Manuel rode his bike like Tigger from Winnie the Poo,
bouncing up over bumps and yelling “woo hoo!”. I followed, taking the same
lines because they were the fun ones. If Manuel was Tigger, I was Deep Blue, lumbering,
persistent, and slow. It didn’t matter, he didn’t mind waiting up. But I wanted to keep up so I could see him
fly. In mountain biking you’re either in the zone or you’re not,
and I was not. Manuel dove and flew down a rocky descent and I followed with
both fists full of brake. We hit the ravines and I didn’t make it up the back
side of one, so I tried again and still didn’t make it. In a not very technical
section there was a rise and a slight dip in the trail. Manuel bounced over the
rise and I tried to do it too, catching a bit of air. But then I hit the dip
exactly wrong, my front wheel stopped dead, and I went right over the
handlebars.
Time slows down for me when things get dangerous on the
bike. As I was flying over the bars I saw a log to my right so I rolled left.
The trail ahead was soft dirt. Good. Tuck the head, tuck the left shoulder,
take it on the elbow to protect the collarbone, roll off the hip, perfect. By
the time Manuel got back to me I was laughing and boasting about my perfect
tuck and roll. I got up with a little pain in my left calf. Did the pedal hit
it when I ejected? Maybe. I got back on the bike figuring I’d shake it off
quickly, but twenty minutes later I was one-legging everything because of pain
in that calf. It wasn’t fun anymore. Manuel claimed something was wrong with
his bike, but I’m pretty sure he loosened a bolt on his crank while waiting up
for me to save me from myself. When I caught up I finally asked if we could
bail and go home. I had no power in my left leg at all and it was tough even
walking up the last hill.
My calf was swollen but there was no bruise or mark. I got
some ice at 7-11 and iced it on the dashboard of the car. We got food, then
Manuel gave me a ride home and carried my bike up the stairs for me and left. I
took a shower, got dressed, and promptly collapsed on the couch because the
pain and swelling were getting worse. I called Eric and asked him if he could
get my computer from my office so I could work from home. He came home, looked
at my calf, and convinced me to go to an Immediate MD clinic.
I felt like an idiot, going in to see a doctor for a bruise
that wasn’t even a bruise. But I wasn’t there five minutes before the doc asked
me which emergency room I wanted them to call for me. I stared blankly. “We
need to make sure it’s nothing bad.” I surveyed the faces of the doctor and
nurse. Heavy concern. I told them to call Northwestern. They gave me some
paperwork and crutches and told me to go straight there. Northwestern’s ER had
a lot of people in it that seemed much worse off than me. I got on my laptop
and plugged in to work, figuring I’d be there for a while, they’d run some
expensive tests, give me a couple ibuprofen and a compression bandage and send
me home. Nope. I was in a room after only about 20 minutes of waiting. Within a
few hours I had talked to about 15 doctors who all were doing the same tests
and all asking the same questions, and then all making that same comment: “We
need to make sure it’s nothing bad.” Then they had to do an “invasive” test,
measuring the pressures of the compartments within my calf with a needle. I
remembered the numbers as they read them off. “63… then after a pause, ok, 70.
70? 70. Stable at 70.” I planned to figure out what the numbers meant by
googling them after they left, but they were only gone a minute or two before
the orthopedic team came in.
The head orthopedic resident was a big guy who loudly interrupted
everything I said. He looked at the compartment pressure test results and asked
who did the test, then asked me about my hypertension. “Dude. I am 110/70.
Every. Single. Time. You wanna calibrate that blood pressure cuff? Here, fire
it up.” They took my blood pressure for the fifth time. 106/68. “There, see?”
My awesome blood pressure didn’t make him happy though.
He asked me what happened and cross-examined me as I
described the accident. Then suddenly he said, “Ok. Hey, I forgot what you
said. Could you start again from the beginning? We need to make sure it’s
nothing bad.” I gave him my coldest professor stare. Looking to my right, I saw
a nurse about to draw blood from my arm. I laughed. Sneaky! So I played along,
starting my story over, not looking at the nurse drawing blood.
“I endo’ed over the bars, perfect tuck and roll. No, I
didn’t hit my head. I hit my elbow, the back of my shoulder, and my hip.
Perfect, right? Yeah I continued for another 20 minu---- wait a sec.” The nurse
was done and I saw that my right arm now had an IV port in it. “All right
everyone, time out. Look.” I held up my right arm. “You don’t put this in
someone who you’re about to send home. What’s going on? Level with me.”
“You need surgery. We don’t know what kind yet.” The doc
(Dr. Kadakia at Northwestern) patiently explained that they could be conservative and wait and see, but the
risk of necrosis was very high, my best odds of recovery were a surgical
evacuation procedure, and if it were his leg… Surgery? Necrosis? This was a
bruise! It wasn’t even a bruise!
But I saw that look of concern. “Cut it. Cut it. Do what you
need to do.” Over the next two hours before surgery Eric and I did some reading
and the docs explained the situation pretty well. The two things it could be
were a deep hematoma or compartment syndrome, and compartment syndrome could
develop from a deep hematoma if it wasn’t evacuated quickly. My mood was
surreal as I contacted my parents, students, and friends. I was nervous about
the surgery and very nervous about general anesthesia, but the surgery itself lasted
only about 30 minutes. There was a deep hematoma and blood clot, and once they
got that out everything looked fine. They inspected my calf muscles for signs
of compartment syndrome or other damage and there weren’t any. I woke up delirious,
hyperemotional and combative from the anesthesia but they said that is normal.
As I came to my senses I could tell that Dr. Kadakia's team was relieved and very proud
of the work they did. The docs were able to let me out of the hospital a day
early, and I have been recovering on the couch ever since, keeping my leg
elevated.
I am still bewildered by the fact that this thing seemed so
minor. I’m coming to terms with the fact that the doctors’ “bad” literally
meant possible loss of limb or even life. I understand that the orthopedic team
was pleasantly surprised that my muscles had no signs of necrosis. They now
feel that it is likely that I will recover full athletic function in my left
leg in time, but it may require physical therapy and it may be a while. It’s hard to tell how strong
the leg will be until I can use it, so I’m not setting any expectations for
recovery yet.
The doctors have assured me that this was a rare freak accident
that was unlikely to occur in the first place and will almost certainly never
recur. But we all play hard enough that freak accidents happen. I’m lucky that
I listened to my husband, my intuition, and that excellent team of doctors. And
right now, I love the fact that I can wiggle my toes and my foot a little and
feel that the muscles in the back of the calf are there and they still work.
