I’m pacing around my office as I dial her phone number. Six months into my recovery from a car-bike collision, my restlessness has reached a fever pitch. It’s been a long road, and patience is not a virtue I readily possess, but life is a relentless teacher.
This hadn't been the first time a car had taken me out. But, this time, the injuries were significant. A driver in oncoming traffic turned across the lanes at speed, and I had but a split second to react. I was in a bike lane. I had a green light. I even had bike lights flashing though the sun wouldn’t set for another hour. He just hadn’t seen me – sun in his eyes. I glimpsed him from the corner of my eye just in time to grab a handful of rear brake, forcing the bike to skid sideways and avoid a full-on T-bone. Still, the impact was unforgiving. Five broken ribs, punctured and collapsed lung, hemothorax, multifocal pulmonary lacerations, a bruised jaw, a banged-up elbow, and yet another concussion. I was in the trauma ward for three days, and everyone said, ‘I got lucky’.
