blackjack

I had a bicylcing accident yesterday...I was trying to speed uphill through an intersection and so stood up on the peddles to get that little extra umph. I guess I gave it a little too much extra umph, because the pedal bar snapped in half while my leg kept moving...the bar slicing a nice two or three inch long, half-inch deep L-shaped gash in my leg. Blood started pouring down my leg, pooling in my sandals, and dripping all over the sidewalk. It was grand.

Luckily, this was three blocks from my house and downhill, so I was able to hop on my back and let gravity take me home with some pushing with my still good right leg. I was a bloody mess. It was swell. I got home and went to look at it closely and found that it was really pretty bad. I mean, I could see my calf muscle and all once I got some of the blood soaked away. Yeah. So I through a bunch of paper towel on it, wrapped it up tight with scotch tape, then went to see which of the "urgent medical centers" around town was open at 6pm on Friday (the emergency rooms being out of the question since the fee for their use would probably more than double the cost of getting patched up). In any case, I ended up having to drive bloody fifteen minutes out of town just to sit there for another two hours before getting my tetenus shot and finally getting stitched up...21 little buddies in all. Blackjack. Seven stitches are in there deep, holding the muscle or whatever together, and 14 on top, all black and sinister looking. The doctor claimed he was good and that he barely ever left scars, but that no one may be good enough to patch this one up. I told him that it was alright, I needed a new scar anyway...every guy needs a good scar, you know?

Anyway. It sucked.