(This first went out as a post on Linkedin at the end of November 2023, about 4 weeks after the accident. I include it here simply as a marker for when my work and, therefore, the focus of my posts, changed.)
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger...
Except SUV’s.
SUV’s will f*ck you up.
Especially if the flabby specimen behind the wheel presses the accelerator instead of the brake when they drive into you.
After I hit the deck and my (massive) bike went bouncing down the road, this is what I remember:
Man comes running across, shouting at the driver to phone a f*cking ambulance instead of asking me whether I'd seen her indicate (I didn't because she hadn't - only an insane person would ride along the left-hand side of a car indicating left).
'Mate, I think I've done something serious'.
'Yes, I think you have'.
'What's your name?'
'Nick. Yours?'
'Clark.'
'Pleased to meet you'.
'You won't leave me will you, mate?'
'No, mate. I'm staying right here'.
And stay there he did, for the hour and 10 minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive.
It was a busy day for ambulances, apparently.
In the meantime, an off-duty paramedic by the name of Katie, a fire crew returning to their station, several police cars and, eventually, a mobile paramedic unit all arrived to seal off the area and make me as stable as they could.
Truth be told, all I wanted was some pain relief.
As it later transpired, I had broken five of my ribs, my sternum, right shoulder and collarbone and two vertebrae.
The SUV sat several feet away while the driver spoke to police.
My motorbike lay 20 feet down the road surrounded by debris and oil.
It was f*cked.
So was I. I was also very, very lucky.
As the thoracic surgeon later told me:
'It's hard to think of so much trauma happening without anything major being significantly affected.'
Update: December 2023
It’s been exactly 50 days today since the accident and, as I’ve received loads of enquiries as to my well-being and/or whereabouts, I thought it high time I gave a bit of an update.
So, the state of play at the moment is all about managing two things:
Pain and expectations.
The first one we’ve got nailed.
It’s simply a balancing act between crawling out of my skin and dribbling in a corner, off my tits on morphine.
The second one, not so easy.
Life doesn’t care what I think about it.
Reality is going to do it’s thing, whether I think it’s fair or not.
And, having had ample opportunity to watch the world hurl itself kicking and screaming toward the end of another clusterf*ck of a year, I think it’s a lesson we would all do well to ponder.
But that’s a conversation for another day.
For now, I’m just focussed on getting my shit together.
I’ve been in the office for a couple of hours today and plan on doing likewise for the next few weeks.
There will be many more x-rays, hospital visits and adjustments to medication before I’m back to the grumpy old bastard you know and love.
In the meantime, I need to attend to the limp carcass of my business and figure out how best to move forward.
Concentrating on the coaching side of things may be the answer. We’ll see.
Thank you all for your best wishes and wonderfully encouraging messages.
*Note: Focusing on the coaching side of my business was, indeed the answer. At least it was for a while, and still is, but that's only half of the story - writing slowly began to play a larger and larger role as time passed. It's now the greater part of my work and, while I work with two or three clients at any one time, most of my working life is taken up with writing these days.
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