Musings and Amusings

It’s All Fixable

A year ago last Friday, my life came to a screeching halt. A violent, jarring, me-screeching, “OH SHIT” halt.

I crashed on my bicycle.

I wasn’t going to write about this, but Friday night I had a nightmare that was an exact re-play of those horrible few moments, and I take that as a sign that I need to continue my efforts to release that awful memory.

My physical recovery, while not perfect, is as good as it’s going to get. My emotional recovery has been less predictable, more elusive, and stubbornly resistant to ‘closure’. I’ve had other bike crashes with broken bones and measured recoveries. This time is different.

This memory feels like a dense, heavy boulder deep inside me that requires a shot putter’s strength to heave it from my core. I haven’t yet found the strength. I try to visualize the movement, seeking release from this burdensome weight. I’d like to cast that weight elsewhere.

Anywhere but here.

To set the stage:
Granddaughter Raqi had finally gotten comfortable and confident on her two-wheeler. She was eager to show she could ‘hang’ with us on a ‘real ride’. Grandson Sparks had ridden his bike at the skate park with his Dad, and sought off-trail routes for a few thrills and challenges.



And the kicker?

I bought myself a new bike – one with shocks. Having been thrown off my old bike the previous summer by a well-concealed pothole, I wanted all the protection I could get to cushion myself from further mishap.



Eager to get Raqi out on a trail and show her the joy of riding alongside the fast-flowing creek, in and out of shade trees; and catching glimpses of horses, cows and tall, waving golden grasses, we cruised along for about an hour.



On the way home, Raqi wanted to visit her favorite park. The park has a cozy gazebo, and Sparks and I amused ourselves riding down the gazebo steps several times. Not only did I want to impress them as ‘the cool grandmother’, but I wanted to show them that I don’t just spout the mantra, ‘Be Brave’; I live it.

Apparently my bravado impressed Hub, because he said, “Let’s ride over to the skate park.”

“Uh”, I thought. “We’re all getting a little tired.” (warning #1)

“OK”, we all agreed.

When we got to the park, there was a large concrete plaza leading up to the arena. As I passed a sign, I slowed to glance at the rules to make sure bikes were allowed.



The first paragraph read something like:


(or at least it should have). Nevertherless, the actual, more subtle message ‘… at your own risk’ should have been my warning #2.

Did I mention my lifelong propensity for getting carried away by moments of exuberance?

Our grandkids were with us, fulfilling one of my dreams to have them share my passion for biking. How much more exuberant could I be?

A series of 12 wide steps appeared in front of us. While Hub and Raqi veered off on the plaza, Sparks and I rode down the stairs like superstars. What other grandmother does that? How much more exuberant could I be?

A series of semi-circle loops appeared in front of us. Sparks and I rode into them and started up the loop – Sparks turning one direction and I the other. As I came out of the loop, the mirage I saw was a level concrete plaza just like the one at the front end of the arena.

What actually existed was something quite different.

The moment my front tire touched the 6-inch ledge (nowhere to stop; nowhere to go), my forward momentum propelled my bike over the 4-foot drop to the concrete slab below.


My tires hit the pavement; I bounced – violently – bounced again; flew off my bike and … next thing I remember, I was on all fours saying, “Sparks, go get Papa.”

I knew, without a doubt, I had fractured something in my neck and broken my left hand. Beyond that, I could move all my parts and needed to get myself into a prone position. (I know … I should not have moved with a neck injury, but somehow I knew it was ok to do so, and I had to lie down before I passed out.)

I carefully crawled to the shade of a nearby pine tree and very slowly – moving my neck and head as a unit with my body – rolled myself onto my back. By then Hub, Sparks and Raqi were by my side.

My main concern – my only concern, actually – was not to traumatize my grandkids. Although they were both calm, I knew how frightened they were. How Hub and I reacted would leave a big impression on them about how to deal with life’s setbacks. We’ve always told them to ‘be brave’, and I sure didn’t want that to change now.

That concern, combined with my reluctance ‘to be a bother to others’ (thanks, Mom and Dad!) meant I didn’t want Hub to call an ambulance. Our house was only a 15-minute, pedal-at-top-speed ride away, and off he went to get the car.

