Laid up once again....

*Don't read if you have a very weak stomach*
Last Friday, I was riding my motorcycle. I had an oil seal that kept coming loose, dropping all or most of my oil. Sean knocked it back in the few times it happened over the past couple of weeks. We were on our way to see one of my best friend's photo art opening when it happened again. We were very close to both destinations of the evening, so once Sean knocked the oil seal back in, against my intuition, I rode it to the Melody Inn for the Anniversary Party.

I checked my bike several times while I was in the bar. Yes, I did drink four beers from 8-12, but drank at least a gallon of Diet Coke by the time I left. It was about 2am. I was sober. Sean rode behind me to keep an eye on my bike.

I was mere miles from my house, three turns before I would be home. I hit every green light going straight, and even the left turn light. I took the turn at about 15mph. I started to slip to the left. My transplanted kidney is in my left lower abdomen, covered by about 1/8 inch of skin.

I sped up slightly to try to gain control of the bike. I had it for a split second and slowed down. The other side of my rear tire was drenched in oil. I probably overcompensated slightly to protect my left side. I went down.

The bike probably landed on my right foot and somehow my handlebar slammed into my lower right abdomen. My head was the last thing to hit the pavement. Of course I was wearing a full-face helmet. Sean had parked his bike and was pulling mine up when I realized what had happened. I watched two cops go by as I was working my way up. They went slow, but just went on by. Apparently, it wasn't worth it to stop. It's an old bike, I was sober, I have insurance, I had a current registration, it was a single-vehicle incident. Sean walked my bike over to the parking lot very close by, and made me sit down. I looked over at the streaks of oil that my bike left for me to slide through.

I hopped on the back of Sean's bike, and we rode home. I looked at my foot. It was hurting pretty badly, and I couldn't put much weight on it. It was bruised and swollen. I grabbed the crutches I've had since I was 19, and hobbled to the kitchen to get an ice pack. I didn't want to go to the ER. I was hoping it was just a sprain. Eventually, at about 4, Sean talked me into going.

I walked in and told the admitting staff that I was in a motorcycle accident. "Oh, ok. Go in there." The rest of my visit was about that friendly. I had made a list of meds before I left the house. "Do you drink?" "Yes, occasionally." "Recreational drugs?" "No." Sean was tired and knew I was upset, so he made a joke about me taking my meds on time, no matter where I was or what I was doing, including recreational activities. The nurse wasn't amused. "You'd be surprised at how many people admit to that," she snarled. Was she trying to get me to confess something? I was over my recreational drug use phase over a decade ago.

Soon after, I came out of shock and felt all the pain. I started shivering, shaking, and crying. "I'm going to throw up." I threw up everything in my stomach, including the beer and pizza I'd had several hours before. "HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING?!" one nurse demanded. Duh. "Yeah, I had some beer several hours ago." She left in a huff.

The doctor finally arrived, yawning. "Did you hit your head?"
"I do remember it was the last thing to hit the pavement."
"Were you wearing a helmet?"
"Of course, full-face, always."
"You know, it's not a law in Indiana that you have to wear a helmet."
"I know, but I'm not stupid."

Side note here... Had I not been wearing a helmet, hitting my head on the pavement at all would've caused a nice headache, and possibly a few scrapes, which would have probably been my first complaint. Second of all, was he trying to get me to admit to something here?

I figured I had a break or sprain in my foot/ankle region, so I wasn't so concerned about that. I was concerned about the seeping blood coming from my wound on my side. The bruising was so dark purple, it almost looked black. I have been on prednisone off and on since I was 15. It can make one very susceptible to internal bleeding. The doctor glanced at it. I asked the nurse if she should clean it, since I am on immune suppressants, and get infections pretty easily. "I'll ask the doctor." Or not.

I got x-rays on my right foot/ankle. I was told I have a fragment of what looks like bone near my foot and ankle, but it might of been from an old injury or from the wreck. They put an ill-fitting splint on and sent me home with a script for three days worth of pain meds.

It was decided when I walked in the ER that I wasn't really worthy of concern or time. There is already an image of motorcycle riders- nothing but organ donors, and they choose to take the risk. Add in a few visible tattoos and piercings, and the fact that I am a kidney transplant recipient, I was the devil incarnate for showing up at the ER.