My situation was a little different - I would say more exciting for it included full team meeting post-fall, strategy session and lastly, outside medical care. You see when I fell - I punctured, tore whatever you want to say break the skin barrier - in my thigh. I grabbed my brake too hard and then went over the handlebars and pulled the bike on top of me. When I landed - I must have brought a sharp part of the bike hard on top of me. Once the dust settled I realized that I had a small divot in my upper thigh - you could see the fat tissue and fluid. No blood though.
I reacted strongly. I must call 911. 911 is my original family's 411. My Oklahoma-raised husband is from more stoic stock; reluctant to dial; more willing to see stop and examine - take a beat. So we clash often. My immigrant parents felt they had no one here to help them but 911. So when I could see my body tissues peeking out my leg - I needed 911. Moreover I needed to get off the mountain lest I bleed out dramatically into the dry yellow straw on the dry Palo Alto hills.
At first my 911 pleas met with resistance, no - we don't need to call 911. I hated them for several minutes while they tried to calm me down. One friend eventually did call but it didn't go through. Great, I thought. I will die here with my blood on the dry yellow straw. Our next call was to our friend who was a doctor. She asked us to send her a picture. Later she told me that I sounded completely freaked out and barked at her - I have a hole in my leg! Once she saw the picture - she determined that no you don't need 911 but you do need stitches and you do need to keep the wound clean.
Once she said this I did calm down. We also figured out that it wasn't bleeding much and on top of that we had gauze. Yes, one of the moms bikes with several packets of gauze. Bless her soul. So we wrapped my leg up Civil War style and we then tried to figure out how to get down the hills to the parking lot.
This was not going to be easy. I couldn't bend my leg or put weight on it. First we thought I should ride my bike and they would push me along on it. Because I'm not 3 years old - this did not work.
Then I decided to ride down the hill with my hurt leg just sticking straight down - while my other leg rested on the pedal. This worked so we went downhill gingerly. It wasn't fun. I kept talking manically as is my habit when I'm stressed. I think I told one pair of lady hikers who looked at my bandaged leg - "I have a hole in my leg!" I'm not known for being stoic. What's the opposite of stoic? Dramatic? That's probably more apt to describe me.
So the rest of the adventure is pretty mundane. I went to Urgent Care - they blasted my wound with water from a giant syringe and then sewed me up. I can't do anything for two weeks. I'm bored and scared to go biking but that's life….getting up constantly from tiny to large scale falls.
