Thirty-eight years ago, I climbed 768 steps to the top of the tallest church in the
world, Ulm Minster. The view was exhilarating.

Twenty-four hours later, I awoke within the stark white walls of an intensive care unit in
Salzburg, Austria. Both my legs and my right arm were gone.
It is trite to say, but things would never be the same. Or would they? Are we defined by
our legs and our arms?

I was certainly obsessed with the missing parts and all the empty space on my hospital
bed for the first few days. I was so tiny that I felt like an egg, a feeling I had for many months.
But perhaps the sheer magnitude of the problem also allowed me to ACCEPT the life-changing
event quickly. Even though my grandmother thought that if she prayed hard enough, my legs
would grow back, I knew better. It was going to take all the energy I had to get up and get
going. There was not an ounce to waste on waiting, or hoping, or pretending. Sticking my head
in the sand would do nothing but suffocate me and those around me.

It’s possible I peeked under the sheets a few times just to make sure I wasn’t sprouting
new extremities, but my impatient nature got the best of me as I told myself to get my butt in
gear and get used to the new me. ADAPT became my middle name as I focused on my five
fingers, my one wrist, one elbow and intact shoulder. They all worked perfectly and did
whatever I asked them to do, even when lying flat on my back in the hospital bed.

So, I created a new game called INNOVATE. What can I do with this one wonderful arm?
“Bring it on,” I said to whomever would listen. The “games” those first three weeks were my
everyday Activities of Daily Living, ADL’s.

— Rip open the milk carton
— Unscrew the top off the toothpaste and squeeze it onto a toothbrush before it tips
over smearing the tabletop.
— Stab my food with a fork, scoop up the cereal and steer the spoon into my mouth
without dripping milk down my boobs.
— Tear the toilet paper off the roll with a nice straight edge and not a long dragging tail.
— Go to the bathroom without tipping over the bedside commode.

Each success gave me the courage to tackle another challenge. Each failure
grappled with until it too was conquered. Each game had to be won so I could regain my
independence and self-esteem.

Thirty-eight years later, I’m still playing the INNOVATE game. Why don’t you come along
and play it with me?