That Part Where I Took Off My Clothes and Wept in the Lobby
By now you've no doubt read the full account of my injury as dictated to the ER nurse from the floor of the main entrance (I lacked the strength to pull myself clear of the automatic doors). If for some reason you haven't, the tragedy occurs at the end of Chapter 8, assuming she adhered to my rigid layout requests.
I'm confident everyone in the hospital has read it by now.
The abbreviated version is that some friends and I were swimming late at night in a Las Vegas hotel. I dove, spectacularly, from the edge of the water and flew easily 45 feet in midair, and at least 2. When I finally let gravity win, my angle of approach was perfect, my splash polite, but I had underestimated the distance of the far wall. I am used to swimming in a 50-meter pool, and this was, if I recall correctly, a hot tub. My face and the wall embraced like old friends, or more accurately, like a water balloon filled with blood and cartilage hugging a slab of concrete.
"Oops," was my first clear thought, followed closely by "Uh-oh." And finally, once I had time to weigh the situation fully, "Oh no, the source of my powers!"