Hub left his cell phone in Sparks’ hand, saying, “If Mima passes out, call 911.” I never opened my eyes, but I’m positive Sparks had a death grip on that phone.

Sparks and Raqi, who usually talks a mile a minute, were both seated as close to me as they could get, and neither spoke a word. I realized my lips were on fire and asked Sparks if they were bleeding.

Yes, Mima. You have blood all over your face.”

I asked him to pour some water on my lips from my water bottle. I sensed the bottle above my face then heard a tearful, “Mima, I can’t”, and I knew he was near his breaking point.

Eyes still closed, I reached out my right hand and asked them both to hold it. I said, “I know you’re scared, and I have some serious injuries. But everything is fixable. Do you understand? We will go to the hospital, and the doctors will fix me. I will heal, and we will ride our bikes together again.”

My ER visit and overnight stay were routine, and my outcome was the best it could be. My vertebrae were intact; I had snapped off one of the stabilizer spurs on the exterior of a cervical vertebrae. Multiple facial stitches, a neck brace, a hand cast, and I was good to go. X-rays two weeks later showed both my neck and hand bones healing in the desired alignment, so no surgery was necessary.

The ER staff provided a couple of light-hearted memories:

One of the nurses, a young muscular buck with dark curly hair and full beard, grimaced when I explained what happened.

“Did you brake when you hit that ledge?” he asked.


“Oooh, that was your big mistake,” he commiserated. “You should have accelerated over the ledge to leap further out in your landing.”

He was serious! As if I was a legitimate trick rider who just needed a few pointers to fine tune my landing!

The middle-aged female nurse who transitioned me from the ER to the overnight ward was a tad more realistic, “We’re awarding you the Coolest Grandmother of the Year, but you must promise any future visits to the skate park are spectator-only.”

A year later, I know my effort to minimize the trauma for my grandkids was successful. Not only are we back on our bikes, but a few months ago, Raqi told me about her friend who had suffered a serious injury.

“But she’ll be ok,” Raqi said confidently, “because it’s all fixable, Mima.”

The downside of working so hard to minimize the trauma for them (and admittedly downplaying the extent of my injuries to friends because, frankly, I was embarrassed at attempting something so risky ‘at my age’) meant I was in denial about how badly injured I was. I no longer weep uncontrollably as I did for a few months, but I still panic at what look like looming collisions in the car, and on the steep slopes in the golf cart when it feels like we’ve reached the tipping point – that sensation of plunging haunts me still.

My neck creaks and crackles, and I just completed six months of agonizing splint therapy for a jaw alignment problem we didn’t discover until I was done wearing my neck brace. I am determined to clear the cobwebs of lingering bad memories.

But no worries. In time, it’s (almost) all fixable.

bike photo

Comments on: "It’s All Fixable" (71)

  1. Please take the ‘like’ as meaning this is well written. I’ve ridden and fallen all my life but I’ve never been seriously hurt. I know that sensation but I have escaped injury. I’m very sorry to hear that you were hurt and that you still suffer reminding nightmares. I hope writing, talking and riding (and the company of those grand kids) helps to continue your recovery.

    • Oh, thank you, Dan. I am so glad you haven’t been seriously hurt while biking. When I remind myself of the miles we’ve covered and the spectacular places we’ve ridden, the “cost” doesn’t seem quite so steep.

      As with every unexpected challenge, good things can result. I would never have begun blogging without a few months of little activity except contemplation. Helped me realize I wanted a few changes in different directions. Those have been healthy decisions.

  2. cardamone5 said:

    What a wonderful and brave grandma you are. Your grandkids and us readers are so lucky to have you in our lives. I am not a sensation seeker. I got whiplash last year when I rode a wooden roller coaster (and I am 40!) I respect and admire your love of biking, and your commitment to overcoming your fear. I would not be that brave. I also admire your storytelling ability. I can imagine its retelling aroused some anxiety, and yet, as a reader, I didn’t feel that the story was hurried or missing anything. Good job! I hope it helps relieve some of your emotional trauma. Reading it helped me in my own writing. As much as I want to race to the end of a story, I need to spend time on the beginning and middle. It’s critical to the reader’s ability to be there with me.


