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Wheelie for...Well, That Wasn't for Safety. A Hospital Trip Report (Beware Gory Pics)

Nemo Brinker

Tonight we ride
Joined
May 30, 2006
Location
OAKLAND.
Moto(s)
'04 919, '04 DR650
Name
Legion
I saddled a red, unbroken colt
And rode him into the day there;
And he threw me down like a thunderbolt
And rolled on me as I lay there.
--Stephen Vincent Benet, The Ballad of William Sycamore


This one is light on the motorcycles but heavy on the gore, and I figured it was an experience worth sharing.

On Monday I was out at Metcalf OHV Park with my old DR350, toodling around and enjoying myself. Termagant was on her DRZ250, and was playing in the beginner area. It was a somewhat significant moment for her--her first ride on dirt since her wreck and ankle break in Baja in December. So she poked around on her bike, getting familiar with it all once more. I'd been lucky enough to have an epic mud and hot springs ride with ThumperX in the last month, and was full of eager dirty moto joy.

I was wanting to hit the trails but didn't want to abandon her, so I worked my way through the drills in Doc Wong's adventure riding class--small tight circles and figure 8s, stop-n-go, stand-and-balance, sliding the rear tire when braking, sliding the front tire when braking...and lifting the front end and doing small wheelies.

I am a relative newcomer to wheelies, having only discovered the joy of hoisting one, and the nerve and technique to pull it off, in the last 6 months or so. Plus the DR350 is underpowered, and anyhow it makes sense to approach learning methodically and with control. So I went gradually, lightening the front end, then just popping the front wheel off the ground, then slightly higher; I was clutching the bike up in 1st gear to get the wheel off the ground. When I felt ready, I pointed the bike straight ahead, slid my butt back on the seat, popped the clutch out, revved, and grinned. Is there any greater form of physical joy expressed through the machine than hoisting a wheelie?

The knobby tire lofted toward the sky, my heart was singing...and I felt the rear tire squirm slightly in the soft dirt. And that's when it all fell apart, and the thin weave of my skill came unraveled. My upper body tensed, turning the bars to the right, and chopped the throttle instinctively. The result was predictable: the bike came down onto the canted front wheel, and flopped over onto its left side. Oh, no, I'm falling...the sky and the ground wheeled around each other.

Normally dirt falls are not a huge deal. But this time, as I hit the ground (it seemed to be happening in terrible, inexorable slow motion) I felt the footpeg strike my left foot, driving into the instep like the Hammer of Thor. The impact reverbrated in a great wave through my body, a silent explosion, sucking all the sound and oxygen from the air.

The foot, my foot--it exploded in silent white flames. I rolled away and somehow, under the influence of adrenaline, stood up. Termagant had seen the fall, stopped her bike, and came running over, yelling, "what happened? You okay?"

The oxygen was still gone. I opened my mouth and nothing emerged, no words, no breath. I knew it was bad when I had no urge to pick up the bike, no urge to see if it was damaged. I reached down, robotically, and switched off the ignition, straightened, and limped over to a picnic table, thumping down heavily. Terma followed me, waiting for my answer. I pulled off my helmet, slid it down to the end of the table, and slowly lifted my left leg, setting it down on the helmet to prop up the foot. I struggled out of my sweaty compression suit, touching the bloody bruise on my elbow. It was the least of my problems.

This is the boot, with the broken foot inside



"Is it broken, you think?" she asked, simply. She handed me a water bottle and I drank mechanically.

"Pretty sure, yeah. Fuck, I can't feel my hands. I think that's the shock. Can you get help loading the bikes before you take me to Highland?"

"No problem. I'll be as fast as I can."

I laid down carefully, to get my leg elevated above my heart. I groaned and squirmed a little--the white roar in my head and foot grew and grew. The foot throbbed with vicious, pounding pressure; I decided to leave the MX boot on, as I knew I'd never get it off again. I could feel the blood retreating from my hands and feet, and the numb buzzing that replaced it. I could barely close the hand, could not make a fist. Wiggling the left toes in the boot brought me close to a faint--dizzy nausea flooded me. I fought the shock as best I could, blood roaring in my ears, vision contracting into a tunnel then expanding outward again.
 
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Sorry to hear about your mishap. What was the final tally on the injuries?
 
And I have seen the Eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
--T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock


I felt like a weenie, writhing in pain and barely able to think or speak without groaning and growling, all over what was probably just a broken foot. Termagant was much, much more stoic and brave when her ankle broke in Baja.

And she was compassionate and competent, too. She got help to load up the bikes, drove out to the bike, trail rules be damned, and picked me up.

