There are those of us that find it difficult to accept help, and nearly impossible to ask for it.
Though some of that can come from an innate sense of independence, in my mind, there's a reason
for it that tends to date back to an earlier time in our life. We're still trying to prove to somebody
that we can do it ourselves. Trying to prove our worth… to a parent, an ex, a teacher, a boss…
and in the end,to ourselves. No matter how many times we can, it's that one time when we can't that haunts us.
It tortures our days. It steals our sleep. If forces the question, and feeds on our fear that those around us may
not want us if we should fail. "Would they like me as much, love me as much, if they knew I wasn't perfect?"

In what seems like another lifetime, I was a professional and competitive dancer. It was not simply my career path.
It was my life's passion; my heart's truest love. I couldn't imagine doing anything else with my life, and had
worked very, very hard to build a career. In December 2001, I bought my first house. A fixer-upper.
I like doing the work to get my home decorated as I like, so the idea of renovating- tearing down,
re-building, pulling out carpet, tiling and so on- was exciting. Many years of hard work were coming
together to form a nice life, and a happy future.

Then, without warning, it all changed. On Thursday June 6, 2002 at 3:50 pm, I was hit by a truck.
I wish I could say that this is a figure of speech, but I mean it in the most literal of senses.
I was on my way to work on my motorcycle, primarily because my car was in the shop.
A man driving a white, half ton pick-up truck was 'not paying attention' as he drove and hit me directly
on my right side. He didn't hit his brakes until I was ejected from the bike, because that was
the first moment he saw me. He was actually accelerating at the time of impact.
Instead of going to the dance studio and preparing for the upcoming show, I was taken to the hospital.
The first memory I have post surgery number one is at about 3am on the 7th.
That is when my mom gave me the news. They had to amputate my right leg. The last three plus years
have been filled with challenges. To date, I still don’t have a prothesis that I can use.
Though I’ve been to a couple of well-respected prosthetists,
and have gone through countless fitting, I have yet have a socket that would allow me to walk. I am now
resigned to going out of state in an attempt to get on my feet. For those of you interested, I’ll chronicle my
experiences over the last three years at a later date.

I want an opportunity to affect some changes in the development of prosthetics and prosthetic sockets.
I've made a couple of contacts already, and have even been offered a chance to be a rep for a
company that makes an amazing knee unit. So what's the problem? I can't do these things
until I can get up and walk. They told me it would be weeks… now it's been years. I don't know
what else to do to bring it all to fruition. I keep pushing, and have always been ahead of the curve
in making things happen; but I am continuously halted by the lack of progress in getting a good socket.
Perhaps with some help, I can make take steps toward a brighter future, and help others on their way as well.

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