GONE: A Memoir of Love, Body, and Taking Back My Life: Excerpt

October 27, 2020 | By Women Writers Women Books | Reply More

At age twenty-nine, Linda Olson, M.D. FACR was vacationing with her husband in Germany when their van was hit by a train, shattering their lives as well as her body. “I didn’t marry your arms or your legs. If you can do it, I can do it,” was the first thing her husband said to her in the hospital after she woke up as a triple amputee.

For thirty-five years, Linda and Dave kept the truth of what happened from their family. Now in her courageous new release GONE: A Memoir of Love, Body, and Taking Back My Life (on sale October 27, She Writes Press), Olson shares the inspiring true story about what happens when you really stay by each other through the worst life can hit you with. A heartwarming and captivating read for fans of The Unwinding of the Miracle by Julie Yip-Williams, On My Own Two Feet by Amy Purdy, and Once More We Saw Stars by Jayson Greene.

Linda learned to walk with prostheses, change diapers and insert IVs with one hand. Despite challenges, Linda pursued an illustrious thirty-year career as an award-winning Professor of Radiology at UCSD and raised two children to canoe, backpack, kayak and travel in remote places. Part medical-survivor memoir, part marriage guide and parenting confessional, and part travel blog, Gone asks readers to find not only courage but also laughter in the unexpected adversities we all face.

We are delighted to feature this excerpt of her book.

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“We’ve gotta move,” I screamed at the driver as I shook the back of the seat. “Get off the track, Jack. A train is coming!”

I saw the monster bearing down on us through the left-side windows of a borrowed VW van. The whistle’s crescendo was deafening. We’re going to die. I’m only twenty-nine. I’m not ready to die. In seconds, the men had clambered out of the front passenger-side door. I clawed at the metal sliding-door handle next to me and yanked it back. Nothing happened.

Dave, his brother, and their dad had been riding in the front seat. His mother, sister-in-law, and I were in the middle seat behind them. The sound of my pounding heart blocked all noise except the voice in my head. Dave is out there somewhere.

I grabbed the handle again and jerked hard. Nothing.

The front door. All I had to do was jump forward, slide out, stand up, and run. I can make it!

I catapulted over the front seat, landed awkwardly, and, before I could catch myself, tumbled out the open passenger door onto the tracks. The only thing standing between me and the train was the van, with my mother- and sister-in-law still inside. I scrambled frantically to right myself.

Suddenly, my chest felt tight and I was lifted off the tracks. I opened my eyes. Dave’s face was inches from mine; his strong arms were wrapped around me. He’s going to save me! I could hear again. Dave was gasping for breath. His arms tightened around me, and then he was gone.

In one earth-shaking, deafening instant, the locomotive smashed into the van, pushing me down onto my back across the track. The blue sky above me disappeared as the van folded over me, blocking the color and light as the train hit it. Time morphed. Seconds jumbled and tumbled. Time ran away and disappeared.

I took a deep breath and held it. If I let it out, I might never breathe again. I must hold it . . . hold it . . . hold it. Till death do us part . . .

The train pushed me down the tracks. I felt nothing.

When it stopped, I heard new sounds. Human voices. Indecipherable words. I didn’t care what they were saying. If I could hear them, I was still alive.

The hands of time began to move again. Something was happening. I heard the scraping of metal on metal. The train was backing up. Someone shouted. People grunted and strained to lift the van. The terrible weight pressing down on me lessened. I found myself squinting against the late-afternoon sun.

I took a deep breath and felt a sharp pain in my chest.

Pain is good! Breathing is good. What are they saying?

Then I remembered. I was in Germany. German! They’re speaking German! That’s why I can’t understand them. Maybe I don’t have brain damage. They pulled the van off me. I’m alive! I smiled at the panicked-looking faces hovering over me. They did not reciprocate. Heads turned away. Hands held me down. My mind raced. Am I paralyzed? I was afraid to move. I didn’t want to know. But I smiled. It’s what I always did, and the only thing I could do for these horror-struck strangers. I’m okay, I tried to convey. Don’t worry; I’ll be okay.

No one was speaking English, so I had to work it out on my own: I was conscious, my glasses were still on my face, and I could see clearly. People swirled around me, some with purpose, others plodding mindlessly, as if through movement they could somehow make sense of the scene before them. I didn’t feel part of it either; it was as if I were watching a movie.

The scream of a siren got closer and closer. I looked around, wondering if there were other people on the ground. Who is the ambulance coming for? There were six of us in the van. Where is everyone?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shoe, then, farther away, another. One was Dave’s. Where is Dave? The other was light tan with a rubber sole. It looked an awful lot like the new ones I’d bought for the trip.

An ambulance stopped abruptly very near where I lay against the hot tracks. Its doors flew open, and medical personnel rushed over. They tied tourniquets around my right shoulder and high up on my legs. I heard the whooshing air of a blood pressure cuff as it tightened around my left arm.

I stared at each face. They looked at each other and shook their heads. “My blood pressure is always low,” I said. Why do they look so worried?

I knew from my medical training that if blood pressure got too low, the team responsible for saving my life might start to lose hope and motivation. I smiled and repeated, more slowly and more loudly, “My . . . blood . . . pressure . . . is . . . always . . . low! It’s okay!”

Big men gingerly slipped their arms under me and transferred me to a stretcher. An attendant picked up my still neatly tied shoe and walked toward me. He placed it at the end of my gurney. Conveniently, my foot was still inside it. Some- one else put part of a leg next to it. The knot in my stomach twisted tighter.

I tried to sit up but couldn’t. I pushed again. Nothing happened. Why can’t I raise my arm? The right sleeve of my dark green velour shirt looked fine, not so much as a tear. My right hand, attached to my arm, lay motionless beside me on the gurney. My arm looked perfect as it protruded from the sleeve cuff. It was, however, hanging loose inside, unattached to my body.

I closed my eyes.

Gone: A Memoir of Love, Body, and Taking Back My Life

Linda Olson and her husband, Dave Hodgens, were young doctors whose story had all the makings of a fairy tale. But then, while they were vacationing in Germany, a train hit their van, shattering their lives―and Linda’s body. When Linda saw Dave for the first time after losing her right arm and both of her legs, she told him she would understand if he left. His response: “I didn’t marry your arms or your legs. If you can do it, I can do it.”

In order to protect their loved ones, they decided to hide the truth about what really happened on those train tracks, and they kept their secret for thirty-five years. As a triple amputee, Linda learned to walk with prostheses and change diapers and insert IVs with one hand. She finished her residency while pregnant and living on her own. And she and Dave went on to pursue their dream careers, raise two children, and travel the world.

Inspiring and deeply moving, Gone asks readers to find not only courage but also laughter in the unexpected challenges we all face. The day of the accident, no one envied Linda and Dave. Today, many do.

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