4/25/2000 9:30 pm

My mind would not admit to itself that I'd been hit. "Not me!" The
most vivid memory I have is the sensation of flying thru the air,
spinning, of hitting the ground and being unable to stop myself. Just
kept on sliding and turning. When I finally came to rest, the only
piercing thought was "Get out of the traffic lane ...." I dragged
myself into the bushes on the curb (200 yards north on El Camino on
south bound San Tomas) and did a quick assessment. Having a very hard
time breathing; breathing coming in sharp, quick, moaning gasps. "Wow,
I have been hit!" Left foot hanging off at a strange angle, shin bone
poking thru the skin. Just lie there .... feels pretty good just lying
here. Within about 3 minutes (unless I blacked out) a car has stopped
and the occupant is asking me if I'm OK. "No!" I answer. "Hang in
there!" he says as he calls 911. Two other cyclists stop. I look
back. My bicycle is lying on its side right in the middle of the
rightmost traffic lane, about 20 ft from me. An orange turn-signal
lens, probably from the car that hit me, is lying right next to my
bike. I ask the guy who stopped to find my fanny pack, which contains
all my ID, etc.

Shortly thereafter, a paramedic ambulance arrives and the busy
occupants commence to cut my clothes off my body (brand new shorts,
damn!) and to strap me to a back board. Since I was effectively naked
now, and quickly going into shock, I started shivering
uncontrollably. But no pain yet. The paramedics were so very intent on
immobilizing my head and neck (remembered that from my 1st Aid/CPR
class -- "If possibility for spinal injury, immobilize neck and head)
that they seemed to forget about my left foot at times, and brushed
and leaned against it a couple of times. Fortunately, shock is an
effective natural anesthetic, and I felt nothing. I recall arguing
with one of the paramedics who was intently prepping an evil looking
needle to stick into my left arm, that I was afraid of
needles. Naturally, my protestations were null at that point. I
remember repeatedly asking them to call my wife. I guess one of the
paramedics got frustrated and asked me if I remember asking her that
before. "Yes!  Have you called her yet?" I asked again. I recall
feeling uncontrollable thirst but naturally no quencher was permitted,
as one does not want to be throwing up on the OR table.

The next three hours were a blur of disconnected events. I kept asking
that someone call my wife and she did eventually arrive at around
11:00. I remember lying on an ER table, and a surgeon was sewing up
the wound on my right thigh, and his associate saying that the frayed
edges need to be trimmed. Again, thank god for shock. "How big is it?"
I asked. "About an inch deep." he replied. [ I didn't discover the
other two "minor" wounds -- on my left buttock and right calf -- until
much later ] I remember being asked about the last time I'd eaten or
drunk; lunch at 12:30 and a coffee at 5:30.

I remember lying in a much brighter room; still no pain. The clock on
the wall to my left said 12:30. Some guy in a red crown cap leaned
over me [the anesthesiologist, whos name I don't remember now] saying
breathe deeply ...... click.

In retrospect I can't identify the "turn off" moment because I can't
identify the time immediately following the event. The time
discontinuity however is the weirdest thing I remember. The events
seperated by 6 hours are associated with distinct memories, but of the
events and time between the extremes of the discontinuity, I have no
memory. No sensation, no blackness, no bright lights. That time just
didn't exist, or I didn't exist during that time. Is this death?  Here
one second and then ..... nothing? No more sensory input, nothing to
process it with, not even the cognitive recognition of differentiating
existing from not. Consciousness and existence is obviously a
subjective notion, but the concept of non-existence *must* be a
second-party observation.

My first memory is needing to vomit. I am being wheeled thru a set of
doors and someone was holding a bowl to the right side of my head and
turning my head to that side. It hurt to retch. I dry-heaved some more
and the pain was exquisite. But I recognized Kathy, so things were
OK. More people around me. My right leg getting encased in an
anti-embolism sock. More poking and prodding.  It's 6:30 when I see a
clock. I'm becoming conscious of my existence and who I am.

Hurts to lift my head but I do it anyway. My lower left leg is
attached to a bizarre contraption consisting of two rings seperated by
about six inches. Two pairs of "bicycle spokes" stick out of the
closest ring. Four 6mm pins stick out of my leg perpendicular to the
cylinder plane formed by the two rings. The whole deal seems very
rigid, since I can't move my leg but can move my foot and wiggle my
toes, and heavy. [ Later of course, the ortho-surgeons explained to me
that the "spokes" actually go all the way thru my leg, thru the bone
just below my knee, and they, and the ring they're attached to keep
the whole assembly fixed in place relative to my leg. The 6mm pins are
actually coarse tap screws literally screwed into and thru the
bone. Ortho-surgeons are like computer people when it comes to
techno-talk. Since I was interested, the doctors talked; tensioned to
100 PSI, titanium alloy screws, external fixator designed in Verona
Italy. My only question was how they planned to take the pins and
spokes out. They seemed very matter-of-fact about the whole thing,
implying that the "spokes" would be cut and pulled thru, and the
screws would simply be backed out with a hand-held power drill. Great!
I hope I at least get a local, or I'll pass out for sure ]

Copyright (c) 2000, Radek Aster