This is how it went down for my loved ones:

My compadre Andy gets a call from an unknown number and it turns out it’s a social worker from the hospital where I was taken (Jackson Memorial Ryder Trauma Center). At the time, I was pursuing my MBA at the University of Miami (UM). The social worker must have checked my wallet at the hospital to identify me and then called UM for my emergency contact, who was Andy. He picks up the phone, and once they make sure they are speaking to Andy, all they tell him is that I had been involved in a terrible motorcycle accident, that I am stable and have been admitted to the Trauma center. Andy asked if it was life threatening, to which the social worker answered: “Yes,  I would suggest you come as fast as possible and start alerting the rest of the family.”

Andy was driving with his wife Astrid, so he asked her to call my parents, who were in Venezuela. She calls my father and the call doesn’t go through. She then calls my mother who does pick up the phone. Astrid tells her “Hey Sonia, we just got a call that Enriquito has been in a bad motorcycle accident, they have him at the hospital. That is all we know; you guys need to come to Miami ASAP.”  My mom happened to be in a grocery store and my dad was outside on the phone waiting for her to finish. My mom drops the groceries, rushes out of the store and hands my dad the phone while trying to mask her face of emotions. My dad thinks there is a robbery going down in the grocery store or something since my mom literally sprinted out. He grabs the phone and Astrid is still on the line; she repeats the same message, assures both of them that that is all they know for the time being and that they need to get on the next flight to Miami.

My dad takes in all the information and asks Astrid: “Are you sure you are telling me everything?” Astrid reassures him that is all the details they received urges them to take the next flight, which wasn’t until the next day. My dad then calls my brother, who was in New York, and tells him about my dire situation, instructs him to get on the next flight to Miami and to fear the worst. Although my dad was secretively hoping for the best, he was starting to prepare himself for the worst news possible. He feared that Astrid would not tell him I had died over the phone, and he sent my brother down to Miami to find what the hell was going on with me. My brother leaves work right away, jumps on a cab, and gets on a three-hour flight to Miami not knowing if, by the time he landed, he would find his only brother alive or not.

My family and me at the hospital, right after my skin graft surgery

In the meantime, Andy makes it to the hospital, storms in – probably breaking many laws – and finds me in lying on a hospital bed. Andy first saw me dressed in a hospital robe, completely knocked out and there was a puddle of blood on the floor beneath my bed. He immediately thinks I am dead. He has a déjà vu moment, as a few years back his best friend died in a motorcycle accident as well and he was also the one who had to inform the parents. Naturally, he starts having a panic attack and the nurses take him out of the room and into the waiting room, which then became invaded by many close, supportive friends. The first news they received was that they had managed to stabilize me and placed me in an induced coma. Dreadful questions were all left unanswered: “is his brain OK,” “will he walk again,” “what is the worst injury,” “will he be OK.”

That is why I will never ride again. I cannot even imagine the uncertainty and grief they had to go through those first few nights when I was kept asleep in a coma. Once I woke up and started walking, every day I improved so it was all joy from there. Still, I can see how it can be very hard to see someone you love in such a terrible state, all because of a thrill of adrenaline. One thing is for me to deal with my own pain and suffering for my actions, another is to inflict pain and suffering on my family and friends. In my opinion, it would be incredibly selfish to ride again; I cannot possibly put them through that whole ordeal again. I never want anybody to see me and think I am dead again. I want people to see the opposite, to see the best version of me.

This doesn’t mean I will now become an anti-motorcycles advocate. I still love motorcycles and miss riding everyday it’s not raining. One of the doctor’s assistant at the hospital told me that the hardest part of going through a motorcycle accident is to never be able ride again (in most cases).

For those reading that currently ride motorcycles, enjoy every second of it: being the king or queen of the road, never being stuck in traffic, kneeling into the curves at speeds cars can only dream of, etc. However, always be aware that all it takes is a little rock on the curve, leaked oil on the road, a deep puddle, a drunk driver, or one that isn’t paying attention and you can wake up in the hospital, or not at all. If you ever wake up disoriented in the hospital like me, then don’t be surprised it happened to you; be strong and remember it’s one of the risks of riding, a risk many never consider  facing.  The adrenaline comes with the fragility. If you do find yourself in that situation, I hope you are able to walk away from it and reach out to me as I would be happy to help you on your way back.

This one is dedicated to my mom, my dad, my brother, Andy, Astrid, Christopher and all those who got to experience that feeling of uncertainty and grief because of my accident.