The Ironman Ride in April years ago provided three different overlapping loops—30, 60, or 100 miles. Each route was fully supported with frequent pit stops. Pit stops usually provide port-a-potties, park facility or school bathrooms, snacks, water, Gatorade, simple first aid supplies and sometimes mechanical assistance. It was gray and drizzling most of the day and I hadn’t ridden my bike since the previous Fall. I was out of shape and exhausted and struggled to make it to the 85-mile pit stop before I quit. When that happens, they have buses to transport riders and their bikes to the next pit stop, or back to the starting point.
I felt odd on the bus, during the drive home, and all evening long. I assumed it was dehydration, so I drank a lot of water but the next morning I felt worse. I was lucky to get a clinic appointment for the same day and the resulting blood work showed a high white cell count. There was an infection somewhere, so they prescribed an antibiotic and a muscle relaxer. Around midnight, an excruciating pain began in my rear-end, crawled between my legs, and settled in my abdomen like it was alive. It was overwhelming and after a few minutes stumbled upstairs to tell my wife something was wrong. She followed me back down and called the nurse hotline. While she was on the phone describing my situation, I went into the bathroom and stripped for some reason, then crawled out on my hands and knees and passed out. The nurse and my wife agreed the emergency room was necessary, so she called a neighbor and asked her to stay with our sleeping daughter while we were gone. She arrived within minutes, and we drove to the hospital where I remained for two weeks.
They scanned me and the diagnosis was diverticulitis which can have a range of severity. They also discovered a colon perforation because there were visible bubbles of free air in the MRI. So, they flooded me with intravenous antibiotics, nutrients, and morphine hanging in bags next to me for the first six days. I drifted from one day and night to the next being tended to by countless doctors and nurses only aware of half of them. My wife asked me what I do all day and I said, “I have no idea.” Eventually we decided surgery was the best option which resulted in them removing ten inches of my colon. That was followed by five more days of recovery in the hospital before being released.
Around this time, our daughter took weekly piano lessons. During her lesson, I usually walked to a nearby coffee shop to get coffee for me and something for her. If the weather was nice, I’d relax outside, people watch, and sometimes call my mom for an update. As I leaned against the wall chatting with her, there was a loud explosion on the sidewalk just a few feet in front of me. “What was that?” my mom asked. It took me a few seconds to register what was happening inside the dust cloud and finally noticed a bike locked to a street sign had a flat rear tire. “Someone’s bike tire exploded,” I said. I’d seen it happen before but it’s a rare event because tubes are forgiving. Later that evening, I rode to the studio and after a few hours of working, there was a loud explosion at the other end of the space that made me jump. I had no idea what it was and walked over to see a flat rear tire because my tube blew too. I hadn’t had a flat in a very long time and had never had a tube explode. I attempted to patch it twice but couldn’t fix it. During my 3:00am cab ride home, I realized it was exactly one year to the day that my colon had ruptured.
Songs :: Everything In It’s Right Place by Radiohead, The Shape I’m In by The Band, Beng Beng Beng by Femi Kuti, Pump It Up by Elvis Costello, and Over (feat. Yebba) by Robert Glasper
© C. Davidson