My Story

How it Began

Thursday, April 17, 1997 was sunny with a promise of warmth to come as I eased my heavily loaded car out of my driveway and headed south on Interstate 25 from the Denver, Colorado. On this day, I was taking the next step in realizing a dream that had taken root almost 15 years before - that of attending, and showing my art dolls at large doll shows where I could meet other doll artists, many of them famous in their own right, and sell my dolls to collectors and dealers outside of my limited market in Denver. I had attended the New York Toy Fair show a few weeks ago, my first time in New York City, and after selling almost all of the dolls I took, plus being courted by several artist rep's and two prestigious artist groups, I was on a high. This trip to Santa Fe was the next step in building my career as a serious doll artist.

Before long, I had successfully navigated my way through the early rush hour traffic of Denver and was heading south. I expected to be in Santa Fe by 3:00 pm., make a quick stop at my brother and sister-in-law's house and then check into the Sweeney Center two blocks away to set up my booth. First Colorado Springs, then Pueblo then I was in open country. The traffic by this time was light, the road conditions were good. I had my cruise control set at 73 miles an hour, singing along with a John Denver CD as I headed towards the pass. It was sometime around 10:30 am. when it happened.

I do not remember a lot, just a few fuzzy things with blank spaces in between. I remember swerving to miss something, an animal? I don't know. I remember losing control of the car, a bright, white flash of light, hearing my tires squealing and then waking up to the sound of a man's voice asking me if I was all right. Taking stock of my situation as best I could, I discovered that my car was resting on it's passenger side, I could see blood dripping on the broken windshield but I couldn't tell from where it came. Someone rolled the car back onto its wheels as another voice in the distance yelled, "Don't!". Dazed, I unlocked the door and stumbled out. Just as quickly, someone else grabbed me, and pushed me back into the seat with a stern, "Stay put!". To dazed to argue, I complied.

Later in the emergency room of a Pueblo, Colorado hospital, the doctor was amazed to discover the only apparent injury was a 7" gash on the top of my head. Not even a bruise from the seatbelt betrayed the fact that my car had rolled 4 times down an embankment. He stapled the wound closed and declared I was fit to go home as soon as my husband could arrive to retrieve me. Then, leaving me alone in the room, I was left to reflect on my sins as a driver. Three hours slowly ticked by as I drifted in and out of sleep. A headache the size of Pikes Peak pounded through my head, growing worse. Later I was told, a nurse had come in to check me and discovered I was semi-conscious. At this point the doctor decided that maybe he should order a couple of x-rays. Nothing too serious he declared when I returned to my room. You can still go home. Shortly after that, my husband appeared at the door, last minute instructions were given, and we headed home. Next Back