News from the Tennessee Valley Columnists


Waiting to get back in the saddle again

It’s tough to elicit sympathy with a broken tailbone.

When most folks hear of the injury, they grin like they’re about to tell a joke — with you as the punch line.

Actually, the fracture in my case is speculation, not confirmed by a medical expert.

It’s impossible to wrap a cast around a fractured coccyx, so why bother going to the doctor?

According to several medical Web sites, a physician usually gives the patient pain medicine and sends him home for the long healing process. This is after putting him through the indignity of something that closely resembles a prostate exam.

No thanks. My dignity has suffered enough.

Until the pain subsides, you’re supposed to take it easy, sit on a doughnut pillow and avoid heavy lifting. You should also avoid putting on socks, tying shoes, taking out the garbage, unloading the dishwasher, mowing the lawn or anything else that resembles work.

The most efficient way to break your tailbone is by falling, which I did on a bicycle ride.

Several members of our local riders group have injured themselves much worse than me and gotten back on the bike. One guy broke his arm earlier this year and kept riding the rest of the morning.

Another rider suffered serious injuries and flew to the hospital on a medical helicopter after a dog ran out in front of him while he was going down a mountain near Quail Creek Golf Course. He’s riding again.

My fall occurred during one of our Saturday morning “Biscuit Rides.”

When fellow rider Steve Moore tried to go the right way, I tried to go the wrong way, and we collided out near Danville.

Steve is a big guy, well over 6 feet tall. He didn’t budge. I did.

When the rest of our group rode up a few minutes later, they found me lying in the ditch, fighting nausea.

These “friends,” including a physician, seemed less concerned about my welfare than about missing breakfast. They recommended that I stay in the ditch until they returned.

“We’ll bring you back a biscuit,” one of them offered.

I carefully stood, dusted myself off, got back on the bike and rode 23 more miles because I prefer my biscuits hot.

Scott Morris is managing editor.

Scott Morris Scott Morris
DAILY City Editor

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