I realized that I haven’t shared the story of HOW I came to need a spinal fusion. Short story: I got hit by a car while riding my motorcycle. Long story, read below.

It was 2003 in Phoenix, and I had been riding my Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6 to and from work for about year. The worst part of my commute was the lack of air conditioning in the hot Arizona sun. That day was just like any other, really. Until it wasn’t.

I was on Chandler Blvd headed toward the Interstate. It was six lanes; three going each way. I did the “motorcycle wave” to a police bike headed the opposite way. It was lovely. Suddenly, a car (a rental Hertz Jaguar, as it turned out) cut across two lanes of traffic cut off the SUV I had just passed and hit me on the side. I went one way, my bike went the other. I specifically remember seeing my bike fly forward diagonally while I rolled along, managed to grab the median, then passed out.

I came to with people standing above me yelling, “I think he’s dead! I think he’s dead!” I remembered thinking, “I’m a CHICK!!” Then “Uh….where is my bike??”

I saw the motorcycle cop I had just passed standing above me. He said, “I knew it was you. As soon as I heard the ‘car vs. motorcycle’ call go out, I knew it was you. You will be ok. Help is coming.” I’m still grateful to that man, whomever he was. He was the first calm voice I heard.

The next thing I knew firefighters were there, literally cutting my clothes off. My jeans, my shirt, even my carbon-fiber mesh ballistic jacket. My shoes were trashed. My gloves were perfectly fine. (Side note: they give you back all the clothes they cut off you. I guess in case you feel like sewing it all back together?)

I was calm until I realized I couldn’t feel my left hand. Panic took over, and I started screaming.

There was brief talk about getting a LifeFlight, but I calmed down enough to talk them out of that (THE BILL!! CAN YOU IMAGINE!). The ambulance took me to Scottsdale Trauma. The last thing the paramedic said to me was “Thank you for wearing your helmet.”

And you know what? He was right. Without my helmet, if I had survived, I wouldn’t have a face. I impacted the ground on the top right part of my head (hard), then there are scrap marks all across the face shield (if I find pictures or the helmet, I’ll post; they’re around here somewhere).

I spent a few days in the hospital. I remember trying to get information to my parents in Montana, and having trouble doing so. I remember throwing up blood. I remember the doctor being annoyed I was throwing up and having the nurse (CNA?) stick an NG tube in me. (Apparently, it was her first time. The tube went into my nose and straight out my mouth the first try. Not. Fun.)

The hardest part was trying to get the healthcare I needed in the months and years afterward. I had injuries, and nobody would see me because of pending ligation against the driver and Hertz (for the record, I got enough to cover the bills and pay off my 2001 Toyota Tacoma…maybe I should have had a better lawyer?).

It sucked. I had out of state insurance, plus the pending legal case. Bills stacked up. And let me tell you, ambulance companies do not care who was at fault. If you rode in it, you’re paying for it. I was making $10/hour.

Let’s skip ahead a few years. We have a family friend who is an orthopedic surgeon, and he agreed to see me. He was the only one. At this point, I was losing feeling in my left leg and was having trouble walking. It hurt. A lot. When I saw him, his eyes got large. “Tarah!” he said, “your spine is slipping off of itself. We need to do a fusion. Soon.” This was in addition to the moderate scoliosis. Not a great combo.

Cool, I thought. How bad can that be? (Read the rest of this blog. Ha.)

I had other less critical injuries. My knee, my shoulder, likely concussion. But I can walk, I can run, and I lived to tell the tale. I actually fixed the bike and rode for a few years afterward until I sold it to pay for a semester of undergrad. I still have my motorcycle endorsement in case they invent motorcycles with quick-inflating protective bubbles.

There you go. My origin story.

Wear your full-face helmet, kids.