How do we move forward?
My road came to an unexpected halt on November 9, 2010.
That morning, I was bicycling to work when a garbage truck turned across a city bike lane. I was in that bike lane.
I was critically injured in the accident. A team of trauma surgeons saved my life, but they had to amputate my left leg. I had a long road ahead of me, physically and emotionally, yet I was grateful to be alive.
An ending can be a beginning too. I started over.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.
Gradually I learned to walk again. So I began counting steps. Then miles.
Over time, that journey turned a corner. It became less about my own recovery and more about resilience -- the connection we all share.
Ten years later, I still take one step at a time. Yes, there are bumps in the road, but each step means rising to new challenges, adapting to change, and moving forward with hope.
Are you on your own journey?
WALK WITH ME.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Don’t encourage amputees by telling them, “It could be worse.” Amputees will learn on their own that IT COULD BE WORSE, and they’ll use this thought to encourage themselves throughout the day.
I had FUN on my mind. I was heading out the door to meet my friend Elaine at 30th Street Station.
Even when 20 years have passed between us -- even when some of those years weren't kind – our time together is just like it always was!
|(...Except I hope not quite|
Elaine hails from the booming metropolis of Lewiston, Idaho. But last week, she and her family vacationed in New York City. And she dedicated one day of that trip to see ME!
When I spot her at 30th Street Station, she's waving, wielding a huge Elaine smile. Already, the day is a victory for both of us. I've walked from the car to the train platform, almost a half-mile. She's navigated both New Jersey Transit and Septa -- an admirable feat for an Idahoan!
As we're departing the station, Elaine declares the day a GIRLVENTURE, a term she's coined for stepping out of her comfort zone. I'm more than ready to agree!
Like you’re swimming slowly through someone’s head, taking note of their thoughts and dreams – uncommon, artistic, and strange.
Elaine and I spend our last hour together on the edge of Chinatown, sampling summer rolls and grape leaves at Vietnam Palace. (She says these delicacies are scarce in Idaho!)
“Is it safe to drive?” I ask, figuring I’ll take it to my friend (and mechanic) Jim over the weekend.
While they work on the brakes, I pace back and forth, logging another mile on their short stretch of sidewalk.
Unfortunately, that night things screech to yet another halt.
There’s a gas leak on my street. At 9:15, the gas company pounds on my door -- just after I've removed my prosthesis. I hop to my bedroom window. The neighbors outside yell, “Gas leak!!!” (Very helpful to my state of panic.) As fast as possible, I pull on both leg and pants.
It's now 10 p.m., and I am in full blown "fight-or-flight" mode. With the gas company drilling outside, I know I’ll stay up all night worrying. So I fly. To my parents' house.
He raises his eyebrows. "Your worst?" he says.
The next night, I end up in the ER with a bowel obstruction.
|Saturday, 1:30 a.m.|
Duane wheels me into my new home.
But it turns out, the hospital is an excellent place to remind yourself that IT COULD BE WORSE.
|(Sneaky photo by Mark,|
Dr. K and Dr. P keep a close eye on me. The CT Scan shows this obstruction is in a different place than the ones last year.
"But I don't understand," I say. "I've been so careful!"
"You didn't do anything to cause it," they tell me. "And there's nothing you can do to prevent it." On the surface, this sounds reassuring; underneath, it rocks with uncertainty.
When I start to feel better, the nurses disconnect me from the machines so I can take a short walk around the unit -- no easy task with an IV port in my hand and an NG tube dangling from my nostril!
When I'm finally allowed clear liquids, Mark brings me tea from Dunkin' Donuts.
A handful of friends and family drop by. On my last night, I even get a surprise visit from one of my favorite surgeons, Dr. J!
Two years ago, I knew nothing of NG tubes, prostheses, or IV cocktails. And I definitely did not have the hospital ER on speed dial.
My friend Ashley -- who happens to be a nurse -- stops by my room at the end of her shift. She tells me they only give out that ER phone number to "gold card" members. We both laugh.
Special thanks to the staff of 7 West for keeping me comfortable and safe on this leg of my journey!
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Yet it's a part of every mile.
It feels like I'm driving a car with a flat tire. And worse, I worry about damaging my intact, sound side.
No day is perfect. But this week was tougher than most.
He encourages me to take step after step. He tells me there will be BETTER days ahead.
We make it to our friend Alayne's 4th of July party.
I don’t dash out to see them as I used to. But I hear the snaps and booms. They're energizing!
Landon bounces around the kitchen pointing to each person as he counts. He’s figuring out how many of us need water ice.
Before they arrived, I was flat on my parents’ couch, icing down my right leg to control the swelling.
Through no feat of my own, the pain has mysteriously lifted. I am suddenly and inexplicably MORE COMFORTABLE.
I tell Landon my robot leg has superpowers.
He challenges me to a game of Freeze Tag.
And it's good to be moving again...
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
As a little girl, I had a book that showed how colors mix together to create new ones.
I think of all the remarkable people I've met along this journey: veterans, fighters, survivors, and heroes. And I know she was right.
But our colors -- all of them -- make us who we are. They tell our TRUE stories.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
My body was wrecked. So I would be bionic. In my semi-conscious state, it seemed a simple solution.