Adventure, Terror in Retrospect

It was 8:45 PM on Wednesday, October 30, 1996. Location: Tulsa, OK. 27th & Yale. I was traveling sedately North bound in the right hand (east) lane of Yale while a young lady in a 86 Grand Am was stopped on 27th on the west side of Yale facing east. I noticed the car as l approached the intersection and since there were no other vehicles besides that one on 27th within a block of me, and it was obviously waiting for me to get clear before it came out, I returned my attention to the front.
Have I been clear enough, detailed enough so far? OK, good.

Now things start to really happen.
The car lunges towards me as if it doesn't see me, nor apparently do they hear Spot. It seems obvious to me that I need to CHARGE like Hell to the rear but the laws of physics are not repealed despite my ardent wish to the contrary, so I start the next best thing, taking the bike down. The car hesitates just enough that I see that I won't have to go down but should be able to get clear. Meanwhile in the car the 16-year-old passenger says to the 18-year-old driver something along the lines of, “don't see...eek...guy...motorcycle...eek!” I see the car hesitate and swerve. Being 18 years old, the driver, 1/100th of a nano-second later, determines that the correct course of action is to floor it so as to clear across the intersection that I'm already in. Alas, the laws of physics were not repealed for her either.
Possibly you have heard of some of these old sayings: oil & water don't mix; two into one and you're done; two wrongs don't make a right; etc. Well, what I remember thinking was along these lines: OH SHIT...GOT TO GO DOWN...NO, WAIT, WE'RE GOING TO CLEAR – YIPES...SHE'S GOING FASTER, THIS AIN'T GOING TO WORK... Please Mr. Custer, I don't want to go!...OH WELL IT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE IT'S GOING TO TOO BAD.... OH ,OH, THE FRONT WHEEL IS FOLDING UP....WELL MAYBE THIS IS GOING TO BE A LITTLE WORSE THAN I THOUGHT – OH SHIT, THIS IS GOING TO HURT....AWWW...MY NOSE IS MAYBE GONNA HURT....HERE COMES THE ASPHALT....OOF YUP...NOSE HURTS...
It then becomes apparent that my nose is one of my lesser problems,
I didn't try to protect my face because my left hand was holding my right with grim determination. "Houston we got a problem." Now starts with the PAIN and I seem to be the center of attention for a growing number of people.
There is the Helper, the good Samaritans, the rubber neckers, and the clue that I'm not doing so hot is my talking to them, and myself, with clenched teeth, short breath, short temper, a slightly profane manner and some exasperation.
I need to explain the Helper; there always seems to be one around, fresh from EMT training in Catoosa, rubber gloves at the ready and very, very eager.
So there I was, gracefully reclining on Yale Ave. Watching my blood flow – not drip or run, we are talking flow here – while all the people were yapping about broken necks. Helper says, "Don't move man, you might have a broken neck." Young lady says, "OH SHIT!" Unknown man says, "Oh my God." Gus says, "My f-ing neck is not broken.”
Young lady says, "EEK." Helper says, "Don't move man, you might have a
broken neck." Unknown man says, "OH SHIT." Gus says, "My neck is not broken." This goes on in various variations until I finally get their attention by telling them, "You all won't care about my neck much longer if you don't turn off the bike’s ignition switch and stop the gas from running out all around us." Helper says, "OH SHIT." Young lady says, "Oh my God." Gus says, "Get out of my way," and I knee walk to the bike and take care of it myself. Several more minutes are used up getting them to stand the bike up to completely stop the gas from running all over us.
Accident sites when described in so much detail seem awfully messy don't you think? I would like to have a picture of all this, and I wonder if it would look staged after the official cast arrived. This included my wife, who had arrived after getting my message off the answering machine - used my cell phone – (please don’t tell the real bikers), EMSA, fire department, police, and of course more rubber neckers.
There was also a person there who I refer to as the CUTTER. He is at all EMSA accident/pick up sites.
OK, here is the drill as l remember it. EMT says, "Need the neck brace." Gus says, "My neck is not broke." Cutter says, "I'll need to cut your coat off..." Gus interrupts with, "NO WAY, JUST TAKE IT OFF." EMT does this, no problem. The CUTTER says, "I'll have to cut some of your beard to get the neck brace on." Gus says with much vigor, "AIN'T NO WAY." So EMT just drapes the neck brace over my neck and beard.
The CUTTER gets even by shoving the backboard under me with out giving me a chance to raise my injured shoulder. Gus mumbles, "Neck ain't broke anyway."
Wife is busy taking care of billfold, cell phone, tool bags, belt knife and tools, talking to cop, who is great to me because he didn't say one thing to me, calling friends to come and get Spot before something happens to her. Wife knew that would be a worry to me so that was one of her first moves. She didn't tell me until later that she was also looking to see my other wounds because the little cuts on my face surely couldn't account for all the blood that was running down the street. Head wounds do bleed a lot.
After twice almost dropping me in the street they get me and my backboard on the gurney and head for the ambulance. Uh oh, the CUTTER is pushing me. THIS IS GOING TO HURT. In only three tries of banging the gurney into the back of the ambulance to get it to automatically fold and slide in, I was ready to go. YUP, ...IT...HURTS... Sometimes it isn't much fun being right.
Uh oh, I'm in here with the CUTTER and the door is closed. This is not good. Then it's lights, siren and we're off. This thing rides like a dump truck and they are going down 21st street, I can tell by the bumps and so inform them.
They are amazed that I could tell where I was but then I do ride a hard tail bike. I know where all the bimps are... I think the CUTTER had something to do with the route. Anyway, he'd not gone away, no sir, he was right there in the truck with me saying, "Got to cut this spur off so we can get your boots off." I didn't even comment, just flipped off my boots onto the floor, then I said sotto voice, "They come off with out cutting, too." He got even, they banged me into the doorway of the emergency entrance twice going in. They gave me two trips from one end of the emergency room to the other before parking me in what appeared to be an alleyway, and then the wife showed up and no particular help arrived for a while.

