Continued from Part 2 – Was There a Suboxone Detox in my Future
Let me just start off by apologizing for not blogging more often. I write a lot but we at Pat Moore Foundation have a Guest Blogging ‘campaign’ happening, and I am all about sharing the space here. We’ve been so incredibly fortunate to have this great opportunity.
And now, I will continue story…
If you’ve never spent time driving an older model pickup truck, specifically one with a trick stick-shift and sensitive clutch, I wouldn’t suggest you start with a sore right elbow and a skin scraped leg. As I drove home after my bike accident, the sun sliding down toward the horizon, I found my right arm becoming useless. I couldn’t push on the stick, nor could I pull on the stick. Both actions sent shocks up my arm, and I felt myself panting through the frequent pain. As I saw it at that moment, I could either pull over, call a friend for help, or an ambulance to get me to the hospital. Again, my innate inability to reach out in a time like this took charge, and I opted to shift with my left hand while holding the bottom of the steering wheel with my right – certainly an achievement that might just make members of Cirque du Soleil turn the head and take notice.
I don’t suggest anyone try this move at home. It’s complicated, on a highway, and nearly death defying in suburbia.
Gritting my teeth, I drove to the hospital. It was a smaller one, and I only had visited a friend there one time. For the life of me I couldn’t find the Emergency Room when I pulled into the parking lot, so I parked as carefully as possible and entered on what I thought to be the ground floor. Unfortunately, I entered a subfloor without realizing it. As I limped along, holding my right arm to my chest, I searched for signs and found none that would tell me where to go.
Moving through the white wall and tile caverns of the hospital, I nearly bumped into an elderly maintenance person who was mopping the floor. “Hi. Can you tell me where the Emergency Room is?”
He looked at me; saw me clutching my arm, his eyes widening when he took in my bloodied leg. “That’s two floors up, son. You’ll need to go back toward where you came and go around to the left side of the building.”
I felt myself panic. I’d taken so many turns I didn’t know which way out. He looked at me again and said, “Actually, let me take you up in the service elevator here and get you where you need to go. You don’t look so good, son.”
Stay tuned for Part 4