So I read the tifu where he sets himself on fire and is scarred for life, and thought I’d share my forever scarred story.
Bear with me I’m on mobile.
So this happened only about 3 years ago and is either funny or super crap depending on how you slice it.
When I was a wee bab, I used to ride motorcross and I loved every minute of it. But complications arose and my family had to stop going. However I never got motorbikes out my head and decided I wanted a 125cc when I was 17, instead of a car. I practically obsessed over them and researched so much I could do an A-level on it.
Fast forward years down the line and I’m 18, and have had my bike for about a year and a half. After I slipped on ice earlier in the year and broke my collarbone, I had saved up enough money to replace my helmet, as you’re meant to after one impact.
I merrily get my money, my valiant steed and whilst I’m doing this, my cat keeps looking at me, like right in the eyes. I give him a pet assuming he’s just a little lost and mount up.
On the way, I accidentally turn left instead of right, no biggie, so I do a cheeky u-turn at the roundabout and go back. I’m doing all the observations and am going a safe speed, having the best time. On the way back, I spot a police car and a bit of commotion.
Now here is the moment I will never stop regretting for the rest of my life.
I turn my head. About 135 degrees over my left shoulder. What was meant to be a glance turns into a full 3 seconds that my eyes are on this police car. Turns out someone just got pulled over for speeding. I mentally shrug and turn my head back in a relaxed manner-
The van in front of me has stopped dead . I am going 30mph, and am about 3 inches from its rear.
I don’t know if anyone’s ever crashed or fallen off something, but the exact moment you knew you were absolutely screwed, remains like a photograph in your head. The moment your blood runs cold and you take a sharp inhale to pray you’ll be okay.
My mind goes blank but I remember slamming my brakes on and moving my left leg out to the side to steady myself, and that’s where I went wrong. Away from my bike, my skinny-ass lower leg had nothing but anti- abrasion jeans between it and the solid 6 by 6 iron bar that this van had on its bumper, for some reason.
I wake up lying flat on the floor, in a fairly clueless and relaxed state. I hear ringing and my helmet is off. I look up and there is the police woman from the car I passed looking at me, asking if I can name my favourite motorbikes. Slightly confused and a bit concerned, I just assume I bumped the van a bit and go to sit up. The woman places her hand on my chest and has this “I wouldn’t do that” look in her eyes. I look down and see that my left knee is resting pointing upwards, normally, but my foot is flat against the ground with the left side of it down. Completely the wrong way.
I pass out again.
When I wake up the second time, the van had left and there were some documents shoved in my pocket. I am a bit more with it this time and start looking for my best friend, I ask the lady where they put my bike but I can’t see it. The daze has worn off and I start to panic a little, so I kind of hold myself at 45 degrees and start rummaging for my phone.
Of course there’s not a scratch on it.
I ring my mother... no answer.
I ring my step dad, and tell him that I’ve crashed again and I am pretty sure my leg is broken.
I pass out again.
I wake up and my mum has just arrived and lifts my upper back onto her knees, she’s talking to the woman but I’m already blacking out again.
This time when I wake up, the ambulance has arrived and they inform me that they’re going to have to try and slot my leg back together and tie it tight for the journey. They give me gas and air and after a few breaths, begin to lift my leg.
What I experienced wasn’t pain, I felt what can only be described as the physical manifestation of ear-piercing white noise up my leg. I borderline scream into he mask as they strap my leg down and I pass out again.
Again I wake up, this time in the ambulance and one of the paramedics is putting an I.V in my hand so they could give me some good drugs to kill the pain. Now I was wearing a very puffy motorbike jacket, and was way too faded to tell them my weight so they gave it an educated guess.
They guessed wrong. And I know they did because when they cut my coat off and saw my small frame, they looked at each other with like a serious “whoops” expression.
I then proceeded to have the best 48 hours ever. For the few minutes that I was conscious between blackouts, I felt fantastic. Sure my leg was still in pain, but I was more interested in why Alex from Madagascar has an angular mane. Everything from the whirring of the cat scan, to the small lift ride, was just the coolest thing ever.
I wake up very early the next morning to a doctor standing over me. He informs me that I will be having a metal rod put through my leg with 3 screws and that there was a 1 in 500 chance they’d have to cut my leg off. All of which he said completely monotone, and followed with “alright let’s go!”
I wake up the morning two days after my accident. My mum has been sleeping on a chair next to me and I have more tubes and needles in my body that I can’t really move. I try to sit up and a nurse comes in and gives me a jab in my tummy. My leg is in a huge cast, and has a sack of blood attached to it. I sit for a moment before getting my phone out to ask if my friend could bring me a maccies cheeseburger, but my mum insists I eat an orange instead.
That was the best fucking orange I’ve ever eaten.
A few days later when I come out the place where time stands still and you have to poop in a cup, I learn that my crash caused an absolute nightmare buildup of traffic that was on every radio station that evening.
My leg is still metal, even though I had my screws removed because they would bang on chairs and cause a horrible pain. My left foot has patches of numbness and I cannot feel two toes. I have an indentation where my leg bone actually came out of my skin, and a long white line where they filleted me. Keep your eyes on the road guys, and don’t do morphine.
tl;dr: Crashed my motorbike and broke my leg in half. Paramedics miscalculated my weight and gave me enough morphine to be riding high whilst the radio reported my accident causing catastrophic traffic.