First, a big thanks to my fellow Little Rock Mamas for their love and support.
I return to work tomorrow, and can’t wait to see them and the rest of my newsroom family.
As for my rather harrowing adventure — yes, I was found naked. I’ve been giggling like a a teenage boy over all of the media accounts of my nudity when rescuers stumbled across me. London’s Daily Mail account is by far my favorite. It manages to use “naked” four times in the top third of the story.
(Yeah, humor is my favorite coping mechanism.)
I will be writing a story about everything that happened out there. Because, yes — writing also is a form a therapy for me.
Right now, however, I want to thank the many people who worked tirelessly to make sure that I was found.
Tucked under my little shade-tree/bush, I felt so tiny in that vast desert.
I yelled at the helicopter each time it flew over me. I periodically called out for help, just in case any search-and-rescue teams might be nearby.
And then, Sunday, that team of men and women rushed down into the arroyo where I had drifted in and out of consciousness.
I was stunned by the number of people who had been looking for me. And I was even more stunned when I found out that my searchers included not only those in the air and on the ground, but also Arkansas State Police, politicians in Arkansas and Texas, and federal authorities working from both states.
I was not, however, surprised to learn of my newsroom family’s efforts. I knew my friends and bosses would be making calls and hounding anyone they thought might be able to help. So even while lost in the desert, I comforted myself with two facts:
My husband, if he was still alive, wouldn’t quit until I was found.
My newsroom friends would be just as tenacious.
When I refer to those friends, I am including those who used to work at the paper before changing careers, by the way. You can take a journalist out of a newsroom, but …
Anyway, thank you, ALL of you.
I’m on the mend. Recovery is quite a bit slower than I’d like, but I’m trying to be patient. Right now, most of the pain comes from my knee — which may mean yet another doctor’s visit — and from the cactus thorns that remain in my hands and mouth.
(Mouth? Uh. Yeah. I ate a lot of cactus out there. Turns out that even the pulp contains tiny, hairlike needles. Ow.)
I leave you with a photo of my poor, battered, scratched-up legs. (Hubs took this picture in the hospital.)
Yes, they look pretty awful. But those legs served me well. And I have a new appreciation for my body — for both its strengths AND its limits. I would, however, prefer not to put them to the test again anytime soon!