Mountain Biking Finally Cost Me a Tooth

A Different Kind of Pain Cave

The Emergency Department medical student who was stabbing lidocaine needles into my lips was young enough to be my son. Bill asked him how long he'd been at this.

"About two years."

You could get pretty good at just about anything with enough practice over two years. I began imagining he'd stitched people's faces at least three times a day.

"I'm sorry," he'd say kindly every time I winced, clutched Bill's hand in a death grip, and made a painful fist with the other. My legs moved involuntarily at every poke and tug as I moaned and squirmed. Tears meandered down my face, and my breathing was anything but stable.

He started explaining to me what he was doing, the state of the tissue, and why it hurt so much. I uncurled my fist long enough to wave my hand back and forth.

"Oh, sorry, I can stop explaining," he said. "Some people like it."

I waved my hand again and grunted. He got the point.

He could be my son, but I wanted to wail like a three-year-old.

Systems Check

Satisfied with his patch job, I thanked him as he left the room. A saintly nurse came to check on me and rustled up some gauze and water, stabbed me in the ass with some pain meds, and reassured me that we'd be free to go soon, once they put on the cast.

Cast?

Upon his initial examination of my busted up face, the doctor smartly ordered various scans: CT of the brain, face, and cervical spine, as well as X-rays of both hands. While my right hand hurt the most, my left hand was sporting the all-too-familiar OTB bruised palm. The X-ray revealed a minor fracture on my left thumb, one that could potentially affect a nearby ligament.

As another student took to immobilizing my left hand (the one I write with), I sank into self-pity. I can't ride. Or type. Or wipe my… And little did I know how hard it would be to eat and drink.

I started wondering why this always seems to happen: as soon as I feel good, like all the training is beginning to sink in, BAM! The universe feels the need to put me in my place, to remind me how fragile and tenuous this staying alive and healthy thing can be (last year, it was a dog bite).

But I was feeling good. It was a beautiful spring evening, full of the season's promise. My friends and I were all riding bikes together. We had just shared snacks on a bridge over the Blackwater River and watched a soaring bald eagle put on a show. I was getting ready to head off on a trip to Utah and Arizona, and I was excited to have the legs and lungs to make the most of it. I was having the ride of my life on one of the area's toughest trails, Splashdam.

That is, until I decided to go off a steep boulder. I could've just as easily slowed down and taken the line to the left. But I was riding my big, squishy bike, and I figured, why not?

It crossed my mind that all those leaves could hide a hole. Too late. My front wheel was firmly planted in it and stuck. I was ferociously catapulted over the bars. The rock that would break my fall was much higher than ground level. So my hands, helmet, and face hit it with a ton of force.

Right away, I knew this wasn't good. I couldn't figure out what was going on with my mouth, but my hands hurt like hell. I untangled myself from the bike and heard a few friends behind me. I was lucky to have them there. They knew how to test for injuries that would keep me from walking out. It felt like my tooth was stuck in my gum. We briefly looked for it, but I just wanted to get out of there.

"Do you think I need stitches?" Haha.

They walked out with me, trying to keep my spirits up. It was a tough job. I was mumbling about how stupid I'd look without a tooth, how this would screw with my confidence, how this could ruin my trip…what about my training…on and on.

We ended up on a gravel road, so I eventually got on my bike. The air over my mangled lips was painful. But then there was Bill, ready to cart me off to the Emergency Department for a four-hour date.

Seven stitches and one cast later, as we walked out of the ED at 12:30 am, I said aloud to Bill: "I have my legs, I have my lungs, my heart, my brain. I can work with this."

Lights in the Dark

The next day, I found out that the thumb fracture was likely an old injury. Off with the cast! That meant riding was back on the table once my face healed. I have a fantastic dentist, and he's sure he can get me a new tooth. It's a waiting game to see if I need any root canals. My lips are still a mess, and my hands are sore, but all is healing. I've gotten by without an infection or need for antibiotics. I've learned how to eat and drink.

I can use a straw now, and my Face ID works again! Yesterday, I tried the trainer.

There is still so much to process, and I'm only six days into recovery. But a few crucial lessons burn bright.

1) Always, always, always wear a helmet.

2) Full-fingered gloves when mountain biking are worth their sweaty weight in gold.

3) Friends aren't what make the good times. They are what make the bad times tolerable.

Thank you to everyone who has helped me so far. You know who you are, and I feel lucky to know you.

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