To those of you who reached out and wondered what happened to Sunday Morning, I appreciate the nudge and encouragement to get back to it. 

So to start, here’s what happened. 

Green’s, a hot dog joint claiming to be the oldest restaurant in Charlotte, NC, where I was living, was closing. As a hot dog fanatic, I had to try one. On December 29th, 2022, I walked the few blocks there, stood in the long line, ordered my hot dog and chips, only to be disappointed in a pretty ordinary dog. I decided to head to the grocery store on my way back home, taking a different route than usual. 

A few moments later, I heard a loud crash. I knew it was an auto accident, but it didn’t register right away. 70+ year-old Flossie had blown through a red light at full speed in her small black Chevy and broad-sided a gray BMW SUV which was also going full speed. By the time I turned to look, the SUV was rolling toward me and wasn't stopping. Could I have sprinted out of its path? I don’t know. My brain couldn’t make sense of what was going on. Instead, I turned my back to it and found myself up against a metal fence with spikes. 

In a surreal slo-mo eternity, so many thoughts raced through my mind — is my estate plan updated? Yes. Can Campbell and Maddie find it? Yes. Is there anything embarrassing on my iPhone, computer, or in my apartment? Well, not that I know of. I hope this is quick and doesn’t hurt. Geez, I really want to go to that play in New York in February. I want to see Eloise walk and start talking…

I finally felt the metal press me against the fence. It didn’t feel like much. The resistance of the now badly bent fence was enough to push the SUV back onto its roof. I fell to the ground next to the smoking, hissing, bashed-up heap, not knowing I was hurt until I looked down at what was once my ankle — a crushed, mangled, bloody mess of a thing that looked utterly unfixable. 

A sweet and very upset young woman peeked around the side of the SUV and asked if I was ok. I said no. She called 911, took photos of the accident, texted them to me, and offered to be a witness. A hand reached through the fence and grabbed mine. The young man said, “Look at me. I’m not letting go of your hand until the EMTs get here.” I think (I hope) I said thank you. I’m not sure. My son, Campbell, made it to the scene in minutes and started mobilizing family and friends. It was and still is a blur.

The seven “limb salvage” surgeries, two hospital stays, inconsistent and progressively worse diagnosis and prognosis, along with painful, frustrating PT, kept me distracted from Sunday Morning all of last year. 

My leg was saved, but the ankle was too damaged to fix. Now I’m a member of the disability community, handicap placard and all. A miracle device called the ExoSym has given me pretty darned good mobility, though I did have to thank and say goodbye to my pants and shoes and adjust to considerably less fashionable ones. 

Some Sunday Morning reflections from the experience —

But for…

It took countless decisions and actions — the decision to get a hot dog at Green’s, the time I left my place, the time it took to walk there, order, get served, and eat the hot dog. Plus the decisions to stop by the grocery store, take a different route than usual, and walk at the pace I did — to put me at that precise place in time. Flossie had to arrive at that intersection going that speed at that exact time, without seeing the red light. The SUV had to be right in the middle of the intersection going at that specific speed to create the force and trajectory that had it coming to get me. It’s kinda mind-boggling to think about what it took for this to unfold.

When I’m asked what happened to my leg, I say it was a wrong-place, wrong-time freak accident. But was it? Or was it just a moment like any other moment where the result was simply the sum of the collective actions? It’s both, isn’t it? 

But for that hot dog, I wouldn’t have been there. Anything can happen at any time!

The trauma wasn’t the accident. It was the treatment

The Trauma Survivors Network visited me in the hospital and followed up periodically. Can you sleep? Do you dream about the accident? Are you reliving it? After a few calls I told them they were asking the wrong questions — the trauma wasn’t the accident. The trauma was the treatment.

Nightmarish hospital stays, a treatment team I grew to mistrust (turns out for good reason), and just generally a feeling that I was more of a transaction than a patient or human were my reality (A notable exception was the home health care angels). I felt frightened, vulnerable, and helpless. Yes, the system is overburdened and overwhelmed, yet that didn’t fully explain my overall experience in Charlotte.

