I once hurried to enter a building where people were kept hostage. I slipped and fell on the sidewalk, and my leg was broken in four places - just like that. I can remember trying to get up and then looking in wonder at the bone that was sticking through the flesh, and wondering how my foot managed to get into a wrong 90 degree angle.



A colleague came running to me and said with relief in his voice "Oh! You have only broken your leg!" I thought "Thanks mate! I will deal with you later." What he meant was that he was quite aware of the hostage situation inside the building and that the person was armed. When he heard the crack of my leg breaking and saw me fall, he thought I had been shot, and he was genuinely relieved that I only had a broken leg - and so was I, but only much later. That fall had saved my life.

Even then there was no pain - the pain only started about two hours later when the ambulance people put me on a stretcher. Looking back, I must have had excruciating pain, but my mind was busy phoning a relative to arrange for toiletries, taking care of the little jewellery I wore at the time, and arranging for a spare container that I could use in hospital for my contact lenses. Not quite normal behaviour when you have a broken leg that requires a steel pin and four months on crutches, but at the time it was perfectly normal for me to organise things as quickly as possible, and only then to attend to the pain.

The other irrational thing that happened was when the ambulance arrived. The ambulance attendant literally walked around me and then asked my colleague "When did this happen - today?". My colleague's glib response was "Actually, no, it happened yesterday, but she is in our way now, and that is why we called you."

Of course I refused to be touched by those ambulance people. I insisted on waiting for an ambulance from a private hospital, even when I was told that it would be expensive and take time to arrange this. My reasoning was that I was not losing any blood, I was - astonishingly - not in pain, and I wanted to be treated with such professional skill that I could eventually walk and use my leg normally again. Looking back, this kind of rational thinking did not quite go with the severity of the injury.

I worked on some quality assurance documents while in hospital, bravely assuring everyone that my leg was broken, not my mind. I went home and continued to work, having taken only two days sick leave - I was fine, thank you very much.

At the time I did not realise that our minds and bodies internalise traumatic events and let them come to the surface when we are ready to deal with them. A few weeks later the black dog of depression hit me. And it scared me. I could not get out of bed - I was reasonably mobile even with the leg in plaster, but my mind closed up and I did not have the energy or the will to get up. I am normally happy and cheerful and busy, but at the time it was as if I had left my body and this person with no emotions and a tinny, lifeless voice had taken over. My voice scared me, and I went even deeper into myself.

My colleagues sent me flowers and called me to assure me they appreciated what I was doing. My friends visited me and ensured there was someone with me all the time. My family were not physically with me because of their own circumstances, and I could hear that they had no idea how to deal with a helpless big sister. My son did not know what to do, and just kept cooking meals that I did not eat, and answering the phone and taking messages that I shrank away from. The concern in people's voices and on their faces scared me even more. There was something seriously wrong, and Ms Fix-it could not fix herself.

It took a while for me to get through this. The two things that made a massive difference were the love of those people that cared about me and the realisation that it was OK to be dependent on others.

When you are the mother and breadwinner and manager, it is not easy to suddenly ask someone else to fetch your underwear or wash your hair or scratch your itching toes that you cannot reach. There were also other mundane things like buying groceries and paying bills that suddenly turned into the Mission of The Day. It gave me an entirely different perspective on life and gave me a glimpse into the life of disabled people.

It also humbled me and brought me closer to many people that I normally would not have noticed because I was too busy achieving things that are in fact meaningless, rather than being a person.

There was no logical explanation for that fall. There were no obstacles on the sidewalk. It was a bright sunny day and the sidewalk was dry. My shoes were comfortable and safe. It was early in the morning and I was wide awake. The fall saved my life, because if I had walked into that building, I would probably have walked into a bullet. It also resulted in a very important part of my spiritual journey.

Accidents do not just happen. Like everything else, then are planned parts of our journey here. They are in fact incidents. We can choose to get stuck in the shock and trauma, or we can detach ourselves from the situation and understand why we chose to have the incident.

My leg is fine now, except that in rainy weather I am reminded by my ankle that at times it is part of other people's path to be needed, and if I am too independent, I deny other people the opportunity to fulfil their spiritual journey. And I thank my angels for their assistance on that day - they made me aware that everything happens for a reason and is part of a bigger Plan.