I think skiing is the closest we as human beings can ever get to flying. Eric would argue with me that skydiving is flying, but I consider that simply falling. No, maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps marrying the man you love is the closest you can ever get to really flying.

Our honeymoon continued and as I went down the slope, I saw Eric’s blue ski jacket ahead of me, maneuvering through the moguls with ease. He was a good skier, full of confidence and strength. I considered myself equally as strong, and suddenly found myself determined to catch up with him. However, I knew since he was ahead of me, the only way to intersect was to cut across an adjoining run and meet him at the bottom.

I steered left, and suddenly found myself off the run and maneuvering through an open grotto of bushes and scattered trees. If the ski patrol saw me, I knew I’d be in trouble, but there was something so thrilling about skiing where you weren’t supposed to--- skiing on raw snow.

I pushed faster, dashing across the small moguls and swerving through trees. Thoughts of Sonny Bono and Michael Kennedy filled my brain, but I was doing just fine. The skiing was rough, obviously off limits for that very reason, but I continued pushing harder and harder.

Through a gathering of trees, I was suddenly able to see the adjacent run and Eric in the distance. I was closing in on him. As I jumped off various moguls, I began moving back towards the adjacent run. My skis pummeled a small bush.

“Eric!” I yelled. He glanced over when suddenly I felt my ski snag on another bush as I lost my balance. I could feel my weight shift onto one leg.

“DREW!” Screamed Eric.

As I looked up, I could see a massive cluster of snow covered rocks tree straight in front of me, filling my sight line and ski goggles with their camouflaged and giant size. Within a hundredth of a second, I was enveloped by them--- my body slamming into their wall of granite. Images of myself as a little boy, pictures of my mother and father arguing, photos of my mother’s funeral, memories of Eric and I meeting, video footage of Eric and I moving in together--- filled my consciousness and then turned black.

As I slowly woke up from my dream, I could feel the cement encasing my legs. I looked up, seeing the figures of passing men and women in white. Is this heaven? But then I heard electronic beeping, and I realized I was in an intensive care unit, hooked up to a variety of machines. I glanced down at my legs and wiggled my toes. But nothing happened. I took a deep breath and tried to move them but again they remained still.

I began to panic; trying harder and harder to move them but they still wouldn’t budge. My breathing increased. I reached my arm over to a plastic hospital bed control panel and jammed my thumb to the button with the little nurse symbol printed across it. I tried moving my legs but they wouldn’t budge. I was now hyperventilating as a male nurse barged into the room, checking my vitals.

“I can’t…move.”

The nurse motioned me to relax.

I screamed, beginning to cry as I realized what had happened to me.

He tried calming me down but I wouldn’t, until suddenly I saw the sleepy face of my husband enter the small room. He looked exhausted, but he took my hands and kissed my cheeks. “Breathe, Drew. You’re going to be all right.”

“I can’t move my legs!”