At some point, I was going to write about biking in Toronto. How I'd gotten over my initial terror and was enjoying it despite the perils. How despite slight mishaps like getting knocked onto the sidewalk by an opening car door and getting hit (lightly) by a taxi, it was a good way to travel.

But then I broke my elbow riding my bike. So I'm typing this one-handed.

I was leaving work and going to meet my friend. The route involved turning left from Queen Street. I sped up to avoid being hit by a car turning left onto Queen from the street I was turning into (bad move, I know). Suddenly, my wheel fell into the groove of a curve in the streetcar track, my bike stopped short, and I catapalted over the handlebars, breaking my fall with my arms. I remember a vague feeling of dread as the pavement rushed closer, then lying by my fallen bike with intense pain in my elbows as a crowd of voices asked, "Are you ok?"

When I could answer I said I was ok, I thought, but please don't pull on my arms. A passing firetruck paused, and a cop who'd seen the whole thing offered to call an ambulance, but I didn't want the bother of waiting hours in the emergency room so I refused. Somebody handed me the remains of my bell, which had been knocked off and shattered, and I walked off to meet my friend.

The bike seemed ok: besides the broken bell, the handlebars had been knocked wonky and the chain was off, but otherwise it appeared undamaged. As I walked, I was conscious of my left arm hurting more than the right. When I arrived at my friend's house, she gave me a bag of frozen corn to rest my elbows on as we chatted. However, it soon became apparent that more than casual damage was done: I couldn't move my left arm without intense, stabbing pain.

My friend insisted on accompanying me to the emergency room. She helped me put on my jacket and boots and we walked to the nearest hospital. After checking in we amused ourselves during the long wait by speculating on other patients' maladies and cracking silly jokes. We arrived just before ten in the evening: it was the small hours of the morning before we were finally called in. A doctor briefly examined the arm and sent me for an x-ray, which involved contorting the arm into various agonizing positions. At 3 o'clock I sent my friend home. At 4 the doctor came back with his verdict.

"I don't see a fracture, but I'll have the x-ray techs take another look at it in the morning. Here's a prescription for the pain." On the pink hopital slip he'd written "No fracture."

So that was it. My arm wasn't broken. I wearily collected my things, retrieved my bike from outside, and trudged home, arriving at nearly 5am.

The next day the hospital called. Because of soft tissue swelling, they couldn't see a fracture, but the swelling was consistent with a radial head fracture of the elbow, apparently a common type of injury incurred when falling on the arm. I was to put it in a sling and come back on Monday (that was a Friday).

In a way, I was relieved. I was certain it was broken, so this verdict made a lot more sense.

I made it through the weekend with my arm in a sling, including working at the store on Saturday, albeit more slowly than normal. On Monday I went to the fracture clinic and had the arm examined by a specialist, who diagnosed a radial head fracture and a torn ligament. The arm has to be in a cast for three weeks, with a brace and physiotherapy after that. The cast was put on, and that was that.

I have to say, I will never take having two arms for granted again. Everything is slower, more difficult, painful, or impossible with one. I'm managing most things, but it's tiring and takes so much longer. I have a new respect for people who live with this all the time.

Also, I have a new respect for streetcar tracks.