August 29th, 2004

Happy Anniversary to ME! Two years ago today, I was struck by a car, on a post-victory recovery ride. I have told the story in bits & pieces, but figured I'd lay it all out on the table.

August 28, 2004: Sherman Park Criterium, Chicago, IL.

I found myself in a 3-man break with two excellent competitors, Greg Springborn & Chris Daggs. We were off the front of the field for 48 of the 75 minute race, working well together. I downloaded my SRM, and avg'd 298 watts of power for the 48 minutes we were off the front. I took 1st place, Chris took 2nd, and Greg took 3rd place. I had finally won a Pro, I, II race, even if it was a smaller event, the competition was stiff. It was a good victory.

The next morning, Sunday, after sleeping in, I decided to go for a 3 hour lactic acid ride to clean out the legs. It was cool, as in cool enough to wear arm warmers, vest and oil on the legs. I took off across the river, as the wind was out of the NW.

Winding my way back toward home at 12:15 pm, in Peoria Heights, which is about 5 miles to get back to the house, the following happened:

Tailwind at my back, I was cruising about 26 mph through the intersection of Sciota and Prospect Rd. I heard a squeal of tires, and then euphoria. By the time I could blink, I was suspended in mid air, looking at the roof of an auto part store, and wondering to myself, that this does not look right. It's amazing, when you have been struck & thrown like that, time stops, just like in the movies. It is the most un-describable feeling. You have no pain, no worries, just time to think, and I don't mean seconds. It seems like hours.

I thought of many things while I was up "there", like did I kiss Gina goodbye and tell her I love her as I do before we always leave each other, why am I here, where is the white light & tunnel, am I dead, will I fall to the ground, only to be struck by another car once I hit the pavement, will I actually land on a car driving down the road, will I have time to say goodbye before I die? All of this happened in a split second, which seemed like an eternity. My last thought was, oh well, I have to land, and it's going to hurt, and hurt bad!

I landed on my right side, almost in a fetal position. Eyes open, breathing, alive, and looking at what appeared to be a stream of blood sputtering from my lower extremities, across the road. The lady who hit me was backing up with her car, right at me! She stopped, got out of the car with a cell phone in her hand, and waddled over to me. She asked "are you ok?" I said "NO you F-ing Bi#ch, dial 9-11." (that is the only words we have ever spoken, not even an apology from her) She was so frazzled, that she could not even dial. At this time, people had stopped, and were out of their cars, huddling around me. I looked over at my left leg, and saw what appeared to be about 5"-6" of tibia and fibula (shin bone & back of the shin) sticking out of my shin, skin ripped open by the bones crashing through. I was laying in a pool of blood, still spurting out of the open wound, and swelling quickly. I thought they would have to amputate my leg, which at that point, I was pissed about, because the adrenaline was still kicking in, and I felt no pain. I said to myself, (I think out loud) that I had two choices as Lance Armstrong states in his book, "It's Not About The Bike" "to give up, or fight like hell"

I reached in my back pocket, grabbed my cell phone, and handed it to a Good Samaritan who was there. I said, "dial 9-11, and call my wife, her name is Gina, under "HOME" on the contact/address book. Tell Gina that I love her, always have, and always will." Then the pain came, and came on like Hurricane Katrina, all at once, throughout my entire body, with exception of my head/face.

I was screaming in pain at this point. No way to control it. Between breaths, grabbing my left leg above the knee, trying to stop the bleeding, and somehow ease the pain I believed. Bystanders were around, and I was dyeing of thirst. Throughout the entire ordeal, I never went into shock, or lost conciseness. After though, I wish I had passed out, as the pain was unbearable.

A young lady named Shelbie Meister was in the car behind me at the time of the wreck. She was a 3rd year nursing student at Olivet Nazarene University. She witnessed the accident, pulled off and took control of the scene. She told me to breath, deeply, don't scream, no fluids from anyone, as I begged to get a drink of water. She held me in place, like a baby, so I could not move until the EMT's arrived. I could see the left leg was in big trouble, but didn't realize at this point that my right femur was broken in multiple places as well. She somehow suspected this was the case, or that I had shattered my pelvis, as I was turning blue from the mid stomach down.

