I was raised on a small farm in Michigan. At age five and a half, I was hit by a car, in a coma for a month and had to relearn how to walk and talk. My left side was partially paralyzed, and my right side was ultimately left with tremors. For the next several years, I had intensive physical, speech and occupational therapy, mostly at school. At a time when mainstreaming was just beginning, I found out how cruel kids can really be…day after day…year after year. Being raised in the country, my best friend became the outdoors.
Unfortunately, during this time, doctors knew little about how to treat a brain injury. There were no Brain Injury Associations and nowhere to go for support and guidance. I felt like my brain injury was overshadowed by MS, Muscular Dystrophy, Cancer, Diabetes, and all the other diseases and illnesses that received media attention and public support.
When I was ten, we moved to the suburbs, and once again, schoolmates laughed, whispered and pointed, when they thought I wasn't aware. It was all too familiar. The way I found acceptance was through smoking, drinking, drugs, sex and running away. At fifteen, I saw a T.V. special, The Body Human, where a doctor in New York performed brain surgery on a patient with similar symptoms as I had. This led me through weeks of desperate pleas with my dad to at least have a chance at going to see this doctor. I even promised to stop the wreckless habits.
For the next year and a half, I saw five neurologists for the recommendation. They all said the same things. “There’s too much risk involved”, “You’re not that bad”, “You’re fine the way you are.” Each time I heard this, I was more and more distraught. My first thought was always, ‘He has no idea what it’s like to live this way every day.’ The loss of hope brought back my destructive habits. Yet, somehow the doctor in New York heard about my case and wanted to see me anyway. I went to the hospital, had a week of tests, then the surgery. It was successful. I never felt more alive.
I was finally able to do the things I remember doing as a young child, like eating and drinking with my right hand, or opening a door with my right hand. I could greet a person with a handshake without it going spastic. At school I got involved in sports and gained a whole new perspective towards life. For the first time, my faith grew stronger, and I knew in my heart that anything was possible.
I entered a junior college with a heavy emphasis on health and physical fitness. After a year and a half the tremors started to slowly come back. I was older and knew what to expect, and the reaction and comments people would have. The tremors weren’t to the extent as they used to be, so I managed to live with it. I transferred to a university, where I overcame feeling inferior to peers. As a sophomore, I found the courage to legally change my first name. Since the accident, it was an annoying speech difficulty that became a stumbling block, especially when meeting new people.
In my heart, I was drawn to psychology as a way to understand my own life better. After the accident, life didn’t make sense anymore. Besides my mother’s death when I was thirteen months old, there were years of miseries. Two brothers were taking advantage of me in the worst way. Relatives and family friends stuck me with a label and tried to make me happy (but never listened to what I wanted or needed). I was forever being compared to a little girl that used to be. I became frustrated with trying to get away from that dark cloud that followed me wherever I went. Because my life and the people in it seemed to revolve around the accident, my safe haven became my mom’s spirit. While everyone was saying, “You can’t”, I’d imagine my mom next to me saying “You can. I believe in you.” Finally, with little support from my family, I earned a Bachelor of Science in Psychology.
Over the years jobs were like my relationships, many came and many went, mostly because I tried to keep my past and pain locked away inside. It was a preoccupation that demanded time and energy. I was so overwhelmed and ashamed of who I was, and I always had an excuse for my speech and why I shook so much. I was afraid to be honest. My biggest fear in life was rejection, so I would often retreat to my safe haven.
I was living in Pennsylvania when I was terminated from the only career position that was fulfilling. I didn’t have faith in anything anymore. A week later I had foot surgery. Afterwards, reality set in and I couldn’t deal with it. The wounds were deep in my soul, and I overdosed on pain medication. I spent three months in the hospital and basically hit rock bottom. It hasn’t been easy to put my life back together, but I do believe it’s only through the grace of God that I am able to share this testimony with others.
Memories of life before my accident are the most precious to me, but the memory of spending my sixth birthday in a wheelchair still motivates me to be as physically active as possible. That motivation led me early on to an interest in bike riding. In 1996, my casual interest took a giant leap.
That summer I got involved with World T.E.A.M. Sports. In August I cycled in my first organized event, The Paralympic Torch Relay. A little voice told me that I was part of something wonderful. I walked away feeling better about myself since the accident. October that same year, I took part in the Outer Banks Challenge of cycling, kayaking and climbing.
A month later, my sister invited me to live with her in Jacksonville, FL until I get back on my feet. I worked in my brother-in-laws accounting office, and my interest in cycling grew stronger. I rode the MS150, and a month later took part in Stone Mountain Accent, four days of camping, climbing and hiking.
In January 1998, I moved to Charlotte, NC, had two knee surgeries from playing Ultimate Frisbee, and met this guy in church named Ben, who was intrigued by some comments I made, and as we dated he loved my adventurous spirit. He wasn’t a cyclist, but once he met me he soon became one. He trained with me a lot when I did Face Of America in 2000. Almost every mile he’d come huffing and puffing, "Don't you want to take a break." He knew I had this crazy idea to cycle across the country to raise awareness of brain injuries. So we trained. Now he can keep up with the best of them.
August 2001 it all came together. The B.I.G. Ride kicked off in Morro Bay, CA. We only had one cell phone, and as you can imagine, there were a few moments of panic. We were in Denver on September 11, and I was so distraught that I didn't want to continue. My husband, Ben, pushed me to go on. He came up with the idea and made big poster board cards for people to sign as we crossed the country. It was amazing to see the response. Most people just cried, others shared stories of friends or loved ones who died or were in New York City or in the Pentagon during the attacks. I think the cards became a way for people to connect with what was happening to our country. As far as I know, one card is hanging in Rear Admiral Quigley's office in the Pentagon and the other at Nino's Restaurant in Manhattan.
By the end of the year, we were working at a group home for boys as house parents. I had training, but Ben had no idea what he was doing. As usual though, he rose to the occasion. He took them fishing once, and the rest fell into place.
The B.I.G. Ride 2003 went much smoother. We got two cell phones, a laptop, and Bellsouth Pioneers became our biggest sponsor. The BellSouth Cycling teams rode with us through the nine-state region. Their were a few mishaps on the 2003 ride. The worst of which was in St. Augustine, Florida when my tire got caught in a separation in the pavement. I went down hard, had road rash, a few bruises and a concussion. It took about five hours before I knew who Ben was, and even longer before I regained all my memory. It took almost a year to come to terms with it.
We adopted a twelve-year-old boy, who can now ride circles around us. We took him on The B.I.G. Ride2005, and made an attempt at home schooling. What a disaster that was. He did not want to sit in the back of the van and do homework in the mornings so he could ride in the afternoons. When he did ride he complained about everything, except when we had a group cycling with us.
Bellsouth Pioneers was our biggest sponsor again, but it really began to seem like every year we do this there seems to be some national crisis. 2001 was 9/11, 2003 we had the forest fires out west, which caused us to alter our route the first couple days, 2005 hurricane Katrina & Rita hit, and we rode through a lot of it. In today’s uncertain world, it will be a miracle if we get through 2007 crisis free.
My road to recovery has been quite a journey. It’s been wonderful to see how The B.I.G. Ride has grown and went from just raising awareness to actually educating children and adults alike. I hope that every journey we take across the country is inspiring to other survivor’s, giving them hope that life can go on in a very meaningful way. I’ll never know what might have happened if…but my faith is strong. I know that with God, anything is possible.
My husband, Ben wrote a poem for me... "Biker Girl"
E-mail Lee Anne at thebigride@thebigride.org
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