Having a fall and then realising you can’t feel your legs or your hands is terrifying. Truly terrifying. Short of knowing you are going to die, there can’t be many more terrifying situations.
In my case it was momentary. Lying on my back on the bitumen, seeing my arms and legs in the air and not being able to feel them, I promptly passed out. The ambulance records say a GP doctor who happened to be walking along Travistock Road in Fitzrovia, London, quickly came to my aid and began CPR until the ambulance arrived. The ambulance took four minutes to arrive, get me on a stretcher and whisk me away to St Mary‘s hospital in Paddington. Given how sore and compressed my chest was I felt all four minutes of CPR; from a person I don’t know nor likely ever will. He (I think) will forever be an unknown hero to me.
I’m getting told to slow down and take it easy as I get discharged from hospital today (17th August). After 10 days in hospital and 8 days in a halo I have many months of recovery ahead of me. But it’s hard to not to search for that little rush of dopamine after completing a task the physio or doctors set quicker or more strongly than expected. After all, I spend most of my „normal“ days seeking some sort of positive reinforcement for my actions. At work I solve problems for my clients and seek to define the impact we create. In the consulting firm I work for I seek to get good reviews from my colleagues for that work. This all feeds into my end of year assessment, bonus structure and therefore the luxuries we can afford. For sport each targeted session results in increased fitness which allows me to ride faster for longer. At home, each good deed and contribution to the household results in increased happiness as a couple. Action and reaction. But resting doesn’t feel like an input. And that’s where the big reminder lies.
I am repairing four vertebrae: C2 that is split in two, C3 that is split in three and C4 + C5 that are mush with multiple hairline fractures. I am repairing the bruising on the spinal cord through immobilisation as well as a fractured clavicle. Ideally, also, the second of my two vertebral arteries that supply the brain with oxygen, that closed under the swelling, will open up. That I‘m even writing to you today shows how extraordinarily lucky I‘ve been given the huge trauma on my neck. I escaped major spinal surgery so now there is only one thing to do: let the body heal itself.
The NHS Paramedics, Doctors, Nurses, Physios, Occupational Therapists and support staff have been incredible. I called some of the equipment they had to work with „optional“ because it was optional that they worked. The taps sometimes worked, there were blackouts, the heating/cooling was binary: either Saharan hot or Alaskan cold, and all the while they maintained a dedicated focus on care. The first question was always: „are you in pain“? And we worked each day from there. Their support for Peggy was always very considered. If we needed more time together they would give it. If we wanted more information, they would seek to provide it. Often all that was needed was a friendly hello in the corridors to make the place feel a little more human. And that‘s what counts.
I had been intensely working for the last two months with a client in South Africa to build a greenfield Corporate Bank. While lying in A&E immediately after the accident it was a relief to know that they would understand the situation. I let go of that worry like a helium balloon. I am very grate from the support from the team and the client for that compassion.
I can‘t wait to get on my bike again. We have requested the CCTV footage from the camera in the street to determine how I came off the bike. Accidentally hitting the street furniture divider between the bike lane and the main road is just plain odd (albeit not impossible!). That there were no other cars around is lucky. When Peggy inspected my clothing after it was cut off me in the Ambulance there were no signs of a fall. My Kask Protone helmet was split in multiple pieces and the foam heavily compressed (there is no doubt it saved my brain). I was otherwise unscathed. Crazy. But there‘s no need to cry over spilt milk. That time has passed. For me the form of transport that fills me with the most joy is cycling. It always has and always will. Do wear your helmet people, all times! Please!
To Peggy, my sister who flew over and close friends in London that visited especially Phil, Kat and Hanne: thank you. In times of need we all need strong people around us. You were amazing. And also amazing for the support you gave Peggy who rose to the challenge of this adversity in such a strong and loving way. I love you.
For now the priority is keeping clean, rest and managing the pain medication. I will keep you posted!