The EMT's arrive. They begin by cutting my clothes off of me with huge scissors. I said WHOA! STOP! This is my Team Mack kit! They then carefully cut my shorts off, jersey, shoes, socks etc. all up & down the seams, as if I was going to sew it all back together after I got better. There I was, naked on the street, covered by a foil blanket. The neck brace was installed, and all of the questions like "where does it hurt? can you move your fingers, toes etc" Well, my left leg hurt a "little", and I can speak, so my head is intact. I can move my fingers, so I am not paralyzed.

I had to be stabilized, and placed on a backboard. I asked, what are you going to do to stabilize my left leg, still bent, and about 5 inches shorter at this point. They said that they were going to place me on the back board, and I said NO WAY! get a splint or something, and we'll do it that way. Another truck showed up with an air splint to place the leg in. That's when I realized that my right leg/pelvis was in trouble. They tried to "flip" me on the backboard, by grabbing my right butt cheek, and I screamed bloody murder. I asked them to place the backboard against my back, then we can all flip at the same time. They said that would not work.

After what seemed to be an eternity, and chickening out of getting on the board again & again & again, the head EMT looked me in the eye and said: "If we do not get you on this board, in the ambulance, and to the hospital, you will bleed to death right here, take your pick"

Between screaming, moaning and spouting EVERY cuss word in the book, I agreed to get on the board. We mapped it out, and agreed to count to 3. The EMT's put a rigid piece of plastic in my mouth for me to bite on, while they were flipping me over. Then came the count: 1, 2 and they flipped me! I screamed so loud that I think a blood vessel broke in my head!

They quickly strapped me to the board, and placed me on a gurnee, heading towards the ambulance about 10 feet away. Once inside, I begged for pain medication. They could not give me anything, as I was to be rushed to the trauma unit for surgery.

Just then, a catholic priest hopped into the back of the ambulance, and asked if I wanted to pray. I asked him "Father, am I going to die?" He said that I would, just not today or anytime soon. We prayed, and he held my hand in the ambulance, all the way to the hospital.

I was freezing at this point, and carrying on a conversation with the EMT's the best I could, through screaming in pain, and attempting to breath at the same time. Blood, snot and road debris was all over me. I felt dirty, caked with crud. All I wanted was some pain medication and a shower, not realizing that I had two completely shattered legs, and sitting, let alone standing would be impossible.

The EMT's asked what hospital I wanted to go to. Huh? The best one! They did not realize at this point that I needed to be brought to a level 1 trauma unit, and the only one was OSF St. Francis. Off we went! I asked if anyone had talked to Gina, and they said she had been contacted, and she was on her way to the hospital to meet us.

Still screaming, we arrived. Out the back door of the ambulance, and into the waiting ER unit. There was a team of professionals waiting for me. All I heard from the head ER Nurse is breath, breath, breath. Then the round of questions, again: "what hurts, can you move your fingers, do you have a headache, does it hurt when I poke here, when did you last eat, are you allergic to anything etc" I told them just give me the pain drugs, and NOW! They said they could not do that, as I needed to be examined, and a MRI or CT scan done.

The ER nurse got my attention. (Now, remember, I am on the table, stark naked, covered in blood, screaming in pain, bones sticking out of my leg, surrounded by what seemed like was 100 people, all doing their jobs in the most efficient manner.) The ER nurse shows me a rubber tube, and states that she has to catheterize me. I said, and WHERE are you going to put that thing? Before I could finish the sentence, she had installed the catheter in my penis, and felt like a rock had struck my bladder. More screaming.

More shuffling in the ER, and they asked who the physician assistant on duty was? Kelly Sparks was the answer. I screamed "Kelly?" I know Kelly! He' s my racing buddy. Not 2 minutes later, here comes Kelly, taking charge of the situation. He came into the ER, and calmly said, Steve, what happened, as he was holding my hand, like a child. (I still don't know how he retained his bedside manner through this) I said Kelly, I got hit on a ride. You have to get me the BEST doctors, period, who will get me racing again. He looked over the situation, checked all of the stats, and was making a prognosis. I begged him for pain medication. Not as of yet was his response.