That's when I figured it out about the CUTTER.

So when he came again and said he wanted to cut my T-shirt off I said "Sure, go for it," and he did. Immediately after that, doctors, nurses, aids of all kinds descended upon me. Attention at last. So take heed, if you're ever unfortunate enough to be in this same setup, let the CUTTER have something early on and you'll have a much better time of it.
X-ray people also seem more used to unconscious victims if my handling was any indication. I did get through it though and then the big wigs started showing up. Seems my right shoulder was a bit of a mess and it was time for some horsepower. In other words, they were not going to touch me. This great doctor arrived in due time. On 10-31-96, Halloween, apropos don’t you think, I went under the knife. The idea of saving the original equipment had to be scrubbed and stainless steel was used to give me a shot at 12 to 15 years
before it wore out and needed to be replaced. It occurred to me that I should have had them keep the parts for show and tell, I asked but I think it was too late. Anyway, the next nine days were spent in the hospital and if it had not been for the PAIN it would have almost been fun.
Everyone put a severe dent in my 'pity pot' so as to make it almost unusable. Wife, Mom, sister Chris (up for a couple of days) and over 100 other folks came to see me, offer help, give moral support, etc. And then there were the cards, letters, flowers, and what not that was sent, which left little time to answer the phone calls from those who didn't come in person. If I'm so rash as to get to feeling sorry for myself anytime in the next 50 years, Wife will wave the list she made under my nose. Really kind of an awesome thing, THANKS all who supported!
While in the hospital I made an interesting discovery, hospital beds. These $10,000 devices of the DEVIL are a world unto their own and I know that not even I have done enough bad things in my whole life to make me deserve the terror and frustrations of...of... of... these infernal machines.
The poor person sentenced to spend time in them is the one person for whom the bed will do nothing. The buttons are unreachable, the trapeze assembly is unreachable without a PAINFUL lunge to try to get it to help yourself get up to go potty, which the bed tries to prevent in every way. Also the TV controls are just as impossible and much to the dismay of those who enjoy TV, all hospital TVs only get Jeopardy on all channels, at all times. Oh well, at least the PAIN gave me something to think about to make time pass.
Finally on 11-8-96 we were told to go home, I was off the needle and the X-rays looked OK, and 4 frustrating hours later we did just that.