The Mystery Man
In my first conscious moment after the accident, I knew it was bad news. Would I even survive? At age twenty, I hoped to do a whole lot more living before I checked out. I had been living life to the fullest over the weekend in San Diego. Along with my cousins, I took in the sights, shopped, sunbathed on the beach, and visited with my aunt. We weren’t the drinking, carousing kind, but too much of even wholesome fun can get you in trouble. After twenty-four hours with no sleep, I was in no condition to start driving home to Phoenix, Arizona. At the hospital, doctors were surprised that I had made it. My neck was broken in three places. “If she lives, she’ll be paralyzed from the neck down,” one doctor told my parents. I required a complicated procedure to restore my neck to proper position. During a long recovery period, I would have to remain immobile. It would be some time before I could expect to return to normal, if ever. In addition to my grim prognosis, the hospital separated me from family and friends. My parents could come to stay with me only on the weekends. How could I occupy the time? Once I settled into a routine, I began receiving mail. When a large bouquet
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