So, to continue.
I'm sitting on the cement dividers that surround the construction area when the men who work on that construction come up and ask if they can move my motorcycle. I told them again that the brakes were locked up and that we hadn't been able to figure out how to move it earlier. As I look back I now know what shock looks like. I carry a full tool kit when I travel out of state.
I'm so wet that my pants are almost steaming from the Jacksonville heat. There's blood running down my arm, and the pain from trying to breathe is starting to sink into my brain. I decide to go to the hospital to get checked out, but I don't feel well enough to get back to my backpack and video camcorder off the bike. The police person asks me if I want an ambulance after I have been there for about 45 minutes. Maybe I looked like I was decompensating. I ask the guys from the fire and rescue service to bring them to me. They say they can't. I say, well then, I can't take this ride to the hospital. Guess you'll have to come back.
Someone pours peroxide on my arm after asking me if I would like to put it on myself as it might sting. Even with them pouring peroxide down my arm, I can't really feel my elbow cause my ribs hurt so badly. I also didn't like the idea that I might look and/or sound like a wimp. I am pissed when it takes the color out of my Sturgis shirt.
I decide to beg once again for my computer and video camcorder.
Now, I know that the guys think that my stuff is probably broken. I know that my stuff might be broken, but if it isn't I don't want the stuff sitting in the rain in an impound lot until someone can come and get it. It'll be a week before I can get back to it. I decide to try to call and find out if there is anyone from NAMI in the general area that might come and get some of my stuff. I can't get anyone who knows me. Shit.
Finally the guys see that I am damn serious about getting my computer and video camcorder and a guy goes out to my motorcycle and unstraps the computer. He just lays my camera in my fanny pack up on top. (Heck no, I don't even think so. I am so not leaving my camcorder to become electronic road kill on I-95.)
He comes back to the ambulance with the computer and I ask him to please bring me the fanny pack off the bike as well. He looks at his boss and goes back out to grab the camcorder.
They tell me to lie down on the stretcher. I refuse. They tell me that they have to strap me down to transport me. I refuse again. I can't imagine how much pain I will be in if I have to lie down. It already hurts when I breathe. Someone makes a command decision that I don't have to lie down, ambulance doors are slammed and we then proceed to drive over every bump and pothole on the way to the hospital. The guy says, "I know it's bumpy, but it's the shortest way." Now maybe it's me, but I wasn't in cardiac arrest. There must have been a choice.
As we are bouncing along, I am reminded more than once that it is a short trip. I think, so is going crazy a short trip. then I think that the guy is probably thinking, damn I could have taken another street. No, I rule out that he has any sense whatsoever.
When I get to the hospital they decide that I get to bypass intake and go straight to a room. They ambulance personnel help me move from their stretcher to the uncomfortable ER bed. They leave me kind of perched on the side because I can't lay down nor can I manage to scoot back. They really wanted me to scoot back. I think they were afraid that I would fall. After all, didn't I just prove that I wasn't able to ride a motorcycle? Actually I think to myself, that is probably a good thing. If I scooted back, my legs would be dangling and then after a few minutes, my knees wouldn't work. I stay uncomfortably perched.
Someone breezes in to take my vitals, and while quickly breezing back out tells me that someone will be by in a few minutes before I can think to tell them that I am freezing and need to either get out of my wet clothes or get a blanket. The next person comes in. My brain refuses to work. She did hand me the remote to the TV as she tells me that she doesn't think it works. I forget to tell her that I am freezing. I am however grateful for the remote as I hate cartoons.
I repeat to myself the words, "Remember to tell them you need a blanket."
The next person who walks in tells me that she needs me to lie down so she can strap me to the stretcher so she can move me to x-ray. I say, "I need a blanket." ----"Please." She says, that all I will need is a sheet in the x-ray room and my reply is, “well, I am very wet very cold.” She touches me and says, “yes you are, you really do need a blanket and mercifully goes to find one. As she puts the blanket across my shoulders, I try to reach up and move it. It was the first time I realized that My shoulders hurt a lot.
Most of the x-rays were taken as standing x-rays so I wouldn't have to lay down. One of the guys who came in who was a biker helped me lay down and get up from the one x-ray I had to lay down for. A technician tells me I can get dressed. They put my boots in a bag to stop them from dripping on the floor. My socks ooze out water when I walk to the wheelchair.
As I am waiting for the results of the x-rays I decide that I might was well go to the NAMI Conference. The kids are due in for the conference. There are people who generally like me and support me at the conference. There is a bed and probably some furniture at the conference. (My apartment doesn't really have furniture; there is a desk chair, a table and an old futon mattress that lays on the floor. Given a choice I would rather buy and ride a motorcycle than buy furniture.) Not that I feel like laying down anyway.
A doctor comes in to tell me that I have broken ribs.
A nurse comes in and tells me that I am being discharged and there is nothing wrong with me. I add, "Except the broken ribs." She says, "Oh, do you have broken ribs? It doesn't say that here." She goes off to check and when she comes back she says, "Well, you're right, you have broken ribs."
There is no phone book, my cell phone won't work in the hospital, but might outside and it is against their policy to give out any medications. At the moment I can't even get up to get my boots. Did I need a Jacksonville Transit Coupon to get home on the bus with? I really must have looked like a frickin refugee.
I said, “I need some pain medication, I need to get over to Orlando where my friends are, can I have a phone book?” She brings me back a phone book, but since my cell phone won't operate, I can't put the number in anyway. I think about ripping out the page, but regretfully, over all, I am a nice person that doesn't do those things. I memorize the number and ask someone for the area code.
I get a pill for the journey and to help me get through the night. It takes me at least five minutes to put on my boots and the nurse still has to tie them for me.
Outside I was at least no longer freezing. I try to call the cab but the number I memorized won't work. I am guessing that I have the wrong area code so I start to walk around towards people to ask them the number. I must look like hell because people are avoiding me like I have the plague. They tell me they don't know their area code.
I walk up to the man in the guard shack and ask him for the number to a cab. He's nice but tells me that I have to go back inside. When I looked over at the door, I decide it's too far and sit down on the edge of the cart that is outside the door. I ask him if he can at least tell me the area code. It's different than the one I had been given. I call again and get the cab company.
Thirty minutes later I'm staring at the steps of a greyhound bus trying to figure out how I'm going to climb up them let alone get my stuff on board since I really can't pick up any weight. Guys caught behind me help. The bus is really full. I think they help because otherwise, they can't get on. I try to doze off to make it easier to ignore the jostles, bumps and potholes in the road. It's at least better than the ambulance ride. A person could die while trying to get to the hospital in one of those things.
The guys also help get my luggage off the bus. (Probably because they wanted to get home.) It's after midnight. I call a cab, ask how much the fare will be and try to get the guy to not turn corners on two wheels. We reach the hotel. The doorman gets my bags. I tell the cab driver that I usually tip really well, but didn't appreciate his driving enough to tip him and walk away.