    • Oh, Elizabeth, thank you so much for all your encouraging words. We truly lift each other up, and I so appreciate your companionship in this blogging journey.

      This was my longest post -probably part of the reason I gave up several times writing it. But I figured once in awhile, if long is necessary, readers will stick it out. But I was very encouraged by your kind words and support.

  3. Oh, Sammy, big hugs! Now I know the whole story! It reminds me of my shattered ankle in the Sister’s wilderness ( no vehicles) years ago. My poor daughter was with me and I tried not to traumatize her either. Isn’t it funny how we, even when down, are trying to make everyone else comfortable? I just got back from my neighbor’s house this afternoon. She evidently was pressure washing the roof the other day and fell off. Broke her arm, her collar bone has huge horrible bruises everywhere and is out there trying to help her husband deal with a backed up sewer. Yes, I gave her a huge lecture. She is not too many years younger than I , and I told her unfortunately we are not invincible like we try to appear to our loved ones. It is time to say, I hurt, Thank you for helping. Why is it so hard? On a happier note, 1 year and 1 month later the other day I started feeling a lot better from my oral surgeries. Yay! I hope it stays!

    • I am so glad to hear you are feeling better – finally -after your oral surgery. I tell ya – anything involving mouth, teeth or jaw – I’ve got a WHOLE new appreciation for how complicated and vulnerable that part of our bodies is!

      And I’m having an “aha” moment as I read your note about your neighbor and us not asking for help, etc. I think part of the “weight” I feel, that I can’t get rid of, is not only knowing how much more “care” I need to take with movements and stairs and activities, but realizing that we are going TO HAVE TO have help in the future. We are reaching that stage where we simply CAN’T do everything, which is the beginning of giving up independence. I don’t necessarily mean this as gloom and doom, but I know I can’t get move beyond this accident without understanding and accepting changing realities.

      You have such a knack for helping me find missing nuggets.

      We can go a tad overboard being stoic and self-sufficient, eh? Although there are some things I no longer offer to do, and I’m (eventually) going to learn how to ask for help 🙂

      • My new goal is to learn to concentrate on treating myself as well as I would everyone else. I would never ignore or abuse a friend or family member like I treat myself. My mother always told me, if someone wants to do something for you, take it and say thank you very much. By allowing them to help and give to you, you are contributing to their well being and good feelings about themselves. I never could do it. Now I am learning.

      • That is such a healthy way to receive it, and a better way of caring for yourself. I need to do that, plus I need to remind myself to treat my husband as patiently and kindly as I do others, because I can take him for granted, and he does so much for our partnership.

        Do let mr know what little (or big) things you start noticing yourself receiving differently. I think these subtle changes are actually enormous in learning to love ourselves.

  4. Oh Sammy, Oh Sammy. You are without a doubt the coolest granny ever. But I do hope you don’t try anymore bike tricks. And I hope, that by writing about it, you will release the horror of it. Writing about things really help me!

    • Thank you, Paula. It has already helped to write it; you all are so supportive to each other in both our joys and sorrows. We are richly blessed, and I continue to keep you and Richard in my prayers.

      When you’re ready, I’d love to have you do a post on your grandsons’ debate – this year’s topic, their preparation, etc. Our school offered it -had an excellent teacher and good teams. I always regretted not participating.

  5. Sammy, you are my hero. I stopped riding my bike when I realized I was mortal. Probably not the best idea but it was scary. I am raising my grandson who is 13 and recovering from a broken leg. It’s not an easy process at any age. We have an appointment next week to see if the doctor will release him for PE but it has been a very long 3 months of several casts and doctor appointments. The fact that you not only recovered and on a bike again is amazing but the biggest, most important thing you did was teach your grandkids a valuable lesson about getting back up. Kudos to you are you continue to heal.

    • Thank you so much for your kind words. I really do want my grand kids to face life with the knowledge that good and bad things happen, and we ALL deal with them and move on.

      But that mortality does knock on the door at some inconvenient times!

      I hope your grandson’s outcome is good – it’s a difficult time to have a fracture because his leg bones really do change during the teen years. But his youth is in his favor. He will have to use a lot if self-discipline to do the physical therapy to get his whole body back in balance. I wish him well.

