Becky was wounded in a vicious accident, almost 4 months ago. In fact, she hates the term ‘accident' as it implies this may have been her fault. It wasn't. A rocket hit Becky's car on way home from work. She suffered injury to her stomach and thigh, which almost cost her life. She is better now, way better, but the physical pain is still there, as are the gap between what she used to be, and who she is now. She is fighting still. Struggling with staircases, long walks, physiotherapy and bad memories. And with the fear of the unknown which lies ahead - the gnawing suspicion that she may never be well. As strong willed as they come, and just as independent, Becky is not one for sugar coating. Her words, I think, speak for themselves:
"I had several good days - with myself, but also with doctors. Some of them really like me. It is wonderful and unexpected when a plastic surgeon takes my hand, holds it and says - Becky, you are wonderful and you are doing great and don't worry - everything's going to be just fine."
The surgeon's gesture provided Becky with multiple kinds of ammunition to help her fight the good battle. He acknowledged her as a person who has a name and a personality, and he also projected a future for her, one she could live with.
















