It's a joint !

It has been a bit over a month (a negligible time lag for updating this chronicle-of-sorts of mine called a blog) since my Doctor took a long look at the X-ray of my right shoulder and collarbone and pronounced the bone injury (a fracture in fact) to be sufficiently healed by using the words "it's a joint".

There's still a bit of a bump where the bone has joined but seems that the bone will hold up for most of the activities and monkeying I have in mind for the coming days of post summer lushness...

I broke the bone in January and it was pronounced to have healed in June. That's five months of more or less hampered and "samhal ke" kind of living, during which I could do just a piddling amount of cycling, had to be careful about lifting the DSLR and was more or less off the motorcycle (apart from the "can't be avoided, there is no other way to commute" times).

And I must also confess that for almost all of May I was convinced that I have a malunion because I used to get twinges of pain reminiscent of the earliest days of the fracture. But then, as my Doctor (who is very much the boss in this case) has already certified the bone has joined well and I don't need surgery.

So there, woot and woot and woot again!

That's not all in fact. To celebrate (and make up for lost time) I even bought a Schwinn Sporterra Bicycle and as of now we are already firm companions with some decent roads runs already behind us and (hopefully) a lot of kilometres and open roads in front.

Coming back to the matter of the joint of the bone, I must say the clavicle is a bitch of a bone to break. Almost every movement one undergoes sends a twinge to the bone and even simple things like sitting down in a chair (and getting up from it) can be potential bone breakers. And yes it is "disabling" in a number of ways. And yes, people are kind and will even make way for you (at least they did for me) and be helpful in otherwise competitive urban spaces like vegetable markets and buses.

At another level the initial days of the fracture were like a second childhood with my mother feeding me (I am not ambidextrous and not very good at spooning up rice using my left hand) and father bathing me. Call me a sucker for "humility" and "reverence" if you will, but I will say I did feel humbled (and I still do) by the tenderness, care and ministrations of my parents.

This blog post (about the healing of the bone) took a long time. And I really don't know if I am writing this because I have blogged (a bit) about my fracture here and thus this post is but a natural progression. Or is it that I am attempting closure? To what has been an intensely painful (and incapacitating) three months followed by another two months of wait and watch (which is equally incapacitating and worrying) and nightmares of malunions and whatnot...

Either way -- it does seem medical science has limited (if at all) efficacy where my "disabilities" are concerned. For all their so-called "nano-technology" edge and "extreme power" capability my new hearing aids can't really do much (unless I am in a perfectly noise-free environment). Okay, so there are reasons why the hearing aids are what they are but then those reasons don't make being "ear incapacitated" any easier. More or less in the same vein, when I broke the bone, medical science couldn't do much but ask me to take rest, drink a lot of water and eat a (calcium) tablet a day.

Rx stoicism and "even this will pass away" bloody mindedness any day, I say.

On that note, hold my bike (its a very light bicycle in fact) while I exult once again -- It's a joint! Woot, woot, woot!!!

Of clavicles and cowls; and the demise of weeks

I guess it's normal to look back and curse one's luck,
if one has been in an accident.

But no, I am not doing any cursing, though its been a
slow / boring / painful / incapacitating stretch of days
adding to weeks (and one whole month) since I broke my clavicle
somewhere on the road to Kolkata and Rider Mania 2011.

For one, when I look back I wonder how I have managed to stay
lucky so far, without being involved in a serious accident or
even breaking a bone; considering the "active" way that I have
lived.

I could have broken this (or some other) bone in my largely
unsupervised childhood (a very Huck Finnish one) days scampering
up and down hills, or jumping from tree to tree.

Or I could have broken it in some wild west saloon / setting,
catching a cosh meant for the ear, stopping a stray bullet or
getting thrown by a horse -- in all my repeated readings of
assorted cowboy westerns in my extended childhood.

You can imagine me in similar scenarios / situations / settings
from combat comics / Alistair Maclean novels. Breaking a bone is
pretty common in adventurous / active scenarios.

So, I guess it isn't exactly mind-boggling that I broke my collar
falling from my Bullet one cold winter evening some 40 or so kms
from Kolkata. I mean, maybe it wouldn't have happened if had
stayed at home instead of answering the call of the road, but
then again, it isn't that strange right?

No, I am not being facetious or mock stoic. After all, as per
the law of averages I had to crash sometime and I am lucky to
get away with neck and head (and everything else) intact. And just
bust my collar bone.

Having said that, it has certainly been a bitch -- sitting on my
behind and watching time add up the days and eat up a month, while
I wear a sling for my right arm and a brace around the shoulders and
cultivate patience; waiting for the spot-weld on the bone to
strengthen enough to pick up a pen to write.

Or for that matter, wait for the mind to move on from the hurt, pain
and ignominy of having to come back home leaving a ride incomplete
(my original idea was to ride long into February and wander around
over the North East). Or wait and learn how to deal with the wretched
feeling of watching my trusted Bullet gather dust, parked motionless,
missing its headlight cowl (part of the minimal damage to it due to
the fall) and urgently needing a service.

I am seeing my Doctor in two days (to know when I can stop wearing
the brace). Incidentally, I have got back to "writing with a pen" a
week back. So I guess I am healing, in a slow, more or less steady way.

But it doesn't mean that I will forget or ever get over the ignominy
of leaving a ride incomplete (and I hope I never have to do it again in
my life). Nor does it mean that I will forget my un-kept date with the
North-East.

For whatever my Doctor says, healing for me means being able to ride again.

After all, there are some hungers that time can't sate (or heal).