Down but not Out

Do you ever Wonder where the Road Leads?

July 1, 2025

It’s 4:00 AM, and I can't help but feel like I’ve been here before. Maybe it was 30 years ago, under different circumstances. Back then, I was desperate, destitute—a woman shattered by life. These days, I might just be physically broken. Progress?

I’ve spent the last couple of months working as an ATV guide—low wages, long hours, and relentless exhaustion. And now, here I am, trying to make sense of it all, staring down a winding path still cloaked in darkness. Where is this road taking me?

The Incident

Right now, I’m muddling through the workers’ compensation maze—a system that seems more interested in red tape than real people. What’s been hardest is the silence. No guidance from HR. No “How are you doing?” No acknowledgment of how this injury upended my life.

It happened like this: I was at the tail-end of a chaotic day, returning e-bikes to their shed and charging batteries. Radio in hand, I headed toward the front office to check on the ATV group out on tour. That’s when I tripped—hard—on a bicycle stand left smack in the middle of the walkway. This stand wasn’t supposed to be there. It was used occasionally for maintenance and had been left where it shouldn’t be. That careless placement? It now dictates the course of my summer… and maybe beyond.

When I hit the pavement, I noticed the radio above my head, reached with my left hand, and called for help. Two calls later, a coworker spotted me and told me not to move. There was blood splattered on my tan safari jacket. Blood from my nose. My mouth. I knew immediately my elbow was shattered.

I asked my coworker to take photos—because decades in the justice system have taught me one thing: document everything. Sure enough, when she sent me the photos, there it was—the rogue bike stand blocking the walkway. And the blood on the pavement.

I've had better days!

Terrible Triad

The doctors called it a terrible triad injury—a name worthy of a Greek tragedy. Fractured forearm bones, dislocated elbow, and major internal hardware. I’m now experimenting with voice-to-text because my dominant hand is out of commission. Last night, I looked down and my hand resembled the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon—swollen beyond recognition. I keep icing and elevating, hoping it’ll shrink back to human form.

As for medical care? A challenge. I was taken to the hospital on a Saturday night and told I'd likely be transferred to the city for emergency surgery. That didn’t happen. I spent the night doped up on morphine, and by Sunday afternoon, they discharged me.

The bureaucratic limbo that followed? Maddening. A visit to the surgeon’s office on Monday, where i sat for hours only to get a brief visit from his assistant. On Wednesday, i played connect the dots between the surgeon’s office and the claims adjuster, finally getting surgery approved for Friday — six days after the incident.

Silver Linings and Sacred Moments

Is there a silver lining here? Too soon to tell. Ironically, I took this job to minimize financial risk. I wanted to stop drawing down retirement funds, to live a little, and to gather new stories to tell. Guiding folks to the rim of Bryce Canyon seemed like a smart, joyful detour. And in many ways, it was. But by trying to protect my finances, I inadvertently increased my risks—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

And yet . . . I don’t want to forget the beautiful moments.

The couple facing stage 4 cancer: They’d rebooked after the husband fell ill. I helped him climb into the driver’s seat of our side-by-side Razor. On the trail, we encountered a bull blocking the path. We made a U-turn to avoid him, and I thought about life’s U-turns—how maybe that bull was a sign. A message to look back, tie up loose ends, make peace. Later, a coyote dashed in front of us. For that one hour, they didn’t think about chemo or goodbyes. That was the gift I gave them.

The crying cop: A man walked in with his two sons, visibly distraught. He was in the midst of a family crisis, asked to leave with the boys, unsure what to do next. I took them out for a ride and told him, “This is your hour. Just be with them.” When we returned, the boys were smiling. He hugged me, and I whispered, “You know, it’s the best cops who cry.”

The schoolteachers: A group in town for a conference, whooped and hollered through the trail like kids on summer break. One woman came back with mud in her teeth—and the grin to match. For that one glorious hour, they were just humans having fun, not teachers carrying the weight of the world.

The Crossroads

So, has the job enriched me? Absolutely. The people I’ve guided have touched me. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been real.

But as an employee in corporate America, it’s reminded me of everything I don’t want. I want a little kindness. A company that says, “Can I bring you a meal? Do you need a ride?” instead of just shoving paperwork at me.

I’m at a crossroads now. Until my arm begins to heal, I’m on pause. I see the surgeon again July 14th. If all goes well, I’ll get a brace and begin the long road to recovery. Until then, my freezer veggies are makeshift ice packs, and my cats are my therapy crew.

An Unexpected Gift

This accident came just as my son was climbing out of his own dark place—leaving behind joblessness and starting fresh in Michigan with a new job, benefits, and stability.

But the bigger gift? I got to see a new side of him. Our roles flipped. Suddenly, I was the one in the ambulance, the hospital bed, the kitchen I couldn’t navigate. And he stepped up. Cooked meals. Got groceries. Took care of me.

He became the caregiver. I became the dependent one. And I’m forever grateful we had that moment together. I hope it helps him understand why I’ve always fought so hard for him—why I believe so deeply in his dreams.

The Path Forward

As for my own dreams, they’re on hold. I remain optimistic about what’s ahead, but not about the slog of day-to-day bureaucracy. Capitalism hasn’t been kind to workers, and I worry that too many of us are left with no power, no voice, and no support when we need it most.

I don’t want to feel like a victim. I don’t want anyone else to, either.

Some days, I feel like there’s not a lot of kindness out there. So we’ve got to be kind to ourselves. We’ve got to give ourselves grace. That’s a note to you—and a reminder to me.

These are just my early-morning musings, the 4:00 AM thoughts of a woman navigating life’s detours. I still believe it’s a grand adventure, even when the road is bumpy and the signs are missing.

Let’s see where it leads.

Take care, friends.