I do TRIs, not TBIs...

(TBI stands for Traumatic Brain Injury, for all my non-medical friends).  The vicodin-induced sleep coma has worn off, so I'm lucid enough to blog.  I'm currently at my folk's place and enjoying being able to sleep in and eat home-cooked meals on the couch (is this what normal people do on Sundays?), free wound care/dressing changes, and hanging out with the newest addition of the Kanzaki family, a rescue chowchow/German shepherd mix named Mako. 


Cyclists have a saying, "It's not if you will go down, it's when you will go down."  The Law of Attraction has once again proved itself to be true, since at the beginning of the ride I was thinking to myself, "Hmm. I haven't crashed yet on this bike yet...I wonder when that time will come?"


Well, the time came.


It was the first time that fire trucks and an ambulance showed up on my behalf, the first time I rode inside of an ambulance with the sirens blaring, and my first major crash.

Small veins = nightmare

Just in time for sleeveless shirts and dresses! Impeccable timing, I know.

I have a lot to be thankful for:
-Helpful riders who called 911 when I passed out and waited with my bike until my parents arrived at the scene
-Nothing broken...no broken shoulder, collarbone, scapula... (tuck 'n roll is my new motto)
-The bike is overall ok (it went to bike ER too...aka Sports Basement WC)
-Head/neck/chest xrays are all clear and normal
-I wasn't wearing my new FOMO kit or Betty Designs kit...so I didn't cry as hard when the paramedics were cutting off my trishorts with scissors
-Pain meds, pain meds, pain meds.  Did I mention pain meds?
-My mom is a nurse.  Clearly the right choice of profession as far as I'm concerned.
-The helmet cracked in two places, not my skull
-Health insurance. (I already found out they would cover my ambulance, and out-of-network hospital bills just because John Muir was the closest head trauma hospital around). 


It could have been much worse.  God protected my body and surrounded me with the right people at the right time.  I am very lucky to have parents who will drop everything, navigate with sketchy directions to a remote location, rescue my bike, rush to ER, and house me comfortably. (My mom keeps asking if she can make me something to eat, and just told the dog to answer my call light and empty my commode- no joke).


We encounter risk everyday.  Sure, some activities are more risky, but I believe it's important to continue doing what you love (with safety first always) and not allow fear (or other people's opinions) to cloud your judgement.  I would rather die doing a more "risky" activity that I loved instead of playing it safe and knitting on the couch because it was deemed "safer."

"Go ask mom what time dinner is again?"

But for now, the couch suites me just fine as I recover.  And I'm really digging my therapy dog.

Couch. Check. Computer. Check. Canine. Check.