Comprising a Life

In 1973 during the first of the gas line years, my horticulture services business was growing rapidly and I often had to leave some of my service vans in long gas lines while I used my motorcycle to run errands for my business and do banking chores.  On one such occasion I ran an errand and on my way I noticed a rather hidden stop sign and tried to make a mental note of it so that I wouldn't run it accidentally on my return trip.  However my mind was so full of things I had to do that day that upon completing my errand I did in fact run that hidden stop sign.

I and my bike were both hit by cars coming from separate directions.  The motorcycle exploded and was still burning when the fire department showed up.  They were hosing it down when they finally heard my hardly audible voice from the direction of the accident site about 100 yards away.  I was pretty twisted up and in a lot of pain and remembering the effect that morphine had on pain from my Vietnam experience, I asked one of the firemen if he could give me a shot of morphine.  "No" he said "We are not allowed to dispense drugs at an accident scene".  Fortunately I had broken so many bones that my own adrenaline kicked in and my pain eventually turned into a steady mesmerizing burning sensation.  While I began to survey the damage done to my body I remembered to check to see if I could move my toes in one of my legs that was the most mangled.

I found that I could which was surprising because that leg was pointing out perpendicular from my body and had a curious bulge about the size of a football in the area of my thigh.  I remembered also from Vietnam that a severed nerve in a leg was much worse than broken or protruding bones could be.  The curious bulge later turned out to be a section of my femur turned sideways and unconnected to the rest of the bone fragments.  The fact that I could move my toes however gave me hope that I may not have to lose that leg.  During these calm deliberation a woman from one of the vehicles that I was hit by rushed up to me and with all good intentions shoved a scented handkerchief from her purse into my mouth to bite down on to distract the pain.  I had never come in close contact with one of those scented embroideried handkerchiefs that little old ladies carry in their purses but I assure you from firsthand experience that gagging on one of those things far surpassed the pain I was enduring.

Eventually the ambulance showed up and surveying the situation decided on the spot that my twisted leg would first have to be pulled straight and without the benefit of anesthesia.  I won't try to describe the pain I felt as more adrenaline pumped itself into my body and that mysterious bulge disappeared back into my leg.  In order to lift me they had to use a split stretcher which when closed under me picked up with it any number of weed species that I had little mind analyze at the moment.  The temptation to sink into the siren sounds of unconsciousness now occupied all my thoughts.  I was determined to not miss out on anything that having my proper control over things might play to my advantage.  And in this mindset I directed the the paramedic in the ambulance to not remove my helmet, as for all I knew at that moment my brain was the only thing that was not broken.  The paramedic tried to dissuade me but I was resolute in my instructions and arrived at the hospital with helmet firmly in place.

Apparently my body had been thrown into the windshield of the second car that had hit me which left deep grooves in the finish of the white and Candy red helmet I had been wearing, this of course suggesting I had every reason for not wanting my helmet removed until it could be done by a doctor.  That helmet had obviously saved my life.

In the hospital they discovered I had broken both of my kneecaps, I left tibia and of course had shattered my left femur.  I also had a broken right wrist but no internal injuries that they could find.  They had to use 3 pints of blood during the prolonged surgery to install a metal plate screwed into all the pieces they could find of my left femur.  One piece had floated off into the muscle tissue and eventually dissolved.  This causes my left leg to be about an inch shorter than my right one and resulted in a lifelong limp but I soon overcame with a corrected stride.  In the hospital there was more plastered parts of my body than were exposed.  The doctor who did the work on me told me that if I had not chosen to use the plate my recovery time would have been six months and I would have to have laid perfectly still during that time.  My decision to use the plate meant that I was up and walking with the use of a leg brace that could be bent at the knee and resulted in my not losing my business.

That leg was the same leg I was shot in in Vietnam and so I always considered it to be my bad leg and the one that would be most likely to give me trouble later in my life.  This however was to change when years later I underwent four separate craniotomies to remove two very virulent brain tumors and successive surgeries to remove scar tissue from bouts of radiation and chemotherapy.  Now my left leg is my good leg, as the cancer damaged the nerves and muscle tissue of my right leg to the extent that I am mainly in a motorized wheelchair these days.  I still get the occasional partial seizures from the brain tumors that leave me paralyzed on one side and unable to speak for hours at a time.  I haven't driven since the brain tumors but compared to what didn't happen to me in all of my life's adventures I consider myself quite lucky and have learned to adjust to each new challenge in my life as they have occurred, not looking back but looking forward to the future.