A Grievous Wounding

I fell off my bike yesterday after I drove into a hole whose extent I failed to fully appreciate from afar. The left side of my body paid the bloody price. The current injury count is as follows.
Bruises: 6
Minor Scrapes/Abrasions: 9
Gashes: 1
Body areas affected: shin, knee, thigh, hip, side, shoulder, back, armpit, elbow, forearm, wrist, hand.
Broken Bones: 0

I continue to find more bruises as the day wears on. One of them has come up beneath an abrasion, and I won't be surprised if all of the abrasions eventually reveal bruises. The gash is one of the more interesting injuries, and I'll be very thankful if it manages to heal and not get infected. It looked like it could've used a stitch or two, and certainly like medical attention was warranted, but I didn't do either of those things. Josh put on some wound closure strips, which are holding beautifully (kudos to my BOY!), so I hope that my body will know what to do from here. Please, white blood cells and clotting agents, help.

I managed to hold on for long enough after steering into the hole so that the fall was moderately controlled. By "controlled," I mean that I kept my head out of harm's way and didn't fall into the road or collide with nearby stationary objects.

After the fall, I decided to get right back on my bike so as to have a chance of getting home before adrenaline wore off and pain set in, but I was so stunned from the fall that I rode for several feet with the front wheel turned 180 degrees around from the way it should have been. I only noticed that something was wrong when I looked down at the handlebars and saw that the bar ends were pointing toward me and that I couldn't reach the brakes comfortably.

My bike seems to have emerged mostly unscathed. Because I fell on the left side, the chain and gears weren't affected. I had to clean a few leaves out of the wheels and chain, but that was nothing.

Josh proved his love for me by putting his engineering skills to use so that I could extricate myself from my shirt without dragging it over my wounded skin, cheerleading as I eased my wounds under the shower spray, irrigating stubborn filth out of my elbow, listening to some whining and worrying about gangrene, and dressing all of my wounds. The scar on my elbow will remain a testament to his careful and hygienic application of wound closure strips.