The doors Tesla drivers have opened.

The nurse pointed to the monitor, which showed my blood pressure readings, and explained that my numbers were high.

High, but accurate, given the week I was having. I was at the clinic to get a doctor to fill out yet another ICBC injury report, unrelated to last year’s accident.

I got doored last Friday. I was riding my commuter, headed to my banking appointment. I was travelling in a cycling lane at around 20-23km/h when the driver’s side door of a white Tesla swung wide open in front of me.

I had no chance. My front wheels smacked the side of the door, and I was thrown onto the road next to the cycling lane. By chance, there were no cars behind me. I got up immediately to retrieve my bike from the middle of the road and went straight to the first person who approached me to see if I was ok. I was more interested in getting his name and number than anything: he was the essential independent witness. I knew I would need one of those. The driver seemed concerned and apologetic; I also got his information.

The bank where I had my appointment was a five-minute walk away, so I locked my bike at the site of the accident and jogged haltingly to the bank. What better time to make investment decisions than right after hitting one’s head? I believe my decision to proceed with the appointment demonstrates the level of urgency I had in completing my RDSP contribution.

The 90 minutes I’d invested the previous week hadn’t been enough; it took another 90 minutes to move money from one account to another electronically. I likely made it an interesting day for the financial advisor with whom I met. I accompanied my introduction with a mini tale about the accident I’d freshly walked away from. While he was on the phone getting someone else involved in my financial future, I got up from the chair to inspect the mobility of my legs, as they had begun to hurt. He was in proper business attire, and I was wearing short running shorts. There I was in that little office, using the back of the chair for balance while standing on one leg.

After my meeting of feigned prosperity, I returned to my bike and carried it over to MEC. The front wheel was toast, and MEC was the closest bike shop to where I got hit. Of my three bikes, I’m relieved the commuter was the one that got hit. Of the three bikes, my commuter is also, by far, the heaviest. My sucky day was getting suckier by the minute. The day concluded with an infuriating and completely pointless argument with my ex.

As it happened on a Friday, I had the next day off to recuperate. By Sunday, I was well enough to go to work. The most obvious bruise appeared on the side of my right pinky knuckle. The worst of my injuries, a hematoma, was well-concealed by the tattoos on my thigh.

I found a crack in my helmet-it was not the same helmet I’d been wearing when I got hit last year (that one did not crack).

The tenderness in my leg kept me off the bike for six days. So, when the driver proposed settling this privately, I considered it. I learned today that he thinks he can replace the wheel (but not the helmet, as I hadn’t mentioned it to him until now) and call it even. But, I feel like my situation was significantly better before getting doored. In BC, dooring comes with a fine of $368.

I’ve decided not to bother negotiating with the driver. As much as I dread filling out another centimetre-tall stack of forms and potentially spending another year chasing various ICBC agents in a circle, it’s just a sucky part of being an adult.

I have my pen ready.