In November 2021, a few of my friends, my son Adithya, and I decided on indoor rock climbing. This was supposed to be simple and easy. We booked it for an hour. The facility had multiple walls, almost 40 feet tall. We were trained to harness and climb. We would climb up the wall using core strength. Then, jumped from the top using the harness and the pulley mechanism. The landing is always smooth and effortless. All of us did this multiple times on various walls with varied difficulty levels. We were tired and about to go home.
The fall & the Pain:
Looks like I needed it more, and then in that sudden moment, I decided to try one of the most difficult walls using a belayer who was my friend. Everything was fine till the climb, however, when I decided to jump from the top, assuming the harness and the belayer would keep me safe, here I go .. I fell from forty feet and landed badly on my lower back.
In a blink, my body became a map of fractures: more than 40 broken bones, collapsed lungs, ribs, and vertebrae, a shattered pelvis, a torn‑up femur and ankle, internal bleeding—a long list. In the trauma care at OSU Wexner, machines spoke in beeps and numbers while surgeons tried to name and find out what was broken. The words were heavy: Code blue, hemorrhagic shock, respiratory failure, a high risk of life‑threatening deterioration. The prediction was practical and painful—months, maybe years of rehab; a wheelchair; help for even simple movements.
I heard them. I trusted them to put me back together. But I also chose not to let those words be the whole of my future. I decided my mind would have a say. I had to fight this out and I had a long bucket list to be fulfilled.
The pain was overwhelming. There were days I wished I had never survived the fall. My subconscious mind wanted me to get back on my feet sooner, too. My family & friends became my steady ground—sometimes silent, laughing, crying with me, holding hope when mine ran thin. Friends were a call away. Neighbors showed up the way only neighbors can. And the surgeons and nurses at OSU Wexner put skill and kindness behind every step.
People love to say, “Be positive,” but the truth is messier. The body falters. The mind argues. The simple task of getting up from bed on my own felt like an impossible thing. I had to be taught to get up from the bed, get inside the car, shower etc. Some days my body said no; on those days, strength meant resting, then trying again. Other days, I could feel the old me knocking. Let’s see what’s possible. And slowly the wheelchair gave way to a walker, the walker to crutches, crutches to slow steps.
The Recovery:
It’s so true to say, “whatever happens, happens for good”. The effort that I took to learn swimming to scuba dive, helped me with recovery. I would go to the pool in a wheelchair with my husband Jay’s help. I would get into the water and swim, which helped to strengthen my bones. The weight lift training in the rehab center helped me gain my mental and physical strength back. My brain wanted to get up and go, but my body was too week even to move. All the efforts, the push, the impatience eventually helped.
6 months after the fall, I rode a bike again; it was a milestone achievement for me. Being capable of walking up stairs without a handrail was an achievement. Walking a loop around the neighborhood was an achievement. Going on a gentle trail with friends was an achievement. My scars stayed, but the story began to change—from broken to rebuilding, from being carried to carrying myself.
I didn’t chase a big summit to prove anything; I focused on the quiet wins that add up. I moved the way I’d learned to heal. I took one measured step and one steady breath. One day at a time. I listened to my body and trusted the people beside me. Progress was slow but honest—and it was mine.
What I learned:
I learned something simple and fierce: real strength comes from within. We each carry a key that can either be fixed or destroyed. We choose which door to open—fear or courage, despair or effort, hurry or patience. When you pick the right door, the work still hurts, but the way clears. That’s when small things start to feel like miracles. It’s the discipline that helps reach the goal.
I was told that I wouldn’t be capable to sit myself for about a year until the spine healed. But a year later, I was a able to ride a bike for over 30 miles. I also hiked the Salkantay trail. I walked continuously for 7 days. 14 months after the fall, I managed to hike Machu Picchu midst a political turmoil. I summitted Mount Kilimanjaro 4 years later.
It’s all in the mind—and in the hands that lifted me until mine were strong enough again.
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