The face of ouch



This one's for you, BARF



She sighed and told me that though it hurt, I should probably keep the leg elevated and sitting on the dashboard, all the way to Oakland. It hurt, but I hoisted it there, and off we went. I felt every seam, knob, line, crack, bubble, hell, I swear I could feel every color change in the pavement all the way there. Several times I tried to put the foot down, but Termagant gently let me know to keep it up there. The ferocious pressure made me at least pop the buckles on the boot, wincing.

She grabbed some water, crutches and energy bars from her house, then headed for the dread gates of the Highland Emergency Room, deep in the crazed heart of Oakland. When we arrived, I swung out of the door and heaved my trembling weight onto the crutches, swaying, and hopped through the doors. The pain in my foot set up a new level of howling. As I waited politely in the emergency room line, shaking, sweating, trying not to fall, couples argued, patients explained their colds and stomach complaints to the emergency room nurse, families crowded in solemnly, the TV blared, one nurse wore a "Highland Emergency Room--better than TV" shirt. It felt like the longest wait in the world, standing there on crutches, vision turning black and clearing again, body trembling violently and wracked with long, oscillating pulses of pain. At long, long last I reached the front of the line and tried to compose myself as I described what had happened. Soon, a wheelchair was plunked under me and I was wheeled into the trauma ward.

When she was let in to join me, Termagant joined me and an x-ray machine and painkillers came my way. Did I want morphine? Hell no, I am having enough trouble staying in control as it is. I did consent to a couple of Vicodin. The nurses helped me, gingerly, work the MX boot off over my foot while I bit my own arm, leaving bruised teeth-marks. The foot was swollen, misshapen and purplish, with fat swollen toes jutting out at varying angles. The edge of what was probably a broken metatarsal tented up the skin atop my foot.

In the trauma ward, Highland



"And this little piggy is fuuuuucked up," I laughed.

The wounded foot, just after it came out of the boot



And then the orthopedic resident took Termagant down the hall to see the x-rays; I could see her face, but not the images on the wall in front of her. I saw her eyes widen; I saw her bring her hands up to her mouth.

It wasn't going to be good. She took an iPhone photo to show me, and oh, mama was it bad. The residents, interns and surgeon came to explain and to show me the jumbled bones in my xray; it looked like a bunch of sprlintered kindling. I had broken all the metatarsals, and the third metatarsal was underneath, crossed over and hidden by the second. The second and fifth toes were dislocated, and the base of the 5th metatarsal was comminuted--turned into bone gravel.

Oh, hell.





The combination of injuries, they said, was called a Lisfranc Displacement. Lisfranc Displacements, named after a bearded, pompous surgeon who learned to amputate before the foot went gangrenous, first became known as an injury to Napoleanic-era cavalrymen. Falling off or being shot off a horse and getting the midfoot caught in the stirrup also broke and dislocated the foot in a similar way to modern dirtbikers. Of course I'm rather less likely to get this sucker amputated than the cavalry officers of the past! I no longer felt a haunting sense of wimpiness for experiencing so much pain.

On top of this, they feared Compartment Syndrome, in which the fascia and tissues swell so badly that the circulation is cut off and the tissue in the foot dies. If it happened, I could lose my foot. Compartment Syndrome can also produce rhabdomyolysis as dead muscle cells slough off, then kidney failure as the necrotic muscle cells overwhelm the kidneys. As we spoke, a change came over the foot--it was swollen before, but became more so, turning a horrible eggplantish purple-green, and slightly shiny. Pale areas where the blood was cut off showed on the tops of the worst swollen areas. The surgeon called the residents and interns together to confer. I was playing with bigger things than I'd expected, here.



"Compartment syndrome. Textbook case. We're going to have to do emergency surgery."
 
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Oh Jeez. So sorry Heidi. Hang in there.
 
It's been quite a week. Thanks. I'm still in a hospital bed, in fact.

Just wait til I get to the gory photos...
 
Oh No..

I hope you are going to be okay.
 
good gravy :wow

Sorry to hear about the boo boo Heidi, heal up fast

W
 
Oh wow, sorry to read about this NB ... bummer.

I've got to go out and buy some real protective boots ... hate to think what your injury would have been had you been the Combat boots I usually wear ...

Here's hoping you won't need sugery ... and that you feel better, soon!
-- SFMCjohn
 
It's been quite a week. Thanks. I'm still in a hospital bed, in fact.

Just wait til I get to the gory photos...

Any chance you can include pictures of the boot that didn't protect and serve?

I don't think very many riders know what is important in boot selection, for the job they are put to.

I can relate to the pain you suffered..almost identical thing happen to me, 55 years ago.
 
Hopefully things are now on the upside Heidi.. really hope you heal up quickly and completely.

Even in pain and damaged you have a way with words..

This touched me.. as I have had that happen to many times not to feel it.

