Almost ready to ride

I took the riding course to learn how to ride a motorcycle, which was the obvious next step. Thursday & Friday evenings we did class-room studying, Saturday morning we hit the track just before sunrise. We were provided tiny Buell Blast 250's to practice on. My bike was safe at home, patiently waiting for me.

I took to riding like a champ. I felt so comfortable, everything came naturally - I was REALLY RIDING. I turned my face to God and thanked him profusely for my ability to meet & conquer this challenge. We learned the friction zone, turning, swerving, shifting up & down. It was so much fun. That evening I got on my own V-rod for my very first small test drive. It was fabulous!

Sunday morning we headed out to the track at daybreak again for the rest of the lessons and testing. Lessons 1 & 2 went well. Lesson three went like this: Drive straight, head into a turn, "see" an obstacle, straighten out the bike and stop as quickly as possible. When I got to the "stop" part, I looked up at my instructor and the next thing I know I was skidding on my boobs with the bike on top of me. I heard myself laughing hysterically.

The instructor picked up the bike and told me to just sit there until I could stand. My boobs hurt and my elbow was bleeding profusely. When I stopped laughing I got up and realized my right leg hurt badly, I thought it was my knee. They patched up my elbow, I determined I could still ride, so I limped back to my bike, finished the lessons, and passed the examination (barely, I was pretty shook-up.) I was just barely able to walk on my right leg. We went back to the classroom for discussion, written exam, and graduation, and farewells.

Then I drove my car home, almost in tears from the pain. My daughter helped me get my boot off - by then I was nearly screaming, so we went to the ER. A couple hours wait and several X-rays later, a doctor was asking me where it hurts. My list was short: Elbow, shoulder, left thumb was turning purple, my ankle was burning like crazy. She said to me "that leg is broken" and I just burst out in tears. I had broken my freeeeeeking leg. It was a nice clean diagnal crack of the fibula about 1-1/2" above the ankle-end. There were no jagged edges, no twists, nothing was smashed. They splinted it up, gave me a Loritab prescription and sent me away to see an orthopedic specialist.

Thursday I went to the orthopedic clinic and the nicest doctor told me he'd fix it. He sent me home with instructions to put my foot over my head, take lots of pain pills, and don't move. The next week he really did fix it - by screwing a bracket about the size of a popsicle stick to my bone. The week after that he put me in one of those hard casts and I went back to work.

I missed the Republic of Texas Rally and spent nearly the whole month of June in a narcotic state of semi-conciousness and endless episodes of NCIS, Criminal Minds, and Law & Order. The hard cast came off July 22nd and I was shocked at how the pain experience started all over again. I cried for the second time, this time out of frusteration - I thought I was healed. I hadn't planned on having to learn how to work my foot again!

So now - 7 weeks later, I have huge walking-brace thing on my lower leg and I am getting around pretty well. The pain is almost gone. Today I stood up in the shower. I can almost stretch my foot in every direction. Wellness is within sight now.

And...my bike is still there - waiting for me to be ready. C =