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[ST] Canal crash, mean time at Greenwich and lots of liquid too! (Long) Part I
- Subject: [ST] Canal crash, mean time at Greenwich and lots of liquid too! (Long) Part I
- From: Steve Lawler <slawler@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Thu, 27 Apr 2006 11:09:34 -0400
Now that I've grown accustomed to typing with one hand I can fill you
all in on what has transpired since April 5th. One request, if you are
going to reply to this be sure to do some snipping. TIA
4/5/06, New York City - During my evening commute home I was heading
east on Canal St. toward the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. For those
of you not familiar with the area, Canal St. starts at the West Side
Highway. There are four lanes to begin with. The three left lanes are
for vehicles heading for the tunnel and the right lane is for traffic
continuing straight on Canal. As the road crosses Greenwich St. the
three left lanes merge into two. The right lane stays the same.
Greenwich St. is one way southbound south of Canal and one way
northbound north of Canal.
At 5:40pm that day the left lanes were packed solid with crawling cars.
I was on the only vehicle in the left lane. I was traveling at about
25mph. Up ahead in the intersection of Greenwich I saw a car pointing
south but not moving, probably because all the other cars had him boxed
in. I had the green light. The car had apparently made the left turn
from the west bound lanes of Canal to head south on Greenwich. When I
saw the car I eased off the throttle. He still wasn't moving as I got
closer to the intersection but then he began to move forward into my
path. I grabbed the brake. Not a full "Oh crap you futher mucker" grab
but a "I better slow down" grab. I made that mistake once. I know first
hand what the effect of a full "Oh crap you futher mucker" grab is. This
wasn't what happened. The front end went out from under me as if I had
hit something slick such as oil or anti-freeze. I guess the car stopped
at the time I hit the pavement. There was no impact between the two
vehicles. My first thought was to go and pick up the bike and get it out
of the road but I could not pick up myself due to the excruciating pain
through the left side of my torso. I laid down on my right side. My left
side was in pain and laying on my back introduced new pains. People were
quickly around me telling me not to move.
"Duh!" I couldn't if I tried. Lots if pain and trouble breathing. Cops
were there in less than a minute. Some guy in a blue uniform with a
badge tells me that he's going to remove my helmet. "Not until the EMT's
get here."
"I am an EMT."
"Then go ahead." Thankfully I had no neck injury because this guy was a
helmet noob. I had to show him the strap and the way that he pulled on
it would have really turned me into toast on a stick if I had a neck
injury. With that out of the way they put on one of those neck braces.
You know, the kind that stabilizes you in case of a neck injury. The
kind that restricts your wind pipe when you're already having trouble
breathing. Yeah, that kind.
They decide to put me on a back board. You know, the kind that is as
soft as a granite slab. (Refer to the part above where I mentioned that
laying on my back introduced new pains.) Now when you want to move a
200# (185 with full gear, I'm not that heavy) object lying on the ground
you tend to grab the part of it that is higher in the air. (Refer to the
part above about my left side in pain and the part about laying on my
right.) Now comes the "Oh crap, you futher mucker" part.
They manage to get me on the board and strap me down thereby pressing my
already sore scapula firmly against the granite. "Oh crap, you futher
mucker" take 2.
At about 6:00pm on a weekday all the streets are pretty much jammed up
with a few exceptions: cobblestone roads. So there I am, a plastic boa
constrictor around my throat, a hunk of granite pressed hard on my back
and Hippity-Hoppity-Easter's-on-its-way bouncing down the cobblestone
streets of lower Manhattan. I knew that things could only get better.
At the hospital they eventually decide to examine me but not through a
Vanson jacket. I had previously given the EMT permission to cut them. I
tell the doctor to go ahead and cut it off. She says that she doesn't
want to ruin it. I iterate that they can cut it of. She says that her
scissors won't be able to cut through it and they would try to slip it
off. After some tugging and grunting, a few tugs from them and a few
grunts from me, I look her squarely in the eyes and in my best Clint
Eastwood impression ask, "Do you mean to tell me that you don't have
bigger scissors in this place?" One of the EMTs whipped out his shears
and quickly dispatched the jacket. They then decide to send me to radiology.
While waiting for that journey to begin a vision of loveliness
approaches me. My beautiful bride of 22+ years comes in and sits with me
until they wheel me away.
More moving around, more laying on hard surfaces, more "Oh crap, you
futher mucker." Then back to the ER where they eventually tell me what I
had been able to feel with my right hand. I have a broken clavicle. I
question all the other pain that I'm feeling and they explain that it's
normal and send me home.
Total time from leaving work to arriving safely at home: 5 hours.
Stay tuned for part II
--
Steve Lawler
Verona, NJ, USA
2001 Sprint ST "Blue Devil" (Down for the count)
"There are 10 types of people in this world. Those that understand
binary and those that don't."
-- Unknown
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