Ouch

Date: Sat, 5 Jul 2003 16:28:24 +1000 (EST)

Hi Dad,

I would have called this morning, but I was bringing a cheesecake to the nice people who helped me out a few days ago. Since my typing has no funny accent, you can assume that I'm fine. Since I've typed rather a lot, so you can assume I'm avoiding work.

I have a fun game for those with good memories: next time we meet, see if you can notice a scar on my chin. It may not be a very big one -- I don't know yet. The stitches make it hard to see what's underneath. My doctor has asked me not to remove them for a better view.

Besides, I had a fine view before the stitches went in. There was no scar at the time, not even down near the bone, though I have to take Dr. Angela's word for it. She said the bone looked great, but she didn't have time to get the mirror I requested so I could watch the stitching. And I'm afraid that before I got to the clinic and properly cleaned up, I didn't poke around too much, though what I saw was interesting.

Then, I was mostly interested in some basic cleaning and closing the skin --- applying pressure with my fuzzy cycling gloves, while comfortable and effective, was probably unsanitary. However, I really didn't want to bleed all over my dress clothes nor subject homeowners to anatomy lessons while I asked to use their bathroom to see how bad off I was. You see, I still had hopes that I would make it to the conference in the city in time to give my talk.

The first door I knocked on was owned by a nice lady alone in the house with her 2 small children. Accountably, she decided that her open-the-door-for-you list did not include strange men with bloody hands and gloves on their face. Since I hadn't seen my chin yet, was walking around just fine, and not in any pain, I thanked her and went next door.\footnote{By the way, I entirely support her decision, and said so when her husband very nicely apologized as he saw me picking up the bicycle which my chin's quick action had saved from any damage.}

Better luck -- they had a teenage son who answered the door. Since teenage boys don't know fear and probably ride bicycles themselves, he let me right in and followed me to the bathroom where I removed the gloves to take a look. Slightly before I saw the mirror, he said something like, "Hssff-ooooo" which suggested I'd be late for my talk. I requested a phone to call Laura so I could go get stitches. The whole family was exceedingly nice, and I could tell I must be in a country run under English custom. Where else would they consider this an occasion to offer you tea?

"Oh, I see you're bleeding and have a large gash across your chin and are on your way to the hospital. Would you like regular tea or decaf? Milk with that?" It certainly wouldn't have occurred to ME to do that, but it was in fact very comforting. I declined the caffeine before surgery, suspecting from a few observations that my body was doing enough vasoconstriction and alertness elevation on its own. But for the record, a cup of warm water and a moist, slightly sweet cake were very handy 10 minutes later when my adrenaline system determined I had had enough time to get out of traffic and notify the authorities, and demanded payment for its services.

My Uzbek hosts were about to drive me to the hospital themselves when Laura arrived. She had somehow dressed and buckled 2-year-old Riverly, and already made an appointment at our local clinic, disproving again her assertions that she's not practical. After a short wait Dr. Angela looked in. "Oh, look at that. Good, I like doing stitches! I used to work in the emergency room." We will dearly miss our local clinic when we return to America.

I highly recommend modern local anesthetics. Absolutely amazing. Here someone's poking sharp objects through your face and you can sit there and chat with them, feeling everything except the tiny area where they're working. I'm not sure if the doctors are happier about the chatting part.

Ancient anesthetics aren't bad either. I really admire the effort one's body exerts to hide the fact of sudden injury. It lets you get off the road and take care of getting to help. On the other hand, it also lets you spend a few seconds inspecting the bicycle before you notice that your chin is bleeding, and even then refuse a ride from a quick-to-stop motorist asking if you were OK, on the grounds that you probably just need to clean up a bit, and think you'll just pop into the house on the corner for a cup of tea and a washcloth.

I didn't get to give my talk, and it seems I did need the rest, not to mention a couple of changes of bandage. I had gone around a small roundabout just a bit too fast on a wet road, and the bicyle slid out from underneath me. Apparently I hit the road with only with my chin. (I'm not sure how that happened and am considering applying for a grant to try it a few more times and see.) I got up thinking that was so very silly --- if I'd just turned my head sideways the helmet would have hit first and I'd have gone on. But I'm still not very good at this falling business, nor, apparently, sufficiently good at this not-falling business.

The chin is feeling fine, and I had very nice visit with the family again today when I brought a thank-you cheesecake and picked up my bicycle. They insisted I come in for tea and made sure I was OK. They'd been worried things had been serious when I didn't make it back for a couple of days and they had no way of reaching me. They're exceptionally nice and very interesting. Yuri said that being in Australia away from family wasn't so bad in the modern world where you could fly back in a few hours, and Nina promptly replied something like, "It's not fair to ask someone to stay in Australia that way. We've seen our family, what, once in the last 10 years?" It was a very fun visit, and they sent half the cheesecake back with me, and some fresh horn pastries as well, telling me to bring the family next time.