  6. How scary that must have been! And how fortunate you weren’t more critically injured, especially with the vertebral damage. Yikes.

    I’m so impressed with how you handled it. What you said here is so true: “How Hub and I reacted would leave a big impression on them about how to deal with life’s setbacks.” Children learn how to respond to things based on how we respond to things. By you remaining calm even though you understandably were probably anything but–not to mention being in extreme pain–set such a remarkable example for them. As they get older, they’ll no doubt recognize that.

    • Thanks, Carrie. As you know, families have lots of different personalities and my grand kids have a few “everything’s a crisis” role models, so we probably go to the opposite extreme because that kind of unnecessary chaos drives me crazy!

      I was SO lucky. Thank you so much for your kind words. I have felt great comfort, and even some insight, from the comments today, and they help more than you know.

  7. Yikes Sammy, that was breathtaking in the reading. So many levels, physical certainly, mentally, emotionally and spiritually – and a huge lot to digest. For the grandchildren also. As ‘elders’ I guess we need to know that we can trip over a blade of grass (as can anyone) and that our healing may take longer, but that healing will occur. May it continue ..

    • Oh lord, that IS all it takes – a tiny blade of grass. We tend to overuse the “Be aware” mantra, but it is so true as we become “elders”. I now hold the hand rail when going down any stairway – something I would have shunned a year ago!

      Thank you for your well wishes, Susan.

  8. Oh my god! I knew this morning when I first saw your entrance that I had to read it thoroughly when sitting in peace and quiet! But I didn’t know how true that thought was.

    What an awful incident you suffered and how brave you were. Keeping calm like that in front of your grandkids and yet suffering like that! Physical as well as being all terrified!
    No wonder you still remember the accident the way you do.

    And thank goodness it didn’t end up worse, that it now has healed and THANK GOD – YOU’RE ALIVE!
    Sending all my love to you!

    • Ninna, thanks so much for taking time to read and comment. It is interesting how sometimes our minds completely block out an event and other times we remember every detail and have trouble shaking the memory. Not much was “normal” about this past year, and now that my jaw therapy is done, I’m determined to get back to some things that will give my days more routine – I just need to be more aware of my movements and take more precautions.

      Thanks,again 🙂

      • Oh yes! Tell me about it! (No you don’t have to 😉 )
        Even things not as awful as your accident can either make you not notice them at all although you should, or keep them in mind all the time. Repeatedly, over and over again.

  9. Such a brave “Mima” you are, Sammy, not to mention a wonderful example for your grandchildren. Your story is so well written, I could almost feel the pain. (Hence the “Like”) Thank goodness the neck injury was less severe than it could have been. Frightening! Writing can be cathartic and hopefully, this will help put your lingering bad memories to rest. Glad you’re (almost) cured and back on the bike. Takes a strong will to overcome those fears. All the best to you!

    • Hi Debbie -thanks for your well wishes. I was truly lucky with my neck and hand, plus the hospital staff was first rate. Writing does, and will continue to help, not least because of the friendships we have formed to support each other.

      From now on “age appropriate” biking 🙂

  10. What an outstanding post, Sammy. I feel the tension in my heart and gut – not only from the injury, but from the haunting. As others have written, I do hope you can find release in the writing. I expect too, that you might find the terrors diminishing after the anniversary has passed. I can only pray that’s the case.

    So many of my female and grandmotherly blogging buddies are incredibly active – biking, hiking, and other extreme versions of all manner of sports. I am such a chicken shit. All I can do is marvel.

    • Thanks, Maggie. I do think you’re on to something – the first anniversary of any event is most memorable. Then to have that crazy nightmare!! Now that all doctor and therapy visits are completed, I do look forward to some of the burden being lifted just because I’m not bogged down with appointments and driving to and from.

      We need a chicken shit *or could be you’re just brighter than the rest of us) – who will be around to tell our tall tales when we’ve all bitten the dust or taken the last plunge?!?

      • You make another good point. The visits are done. The injury/event no longer gets a front row seat in your daily/weekly routine. As a matter of fact, Elvis, the injury/event has left the building!

        (Thank you, thankyouverymuch.)

