“I want to go on the actual bike path, Mom!”Since he is 8 ½ years old, I felt like he might be ready to do this, but under heavy supervision. I reluctantly agreed that he could go on the bike path with me.
The times we went were great. He was cautious, focused. I knew his speed was not up to Lance Armstrong levels, but he seemed pleased. Here is a picture of Tall:
Tall had a bad accident.
(He is FINE now, Aunt Oakley, if you are reading this; everything turned out okay).
The Husband and Tall were on the bike path together, and Tall was pedaling hard to get up a slight slope (when he tells the story, it is a mountain).
Anyway, according to The Husband, the bike picked up way too much speed on the downhill portion and Tall lost control of the bike and his feet came off the pedals.
Next thing you know, Tall went flying over the handlebars and crashed into the asphalt of the bike path.
Did I mention he fell on his face?
He fell on his face.
Here is a picture of him after the trip to the ER.
Two very kind women who were walking on the bike path at the time and lived nearby ended up driving The Husband and Tall to the Emergency Room. They even put the bikes in the back of their SUV.Once at the ER, there was a lot of bleeding, a lot of crying (mostly mine after they phoned to tell me what happened and I zipped over there to help), but thankfully no stitches nor broken teeth. He had a large cut inside his mouth (from his own teeth), plus a very black and blue swollen lip. His eyes were fine because he had the quick reflexes to close them and cover them with his hands (to avoid seeing the crash, he tells me later).
“You are lucky, young man,” said the ER doctor, “Your helmet saved your life.”Saved your life??? Wasn’t he being a bit melodramatic? I mean, I 100% endorse helmets, and everyone in my family wears them 100% of the time (in my case, to hide my messy hair), but could it be true that the (now completely dented) helmet truly saved his life?
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the doctor. “He definitely would have had, at minimum, a concussion. But it could have been much worse …” His voice trailed off to that ugly and unspoken place that mothers fear to go: brain injuries, comas, death.I looked at Tall’s bloody, scabby face. Although his modeling days to pay for college were now over before they had begun, I didn’t mind.
“You will heal right up, Tall!” I cheered enthusiastically, when internally I was not believing it at all. He was alive, and that was all I cared about.
In the days that followed, Tall was very embarrassed if we had to leave the house. He did not want anyone (even the teller at the drive-thru bank window) to get a glimpse of his face. He constantly covered his face with his hands.Two weeks later, here is another picture of Tall. Healed, beautiful, lucky. Hands down.
Of course, he is not allowed to leave the house anymore, unless wrapped in bubble wrap and duct taped in pillows at all times.(Not sure how that will go over with the school administration on the first day of school tomorrow.)
WEAR YOUR HELMET!!!! IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!!!