A Momentary Absence of Equilibrium 

    

    A little more than two weeks ago, I fell from my bicycle while solo riding a trail deep in some wooded city parkland here in Toronto. This is an activity I’ve been doing for decades, in a wide variety of places. This trail wasn’t particularly steep or challenging, and my speed wasn’t beyond control in any way, but in a brief and fateful moment, my balance was lost and I fell a distance of about eight feet sideways and downward on a slope, landing in the dirt with considerable force. 

     It took a few moments to fully realize what had happened, and where I was. My recollection now is only the moment before, and then the collision of body and earth. The downward flight was not imprinted in memory, for reasons unknown. 

     It then took some more time to muster the strength to extract myself from soil, and bicycle, to come to a standing position. That changed quickly to sitting, on a nearby fallen tree, as I knew I wasn’t ready yet for any movement toward recovery or escape. With an awareness of where I was, that is alone on an isolated and lightly traveled trail, I realized I had to remove myself from my current situation and seek assistance. As my lower body was relatively unscathed, walking was not a concern, though the difficulty of removing the bike and returning it to the trail was, though yet unrealized, a harbinger of things to come. 

    After about a 10 minute walking journey to what I knew was a travelled park road, I reached my stopping point, and sat to rest. My intention was to check my phone for a maps location, and to call family for help. Well, my maps app was of little assistance, showing only unfamiliar lines in a blankly coloured field. Previously I had only ever reached this area by trail, so I really had no idea how to get to my location by car. I then found an opportunity to ask for help from a fellow cyclist who was trail riding with his son. Utilizing his more effective maps app, I could see with some degree of clarity where I was, and where my vehicle was. It was at this point that a combination of adrenaline, stubbornness and to a lesser degree, foolishness came to the fore. “I can do this”, remarked my altered self. And thus off I set, beginning with an uphill walk, gingerly steering my bike while also looking out for a passing car with a bike rack, in the hope of a hitch to where I needed to go. Alas, that was not to be, so I carried on in the direction I knew to be an end to this journey. 

 

   Without scale, a map can be deceptive, and thus my anticipated destination turned out to be a greater distance than intended. After some time, I grew tired of walking, and so I threw caution to the wind and mounted my bike once again in an attempt to shorten this ordeal. The unholy trinity (adrenaline, etc.) prevailed again. And, well, that was interesting. Legs good, arms bad. My right arm, at the time the stronger of the two, was tentative and shaky at best, steering me with faltering accuracy along sidewalks, weaving past curious pedestrians as I ventured on. 

    Ultimately, I reached my destination and my vehicle, to soon realize I was incapable of lifting my bike up onto the bike rack. With good fortune, a man loading his dog into his car at the trailhead assisted me in this task, though not without considerable verbal direction. This was clearly something not in his muscle memory.

    And so then, again, common sense was not in attendance, as my present thinking was, if I’ve come this far, surely I can drive home. I’ve mounted the summit, so it should be downhill from here. In theory, this made sense. In practice, however, maybe not so much. My vehicle is a standard transmission, which means a stick shift, which means two arms working independently. The final leg of this journey, approximately 20 minutes, was a delicate balance of difficult shifting, fairly painful steering, and a constant worry of the potential, and terrible timing, of an accident. Or another accident, more accurately. 

    But, thankfully, home is where I made it, with more than considerable relief. After a brief relating of the events to my family, my intention was to rest this out, with the apparently naïve thought that I’d be just fine the following day. My wife, however, had other plans, and called my nephew’s wife, a doctor, who promptly answered the call and arrived a short time later. Her brief prognosis turned out to be uncannily accurate, and she advised me to visit emergency very soon, although somewhat to my dismay. So off we went, my wife as driver this time, to Sunnybrook hospital. 

    Seven hours later, on that Saturday evening, I left with a cast on a fractured right wrist, a splint for a broken finger on my left hand, and an ultrasound scheduled for a torn rotator cuff on my left shoulder. The only redeeming aspect of that duration of time was the ultimate, and consistently positive attitude and energy put out by the hospital staff. I mean, how can I be pissed at these people who are so intent on relieving my discomfort? I left not angry and frustrated, but assured. 

    So here I am, more than two weeks later. A replacement cast on my wrist, here for six weeks. A replacement splint on my broken finger, on for… I don’t know. And an ultrasound on my shoulder with physiotherapy underway, for maybe 8 – 10 more weeks. As well as more therapy once my wrist cast comes off. Returning to work appears to be a long way off. 

    But the power of healing continues, which I find in some ways quite remarkable, given how I felt over the course of the first week. Every movement in my upper body was filled with pain and discomfort. Sleep was most difficult, even with a moderate amount of medication. I’m not so young anymore, so I’m really rather impressed by my body’s ability for healing. 

    Since my fall, I’ve become limited in so many ways, and this is a source of frustration for one who is accustomed to independence and self-sufficiency. My big three: cycling, photography and cooking have each come to a skidding stop. And so I’m attempting to find opportunities for interest and engagement, as I navigate this all-new territory of limited mobility and diminished opportunities for activity and recreation. 

 

   And I find myself, two weeks later, in a situation well beyond the “usual” surreal nature of this pandemic we currently find ourselves in. One day to the next is even more of a blur than before. I find myself standing idle, unsure in that moment of what to do, an occurrence most uncharacteristic. Being unable to do the things I’m used to doing to keep myself engaged and contented, I’m floundering, in search of ways to centre myself in a return to some sense of normalcy. 

    Over the course of riding a bike for many decades, I’ve gained experience, and as the years progressed, I’ve grown more cautious. My falls, as I recollect in my adult life, can be numbered on one hand. And each of these was minimal in repercussions. The reason, or reasons, for this fall remain elusive. Tiredness, inattentiveness, or just poor timing could each be factors, but regardless, this is a reminder of how easily fortunes can change. In a fraction of a second, my life, and the lives of those near to me, was altered quite dramatically. 

 

   This will pass, as it’s been so often said, but the distance between then and now seems vast. I do take solace in my continuing healing and increasing mobility, and in the fact that my injuries could be much more significant. And I will find my way, and my equilibrium, given time, patience and determination.