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I Wanted to Be in the Best Shape of My Life at 60. Then I Lost My Leg.

By The Artful Woman
  Before my accident, I kept saying the same thing to myself: I want to be in the best shape of my life when I turn 60. I meant it. I was hiking, walking, going to the gym. I was building strength in my body and imagining a future where I kept getting stronger, not weaker. Then the accident happened. I was still 59. I turned 60 in a hospital bed. I lost a leg. I fractured my other leg in multiple places. I broke ribs. I had vertebrae injuries. My body went into heart and kidney failure. Pain became constant, not occasional. Everything I thought I was building… was suddenly gone. And for a long time, I couldn’t understand something: If I was focusing on health, strength, and vitality… how did I end up here? I used to think maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I thought wrong. Maybe I “manifested” the wrong thing. But I’m starting to see something different now. Life isn’t a formula where good thoughts guarantee safe outcomes. Bodies exist in a world where accidents happen, s...
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A Miracle on the Ortega Highway

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By The Artful Woman


One rainy day, I was driving home from the beach, facing a 28-mile journey across the twisting, treacherous Ortega Highway—one of the deadliest roads in California. The rain poured relentlessly, but the highway was eerily empty.

I’m not a fast driver anymore—at least, I’m a recovering one—so I took my time, carefully navigating the wet, winding road. As I ascended the mountain, the road curved sharply. I turned with it, but suddenly, I hit an oil slick.

My car started to hydroplane.

Instinctively, I tried to straighten the wheel, but I overcompensated. In an instant, I lost all control. My car spun—one full 360-degree turn—hurtling toward disaster. To my right, the sheer rock face of the mountain. To my left, a steep, thousand-foot drop into the abyss.

I had no control. No way to stop.

Then—impact.

My car slammed into the only thing between me and death: a cement barrier separating the road from the cliff's edge. When I finally caught my breath, I found myself staring at a roadside memorial—a marker for someone who had lost their life in that exact spot.

I later realized it might have belonged to someone whose story had been told in a documentary, a person who had been shot and killed on the Ortega Highway. I don’t know why, but I’ve always believed that soul was my angel that night. And every time I pass that spot, I whisper a thank-you—to them, and to God.

A white plumbing van had been driving behind me, and it pulled over to check on me. A man stepped out, and even in the middle of my trembling, near-death shock, I couldn’t help but notice—he was stunning. Gorgeous.

Somehow, even in moments like these, life still has a sense of humor.

He asked if I was okay. I managed to nod. And just as quickly as he appeared, he left.

But the miracle remained.

It was just one more of a thousand times I could have died. And one more time that I didn’t.

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