My road came to an unexpected halt on November 9, 2010.

I was bicycling to work when a garbage truck drove into a Philadelphia bike lane. I was in that bike lane.

A team of trauma surgeons saved my life, but they had to amputate my left leg above the knee. The accident changed my body and health forever.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

These words started me on the journey to walk again. Over time, they became a way of life.

I am a person of ability and disability. I travel in the space between. These are my postcards.

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Closing Time

Mile Marker 8144: 

I am crying over a rock gym.

I know it's just a beat-up old building with high ceilings and faded rock holds.  But I can't help it.  

I'm just not ready to say goodbye.  

Sunday, December 22, 2019

The Hygge Cure

Mile Marker 7975:

Some people make a packing list.  I make an anxiety list.

Last spring, when Natalie and I bought our airline tickets, Copenhagen in November seemed like a fantastic idea.  It was the land of Christmas markets, castles, and this mysterious thing called hygge.

The problem is... November.  

Tuesday, October 1, 2019

What's your story?

Mile Marker 7816:

Stay calm, breathe; you're in good hands, competent hands; these hands can save your life; they've saved others' lives, applied bandages, hooked up IV lines, removed pain; relax, that one drip will bring relief; inhale the tingling that feels like fireflies in your head; lie back on the clean, sterile sheet, newly spread across the gurney just for you; stay calm, breathe; relief is just moments away; brace yourself for the long haul; inhale past the tube in your nose and throat, scratchy and hard-to-swallow; embrace the heartbeat of the hospital; bandages on and off; new IVs every three days; nurses in and out, 7 to 7, like sunrise and sunset; stay calm, breathe; lie back against the raised head of your bed; press a button, help will come; the days will start and end and start again; time will crawl by; keep your eyes on the second hand of the clock, the one that hangs on the blue wall across from your bed (a blue darker and more muddled than the sea or sky); count the minutes, the hours till morning; watch the tiny DVD screen; stare out your doorway into the dim light of the corridor; close your eyes; stay calm, breathe.

Whew.  

Sunday, September 1, 2019

Inside Out

Mile Marker 7650:

I'm on one foot, balancing my hip along the edge of a boulder.

My backpack is sprawled on the rock next to me, its insides spewing out everywhere:  harness, climbing leg, shoes, socks, towels, liner, alcohol spray, and more.  It's all I can do to keep from dropping my Allen wrench into the ravine 100 feet below.  

Saturday, August 3, 2019

Small Town Steps

Mile Marker 7610:

"Do you want some candy?"

Um, no? 

Never take candy from strangers.  Even in a small town.  

Sunday, July 21, 2019

Book Club, the Universe, and Everything...

Mile Marker 7584:

What do space travel and book club have in common?

Well today, snacks.  

Tuesday, July 16, 2019

One-Way Ticket


Mile Marker 7566:

I have a new philosophy:

It's better to go than not to go.

I'm sure there's a famous quote that could express it in a catchier way, but I don't want to take the time to search for it.  

Monday, July 8, 2019

New Leg!

Mile Marker 7545:

Tim places her in my arms.

A brand new knee.  Fresh out of the box.  Pylon still long.  Microprocessor not yet programmed.

Smooth finish.  Titanium shine.  Sporty and sleek with a racing stripe down the side.

She's not quite what I had pictured, and yet, I love her instantly!