      • 🙂 and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out ! (That’s to the orthodontist, not Elvis).

  11. Sammy, I’m glad you’re recovering, and writing about it here — an important step in the emotional healing process. I hope you keep writing about this, because (1) it was very moving and well written, but (2) and most importantly, writing about it will cast the weight elsewhere, anywhere but on your heart.

    What moved me the most was your extraordinary effort to minimize the trauma for your grandkids. A huge life lesson for them, and they will be better for it, thanks to you. I remember a similar incident, when we were riding around the local park, and my son (8 at the time) fell off the bike and hit his knee pretty badly. Nothing major, but my husband freaked out a little when he saw the blood and was going to carry him home. Meanwhile my son was crying, mostly scared by his father’s reaction, and everyone was hyperventilating. We finally decided to sit on the grass and assess the damage, and we all calmed down. The downside was that my son didn’t want to ride his bike for some time, and so we had to work on that by retracing our steps, and admitting Dad overreacted. You were very brave and handled it much better.

    Keep writing. This is an excellent life lesson for all of us, and hopefully the weight lifted off your heart a bit.

    • Silvia – thank you. You have no idea how much it helps to hear such words of understanding and support. As I read about your incident with your husband and son, I was reminded of watching my brother as a father to his young children. One of the things that stuck with me was that, on occasion, he would apologize to his kids or tell one of them that he wished he had handled something differently. I realized that kids – so impressionable – do take their cues from us, and one of the most important cues is our own honesty and vulnerability. It sounds like you two, as parents, figured that out through your retracing.

      And I have to say, if Hub or I (especially Hub) witnessed one of our grandkids getting hurt, we would undoubtedly overreact, just like your husband did ! It’s very hard not to “in the moment”.

      Thank you again. I really value our connection.

  12. Oh my, what a traumatic thing to go through! As others have mentioned this is an outstanding post, so beautifully written. I was with you right up until that leap into the unknown with my heart in my mouth wondering what it was that you were going to do. I am so glad that you were not more seriously injured. I can only imagine the pain and fear you must have been in. Yet still you put your family first. I hope that writing this has been cathartic. I hope your nightmares cease and I sincerely hope that you won’t play ‘silly buggers’ again!

    Stick to the zentangles 😉

    • LOL Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen with zentangles. Uh, I better not go down that road! And I most definitely scratched “ride a mechanical bull while grandkids watch” off my bucket list 🙂

      Thanks for your kind words about my writing. That was a real boost!

  13. You are so brave! Not only have you gotten back on that bike (I don’t know if I could after such a traumatic accident!) but you managed to be a great example to everyone around you. Amazing and inspiring!

    • Thanks, Kirsten. From what I know and have read about my blogging friends, we are an intrepid bunch, and there isn’t one among us who isn’t battling some kind of pain, illness or demon. I hope others will realize how supportive this lovely community is, and utilize this avenue for helping to heal whenever needed.

  14. Thanks for sharing this with us. It was a compelling read. And kudos for getting back on the bike with the grand kids. You are way cool, not just for the cycling but the way you seem to have dealt with the aftermath. Your grand kids and hubby are super lucky.

    • Thanks! I do appreciate your support!

      And I cannot believe I escaped without broken teeth or shattered nose when my lips were so torn up. But I’m putting ALL that behind me now! Rear view mirror, fading to black …

  15. Wow, Sammy, what a story! So well told and much more frightening because of it. I’m so glad your injuries weren’t more serious and that all is healing. I hope your psychological healing progresses as well. I’m like you in not wanting to traumatize the children. I’ve been alone with my kids since my husband passed away eight years ago, and one time I had to call 911 in the middle of the night because I was having a panic attack (I didn’t know what it was at the time, I’d never had one before). I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I kept telling the operator to tell the EMTs to come to my house quietly so they didn’t wake the kids up. I didn’t want them to know what was going on since it would have scared them half to death. It’s so hard to handle situations like that because you don’t want the kids traumatized for life. You did such a great job with your grandkids, and it’s wonderful that you all ride bikes together again. Bravo!

