In which our cyclist is ever so fed up.
It has been a week since his crash. It is still three days until the cyclist gets his operation to have his collarbone plated. Three more days until he can begin the process of recovering. This is wasted time, these are endless days, and he's not getting any better. The frustration that nothing is happening, the sense of limbo is palpable.
His left shoulder has dropped dramatically compared to his right, thanks in part to the defensive way he is carrying himself. The bruising has spread its yellows and greens and greys in a swirl from his neck to his hip. The initial swelling has subsided, but there are still strange lumps and bumps in unexpected areas. The unsightly lump of the broken collarbone itself is visible under the skin halfway along the shoulder. He is wearing a sling to take the weight of his arm from the shoulder, stretching all his t-shirts as he wears them over the set up.
He is very listless, not really knowing what to do with himself. The painkillers he's been given aren't helping - although they are more than taking the edge off the pain itself, they are not improving his mood. He is getting a little cabin fever now, bored at home but not really keen to go out, mainly in case someone knocks into him. He cannot drive at the moment, so he's being ferried about by me which is not ideal either, as I am not the greatest driver in the world and I tend to stress him out. Especially at roundabouts.
He is at least sleeping ok. Bolstered by my V-shaped pillow (which I have to say he ridiculed when I bought it), and with the aid of the last dose of the day, he can at least get comfortable enough to drop off. He suffers in the morning though, as everything seizes up gradually in the night. Now his fractured ribs are giving him real problems. These are I suppose starting to knit themselves back together, but the process is not going unnoticed.
So then, the positives. Because there are positives. First and foremost, this hasn't put him off riding or racing his bike in the slightest, and I was worried it might. He is spending his time in a fogged-up painkiller haze researching replacement and upgrade items on t'internet. There are lists.
As mentioned before, we got off extremely lightly as regards damage to the bike. The front wheel is totally fucked (that's the official technical term), and will have to be replaced, and he wrote off his helmet (no cyclist damage, he didn't even realise he'd hit his head), but he wanted a new one anyway. There will be some new kit to buy, but the bits I cut off had served their time and were realistically due for replacement. All in all, this could have been so so much worse.
The kids are being very good about the whole thing, not climbing on daddy as is their usual favourite pastime, and seem to understand which areas of him to avoid and why. And our new kitten, Miguel, is definitely aiding the healing process.
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