Final rule with standards on improved head injury protection (49USC30101)

As an English teacher, I have seen many of my students struggle with the literary element of irony. In part, this is because society has manipulated the word for different situations than it was originally intended (a process that some would describe as "ironic"). I can actually accept the idea of calling some piece of art, like a song or a painting, ironic if it presents something so overly serious in order to mock it. That type of performance sarcasm is similar to verbal irony.

But I draw the line at uninformed people referring to incidents in their life as ironic when they are really just the result of bad luck or, worse, stupidity. A person might say that it's ironic to run into an ex on a bad-hair day. Actually, this is just a coincidence. It was bad luck that you happened to see your ex when you weren't looking your best. And quite frankly, it's the fault of your own lack of self-pride if you didn't try to put on a hat, whether you were going to see your ex or not.

So let me use my most recent typical Sunday, when I bumped my head, to illustrate the true meaning of irony. And there is your first example, of verbal irony, the difference between "what the character says and what she suggests or intends." I said my Sunday was typical, but actually, I spent six hours in an emergency room, where I had my first CT scan. And I said I bumped my head, but really I bashed it on the asphalt so hard that when I regained consciousness -- if I ever lost it -- I didn't know where or who I was. I could remember that I had been biking only because my bicycle was on the ground beside me and my helmet was still on my head (completely not by coincidence). But I had no idea where I had biked from or where I was biking to; not even the signs from the nearby interstate provided me with any recognition of my location.

I did realize, though, that I probably should get myself checked out, which meant I needed to find a doctor, which would mean locating my car. At first, I was planning on just biking around in the hopes of finding it, so I focused on fixing my bike. When I fell, the brakes got out of whack, seizing up my front wheel. Luckily (not ironically), the brakes, my bell, and a reflector were the only damaged parts, so I was able to re-align my wheel and ride. Perhaps because of this small moment of mental focus, I realized I was on a bike trail, and if I just followed it in the opposite direction (I could tell which way I was going from what side of the road I was on), I would end up back at my car eventually.

For a couple months now, nearly every Sunday, TJ and I have gone somewhere into the States, so he can run and I can bike where there's more open ground. Some weekends, that took us to some of the border hinterlands. Because TJ was out of town and I would be riding alone, on this Sunday, I chose to ride on a more well-marked and -traveled route, the Bayshore Bikeway. I thought that this established route would be safer than some of the narrow berms and slippery scree I had negotiated on past Sundays. This choice could be considered cosmic irony, which is the difference between "what a character aspires to and what universal forces provide." I had tried to select a route that I thought would be smooth pedaling, but in doing so, the fates put an uneven railroad track in my path.

Seeing the naval ships and ocean as I rode along jogged my memory, and I realized not only where I was but also where my car was. According to my watch, I had only been biking for about 15 minutes, so it didn't take long to get back. I also realized that I was in a pretty suburban area, so there was probably a hospital close enough that I could risk driving. So, when I managed to get back to the car, I tried to find a wireless signal; with no luck, I drove a couple of blocks to McDonald's, whose golden arches I could see from the trail parking lot. The free wi-fi there helped me see that a hospital was only about six blocks away, so I soldiered on to the emergency room.

When I got to the hospital parking lot, I was struck with situational irony, the difference between "what happens and what the character reasonably expected." My insurance card, which I carry in my pocket when I ride in case of a bad spill like this, was nowhere to be found. It either fell out when I fell, or I dropped it when I pulled out my iPod to find a hospital. Either way, this is ironic because my own attempts to safeguard my health with my insurance card, what I had expected, were thwarted by my own actions relating to said card.

Even though I didn't really want to, I called TJ to get our insurance information. When he didn't answer, I called a Foreign Service friend whom I figured had the same plan. She was able to give me everything except my member ID. So I called TJ back and left what I must admit was a very vague message, something along the lines of: Fell off bike, hit head, at ER, need member ID, bye. Indeed, he did call me back with the details I needed, but by then, I was already in the heart of the hospital, where there's no cellphone reception.

This predicament created a comic irony, a situational irony in which "the reader views the circumstances as fair in some way and therefore finds it humorous," that has been replicated in many a sitcom: A character gets his or her comeuppance based on his or her own flaw. My flaw, which of course I do not consider a flaw, is that I don't like to be a burden (This is why I hate making phone calls; surely, the person on the other end is annoyed by my contact). In my attempts to be as unburdensome as possible, I was taught a lesson about accepting other people's support. My message to TJ in search of a simple 10-digit number led to an international incident involving multiple phone calls, the final one of which was from the Tijuana consulate to a small ER near San Diego. Indeed, for one day, I became an American Citizen Services case; my own desire for independence landed me the last place I would want to end up: the weekend duty notes.

This is especially funny because my lack of experience with ERs didn't help me see that the hospital wouldn't need my insurance information until much later, after I recovered, and that the nurses would help me call my husband to get it, as is appropriate in an "emergency." The comedy is also compounded by the presence of dramatic irony, the difference between "what the character thinks to be true and what the reader knows to be true." I thought that my level-headed husband would get a hold of my Foreign Service friend because I thought I told him that she was coming to meet me at the hospital (I finally wised up that I should not drive, especially after the Vicodin). I also thought that my friend, dutifully waiting in the reception area, knew that I was waiting for tests, which could take a couple of hours. Instead, this friend only knew that everyone had been calling one another left and right to find out where I was, a small detail I probably should've left in my message to TJ, while I was just obliviously overhearing the head nurse's stories about her daughter, who is in jail.

Eventually, after my friend spoke up and asked about my whereabouts, she was led to my gurney, where she described -- to my great embarrassment, even greater than giving myself a concussion while riding a bike, without a car anywhere in a 100-feet radius -- what had been going on. With my test results analyzed (no bleeding in the brain, no fracture in my hand) and the sitcom denouement complete, my friend uneventfully drove me home. And to her, my husband, and everyone else who interrupted their weekend to care about my noggin, I say: You are the greatest, no verbal irony intended.