    • Lori, I did not know your husband passed away. I’m sorry – I’m sure you miss him very much, not least because you are raising your children without him. I can SO relate to what you did during your panic attack – our tendency to protect our family is so strong, but it
      can come at a cost of taking care of yourself.

      I’m glad you shared this with me. It makes me more appreciative when I read your weekly gratefulness posts.

      • Thanks, Sammy. I don’t usually talk about it much. What you wrote just really stuck a chord with me. My husband passed away from a blood clot in the lung which happened in the middle of the night and we had the ambulance come and we all had to go to the hospital. I was afraid if the kids heard/saw the EMTs like that again they’d freak out and it might be really damaging to them.

      • That is so sad, and traumatic for all of you. You are right that it would trigger fears for them to experience it again. I’m certainly not happy you had a panic attack, but am glad you didn’t need hospitalization. I hope things are getting easier as your children grow – ??

      • In some respects, yes. Thanks.

  16. That all sounds horrific (sorry I missed this post earlier) I also “liked” because of the writing and not the event. If you felt it’s time to write about it maybe you’ve reached a pivotal healing moment. It’s also great to know being brave helped the little ones, that’s something they will also take with them in life xx

    • Good grief, Lainey – your comment has been sitting in my spam for days! I couldn’t figure out how to access spam because WP is working differently – they keep changing stuff and I can’t figure out where to check everything. Anyway, Thank you so much for your encouraging words 🙂

      • lol, no worries…..WP has been playing up a lot lately. I don’t get half my notifications at the moment. It’s quite frustrating! Have a great weekend 😉

  17. Oh my goodness, Sammy – I was terrified just reading this! I’m glad you’re a long way down the road to recovery, but I totally understand the fear that lingers. My husband’s aunt (who lives in Fort Collins, btw) wrecked her bike just a couple of weeks ago and the only thing that saved her life was that she was wearing a helmet. Be safe out there and listen to yourself when those little red flags pop up! ❤ ❤ ❤

    • Thanks, Marci. I never, never ride without my helmut as that has saved me twice (crushed helmut, not head both times). Another good part of lesson for my g’kids to see that!

      Do hope Aunt will be riding again soon – fort Collins is another suoer biking locale, as you know.

  18. Sammy, what an experience! But thank goodness you escaped relatively intact…
    And I agree that the important thing was not to traumatize the grand kids. And you succeeded. Your quick-thinking and sensible approach to the situation resulted in a valuable learning experience for them. Well done!
    Take it easy…

    … and btw I cannot ride a bicycle… I’m convinced that my balance is terrible.
    Since I’m also a grandma, I suspect that I’m not likely to learn anytime in the near or distant future… LOL
    But I do want to ride in a hot air balloon… that’s a safer bet, isn’t it??
    Writer In Transit

    • Oh lord, i would never set foot in a hot air balloon. Sure, it’s safe as long as nothing goes wrong LOL guess you could say that about anything! We all pick our poison 🙂

      Thanks for your nice words. Great ti hear from you!

  19. Oh, my, what a story! I’m glad you are healing physically, but so sorry you’re feeling the emotional struggle still. I hope that writing it out will start the process of bringing peace – I know it often works that way for me.

  20. Sammy,
    I hope sharing this was therapeutic and reaching the anniversary will offer enough distance to allow you some peace. The accident sounds traumatic and I’m beyond impressed that you held it together for your grandkids. Mega Kudos for the message you sent to them.
    As more time passes, I hope the lingering pains resolves and the memories become less painful. You’re one tough cookie and certainly the coolest grandmother 🙂 But be safe out there 🙂
    (And the recount was so well told. I was there with you, bopping down the steps on the bike… great job.) Thank you for sharing your story.

    • Thank you so much Elsie. I know it will get better as most things do. I was feeling so “stuck” after that nightmare, and writing did help, plus I never expected such engaged responses from all of you. I so appreciate the support.

      Also, I didn’t realize reaching the anniversary would help put it in the rear view mirror, but it has, and that feels good!

  21. Hugs to you and your bravery in telling your story.

  22. Oh, Sammy, what a harrowing tale! I’m glad to hear that you are through that year mark with an acceptable recovery. Thanks for telling your story. You absolutely are the “Coolest Grandma!”