He then went to the foot of the table, and said "Steve, this is going to hurt". At that time, he grabbed my left foot/ankle, and PULLED the leg toward him, to forcefully pull the broken bones back inside the leg, and straighten them out. I screamed so loud, that the Nun that was with Gina in the waiting area, actually got up and left. A second later, Kelly yelled to administer the morphine. The pain drugs reacted within a split second, and I was back in euphoria at that time, not a care in the world.

Once the morphine fully kicked in, I was OK. I was transferred to a staging room, with G by my side. She's tough, like an alligator skin suitcase. Calm as you could be in this mess, and telling me to breath. I stayed in the staging room with G and a couple of employees/friends, Brad Menold & Pat O'Neill, who G had contacted. They rushed to the hospital immediately. They told me that I had shattered the right leg, as well as the double compound fracture to the left. No further information at this point. I spoke w/ my parents on the phone, and waited for surgery.

Several hours later, between nodding off & waking up, I met Dr. Bell, the anastheologist who was to put me to sleep for the operation. I only asked that he makes sure I wake up when its all over. He said he would.

Down a COLD hallway to the operating room, I was cracking jokes with the nurses and attendants. We were quoting scenes from the movie "Airplane", as I was so high from the pain drugs, I had no clue what I was doing. I looked up from the gurnee, and here was Kevin Neblock, my old cycling coach and friend. I really thought I was dead, as all I could see was the ceiling, and bright lights at this time.

Into the OR, pre-sleep meds go through the IV, and they said to count to 100. I made it to 2, and woke up Tuesday in the ICU after two emergency surgeries.

I learned several things since 8/29/2004:

I learned that on 11/30/1996, the best decision I ever made was to say "I do" and marry my wife Gina. She has been the best throughout this ordeal.

I learned that I have more friends and supporters that I could have ever imagined, even to this day

I learned that grown men cry, especially when they see their friend in the hospital after an accident, and it is OK

I learned things like this happen, and when someone offers you their help, take it. No man is an island

I learned that these things not only affect you, but affect everyone around you. Realize that, and work with them to help in your recovery

I learned that you cannot be a victim.

I learned that you must fight like hell, everyday, although some days a little more than others.

I learned that no one is going to do it except for you, and pity parties are not an option.

Finally!!!!

You ever wonder why everyone complains about healthcare in the United States? Simple: Lack of Communication!

I ended riding the fixed gear bike last night w/ some of my VQ training buddies, from Morton. We had a special guest on our ride, Andrew sergeant aka: "The Sarge". Not to bore you with the details, but Andy was one of the top elite cyclists in the country in the late 80's/early 90's. What does this have to do with anything? It doesn't! But........

Andy is ALSO the physician assistant to my surgeon, Dr. Maxey down at the Orthopedic Institute of Illinois. As we were riding, he was asking about my recovery, what I thought of Dr. Maxey etc, and he slipped, and brought up Nurse Barb, my "was favorite" nurse at one time. I explained that she WAS my favorite nurse, but she left me for another patient, the young hottie with the broken arm, blah, blah, blah. I called her a couple of times (not minding the restraining order) and she never called me back. Depression then set in.



Well, word travels fast I guess. Nurse Barb called me this afternoon, and asked, pleaded and then begged to be put back in "Favorite Nurse" status, as she never got my messages. (I believe the hottie with the broken arm had healed up, and it was over between them.) I agreed, as she is a wonderful person and quite funny, ie: she pretends to laugh at my jokes.

When she said that the next time I come in for an appointment, she had a little "gift" for me, I thought cool! Now, after thinking about a HUGE syringe being pierced into me, I had better schedule my next appointment on her day off...................

Busted!

G was talking to her little sis last night on the tele, when "little-sis" Nancy asked when I was going to update my Blob? Heck, I don't know was the response. Well, I guess she is one of the three people in the universe who read it, and she let it slip that she thought it was kind-of funny. I needed an update anyway, so here it is.

