- There's this hot shrapnel-filled wind
that knocks me to the ground and I can actually feel
the heat of it scorch the clothes on my back.
When I was a kid, before I could even read,
I was obsessed with different cultures.
I would pore through the National Geographics.
I wanted nothing more than to grow up and be a traveler.
At 24, I found myself living in Cairo, Egypt.
I had married a guy who also loved to travel.
He was teaching at a local school while I worked at an NGO.
It took two years to convince my parents to come visit us.
One of the first places we took them was this resort
on the Red Sea called Dahab.
We're walking along the boardwalk,
and all of a sudden what sounds like a firework
goes off behind us.
And we turn around to see what it is,
and it takes a moment to realize
there aren't supposed to be fireworks there.
And we are in danger.
And we take off to run and we get three steps.
And that's when the two real bombs go off behind us.
And it is the sound louder than God.
Time slows down.
I'm hyper aware of everything around me.
There is this hot shrapnel-filled wind
that knocks me to the ground,
and I can actually feel the heat of it
scorch the clothes on my back.
And then I hear nothing.
And I look up.
I can see people screaming, but I can't hear them.
And then suddenly it lifts.
And I actually think, oh my God,
this is just like in the movies.
And then I lift my hand,
and I notice there is a small hole in it that's bleeding.
And I fixate on it.
I look around, and my father isn't getting up.
And my husband isn't getting up.
And it takes a minute to realize
that I'm not able to get up either.
And, in fact, there is a whole pool of blood around me,
and there's no way it all came from that hole in my arm.
Before I know it, an Egyptian man comes, swoops me up,
and carries me to safety.
And that began our journey of recovery.
We're taken by ambulance and truck to Sharm El Sheikh.
Airlifted to Cairo.
Medivac'd to a military hospital in Germany,
and finally medivac'd to Denver, Colorado.
We all survived, but the thing about surviving is
it is just the beginning.
My step-mom had nerve damage from the shrapnel.
My dad had to fight to keep his right foot.
My husband spent four months in the hospital.
And my legs are riddled with shrapnel,
including these two huge wounds that look like something
just took a bite out of 'em.
I was bed-ridden for three weeks,
and then wheeled out of the hospital with nothing
but the carry-on suitcase that I was allowed
to bring on the medivac flight.
The whole world that I had known and loved is lost,
and that is the unexpected cost of this trauma.
And that I had lost my home
and my career, my community, and friends,
and eventually I lost a husband
because it turns out that getting blown up
wreaks havoc on a marriage.
It's been 12 years since the bombing,
and during so much of that time
it cast this shadow over my life.
And it's really just in the last few years
that I've been able to step out from that shadow
and get to be me because of the bombing
and in spite of the bombing.