Here we go again!
Are you people starting to think that I actually enjoy surgery?
I promise that I don’t.
Nonetheless, for the second time in less than a year, tomorrow morning I’m going under. This one doesn’t seem like such a big deal and, compared to the last time, I guess it’s not. But it’s still surgery, it’s still general anesthesia and, honestly, it’s still pretty scary. The fact that I am choosing to have surgery is weighing heavily on my mind. I strongly believe it’s the right choice, but the fact that it is a choice – and one I’ve been sitting on for over a week – has caused me to do a lot of second-guessing.
Surgery at 9:30 tomorrow morning. And assuming all goes as planned, an hour or so later I should be in recovery and by early afternoon, I should be on my way home. Then I could be back on my feet tomorrow evening. In a few days, I should be able to get out and start getting the heart working a little again.
And now, as promised, here’s what actually happened:
That Saturday morning (June 11), I left home at 6:45 for my regular Saturday ride. Home to Ocean and San Vicente where I met up with the group. Then we rode the PCH out nearly to Pepperdine and on the way back I split from the group for a little climbing. Up Topanga and Old Topanga, back down and headed for home. Through Santa Monica, Brentwood, Westwood, Beverly Hills, West Hollywood. Now I’m half a mile from home. Feeling good and ready to get a busy day started (some stuff for the move, then meeting a friend for a run in Newport Beach, then family dinner in Long Beach). I stopped at the light at La Cienega and Melrose. For some reason, I stopped in between the second and third lane (instead of outside the third lane). I think I thought the guy on my right was going to turn right, but I don’t know why I thought that. When the light turned green, I shot out and realized I was between lanes. I wanted to get over and the car on my right was a bit behind me, maybe to let me get over. I turned to signal him; to thank him and let him know I was going to get over. And then I fell. I couldn’t have been going very fast; I’d only been pedaling for a second or two. I think I looked over my left shoulder to see the car on my right and raised my left hand to make the signal and just lost my balance. Maybe. Either way, I landed square on my shoulder. And I felt it right away. I was in the middle of the intersection and thankfully didn’t get hit. I picked up my bike and the bar-end cap that fell out and moved to the sidewalk across the street. On my way, I knew I was f’ed. My shoulder hurt and I could feel a huge bump in the middle of my left collarbone. Maybe something is dislocated, I thought. But then I quickly realized there’s no joint in the middle there. So I knew. I checked my bike and kit and realized there was really no damage to either. It was the least violent crash I’ve ever had. No road rash. A small bruise on my left hip. And a broken clavicle. I got back on the bike and rode home. I changed out of my kit (but not my base layer, which I couldn’t pull over my head), apologized to the dogs waiting to go out and drove to the Cedar Sinai ER. The rest you should know.
p.s. Edwin, if you checked back in, click here for a picture of my break. In my research I’ve found that the surgery decision depends a lot on the location and severity of the break, but also on the attitude of the doctor you see and your own feelings about the surgery. Good luck!