, but it wasn\u2019t quiet. People had fallen off rooves. Ethnic groups had been shooting handguns at each other. Old people had been having issues.<\/p>\n
It was maybe three minutes before the head triage nurse approached me. I was flat on my back, neck collar affixed (it went on in the ambulance), smashed bones covered by bandages and hoody sleeve. I was full of intravenous morphine; none of that green whistle shit. The ambo and I had come to an agreement about how much pain I was suddenly in and he kept loading my veins until everything was more kosher than a Jewish bride\u2019s underpants \u2013 and almost as sweaty.<\/p>\n
![\"CRW_0257\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/CRW_0257.jpg\")
“I am sweaty, oh so sweaty!”<\/p><\/div>\n
\u201cHi,\u201d said the nurse.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you tell me what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI sure can,\u201d I smiled. \u201cBut first I have to tell you something else.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled back. \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have five stents in my right coronary artery,\u201d I beamed.<\/p>\n
\u201cFive?\u201d she blinked.<\/p>\n
\u201cFive,\u201d I confirmed.<\/p>\n
Seconds later I was wheeled to another part of Emergency and surrounded by doctors and nurses.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re going to cut your clothes off,\u201d someone said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSensational,\u201d I enthused. \u201cThe last time that happened I was out cold and missed out.”<\/p>\n
In moments I was naked, then gowned, X-rayed and topped up with more drugs. The ceiling was crawling a bit. It was not really going anywhere, but the black speckles in the plaster ceiling tiles seemed to be in motion. I was not scared. I embrace my hallucinations. I watched with interest. There was nothing else to look at.<\/p>\n
![\"1376347_621234657931301_1215289703_n\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/1376347_621234657931301_1215289703_n.jpg\")
The mighty BikeMe! hoodie. Survives impact with car, perishes under the scissors of the nursing staff.<\/p><\/div>\n
And then there was.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi,\u201d said a blonde girl with a stylish bob and smoky eye make-up who was suddenly leaning over me. \u201cI\u2019m Julie. I\u2019m the orthopaedic surgeon.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHi,\u201d said a pretty brunette as she hove into view above me on the other side,\u201d I\u2019m Deborah. I\u2019m the head trauma doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLadies,\u201d I smiled at them.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour wife and son have arrived. And the police would like a word.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCool!\u201d I enthused.<\/p>\n
My beloved wife was concerned, but calm and collected. My son was likewise prepped.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow bad is it?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a nasty compound fracture,\u201d said Dr Julie. \u201cBut we do not think he\u2019s critical. We\u2019re just waiting for the X-rays, then we\u2019ll reduce the wound and see about some surgery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHi, I\u2019m Constable Whatever,\u201d said a police officer suddenly looming above me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHowyadoin\u2019?\u201d I asked with as much genuine concern as I could.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you wish to make a statement about the accident?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMore than life itself,\u201d I assured him.<\/p>\n
![\"1959989_621234957931271_151980521_n\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/1959989_621234957931271_151980521_n.jpg\")
And then I recited some more poetry as I prepared for the Tartar invasion.<\/p><\/div>\n
He looked all expectant.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf wishes were kisses, constable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d he blinked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, if wishes were kisses,
\nAnd kisses were songs,
\nI\u2019d sing for you melodies
\nVibrant and long.
\nThrough crashing crescendos,
\nAnd moments of grace,
\nComposing such music,
\nInspired by your face.\u201d<\/p>\n
It\u2019s amazing what leeches out of one\u2019s brain when it is swimming in an ocean of meaningful chemicals.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d said the constable. \u201cCould I maybe see your license.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBoy, please pull it out of my wallet and give it to the policeman. Then put it back when he\u2019s finished and give it to mum. If the Tartars come in the night we may have need of saddled horses.\u201d<\/p>\n
![\"37974\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/37974.jpg\")
Tartars. You can never be unprepared.<\/p><\/div>\n
The policeman wrote his name and number on the back of one of my business cards, recorded the details of my license and left after asking I get in touch when I was able.<\/p>\n
Quality, professional policing from go to whoa.<\/p>\n
Then the ceiling started to roll for real and Dr Deborah appeared above me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you taking me?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo the Resuscitation Bay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHave I died?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, we\u2019re going to reduce the fracture.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the Resusc Bay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn case you die.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought upon this for a second. Would this be a bad thing? Some would mourn. Many would cheer. Others would breathe genuine sighs of relief. Mastercard would be mildly traumatised.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that likely?\u201d I finally asked.<\/p>\n
Doctor Deborah smiled and placed a tender hand upon my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s highly unlikely.\u201d<\/p>\n
Generally speaking, my passing would be unremarkable. I was not the People\u2019s Princess and there would no avenues strewn with flowers or outpourings of national grief if I died. Nor should there be. It\u2019s not like I ever gave a shit about starving African children.<\/p>\n
But my snickering, yellow enemies would soil themselves with glee.<\/p>\n
And I\u2019m just not fucking having that.<\/p>\n
I resolved to do my best not to die.<\/p>\n
There are just too many fuckers I still have to cut.<\/p>\n
Dr Julie arrived and uncovered my wounded arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to photograph this,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m kinky like that,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want copies of the shots.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure,\u201d she smiled. \u201cFacebook, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou betcha.\u201d<\/p>\n
![\"992270_621678424553591_635288897_n\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/992270_621678424553591_635288897_n.jpg\")
My left arm. No, that is not steak above it. It’s bandage impregnated with blood and pain and failure.<\/p><\/div>\n
