Monday, April 17, 2006

MONDAY MEDS: Cyclonic Reaction/PART 2

- another installment chronicling my banged-up bod.

in this case, how i busted my back on Coney Island's Cyclone roller coaster and became instantly old.

it's not uncommon to point to an event in one's personal history that changes one's life forever - meeting the love of your life/artmoviebookrecordcollegeprof/etc. that sends you down a completely different path. but what we often don't consider (since we all feel so friggin' eeemortal) is a physical change/assault that does this to us.

in the nanosecond of freezetime (and i swear, time did freeze), when the roller coaster car whiplashedsmashed me down into my seat and i felt my backbone snap and that rush of unbelievable pain roared thru my stillyoungsupplenothingcanhurtme body...there was that 'uh oh' moment of perfect clarity when it's obvious are gonna be different from this point on.

and then time gets unstuck, and the following becomes very clear -

1) i'm on a rollercoaster that is now gonna finish its run whether i'm hurt or not since it's a gravity coaster and thus has no brakes.

2) and this particular coaster is known for the violence it inflicts on its passengers (which is defined as 'fun'), so broken back or no broken back, it's gonna throw me from side-to-side/thrash me up-and-down...'cause that's what it does. for 90 more seconds.

3) screaming will not help - this is a roller coaster, afterall, and it is not unusual for people to scream on a roller coaster.

but the ride eventually ends, and the cars screech into the station, and the few happy/edge 'o barfing passengers wobble off...but i can't move. the attendant comes over, and helps me out of the car (i am bent over like a spinal bifida victim), and over to a bench. where i sit. and sit. and sit. and think thru the agonyhaze "well, i guess i must have sprained something rather severely"/"gee, i guess my not having health insurance is gonna be a problem"/"how the hell am i gonna get home?". the attendant comes back over and asks me if he should call an ambulance (with the voicetone of "you are scaring people, Mr. Pussy Man Couldn't Handle It, and are thus bad for business").

i am moneybroke, so getting medical attention is out of the question. [YES I KNOW...this was a stoopid decision...but when i say broke, i mean nocashnothinglookingforquartersinthesofadamnthatcatfoodlooksgood kind of broke...and the thought of huge medical bills was just to much.]

(it's only a sprain)

i had parked my car just outside the ride's entrance, so by holding onto railings/other people/parking meters, i was able to ease my pretzelshape into the driver's seat. so now what/where? home was about an hour's drive away, but the house where we used to rent an apartment in Brooklyn was maybe 20 minutes i decided to try to get there.

(it's only a sprain)

i had not counted on how much God hated me, because:

°1st difficulty - a manual transmition, and working the clutch was impossible. i somehow managed to get the car started and rammed into second gear....where it would stay for the next two-plus hours as i took the backroads to Baltic Street in Carrol Gardens.

°2nd difficulty - the gas gauge read 'empty'. my wallet also read 'empty'. so i had to find an ATM. which required getting out of the car again. lovely. which then required finding a gas station. lovelier.

° 3rd difficulty - it was just too painful to drive. i had to pull over and stop every five minutes because it hurt too much. and did i mention how crappy the roads are in backwater Brooklyn?...where every bump ratcheted up the already off-the-scale agony to new heights of...well...more agony?

° 4th difficulty - as i am finally approaching Carrol Gardens (relief coming!), i find myself behind a NYC garbage truck, manned by two guys who hate their jobs so much that they will let the whole world know it by

(it's only a sprain)

at last! Baltic St.! D. & R. whould help me out! there's a parking space in front of the house! (God had decided i was okay after all!) i rang the doorbell, and...

...the baby-sitter took one look at me - a bentover stranger who claimed to know D & R who was asking to come inside in the middle of the day - and all her NYC streetwise wariness kicked in and she...

...shut the door in my face.

(to be continued next week)

NP: PRINCESS SUPERSTAR/"Bad Babysitter" ('I'm a bad babysitter, got my boyfriend in your shower, Woo! I'm makin 6 bucks an hour!')


PEEVE DE JOUR: one-month-old cellphone doesn't seem to want to hold a charge.

N.B.A.T.W.P.: Circuit-bending (BENT2006 Festival) at The Tank in NYC this week! this is the COOLEST thing you will ever see - explanation and details tomorrow! tune in, B's & G's...


Blogger kelly said...

I hurt my back (in a very minor fashion) when I was 14. I am 37 now and have had a stiff back every since. That doesn't compare at all. This is a hard story to read. I'm glad you survived.


12:06 AM  
Blogger CBeezwax said...

thanks you.

barely. still need to do exercizes every day. as my Doc said - son...i would not consider a career as a piano mover!


12:10 AM  

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