Still, this is not the way I'd planned to spend the winter. But, since everything is grist for the mill to a writer, I'm focusing on the interesting biopsychosocial and legal aspects of modern medical care instead of feeling sorry for myself because I haven't spent the winter in a warm, sunny place where at least my whiplash and other chronic pain would be treated in the way I think would be most effective—with a deep, neck-to-toe back massage by a wonderful masseuse who lives in Oaxaca.
A minor annoyance is the fact that I discovered inaccuracies in the triage report that was filled out by one of the Urgences-santé paramedics. The first is a small detail: "ped (pedestrian) vs car" sounds like I attacked the car. The second is more important because there's no way that car was travelling at 10 km/h when it hit me. At that rate of speed, I would have had time to see it coming and get out of the way; or the driver would have had time to see me and swerve to avoid hitting me. The third point I must dispute is the statement that there was "no LOC (loss of consciousness)" and that I "walked post event." I could not even have stood up with a clavicle that badly fractured (although Fernanda said that it might have been possible if I was in shock). Even on Dilaudid, I slept reclining in a corner of my futon for six weeks because I could not have gotten up from a horizontal position. In any case, I have no memory of getting up from the pavement on one side of the street, crossing four traffic lanes to the other, and then lying down on the sidewalk to wait for the ambulance.
It's a drag having to deal with people who pull statements like the above out of their asses without thinking about whether they even make sense or not. There's more that I probably shouldn't write here, but the short of it is that I'll have to retain a personal injury lawyer in order to get proper compensation from the SAAQ.
Most of the required paperwork has been submitted to the SAAQ; but this affair is still consuming more time than I would like. Appreciating the expansive view I have from my 19th floor apartment provides a psychological lift. It's hard to get caught up in the unpleasant details of my current life (I loathe bureaucracy, and the SAAQ is like any other) when just beyond my windows there is so much life to choose from. I watch planes taking off and landing at the airport, and look forward to doing some flying of my own. I watch the changing seasons, especially now as we move into spring, and feel regenerated. I'm busy with an editing job that will carry me through to warmer days. (As a bonus, it's a fascinating nonfiction book.) And so, as I sit at my laptop doing work that I enjoy, overlooking the city I love, I remind myself that—fractured clavicle or not—my life could be a whole lot worse.