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[ST] Canal crash, mean time at Greenwich and lots of liquid too! (Long) Part I



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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