January 13, 2016 § 34 Comments
The average time that it takes a 1mm fracture in your pelvis to completely heal is 5-6 months. During that time it is important to exercise in such a way as to bring increased blood circulation to the fracture site, yet not to “overdo it” such that the soft tissue around the fracture becomes inflamed.
The best thing to do is to let pain be your guide as to any rehab program. Moderate pain is to be expected, whereas severe or excruciating pain likely indicates further damage or re-injury of the fracture.
Full resumption of pre-fracture, intense activities should not be resumed until at least five, preferably six months after the injury.
I had all this in mind as I rode to the NPR this morning, fully aware that I was merely seven weeks into the Wanky Rehab Plan. Then I became even more fully aware as the ride kicked up Pershing and gravity plus wind resistance plus speed forced me to the tail end of the 80-plus gaggle of flailing idiots.
As we made the sweeping turn for our first lap on Westchester Krapway, a place where I am accustomed to land the first blow, I grit my teeth firmly around my small intestine, hanging by a thread to the wheel of Scrubby Carbuncle, a poor fellow who, resplendent in his new 2016 team kit, had failed to adequately prepare for the physical stresses about to be placed on the fabric when it almost ripped after Scrubby doubled to his normal size by enormous gasps, and as a result began to gap me out as the massive, spiked Baby Seal Club of Turncoat Cobley swung a mighty blow across Scrubby’s tiny seal testicles.
The gap widened and there was nothing I could do. Slow of leg, weak of spirit, and fractured of pelvis I watched the gap widen as this–MY HOME RIDE–punched me in the kidney and prepared to drop me on the first acceleration of the very first lap.
Fate intervened, though, which was bad, because the brief stop at the first red light allowed me to catch back on, something as happy as, saying, getting the opportunity to ram your dangling, bloody stump back into the garbage disposal a second time.
I skittered briefly off the front only to hear the whooshing of The Club, this time being swung by the mighty G$. It cracked me across the nape of the neck and sent me hurtling to the back, where, instead of dying on the wheel of Scrubby, who had been skinned and had his bloody carcass dripping with entrails tossed into the maw of the rear-pack sharks who gnawed his guts while spinning in the slipstream of the mighty clubbers on the point.
Now my savior was the rear wheel of Daisy O’Doodle, a nice enough person who was suffering the slings and arrows of an outrageous clubbing by Benedict Alverson, Sausage, and the gore-soaked South Bay Baby Seal, who had graduated from the ranks of the skinned into the ranks of the dickstompers.
Daisy’s skull split with the first whack of The Club, and as she sank to floor of the ice floe I felt huge shooting pains fire up into my crack, the tender fibers of barely knitted bone infused with the unholy fire of nerves being stimulated with red-hot coals. My tender nutsack, barely joined to my pelvic crack, dangled and jangled with each blow of the The Club as I shuddered and swayed, pushing harder than hard to close the four-foot gap which threatened to mushroom into a solid quarter mile.
By the final lap the monsters of the deep had taken over, with the Williams brothers, national clubber Holloway, Nutjob Pedalbeater, Dawg, Benedict Smasher, Baby Seal, Turncoat Cobley, and a host of murderers forming a final arrow that flew from the bowstring directly through the throats of all pretenders. I finished so far back I had to read about the sprunt in the newspaper.
At the post-coital lie and whopper exchange at CotKU, I required three people to help me dismount. After coffee I pedaled home at record slow pace, my tightened and aching bones barely able to turn the pedals.
Later that morning I had my first appointment with Dr. Patchumup, the bone guy who had diagnosed my strained nutsack as a broken pelvis.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Great,” I lied.
“What kind of activities are you doing now to help with your rehab?”
“Oh, just the usual.”
“You know, walking slowly in a heated pool. Stretching on my bed in the mornings. Trying not to move too quickly or to overstress anything.”
“Good,” he said. “Keep it up and you’ll be back on your bike by June at the latest.”
“Okay, doc,” I said obediently. “I will.”
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Reads like a Quentin Tarantino script; The Hateful Eight Cyclists
the Hateful Eighty.
I could feel the crack of the club across my doodads as I was reading this. Exquisite pain. Thanks WM! Hope your rehab continues at this record pace.
Dehabbing as quick as I can.
Hmm. I came back from a fractured pelvis injury too soon and now have permanent nerve damage in both hips.
Regrets? Yeah, a few. The constant pain when I walk is one of them. Good Luck.
I don’t need luck. I need brains.
As a fellow cyclist: “You’re doing great!”
As a logical human: “You’re a dumb ass!”
Still waiting to meet a logical human. Along with a unicorn.
dude, listen to Erik and Mike in the comments. You can push it when you’ve given your body time to heal properly. Ok?
I’m famous for following good advice.
or infamous, whatever. You’re so incorrigible. May Dog have mercy on you.
Good advice is my kryptonite.
Ouch! Sounds like you Ned’s a few months of Zwift.
And I should put on my reading glasses before I post from my phone.
Or use the bathroom.
You’re my hero!
Anti, that is.
Pretty sweet comment.
“Daisy’s skull split ….. solid quarter mile” – laugh out loud best paragraph yet of 2015
It can only get better in 2016!
Only if I upgrade my Blogbot to 3.8.1.
I hate peaking in January.
Cheer up, man! I peaked in 1983!
Having my best days behind me would be so bad if my worst days weren’t still ahead.
…flashing back to somewhere in northern Spain, 1987…hairline fracture of the pelvis….it hurt, but I just thot I wuz a weenie…endeavored to persevere (continue in a course of action even in the face of difficulty or with little or no prospect of success) got dropped five or six weeks in a row….then rested for three months after the ‘accurate’ diagnosis, came back – got dropped five or six weeks in a row…..hmmm…..
You needed a bigger fracture. But as long as you endeavored to persevere!
–written from my revisit to my wheelchair.
Hahahahahaha! Boneheads love company!!!
Gotta agree with Deb Banks on this one….
Hahahaha!! Me, too!
And she totally knows her idiots.
Some are more easily spotted than others.