Dr Deborah reappeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to sedate you while we do this, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, please.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not anaesthesia, but you won\u2019t be able to remember anything about the procedure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s probably just well, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou two are going to do unspeakable shit to me in a few minutes, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Doctor Deborah giggled.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then I was looking at my wife.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you feeling?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike an explosion that is trying re-assemble itself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey did some stuff to your arm.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at my arm. It was bandaged and throbbing.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour neck is broken too,\u201d my wife added.<\/p>\n
I was nonplussed.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow the fuck is that possible? Unless the cunts just broke it then, my neck is fine. All my shit moves and works. There is no numbness anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what they told me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr Deborah appeared as if on cue.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you feeling?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike shit. Why is my neck suddenly broken?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hit the car, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n
I gave her my best \u2018Don\u2019t be a smart-arse bitch\u2019 look.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have an odontoid process fracture.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shit.<\/p>\n
![\"800px-axis_vertebrae1330407511929\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/800px-axis_vertebrae1330407511929.jpg\")
That bit at the top marked ‘Dens” is the bit that is fractured a bit.<\/p><\/div>\n
I don\u2019t know much, but I knew enough about this to take that view.<\/p>\n
The odontoid process (or peg) lives on cervical spine chunk two (C2), which is also known as the Hangman\u2019s vertebrae. That\u2019s the vertebrae and the peg the state seeks to break when it orders you dumped through the trap door with a length of hemp rope looped about your neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy am I not dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a stable fracture and it isn\u2019t all the way through the peg. You\u2019re lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy am I not in pain?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re so full of pain chems I could saw off your leg and we could laugh during the process.\u201d<\/p>\n
I frowned with thought.<\/p>\n
\u201cOut of interest,\u201d Dr Deborah said as she fussed with various tubes and bags full of liquid hanging above me. \u201cWere you wearing a full-face or an open-face helmet?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOpen-face.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s probably what saved your spine. A full-face with the chin-piece would have caused a greater transferral of the impact force to that area.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt a vague vindication, but I was too busy still processing the whole broken neck thing to high-five her.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo a full-face would have killed me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cImpossible to say. In this instance it might have. Every impact is different. Sometimes helmets help, sometimes they exacerbate the injury.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if I had not been wearing one at all?\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s not play any more hypotheticals. Just keep that Aspen collar on.\u201d<\/p>\n
![\"1972462_621303347924432_2070089102_n\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/1972462_621303347924432_2070089102_n.jpg\")
Yeah, like I can even reach the Nurse buzzer.<\/p><\/div>\n
A few minutes later, I was wheeled into my ward, and told that I was scheduled for surgery to my arm the following day.<\/p>\n
And so began my time upon the 78th<\/sup> tier of Hell, which was peopled by three shifts of disparate nurses, two roving see-them-once-a-day trauma teams, an angry Filipino cleaner, a creepy-looking Indian kid of about 15, an old non-English speaking Spanish lady patient on my left, an old non-English speaking Turkish lady patient diagonally opposite me, and directly across from me was Florence \u2013 the jabbering shit-fuck craziest old bat I have ever beheld.<\/p>\n As they wheeled me in and manoeuvred me into place I could behold none of them because I was still flat on my back. But I could hear them.<\/p>\n I could hear the quiet and gentle Spanish whisperings on my left. The Spanish lady had two visitors and they all conversed in the soft melodic chatter of a great and civilised people.<\/p>\n The Turkish lady had about 30 visitors, 10 of which were kids who were intent on re-enacting the Ottoman conquest of Eastern Europe in the space between the four facing beds and the corridor, while their mothers, aunts, female cousins conducted a high-volume jackhammer-like conversation that would suit the rugs-pots-and-slaves section of the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul. I was instantly amazed at the volume and sheer circular relentlessness of their conversation, which only briefly paused when the Turkish lady had to vomit copiously into a bag, whereupon the chatter would redouble.<\/p>\n This was the Turkish lady’s bed.<\/p><\/div>\n But all of this was as nothing compared to Florence.<\/p>\n Fucking Florence. Poor demented and tormented shit-on-the-floor Florence.<\/p>\n Florence – crazier than a shitload of shaved camels.<\/p><\/div>\n When they parked me she was sleeping; which is what she did during the day. I did not know it then, but it did not take me too long to work out that Florence slept all day so that she could spend the nights performing the song and dance of her people.<\/p>\n She was the gift that just kept on giving \u2013 except for the few daylight hours when she would sleep. But even then, the sour stench of her ever-opening bowels kept us company as we waited for the Florence-Kraken to wake\u2026<\/p>\n TO BE CONTINUED<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I grabbed the handlebars with both hands, bent my knees and started to heave the slowly haemorrhaging beast upright, but my left hand refused to co-operate. I could move my fingers, but they felt tingly and weak. I must have banged it hard<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":8263,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[68],"tags":[219,23,67,61],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8257"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8257"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8257\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8285,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8257\/revisions\/8285"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/8263"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8257"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8257"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8257"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"grand-bazaar\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/grand-bazaar.jpg\")
![\"somalia-port_afr205\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/somalia-port_afr205.jpg\")