My Bro & Sis in-law's Gary & Nancy live in the Houston, TX area, with their adorable kids, Tyler & Shay. When I say adorable, I mean well-mannered, smart, playful and can carry on a conversation with an adult, ie: Me, although most days I have the mentality of a 6 year old.



Here's a pic of Gary & Nancy enjoying a romantic evening. Gary, like myself is a true romance artist, as our wives will attest to.









Here's Tyler! He likes to go camping with his Dad. When they do, he makes smores, and tells jokes around the campfire.









And of course, Shay. She likes to dance, sing, and shake-shake-shake her booty! She got a chocolate fountain from Santa for Christmas last year!



And, while I am at it, The "infamous" Tammy sent over this rendition of the new & imporved "Scuba Steve" Gotta LOVE her for that!

Not Setting Any Records!

I have to start this one with a quote, by a friend & teammate, George "The Hairy One" Ganas

"Forever is a long time, when you take it one day at a time"

At yoga Monday evening, Dr. Reid, (the Yoga Nazi's husband) asked me when I was going to go down to The River Plex, and do some swimming with him? Huh? Right after I am invited I shot back! Well, the door was opened, and Dr. Reid had a challenge on his hands. Nothing he couldn't handle though, as he is a renowned plastic surgeon, tri-athlete and he and his bride will be competing in the World Tri Championships in Switzerland in 3 weeks, so this was like a challenge to play Dominos.

So, on the spot, we set it up for Thursday/Friday of this week, 630 am. I met him there this am, and we had to go through the "basics", like breathing, stroke etc. After observing my technique for a lap or 2, he told me to get out of the pool, and continue cycling, as I am THAT bad! Ok, that didn't happen, but I am like a mental sponge, and freely admit I do not know how to swim like these guys do. After a while, I did "better" at least that's what he said, whatever that means. Better as in you went from pre-school to kindergarten, or better as in you went from under-grad to masters?

Needless to say, I did a "set" of 100 meters in 1:55 seconds. Reid & I competed lane for lane, and I actually had him in the first 3 meters out of 100, but then he smoked me. Oh well. We had fun, and I got a good workout!

Here's a pic of the actual fixed-gear bike I actually rode on Wednesday for the first time, Mine is silver though. Little Mike & I did a 40 minute ride, went out for dinner and saw Talladega Nights. Is that like going on a date? Bike ride, dinner & a movie??????

Starting All Over Again!

Well, the material in my cranium which seems to have the density of concrete is finally allowing some information to sink in. I am going to start all over again I guess.

Back in the late 80's, when I moved to Normal, IL. I raced for The South Chicago Wheelmen. I was doing intervals up & down Main Street in Bloomington/Normal, drafting off of cars at 35 mph, and doing sprints around them, when some guy pulls up next to me (at 30 mph) and asks if I would like to race for him? HUH? Well, turns out it was Kevin Neblock, who was forming a racing team out of Champaign, IL called Central Illinois Racing Team, (C.I.R.T) Kevin & I hit it off, and we are still friends to this day. Under Kevin's coaching direction, our cat III team seemed to win about every race we entered, and I went on to win the state citerium and road race title. He also got a teammate of mine, Dave Otto & I to attend the fall session at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs, CO . He knew a little about bike racing and training you could say.

Every fall/winter, we had to ride a track bike on the road, as this develops leg strength, spin technique and all of the other good stuff. I hated the track bike, as it only had one gear, you could not back "spin" peddle, if you stopped quickly you flipped over the bars, and to go fast, you had to spin REALLY fast. I liked pushing HUGE gears, and sprinting in HUGE gears as well. Well, this is not good in the off season, as it really messes with your joints, tendons etc.

Fast forward to 2006. Talked to Kevin a little while ago, and he said for the billionth time since my accident " Girly, you need to start all over like a junior, weights, swimming, and.......TRACK BIKE!" NO road bikes! So, after the past month off the bike, I ordered a track bike to assist in the recovery process.


Hopefully be on the road in the next couple of weeks, if all of these goofy flare-ups subside sometime, and it's less than 100,000 degrees outside.





Also: Floyd is innocent of the charges, I hope. Not only for him, but for the sake of American Cycling.