Tuesday, March 27, 2007


To call what I was looking at a "wound" didn't do it justice. It would be like describing the Niagara Falls as just a simple waterfall.

Rather, it looked like a bear had clawed a chunk out of this guy's leg. His shredded skin barely contained the torn muscles. I had a hard time trying to make out what was what. Several unidentifiable strands and chunks of tissue, combined with dirt, gravel, and clotted blood lay at the base of this large wound. Somehow, amazingly, he had avoided injury to his major vessels. Otherwise, he would certainly have bled to death.

The majority of his exposed skin had been scraped off. And what wasn't exposed initially had eventually become exposed as his clothes disintegrated while he skidded across the pavement for about 50 yards. Yet thanks to his full-faced helmet, he had no injuries to his head.

This was the second motocycle accident victim of the night.

The first guy came in with several broken ribs, a broken scapula, and his left arm bent back in a nauseatingly grotesque angle. After being stabilized, he went to the OR so that the orthopedic guys could make his arm look semi-normal again.

It's strange. Everytime I start to get dreamy ideas of about buying a motorcycle, I'll inevitably see some terrible accident come through the ER to sober me up. The severity of the trauma I see slaps my mind back to its senses. And I realize that riding around in a steel-caged box isn't all that bad.

Although, there's just nothing like the feeling of riding on a motorcycle. The wind in the hair... The amazing feeling of being out in the open as you cruise along... It's extrodinary. It's devine.

But I rather like keeping my skin intact.
So I'll just make do with my convertible.