We all have a story this is mine. I was busy with a corporate career and making plans for a well heeled lifestyle; then Life Happened...
My Life in Transition ~ CREATING ME AND A LIFE THAT FITS!
I'm learning to THRIVE after falling off my High Heeled Life as a pedestrian struck by a car, while crossing the street. My adventure into blogging started in 2010 as part of my speech therapy, to help rebuild my focusing; writing; communication and processing skills.
What I'm learning along the way is: I'm no longer the person I was before my accident and my life no longer fits.
High Heeled Life, originally titled Falling off a High Heeled Life ~ described exactly how I felt post-accident. Blogging not only helped me with speech therapy it became an outlet to share my journey. The person I see in the mirror no longer resembles me. The life I now live is quite different from the lifestyle I had prior to October 28, 2006.
In sharing my story and journey of trying to pick up the pieces of my life, I started connecting with women all over the world, who were either facing (had faced) life altering situations or had a loved one who was. Though the "event" which changed our life as we had once to known may be different, the one consistent denominator ~ we now all face is a "Life in Transition".
I'm often asked "What is your secret to maintaining a positive out-look on life, despite all that you have gone through and lost? What keeps you going?" This made me think, is there a secret? My days are filled with therapies to keep my body, mind and spirit moving instead of corporate meetings; and I now live in a sleepy countryside instead of an always awaken city.
Well, I don't have a secret. What I have come to realize is a High Heeled Life is not measured by one's situation, income or geographic location. Therefore I can still live a High Heeled Life - It's just going to look a little different (ok some days it looks a whole lot different).
A High Heeled Life is not about excess, it's about being selective and realizing excess does not increase our quality of life. Our quality of life comes from achieving balance and peace within our self (mind, body and spirit). Once we have peace and balance we are able to create and live the life we choose.
I look forward to sharing with readers of High Heeled Life, my journey into discovering the benefits of tea as part of my daily routine; building a wardrobe that fits my new "smart casual" dressing style; ballet flats, wedge shoes, riding boots and wellies can be as fashionable as high heels; country living has its luster; therapeutic value of gardening and handwriting letters; healthy eating and fitness; and many other discoveries about Life in Transition. I hope to inspire you ~no matter the reason you may find your own life in transition ~ to create a YOU and Life that fit!
Thank you for visiting my little corner of Blogland and reading High Heeled Life. Here's to creating and living a High Heeled Life!
Founder & Editor of High Heeled Life
For those who may be new to High Heeled Life, I have included the detour which has taken my life into a "Life in Transition".
In God's Hands~at the sceneSunday, October 29, 2006 Change of plans
On Saturday evening, Wanda and I and our roommate went to a friend's birthday party near Eglinton Avenue and Brentcliffe Road.
Approaching the apartment lobby, we heard the crunch and tinkling glass of a car accident on the street. Curiosity got the better of Daniel, the cake-bearer, and he headed toward the street for a look. I followed him, reasoning that it would pass the time until our host answered the buzzer.
I saw a woman sprawled in the middle of the street -- clearly one party to the thud and tinkling I had just heard. I abandoned the broccoli dish on the low brick wall and jogged out into traffic, fumbling for my phone and dialing 911. "I need an ambulance at Eglinton and Brentcliffe, a pedestrian has been struck by traffic." I looked at prone body on the wet pavement, hoping to see some sign of life. Two other gents were bent over her, one at her head and one at her feet. I saw them both bend down and I was on the verge of hollering "Don't move her!" as they abandoned the effort.
"Male or female?" "A woman, middle-aged"
"Middle-aged? What does that mean, middle-aged?"
"Thirty to thirty-five, I guess". Do they need census information before they dispatch EMS? She was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, stylishly dressed; I didn't recognize her. The woman's eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead into the murky night sky, but I didn't see any chest movement indicating breathing. I thought she was gone.
"Is she conscious?"
"I don't know, standby." I waved a hand over the woman's face and shouted to be heard over the traffic. "Miss, are you all right? Can you hear me?" No response.
"I think she's unconscious..." "You think? You don't know?"
"Her eyes are open but she is not responding to visual or audible stimuli," I said, "She is probably in shock." Just then I saw her chest rise and fall, and her mouth twitched. I paused for a millisecond and there it was again. "She is breathing." Some of the onlookers started covering her in blankets and jackets to ward off the cold night air.
"Does she have any injuries?"
There was a small trickle of blood from the woman's mouth. No other external bleeding that I could see. Her jeans were torn at the right hip and the skin had been punctured / lacerated, but it was not bleeding. I informed the operator of the visible trauma.
"How far was she thrown?"
"Fifteen to twenty feet at least," I said, looking at a now completely detached driver-side mirror and estimating the distance to where the woman now lay. "I'm not sure if the car is still at the scene," I said to the operator, "it sounds like he may have left." The two cars bracketing the woman both had intact driver- and passenger-side mirrors.
"My God, I know her!" I looked up. My roommate Rogner was standing beside me. "It's Celia." I looked down again, but still didn't recognize her. I had met Celia once before at Rogner's birthday party several months earlier, but the catatonic woman on the pavement hardly resembled the lively, vivacious Celia. She was not, fortunately, the birthday girl -- but she was definitely supposed to be one of the attendees.
A white-haired policeman consented to Rogner riding along with Celia to the hospital. He and Rogner walked out to the newly-arrived ambulance as the EMS technicians embarked their patient.
Eventually the white-haired police officer returned and gave us the lowdown on Celia's extensive injuries. He told us what trauma center she was headed for. Celia had a lot of broken bones and some serious internal injuries, but the medical professionals didn't seem too pessimistic.
The seriousness of the situation did not really sink in until several hours after the accident when Rogner returned. Peering out the window after dinner, it was apparent that Toronto Police lingered long after EMS and TFS had departed. A big slab-sided forensics truck had joined the cruisers, and witnesses' cars had not budged an inch. In fact Eglinton Avenue East between Leslie and Brentcliffe was closed in both directions.
I saw a couple of policemen scanning the north side of Eglinton with their flashlights, and I let them know we had found Celia's Blackberry.
"It's standard procedure in fata-- ah, life-threatening accidents," replied the officer.
So there you have it. I don't know if Celia made it. But if you can spare a couple of minutes, a prayer or two probably wouldn't hurt.
Posted by Chris Taylor at 03:33 AM
UPDATE 010139Z NOV 2006: I misunderstood earlier information, Celia has undergone microsurgeries only. They cannot operate (not anything requiring general anesthetic) on her major injuries yet because she is not breathing on her own. Hence the medical professionals look skeptically upon her odds of survival.
Posted by Chris Taylor at 10:20 AM in City of Toronto
In a blink of an eye, I went from a completely independent, physically fit, career- driven, fashionista, adventurous, social person to someone who was completely dependent on others, pajama wearing, with-drawn home body.