"...the thin weave of my skill came unraveled"
 
The boots were Gaerne GX-1s--usually regarded pretty well.
But hey, Termagant and I apparently live to point out the chinks in boot armor! :laughing

I don't have photos of the boots themselves, but here is a stock photo.


I had kind of hoped that they'd be more protective, but it was an unusual injury--as I fell the footpeg, acting like a hammer, struck the foot just at the flexible section of the boot, just behind the stiff plastic toe cap, and one of the harder places to armor since there has to be somewhere on the boot that allows foot flexion. The ground was the anvil.

It's looking like this one was a life-changing occurrence, unfortunately, though I don't yet know what shape that will take. I am committed to doing whatever it takes, physical therapy, rest, etc. to recover. I will feel the joy of riding again, the rush of air across my body, the soaring heart and the turn of the throttle. And I will hike and backpack again and stand in the great silence of the wilderness, even if it hurts more than it used to.

Financially...I qualified for medical help since the bill will be huge, and that's a relief. But I lost my entry-level motorcycle mechanic job, the one I'd been so proud to learn from scratch, and spent 2 hard years as an apprentice to get. The shop said "we'll see ya, so sorry that happened", and of course I'll be off my feet for a good while; and I have to admit the loss of that is hard. My oil recycling job will continue, however, and I was given some extra hours by that very kind supervisor, once I can work.

There will need to be several surgeries to stabilize the bones for the long term. For Lisfranc Displacements, long-term stabilization generally takes two forms: Open Reduction Internal Fixation (ORIF), a system of pins and screws to stabilize the healing bone, and joint fusion. The current orthopedic doc is saying that because I'm relatively young and strongly desire a return to function, a fusion may be better overall. In any case, I have at least a couple of surgeries and quite a bit of physical therapy in my future.

In any case, I am on the day's surgery waiting list, so have been fasting since midnight and am on an IV drip right now. Hopefully I'll get the fasciotomy incisions stitched closed, my K-wires pulled out (they wired the bones in place), and at last, get to go home and into the arms of my love. Wish me luck!
 
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Very sorry to hear of your off...crazy how a "nothing" incident can have such repercussions, especially when you were wearing proper gear.

All that said, your writing is top-notch! You really do weave a story well. Feel better! :)
 
Wishing You Luck :thumbup

The pictures of the boots are great...But the boots wouldn't pass my selection criteria.

Yes I know they would appeal (and sale) to nearly everyone else, and that gets them designed and made, at the best rep boot makers.

Because of my experiences (one being, having all my bones going to the toe joints, broken where there was no joint to bend, as my foot was folded like closing a wallet)..

Is...I don't mind walking like Frankenstein, or a skier in ski boots..When I'm riding my motorcycle I'm not walking but a few feet somewhere anyway.

Even though the bike crash that mangled my foot was like 55 years ago..The sensations of pain are as fresh as they are happening right now. If I choose to remember them, and the surreal mental state it took me to.
 
Damn, Heidi. Let us know what we can do to help, ok??
 
WOW. Keep thinking positive Heidi. It only gets easier from here.
Not easy, easier.....
 
You know Heidi.. I guess I was a bit oblivious to the extent of the injury. My bad.

Sounds like a tough road to recovery.. and I really hope all works out as you hope.

My best
 
Oh I forgot to mention, feet heal pretty good. Why? I've broken my left foot once, & my right foot THREE times. Once was a T-bone by a 64' Rambler at 40mph; & that one crushed 3 of the "Metacarpal" bones, along w/2 toe breaks & ankle breaks. It all healed up just fine...no problems whatsoever. That was also, =1969'.....

Nowadays none of my foot breaks bother me at all. My knees/hips & other things now that's a different story. But in 7 breaks of various bones in my feet, they all healed-up just fine. So no worries! :thumbup
 
Thanks for the encouragement and shared experiences, you guys. Good to know these kinds of things can heal.

I'm fresh out of the second surgery and woozy as hell, but relieved to have my foot stitched up again. The stabilizing wires with external heads have to stay in for 8 more weeks. I want my pants back, too!

If I'm lucky I may get to go home tonight.

Definitely getting some Sidi Crossfires next time I'm able to ride on the dirt. Not to mention some more advanced dirt training, Jimmy Lewis or something of that caliber.
 
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Oh, Heidi...I'm so sorry this had to happen to you! :(
I was wondering when this story would hit BARF.
I have 100% faith in you, and know you will heal quickly and completely. You will, indeed, ride again, and it will be just as glorious as it was before...maybe even more so! I find that I relish the good moments much more so after not being able to ride for long periods of time due to injury. Take the anger, frustration, sadness, longing...whatever crappy feelings you have...and turn them into positive energy that will move you forward. Keep your eyes on the prize and you'll be good to go before you know it :thumbup




WoodsChick
 
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