It wasn’t until I switched my care to OHSU in Portland, Oregon that I could put words to it. From the first conversation to all interactions that followed, I felt a culture of care, humanity, and competence. Not only did I finally feel like I was getting great treatment I could trust from responsive and caring people, they also oozed a sense of purpose, teamwork, and fulfillment. The same rang true of the Hanger Clinic where the ExoSym is made in Gig Harbor, WA. They’re doing the work because they want to.

The people inside a work culture like I experienced in Charlotte are suffering alongside the patients in an unfulfilling environment lacking teamwork, support, and care. They’re doing the work because they have to. They’re no different as individuals than those who work at OHSU. They want to do good work and feel good about it. The culture is working against them. OHSU and the Hanger clinic show it doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m so relieved I found them.

Love heals

The one post I did manage in 2023 said it all. Love and our need for each other is more important to our well-being than anything else. 

Loving and generous family and friends disrupted their lives and traveled across the country to help me. Many others checked in, made me laugh, and sent things that lifted my spirits. College friends I hadn’t been in touch with reached out and shared helpful experience and advice. 

My healing partners — my foot and ankle surgeon and my ExoSym maker are egoless heroes. They got me back on my feet along with my can-do PT team. Each of them has time for me, listen, are kind, compassionate, and endlessly encouraging. 

Even strangers gave healing love, from the kindness of the woman who peeked around the SUV to check on me and the man who took my hand, to other patients I chatted with in waiting rooms who shared their stories, and offered empathy and compassion. 

There’s a spiritual or mystical element to this love that heals  — a “greater-than-me” other-worldly sense. Love itself is a miracle of the spirit, isn’t it? Whether it’s the love of a life partner, a child or family member, or the love among teams or friends who rely on and trust each other, there’s an elevated “something” to it. It doesn’t matter whether you think of it as God or the like, the Universe, or nature.

It’s not what happens to us. It’s what we do with what happens to us

We don’t have control over what happens to us. We do have control over what we do with it. I got good and stuck for a while, giving in to fear, frustration, and a feeling of helplessness. That’s natural — part of the stages of grief — and it wasn’t getting me anywhere or making me very fun to be around.  

I attended an online refresher course in applying design principles to life, and realized that was the way out of my funk. 

I accepted where I was. There was no way I could change my reality. I had to start from where I was at.

I got curious. I explored what other kinds of fixes might be out there. I have three working limbs. What can I do with them?

I asked for help from people far and wide. One would connect me with another, which ultimately led to the move to Portland and my wonderful care team. 

I tried stuff. I experimented with different pathways to mobility, including giving the ExoSym a try, which saved me from countless more surgeries that were likely to be futile.

I reframed and got energized. I finally began to feel like “it’s gonna be ok”. Different, but ok. 

I also gained such respect for the many among us who struggle with mobility and other disabilities. I now know the acceptance, humor, resilience, and hard painful work (and help!) it takes to do the everyday things I used to take for granted.

I’m among the luckiest in the world

As last year unfolded, tragic human suffering from natural disasters to man made wars played out on several stages: The Turkey-Syria Earthquake, the war’s toll in the Ukraine, and the Israel-Hamas war. As traumatic as the accident and initial treatment might have been, my worst moments don’t begin to compare to the loss of life and unimaginable hardship and suffering people in these horrific situations are enduring. 

I’ve long wondered how I was so lucky to be born when and where I was, and be shielded from such things. 

I am grateful.

Thanks to all my loving helpers: Maddie, my daughter, who brought courage, calm, and humor to help me through the worst and longest stretch of surgeries. Jane, who flew out to help, drove with me to Portland and stands ready to help at a moment’s notice. Missy, Karen, Mike and Anne who also flew across the country to help out. Campbell and Bridget, who were on the ground with me in Charlotte, bringing Eloise to make me smile. And all of those who called and texted and Zoomed to help me feel connected and loved. I love you all!