Fall from Grace ( or should that be The Ungraceful Fall)

Surrealistically reflecting back over the last several days from the unlikely perspective of a hospital bed at Gulf Coast Hospital, I relive the instant that delivered me to this destination.

After an extremely long day of work, I decided to install a new ceiling fan that I'd had for some time in my family room with 18' ceilings. Although late, it seemed opportune, as my good friend Ric offered a hand. Contending with a high vaulted ceiling in a fairly small room, the location of the installation proved to be some challenge. Having no step ladder with the proper reach, we managed to maneuver a 22' extension ladder into position wedging it safely between the wall and the ascent in the ceiling. After shutting off power to the breaker supplying power to the fan, I climbed the ladder with ratchet screwdriver and flashlight while Ric provided both stabilization and sound advice from the ground. I easily removed the screws holding the assembly into the bracket and disconnected the wire nuts with my left hand while balancing the unit with my right. I managed to slip all of the hardware into my pocket and shift myself into place to facilitate the descent of the ladder when I suddenly lost my balance, allowing the fan to slip and fall toward me. The fan blades hit my face, slashing from nose to left temple. I fell approximately 12' after that sudden impact knocked me backward off the ladder and I, for a split second, landed on the shoulders of my friend Ric. I caromed off him and within milliseconds, the fan caught Ric square in the right arm, then hit the floor. I somersaulted off of Ric's shoulders and slammed the back of my head and my right shoulder into the fan on the ground. As Ric struggled to maintain his balance, he planted his left foot firmly on my chest.

I came to, seconds later, sitting on the ground wondering where I was. Ric attempted to rush me to the emergency room but as I became cognitive and more aware of my surroundings, I delayed him for a few minutes. Blood poured from the back of my head and face but my only pain emanated from my left chest. For a brief second, I felt that I had suffered a heart attack as I clasped my chest and gasped for air. At this point I did not realize that one of my four broken ribs had punctured my lung causing a partial collapse and the difficulty breathing.

I gathered myself together, anticipating a hospital stay, so I removed my contact lenses and jewelry, and located my spectacles and insurance card. Rather than calling for an ambulance, I texted my friend Beverly, who arrived quickly to whisk both Ric and I to Gulf Coast Hospital's Emergency Department.

After 10 hours in emergency, both x-rays and CT scans of face, head and chest, I was diagnosed with lacerated head requiring 14 staples, lacerated face requiring stitches and super glue, broken clavicle, four broken ribs, punctured and collapsed lung (pneumothorax) and contusion on the back of the damaged lung. Ric suffered a severely bruised arm, possibly broken, and was sent home in a sling. I was quickly admitted to MCU and spent the next five days there.

For the first two days, I could barely move, only able to slowly hobble to the bathroom in excruciating pain. I felt that the entire nursing staff at Gulf Coast Hospital performed in exemplary fashion ensuring that my basic needs were met and that my pain was kept at a somewhat manageable level.

I enjoyed the company of some rather unusual room mates during my stay; a young man experiencing shoulder replacement, a depressed man who overdosed on sleeping pills, and an elderly gent with 24 children, suffering kidney failure and experiencing some rather entertaining hallucinations. One night he envisioned himself outside "chillin", eating soul food with his son, then running through a hospital Halloween party naked, and another night he told his visitors from the church that he had sex with a 26 year old nurse.

The pulmonary specialist ordered x-rays of my lungs each morning and finally on the fifth day determined that my lung puncture had healed and I was able to go home. Beverly, and daughter Chelsea snatched me from the hospital and drove me home, grabbing my many prescriptions from Walgreen's on the way.

Now, it seems like every day I feel just a little bit better but it looks like it will be some time around Christmas before I'm putting around on the Harley again.

I would like to thank the MCU staff at Gulf Coast Hospital including Sarah, Shelly, James, Lynn, Veronica, Linsey, Lisa, Gina, Winsome, and Jackie and my transporters Johnny and James who gave me a ride to Radiology every morning. Thanks and God Bless all of you!

Half a Century

How many times has an opportunity presented itself, and although you basked in the thought or concept for a brief moment, you relegated it to another part of your mind and continued forward without altering life's typical routine? Then after several days or even possibly many years, you pause, reflect, look back and with regret, take another moment to contemplate.......what if?

I, as most others, have allowed this to happen many more times than I would choose to admit. But recently, I allowed the seed of an opportunistic, once in a lifetime cognitive idea to germinate, stretch delicately in seemingly infertile soil, take root, and yes, blossom into reality!

Please roll the film back to the spring of this year. Under the unimaginable weight of severe depression, created from living as the reluctant participant in an ugly divorce proceeding, I filtered through a small garage collection of material possessions, knowing that most must be sold to satisfy a sundry of court orders. Knowing somewhere deep down in my spirit, that life defines itself not by the toys one possesses but rather the time and the people you spend it with, I felt little sentiment toward things until I removed the cover and dusted off my 1961 Harley-Davidson panhead FLH. For those not in the know, "Panhead" was a moniker bestowed upon the Harley engine, by it's loyal customer base, manufactured from 1948 until 1965, basically because the heads very much resemble upside down kitchen pans. Kick starting reigned as the only way to turn over these beautiful beasts until the first Electra Glide in 1965.

As I carefully detailed the relic, my mind slowly wandered. This incredibly engineered steel sculpture left the assembly line in 1961, the same year that I was conceived in Atlantic City and then subsequently delivered in October to two wonderful, yet incredibly scared parents standing by in an undisclosed semi-rural village in West Virgina. (I do see identity theft as a real threat!)

