I recently came across the Japanese concept of Wabi-sabi: “Wabi-sabi is the Japanese idea of embracing the imperfect, of celebrating the worn, the cracked, the patinaed, both as a decorative concept and a spiritual one — it’s an acceptance of the toll that life takes on us all.” (Source here). I like it.

For a long time, I saw myself as this completely damaged person. I thought, who would want to be with someone as broken, physically and, to some extent, mentally, as I am?? It is only in the last year or so, that I’ve finally come to appreciate the burnishing I have, and how this makes me beautiful, rather than disfigures me. I used to be very self-conscious about the long, big scars on my back and hips, especially when I was wearing a swim-suit. Now, I almost take pride in my battle-scars – I have certainly earned them. It is funny when someone will describe a scar of theirs they think is super-gnarly. I just nod and silently think, I’ve got you beat on that one.

My partner used the word “patina” very early on in our relationship; and patina is, well, beautiful. He said, before your accident you were just another pretty, smart, athletic climber chick; but having come through your accident the way you have, makes you remarkable. He says he wishes I could see myself the way he and others see me. Self-perception versus truth has always been something I’ve struggled with, and I know many people do too. I am working on getting better at seeing myself in a more objective light.

Old photos post-accident

I made the conscious decision not to document myself right after my accident, because I felt like this was a part of my life I would never want to look back on and recall. I regret this decision because it would have been documentation of just how far I have come. So, I only have a few pictures. I found these two, which was my first excursion out of the hospital (acute in-patient rehab), just for lunch. It is funny how looking back, it is still very fresh how this was a really big fuckin’ deal. It took a lot of OT and PT to prepare myself to even handle leaving the confines of a hospital, and all the worries about having and handling a bowel/bladder accident. But the challenge was also largely emotional and mental, where I had to face my deep worries of anticipated self-consciousness and being in a public place where people could see me in this state. I am thankful to have my dear friend, Jen Sager, be there with me, and my mother.

You can see that I got friends to sign my turtle-suit. Eating with the full cervical neck brace was not easy either. I remember being so happy when that thing came off. It was like, wow, I have a neck!

I wore baggy sweatpants exclusively for many months because, with my paralyzed leg, I could not dress myself with any pants that were in the slightest bit form-fitting. Putting on my first pair of jeans quite a few months afterwards felt like such a triumph.



Smiling in this photo, but crying inside.


Looking noticeably more pissed off with my Mum. She drove me bonkers (and still does) but I still love her.

First Post

(This is a repeat of what is posted under “My Story”, but it gives you some context to my blog).

In October 2010, while sport-climbing at Owens River Gorge near Bishop, CA, I was dropped and fell 140 ft, smashing to the ground. The result was a T-10 incomplete Spinal Cord Injury, shattered pelvis, sacrum, exploded L-vertebrae, a paralyzed left-leg and a lifetime of chronic pain and impaired bowel/bladder function.

Details about my accident can be found here.

Aside from the vertebral fractures and Spinal Cord damage, my L2 vertebra exploded upon impact, my pelvis broke in multiple places and my sacrum was reduced to a collection of pebbles. The process of piecing back together humpty-dumpty was a long, arduous and very painful one.

thoracolumbar LAT

You can see I am fused between T12 and L4, with a cage in place of my L2 verebra. I am also fused between T6-T8.


Two fat 15cm surgical steel rods are holding my pelvis together. Pretty hot, eh.

This accident changed my life completely. My identity as a physically strong climber, skier, tennis player, triathlete, cyclist, all-round athlete and mountain woman was ripped away from me. I had been blessed with athletic and other talents, and was used to many things (especially athletic endeavours) coming easily to me. Being strong, capable and independent had always been important things to me from a very young age; and now, I relied on others to help dress me, feed me, bathe me, help me go to the bathroom, and so forth. Being “weak” and dependent was not a position I was used to being in. Even when I did get out of the hospital, and then acute in-patient rehab, and started to learn to be more self-sufficient, I saw no possibility of future happiness. I saw no future where I could not be active. I thought I would never have a romantic relationship or sex because I thought, who would want to be with someone who couldn’t go running with them? Who would want to be with someone so fuckin’ broken. My outlook seemed to bleak that I was driven to trying to kill myself in January 2011, resulting in my one (and only) experience sitting in the back of a police car and an involuntary psychiatric hold over the weekend.

Somehow, I pulled myself up from rock bottom. I put as much effort into maximizing my physical recovery, or at least, the extent that my irreversible injuries would allow. I engaged in multiple rounds of physical therapy, treating it like a full-time job. I returned to work; but soon after, decided that I wanted something good to come out of what was otherwise a horrible thing. I thought I would not be very mobile again, that I would not be able to derive fulfillment from my recreational and athletic pursuits, so my work had to be all-consuming and my life’s work. Naturally, medicine fit the bill rather nicely, especially given my first-hand experiences in the hospital and with rehabilitation. I quit my job, volunteered in Guatemala (I documented my experiences here), moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts to embark on a pre-medical post-bac program, with my eyes firmly set on becoming a doctor.

Sometime in early 2013, I started to climb again, first on ice (because I thought that since I had not climbed on ice even before my accident, it would be easier, mentally and emotionally, for me to not hold myself to a certain standard), in North Conway, NH, then Ouray, CO; then I decided I needed to just go fling myself against rock to see if I could even climb at all; joining a climbing gym came last :) The last part actually has a lot to do with me taking a long time to overcome the self-consciousness I expected to feel, not being able to climb as well as I did before, and feeling self-conscious about climbing in a totally different manner to able-bodied folks.

As I climbed more and got stronger, I realized that I could still derive and enormous amount of satisfaction from my athletic pursuits, and the opportunity cost of studying to be a doctor – time-wise, financially, and vis-a-vis relationships, was just too high. I completed the post-bac program but then devoted the rest of the Spring and Summer to training for Paraclimbing competitions.

My older blogs capture my thoughts at particular stages of my life, all highly relevant and worth remembering. I started this blog because I felt that I had moved to a new epoch in my life, one where I felt strong, capable and comfortable in my own skin. Of course there is still much self-doubt and uncertainty – my accident didn’t change some things about me – but self-doubt and confidence are not mutually exclusive things. I hope to share my upcoming musings, stories, and adventures with you all.