Six Weeks

February 9th, 2010 changed my life forever. From a bike-lover i turned into a bike phobic. The day started out just like any other, an early morning calorie burning session in the gym was on the cards. I revved up my baby confidently for one last time, for the next two months and hit the road. I drove fast as usual, with the chilly 6AM morning air, hitting against my body. As i neared my destination, disaster struck, I lost control of my bike and went skidding against the hard tarred road for a good five minutes.

I lay there in shock for a few seconds, until someone lifted me up. I could see blood all over me, a huge gash on my right leg, cuts and bruises on my hands and legs and a limp lifeless dull thudding on my right hand. I knew right away something was wrong.

A flurry of activity followed, and I finally reached Malar hospital where the doctors confirmed that I had dislocated and fractured my right shoulder and had a ligament tear on my right foot. The medicines and the sharp water they used to clean my wounds stung and I clung onto my mommy's hand and screamed with all my might, until she whispered in my ear that everything would be alright soon.

I was taken into surgery shortly after, my FIRST surgery ever! And it had a fancy name - Key Hole. I was petrified to say the least, I repeatedly asked the doctors if I would feel any more pain and whether I would be awake on the operation table. I wished I was in Seattle Grace Hospital, where at least I could have drooled at Mc Dreamy and asked Meredith why she was so wannabe Goth all the time. No such luck, though. Doctors are boring and artificially cheery people who try to make you believe that life is peachy.

Three hours of surgery later, I felt my immobile right hand, which hurt even more as I tried to free myself of all the tubes running through my body. I had two metal rods stuck all the way through my right shoulder up to my elbow.

I was officially handicapped for the next two months. If it weren't for my Mom and ayyah, I'm sure I would have been dead by now. I could barely walk thanks to my bloated ligament torn right leg and I could do nothing all day except for lolling around on bed.

I hated the tight belt which restricted my body movements and kept my hand tightly in place. Each visit to the doctor was demoralizing and humiliating - I looked like crap, I felt like crap and I just wanted to be someone else. Someone without a broken shoulder, who didn't have a tight band around her all the time.

The only silver lining to this dark cloud was my poopie coming home to see me. My dad, spoke about him for days on end and my mother approved as well. It felt nice watching him being at home and my parents lapping up every word of what he had to say. The icing on the cake was when he touched both their feet - i knew by the look on their faces, that they were in love with him too :)

Five years of riding, umpteen accidents and a still healing broken arm later, I bid goodbye to you, my dear old Scooty Pep. I will miss you dearly, but our time has come to an end. I wish things were different for you and me.