And then my mind started to drift .......what if I rode my 50 year old bike.......... to Daytona for Biketoberfest........... on my 50th birthday............., the same year that my 50 year old wife had decided to dump me? Normally a thought of this type would enter my mind, dance around for a short song or two, and then quickly exit through the frontal lobe. But no ...... this time it grabbed a seat, shot out a root and planted itself undeservedly at the top of a very long "to do" list.

I immediately activated this thought by not only planning the ride but also exploiting the opportunity to bring family and friends together for a party of sorts. I arranged for a rental in Ormond Beach large enough to accommodate the kids and grandkids, and sent Facebook invitations to close friends, and made phone calls to my technologically challenged loved ones.


The months flew past and the special day approached quickly. I performed minor maintenance on the faithful panhead to ensure the smoothest possible journey. I loaded my 2007 Patriot Edition Harley Ultra Classic, as well as a week's worth of gear into my enclosed single bike trailer and connected it to my 2004 Chevy Suburban, the only cage that I own.
The 11th fell on a Tuesday so my other riding partners were unable to accompany me and had to join the party during the weekend. My favorite riding partner, Randy, fell victim to stroke the prior week and spent the week in a hospital bed at Lee Memorial's Rehabilitation Hospital rather than astride his Road Glide. I will write more of this in a separate story devoted exclusively to Randy. My dear friend Beverly, having never driven a trailer, deftly piloted the chase vehicle and ensured that my modern bike made it to Daytona and that I encountered no serious mishaps along the way.
After a late start due to additional packing and mechanical checks, I kicked the beast, Beverly cranked the ignition on the Suburban and we headed north. We travelled I-75 to SR-80, then north on SR-31 to Arcadia. We caught US-17 in Arcadia after stopping for fuel and headed toward I-4 in Orlando. The Orlando traffic on I-4 proved the most tenuous portion of the journey. Navigating a 50 year old motorcycle through the Disney madness and continual rush hour insanity wore a little on the nerves but never wiped the huge smile from my face. Once through Orlando, we stopped close to Sanford for more fuel and a short rest. I also repaired the left mirror which had rattled completely off but I was fortunate enough to catch.


I mounted the iron horse once more for the final leg to Daytona/Ormond Beach. Unsure as to whether it was the cylinders heating up or my leg wearing out but each time I stopped the bike, it became increasingly more difficult to kick over to start.


I felt an incredible rush and felt like my smile would rip my face in two, as I roared past the International Speedway, then over the bridge into Daytona Beach. I've ridden this exact ride too many times to count but this time I felt a real sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.



We maneuvered through the typical Daytona mix of bikes, trucks, and cars - my 50 year old ass upon the seat of the 50 year old Harley FLH, followed by my closest friend, who many times I think is actually my guardian angel! We hung a left on Atlantic Ave., passed Main Street, to the southern border of Ormond Beach, and on to the 4 bedroom vacation rental that we would call home for the next week.



I posed for a couple of quick photos but craved water due to dehydration and a restful nap. Although the classic lines of Harley-Davidsons has changed little over the past 50-75 years, I can certainly attest to the fact that there have been many features added to increase rider comfort. The 250 mile trek on the antique beauty took it's toll on my old bones. A ride of that length on my 2007 Ultra Classic is like a "blink of an eye" but on the old panhead I felt like I'd "been ridden hard and put away wet".



After a short nap and shower, We showered, dressed and met my father and step-mother, who had arrived the previous day at T.G.I.Fridays for a quiet little birthday dinner.


My brother Tom arrived later that evening from southern Illinois, piloting his monstrous full ton GMC pick-up with his 2002 Heritage Softail tethered comfortably in the back. We sat up and talked for a short while but headed off to sleep since we had both encountered quite an exhausting day of travel.

The next morning we awoke, downed some coffee, unloaded the bikes and headed to some of Daytona's most notorious places since neither Tom or Beverly had been to Biketoberfest before. We paraded down Main Street with the rest of the exhibitionists, stopped by the Speedway only to watch them setting up for the upcoming events, then out Tomoka Farms Road to the infamous Cabbage Patch, home of cole slaw wrestling and some of biking's greatest debauchery.
It was an incredible pleasure riding side by side with my brother Tom, the first time as adults that we had an opportunity to do so. I only wished that Dad could have joined us but he has yet to take on the hobby that eventually becomes a lifestyle.


We rode back to the house to grab the Suburban to pick up my friend Ronna, who travelled all of the way from Maple Falls, Washington, from the airport. After getting her settled at the house, we allowed Ronna an opportunity to nap and continued with the riding around Volusia County, Florida. Ronna joined us after resting and we continued our layed back meandering day enjoying family, friends, and Florida sunshine as well as an occasional beer or two.



My best friend, Ric, from Fort Myers and my sister, Mary Beth from North Carolina, both arrived the following day so it became increasingly difficult to maintain activities as one group so at times were all together and other times splintered but all enjoyed the Biketoberfest activities.

The actual "birthday party" occurred on Saturday. We were joined by two daughters, Chelsea and Arielle, two grandsons, Ryley and Landon, and Arielle's beau Paul. I felt completely overwhelmed surrounded by family and friends, those who genuinely love me and expect nothing in return. I wished that my two other children as well as the other seven grandchildren could have attended but they were prevented by extenuating circumstances. The highlight of the night involved my sister, Mary Beth, who created a movie highlighting the events of my life. When the lights were turned back on, both Chelsea and I had tears running down our faces.

.

Everyone departed for home the next day except for Beverly, Ronna, and I. We spent one more quiet day in Daytona, dined at Bubba Gump's Shrimp House, cleaned the rental, and left the next day, I astride my 2007 Harley with the antiques in the trailer, and Beverly, who dropped Ronna off at the airport, in the Suburban.



Thanks very much to all that helped make my 50th birthday such a memorable experience, those that attended physically and those that were only there in spirit. God Bless you all!