AM I DEAD? - CONTINUED - PART TWO

 Am I  DEAD!!

 

It was a beautiful June day just past noon in Saskatoon Saskatchewan. I was in front of our house dressed in shorts, a short-sleeved shirt, and running shoes with no socks. I had been tinkering with my Dad’s 1938 Indian Chief motorcycle for about half an hour. Now Dad did not ride motorcycles, but he liked them and had bought a few with the idea of fixing them up a bit and selling them (usually at a loss).   The 1952 Saskatoon Junior baseball season at Cairns field would be starting this evening and I wanted to get the bike purring to take it to the game.  This would be my first time playing under the lights at the big field. I would be the starting Shortstop for the Saskatoon Optimists, the present Provincial champions in the 22 years and under league. I was seventeen, in grade eleven at Bedford Road High School and would be writing my final exams in the next few weeks, so I was just thinking it was time to go inside and do some studying if I wanted to get into Grade Twelve next year.

 

Just then Larry Olsson, my best friend (who never had to write final exams) drove up with his new Triumph 350. He had only had it a few weeks, and of course like all teenage boys was always looking for a reason to go somewhere with his new bike. He had had no real accidents, (other than driving into the middle of a rose bush with me on the back) and was a very good and safe rider.

 

“So got that pile of junk running yet”

“What pile of junk?”

“That red, rusty oversized thing you call a motorcycle.”

“Yeah – well this rusty pile of junk can run your shinny little trike right off the road.” I said not believing a word of it.

“Well let’s see if you can follow me, smart guy.”

He was sitting on his machine alternately revving and idling, sort of a vroom vroom sound.

Larry’s bike was almost new and in great shape, mine was old (and weighed so much I couldn’t pick it up if it fell) and was not in good condition at all. However it had more than twice the horsepower and a challenge is a challenge.

 

I got on the old bike, no helmet, no jacket, no leather pants, no boots, in other words dressed pretty much the same a Larry on his bike. So Larry revved the motor and started to move away.

 

I was still jumping on the kick-starter.

 

 I only weighed about a hundred and thirty five pounds and I think the compression of the old bike took about 140 pounds to turn over. So after a few backfires (which almost threw me over the handlebars) I got it sputtering. The Indian would never idle so had to always keep the revs up.

In the meantime Larry had got to the end of the block and returned to see what the problem was.

“Ok Larry, she’s purring now lets go.” I yelled over the noise and through the chocking blue smoke that seemed to emanate from several holes in the exhaust.

He started off north on avenue  ‘G’ with me a few yards behind, I had no idea where we were going but I was going to stick to him like glue until my chance came and of course pass him – that was my plan. He turned left on 17^th street and speeded up to about 40 mph with me 20 feet or so in trail I was thinking probably he was going straight ahead to avenue “P” so I would speed up and pass him if I could in the next block or so. However just as we got to avenue “J” he slowed and turned left proceeding south. We were now doing 45- 50 mph and crossing streets in a blur, 16th, 15th I decided to make my move. I cranked the throttle full and started to overtake Larry.

Boy this is living.

 

My speed was increasing rapidly when suddenly I hit a bit of a pothole and the handle bars were ripped from my hands and the bike went into what I later learned was called a high-speed flutter. I had lost all control, there were cars parked on both sides if we hit them I knew I was dead. In an instant I decided to bale off and role into a ball. I had given this some thought before and had come to the conclusion this maneuver could save my life some day.

I dived off the left side into the middle of the road curling into a ball and began to role head over heals down the road. At first it was painful but I was in the ball and rolling. But with each rotation (and I have no idea how many I made) I became more stunned and loosened my tuck, eventually I lost it all and began to slide and flop end for end. Each time I came around my head would strike the road with a crack – the pain was unbelievable. I sort of remember sliding to a stop; I vaguely remember a pain in my arm that was under me as I slid. I couldn’t move or talk it appeared – I do remember Larry’s dog Peppy licking me.

 

I have a fleeting memory of being in the ambulance.

The next thing I remember is.

“Where do you want us to put this?”

I could hear this very clear. I could not see, but I could hear perfectly.

Some time passed.

“ Oh no, I know this boy, his name is Larry from Bedford Road.”

“Out of my way nurse what do we have here.”?

“ A motorcycle accident – the ambulance men just put him on the floor.”

“ Um, um I guess they were right he is dead.”

“He can’t be dead – he isn’t dead – he can’t be”

“Look here nurse he has no life signs, his skull is smashed – look.”

With those words I guess the so-called doctor squeezed my head. The pain was unbearable and I guess I flinched.

“ He is alive – he is alive.”

The next thing I remember was about 36 hours later in a bed waking from a horrible dream about falling backwards from a ladder onto cement – but not like most dreams when I got to the bottom I did not wake until I hit the cement and experienced the same pain I had from the crash.  This continued for about a month – I was afraid to go to sleep.

This is a continuation of this story - written about five years later.

Many people over the years have asked me about my stay in St. Paul's Hospital, but I have been reluctant to talk about it. It was a time of very conflicting emotions for a young man, and a life event, until now has never been mentioned to anyone.

