It was another sunny COVID lockdown day in May 2020. Bored, restless, and rebellious, I joined two buddies on a mountain bike ride. Turning back down the trail towards home, I hit a large exposed oak tree limb hidden in the shade. I rocketed head over heels at 20 mpg. I have a snapshot of an earth landing, then a moment later, the heavy mountain E-bike landed on top of me—all STOP.
Reality set in. I checked my limbs one at a time, from long bones to the metacarpals, then head and neck. I didn’t feel pain at the time and could move everything. I laid there under the weight of an electric mountain bike.
My mind cleared, and I called for my buddies. They were too far down the trail. It wasn’t long before they returned when I didn’t show at the next checkpoint.
I tried to sit up and laid back down. When it seemed I was in no mortal danger, I began making jokes about my landing score. That was an invitation for them to join in. That’s how guys deal with adversity. It’s not denial. It’s a pain and fear management skill women don’t always understand.
When I could stand without falling, we all checked the bike. We then took some pictures and headed down the trail. I couldn’t grip the bike with my left hand as the swelling and terrible pain increased.
Triage: I landed on my helmet and face with sunglasses scraping off my nose skin. Abrasions on my right arm and layer of dermal rolled up several inches on my left arm. I had what proved to be a broken scaphoid bone in my left hand—no big deal for the head flip dismount. The bloody arm in the picture is nothing to the visual of the left arm not visible.
I wobbled down the path with one hand on the bike. My pals carried it over large boulders and across creeks. I had wiped off as much blood as I could but continued to bleed riding down the mountain to the curiosity of people heading up. We still had miles to go down the path and along the highway to my home. My buddies followed and delivered me to my wife.
I rolled into the garage, and she came out. Frightened and angry, I tried to comfort her by making more jokes. It seems our pain management method doesn’t work well with wives.
And now the real story starts.
At the emergency room, MRIs and X-Ray were taken. Head and neck o.k., but broken hand as expected.
According to their test, I hadn’t done real damage. According to time- I had.
My previous heart surgery of ten years ago alarmed everyone. My seemingly simple hand fracture required a bone graft during surgery. A few weeks later, my hand was worse, and it was suspected I had developed a condition known as CRPS. Tests confirmed this, and I continued to experience more pain and swelling. The CRPS diagnosis disguised a bone infection at the graft site. Removing part of my wrist bone, I’m back in the hospital for days of infusions.
My life became a daily routine of tests, surgeries, more hospital stays, nerve blocks, infusions, medications, therapy, and specialized programs at USC. I have been on antibiotics for the infection for ten months with no end in sight. Pain management is a daily juggling act of numerous drugs, and the drugs and the disease have my mind scrambled.
My life has changed. So far, I have been able to arrest it, but it cannot be cured and has flare-ups. There was no sign of this in the photograph. For many who have CRPS, it gets worse over time, and the pain spreads to other limbs in the body until they can no longer tolerate it. CRPS is an “orphan” disorder nicknamed the “suicide disease.”
As a man, it could be worse. I could have a cold.
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