  23. I have a new found respect for you, Sammy D. The world crashed before my eyes as I read your post. You are one brave (if somewhat foolhardy) lady! Something like that takes a lot of getting over. I bet your grandkids love you to bits. They should! Ride safely 🙂

  24. My God Sammy! When I read the post I actually winced, I could really picture your fall, that moment when you must have seen the ground rushing up at you. How awful. I’m so glad you’re recovering as well as can be from your injuries.
    But I LOVED that line that you said to your grandkids: “everything is fixable”. It’s so true and is such a powerful attitude to have. I really hope that time, your loved ones, maybe even writing and blogging about it will help fix the trauma you still carry with you, just as the doctors fixed your injuries. Your positivity and determination to get better is inspiring.
    I don’t know how to do the hearts, but lots of hearts and hugs sent your way through the internet, and I hope that next year we’ll hear that two years on you are all recovered and all the stronger for this terrible accident.

    PS: since I think humour is the best medicine for most things, I have to say that I did also have a small smile for that line when you wrote “Oh Shit!!” and I thought, well that’s just so Sammy 🙂
    And you definitely get every Coolest Grandma award out there, I wouldn’t dare do something like that and I’m still in my twenties! I think Bad-Ass Grandma would actually be more suitable. Or Kick-Ass Grandma – whichever you prefer. Someone should make a plaque or trophy with your name on it.

    • Awwww thank you for the hearts and well-wishes :-).it has helped so much to hear from all of you, and notch that first anniversary so I can look forward.

      I’ve sent packages to deployed US Marines for 10 years. My favorite Marine calls me his “Shit Hot Supporter”. Maybe I’ll call myself “one shit hot grandmother” !!

      • Ooooh, yes. Shit hot grandmother is a great title, that should be the tag line to your blog: “bemuzin, musings and amusings by a shit hot grandmother”.

        There’s a book I’m reading about writing, and one of the things it mentions is how powerful it can be to write about difficult experiences, both as a way to help heal yourself and as a way to discover your voice. Blogging takes it that much further because you have the healing of writing and the wonderful support from everyone. It’s wonderful to hear that it helped though

      • You are such a nut and such a lovely buddy. You keep me young at heart 🙂

      • DUCK!!!!
        I am throwing that one right back at you boomerang style, just want to make sure you don’t get hit in the head again.

        You are an awesome buddy too, so glad we met via the blogosphere 🙂 xoxo

  25. “Oooh, that was your big mistake,” he commiserated. “You should have accelerated over the ledge to leap further out in your landing.”

    Other than this singular exception, this explains why our medical system is the most expensive in the world.

    Instead of sorting patients by type of injury, hospitals need to organize triage by how the patient was injured. Imagine what a ward full of bicycle and skateboard patients could teach one another.

    “Like whoa, dudess, I like know EXACTLY what happened to you. Next time, you gotta…….”

  26. Oh my goodness, what a terrifying experience! So glad to hear that you are okay.

  27. Wow. My adventures are very tame after what YOU went through! I’m so impressed that you had the presence of mind to think about the impact on your grandchildren.

    I’m glad your injuries were fixable, but I think you are right about subjecting your neck to Safari roads!

    • Thanks, Shelley. I think I would have been more stressed by those flat tires in the wilderness, and my heart started pounding at that photo of the mechanic left behind to fix the vehicle. That is SO NOT a job I would take no matter the pay!!

  28. I’ve had my fair share of cycling accidents – a few I marvel at the fact I survived, all left scars both physical and mental. It’s been 3 years since my last accident and I’ve been afraid to ride my bike outdoors since then.
    I am in awe that you were able to get back on your bike so quickly. Maybe I need to take inspiration from you and get back on my bike.
    A very touching – and brave – post!

    • Thank you, Joanne, for visiting and your comments. I’m so sorry that you’ve been injured,

      If I didn’t get on it ASAP, I knew I never would. This time, it’s been very hard to overcome my fear, and I’m certainly riding far less because of it. I just hate to give it up completely when it’s been such a big part of my entire life. And I still love my rides; I just have to coax myself each time to “get in the saddle.

      Are you able to hike or other outdoor activities? My knees cry when I hike!

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