This month, a car hit me.
I'm grateful I survived.
Pictured above: Me & my children on my daughter’s 13th birthday, celebrating that I’d just used my walker to get out of our apartment for the first time since I got hit by a car earlier this month. In the photo we’re waiting on an Uber to take us to Peter Rabbit 2, which was surprisingly good.
It was the evening of June 2, the hour before total dark. I’d been wrestling with deadlines, cancer-related nausea, and terrible jaw pain linked to dental issues. I felt on the edge of being totally burnt out, but I also felt hopeful. Walks always help me get grounded, and I had just started feeling good enough that I could take one.
I was heading to the Fresh Market across from my apartment to buy my daughter some cups and supplies for making pizza. After she officially completed 6th grade this May, my daughter recorded recipes of her favorite meals in a Beetlejuice notebook and started cooking on her own.
Before I left for my walk, I told her and my son I would be right back. Moments later, I was calling them to tell them I love them no matter what.
I was sitting on the sidewalk, my legs twisted and stuck at odd angles, uncertain whether I was going to die from internal bleeding within moments or face a remaining life of paralysis. Suddenly, all my talk about quality of life and how metastatic cancer was but one thing that could kill me . . . really hit home.
I saw the car that hit me right before impact, but the driver didn’t see me until I bounced onto her hood at the intersection of Peachtree and Bennett at the edge of Atlanta’s Midtown and Buckhead neighborhoods. She’d failed to yield on a left hand turn.
I felt her feeling almost as traumatized as me. In the aftermath of the crash, she was as helpful as anyone could be under the circumstances.
Now, I am back in holding—adding a chapter about this to my long-awaited book, figuring out a new approach to life/work that feels genuinely sustainable, relying on extra help from my children and my friends, looking for the beauty that is being born through this most recent pain, and embracing the notion that maybe—after this—I will no longer need pain to serve as my gateway to wonder.
I was discharged from Grady Memorial Hospital with a broken pelvis and badly injured left leg with stretched and torn muscles/ligaments/tendons. I am looking at about 12 weeks of pain management, physical therapy, and general recovery time.
If you haven’t already purchased a copy of Queen of Wands, please consider doing so! Meanwhile, general financial contributions are genuinely more needed than ever. May whatever you are able to give come back a thousand fold.
Links to contribute using the platform of your choice follow:
GoFundMe (The book writing/cancer treatment fundraiser that I made for myself.)
GoFundMe (A separate campaign started by my friend Jessie following the accident.)