I don’t really know what I’m going to write about the cycling crash that nearly took my life this past spring. I suppose the best thing to do is to just start at the beginning. I have few recollections of what occurred at the time of the accident, and recall little of the days immediately following it. What follows then is the best I can do describing the accident and lengthy recovery. I plan to return to this post from time to time to provide recovery updates, as that piece is still very much a work-in-progress.
Note: I would have much preferred to write this some time ago, but I can only now type well enough, barely, to do so. If nothing else, the typing and the thinking are both excellent therapy.
The Accident
I went out for a bit of a joyride on the afternoon of Sunday, April 14th. I usually head out for an hour or two and do 30-60km on these types of rides. Beyond that it was a pretty unremarkable day – clear and cool for spring in Vancouver.
Just past Boundary Road, I was heading east on Rumble Street in southwest Burnaby, crossing Joffre, when a car turned left across my path, slamming into me at what seemed like it must have been 40-50 km/hr. In my reading of the surgery notes from hospital, they estimated the car was going about 50km/hr from the force of the impact. Regardless, it was fast enough to throw me 10-15 feet, into the windshield of the car, and up over the roof of the vehicle according to the police report. I landed on the pavement behind it, though the entire accident scene was a mess. I remember the other vehicle coming to a stop diagonally, sort of pointing away from me.
The only thing I can recall from the moment of impact is the driver exclaiming repeatedly that he never saw me – on an absolutely clear day with excellent visibility. And before anyone assumes anything, I was wearing a helmet and dressed in a very visible bright red cycling jersey. Apparently I never fully lost consciousness, but absolutely everything from that moment until after I came to in Royal Columbian Hospital is a blur. I know I was conscious at times, but I wouldn’t really say I was “awake” until several days after the crash.
Somehow, I managed to provide my wife’s cell number to a bystander, who called, and followed that up with a text message when she couldn’t reach my wife. In a strange turn of events, the bystander also provided contact info for the driver. Thinking he was a witness, my wife sent him a text, to which he responded that he was actually the driver who hit me. Given BC’s no-fault driver insurance, this hardly matters, as he’ll suffer not so much as a reprimand for his careless driving.
My wife visited me at both hospitals every day and the kids as much as their schedules would allow. What I’m about to describe in The Injuries section below gave them all a good scare, and in some ways, particularly the first days were probably as hard, if not worse, for them than they were for me. I wasn’t exactly cognizant of much going on.
I spent about three weeks in Royal Columbian, before being transferred to GF Strong, a rehab hospital that specializes in Spinal Cord and Traumatic Brain Injuries (more on that shortly).
As of this writing, exactly 16 weeks to the day since the accident, there’s been nothing (not even a peep or response from the ICBC adjuster in spite of numerous requests) on my damage claim for the bike. It and the carbon wheels are both write-offs, so it’s kind of hard to fathom what could be taking so long, short of generalized bureaucratic inertia. I guess it’s a good thing my bike isn’t my only mode of transportation. We are currently escalating this lack of action.
The Injuries
Note: This section has obviously had significant contributions from my wife, since I have zero recollection of anything from surgery, ICU or the first week in hospital.
You’ll have to bear with me through this section. My injury list was serious and very extensive. I’m going to try to be matter-of-fact and not give into hyperbole, but it is probably worth trying to paint a bit of a picture for you, so apologies in advance for what will undoubtedly seem overly graphic to some. I’m also going to try to describe my injuries in roughly the order things happened (with a few timeline deviations, here and there).
Stop the Bleeding
When I arrived at Royal Columbian Emergency I had a lot of internal and external bleeding. The most obvious injuries were a massive gash just below my left elbow and additional gashes near my left knee and on my outer left thigh. I have scars from all of them, but the real souvenir is about five inches long, extending down my left forearm from my elbow. However, it was all the less obvious stuff that would come to dominate everything that followed for me.
Non-responsive
Once they finished stitching up my wounds, apparently I had become non-responsive. This was when they suspected I’d had one or more strokes. Neurology became involved at this point and, while not even my wife knew at the time, they must have done some imaging, as these pictures were referred to during an ophthalmology follow-up I had just this past week, on August 2.
Catheter Embolism
Once they stitched up my obvious external damage, they needed to do a procedure called a catheter embolism. In spite of its scary sounding name, Google says it’s a “minimally invasive” procedure to stop bleeding.
Carotid Artery Stent
After the embolism, the neurologist’s recommendation was to put a stent in my Carotid artery. The reasoning was two-fold. Not only would it ensure enough blood and oxygen would get to my brain, but the chances of blood clots would be reduced.Apparently it was about this time when they openly wondered whether my brain would get enough oxygen to prevent me suffering permanent brain damage. I guess it did, though my wife has probably always suspected my brain is a little oxygen-deficient.
Bowels, Spleen and Diaphragm
Which came first, the bowels or the spleen? Actually, I’m only half kidding. I returned to general surgery, with my bowels and in my chest cavity and my spleen an unsalvageable mess. Yes, you read that right – in my chest cavity. The force of the accident had jammed my bowels up into a place they weren’t supposed to be, and my spleen was too badly damaged to be saved. The surgeon originally thought they may have to take out sections of my bowels, but apparently found them to be in one piece, more or less, and repairable.
My diaphragm was also in the wrong place and needed repair. The surgeon was apparently hoping it could be “coaxed” back down to where it belonged, but ultimately it required manual intervention.