All went quite well in the hospital. After several days I was transferred out of the main building to a smaller one, it seemed to house several older patients that were no trouble, but near death. There were only two or three nurses, all very young, and they appeared to welcome my arrival to their little world. By this time I was up and around and in pretty good shape, other than one arm and elbow that had the skin and a bit of bone ground off. It had a bit of infection so I was getting hot compresses several times a day to prepare the arm for some sort of operation. Other than the odd headache I was as good as new (I believed) and became the nurses little helper. I would take the temperatures and blood pressure of all the other patients.

It happened that at this time Tim, a friend of mine’s twenty year old brother was a patient in the main building. Although he was a few years older than me, he was a little shorter, a bit overweight, and looked younger than his years.  Tim was awaiting an operation on his brain. I started visiting him at least once or twice a day. This would be his second operation within the past year for the same problem.  He was very worried, he was sure if he had another operation he would die. He begged me to not let them operate.

One beautiful June evening, about ten pm, I went to visit Tim.

“Hi Larry, what are you doing up here at this time of night?”

“It’s still bright daylight out, I don’t think the sun will be setting for another  half hour or so.”

“Oh yeah, it’s hard to tell in this dingy place with all the blinds drawn. I always loved watching the sunset from our front porch, I guess I’ll never see a sunset again.”

“What makes you say that Tim?”

“They just told me I will be getting the operation the day after tomorrow.” Tim said, as his eyes filled with tears.

“Wow, so soon, O yeah, that was what I came up to tell you, They will operating on my arm first thing tomorrow morning. But it’s no big deal, if all goes well they say I can go home within a week.”

“Boy are you lucky Larry,  I wish I could get out of this place.”

“Tell you what Tim, let’s get you into your wheelchair and we can go to the front entrance and watch the sunset.”

“I don’t know Larry, it’s pretty late, what will the nurse say?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just tell her we are going to look at the sunset and I will bring you back.”

So within a few minutes Tim was out of bed and in the wheelchair, although he really didn’t need it, the doctors insisted he use it in the hospital. As we quietly approached the nurses station (excpt for his sqeeky wheel) I noticed she wasn’t at her desk.

“Well Larry I guess we will have to wait for her, to let her know we are leaving.”

“If we wait we will miss the sunset, we will probably be back before she even notices you are gone.” I said, as I pushed Tim down the hall.

We arrived on the main floor and as I tried to get the door open to the raised porch area it dawned on me that it was locked for the evening – after all visiting hours had ended some time ago.

“I’ve an idea Larry, let’s go to the top floor and see if we can find a window looking west.”

“That’s a great idea Tim, lets grab the elevator and have a go.”

We arrived on the top floor and were squeaking along the hallway when Tim noticed a narrow stairway going up toward what looked like a skylight, or small door on the roof.

“I’ll bet if we could get onto the roof it would be a perfect view, what do you think Larry?”

“Sounds good to me, but it’s probably locked, I’ll go up and check it out.”  

As it turned out it was unlocked, and with Tim ahead and me encouraging and shoving, we managed to emerge onto a sight and feeling I have never forgotten my entire life. The air was soft and warm, with a slight breeze, the sky crystal clear above and to the northwest a dark orange glow was reflecting off a line of dark clouds as the light faded into blackness. Two young men, both from this small town, who had seen nothing of the world, lay there on that roof, side by side.

Tim took in a big breath “This is so perfect, we just got the last of the sun’s rays, it is so warm, the breeze is soft, the stars are so close, the lights of the city twinkling as far as the eye can see, I could stay here forever.”

I just nodded, I felt the same as Tim.

Well we didn’t stay forever, however we lay there enveloped by a strange feeling of closeness. Tim told me of his illness, I told him of my accident. He told me of his hopes and dreams. I knew lying there in the dark, looking up at the millions of stars, that tears were flowing down Tim’s cheeks. I told him of my hopes and dreams. We talked and then were quiet for long stretches, and as I realized later, we must have fallen asleep. Eventually it dawned on us that we must go down and get to bed – after all I had an important appointment in the morning. As it turned out we had just started to the elevator when a Nun found us. She was frantic with worry and more than a little angry. It was two-thirty in the morning. But the joy of finding the two of us alive seemed to override the anger and before we knew it we were both in bed.   

I had my operation in the morning and evidently for some reason they had to give me much more anesthetic than normal and I slept virtually all the next day.

So about noon the next day I went up to see how Tim had made out with his operation. He hadn’t arrived back from the operation yet, so I pulled up a chair by his bed to wait. After a little while a nurse I knew a little came over, she looked very sad.

”Larry what are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for Tim, I promised him I would be here when he came back.”

“I’m very sorry Larry, Tim didn’t make it, he isn’t coming back."


THESE ARE TWO PHOTOS OF SASKATOON THAT BELIEVE IT OR NOT ARE TAKEN FROM THE ROOF OF ST. PAULS HOSPITAL. ONE ON A COLD WINTER DAY.