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You often hear of gunshot wound survivors becoming gun control advocates. And many would expect someone like me, who’s life was drastically changed by it, to be one as well. But due to my upbringing I have a slightly different take on things. This is my story.
In the spring of 1994, Sacramento, Ca. was a cesspool of violence an crime. Carjackings were an everyday occurrence. My fathers worst fears were brought to life the night he got a pounding on the door around 11:30pm and told that his 15 year old daughter had been shot.
I was leaving the movie theater that was just a few blocks away when a man with a gun approached the vehicle I was riding in. I was in the backseat of a 1980 Cutlass Supreme that was fitting for the time. My sister and I were trapped in the backseat.
The man pistol whipped the driver and said, “put the keys in the ignition and get the f*** out”! Disoriented, the driver dropped the keys to the floorboard. The man then shot into the car striking me once in my right side. I was on top of my sister when my whole body went limp.
I can still hear my sisters screams over the ringing in my ears. He yelled for us to get out. She shouted back “she can’t move you shot her”! So he reached in, grabbed me by my arm and flung my 98lbs body to the concrete. My sister jumped out and the gunman speed off in the car.
My sister was frantically trying to find the bullet wound and I just kept telling her my stomach was burning and I couldn’t move my legs. Our friend picked me up and took me back into the theater because the gunman was not alone. There was another car with him.
Once the medics got there our friend ran to my house to tell my father. All I could think about was how much trouble I was going to be in. In the ambulance they asked me a ton of questions and I answered them as best I could. I remember arguing with them that I couldn’t breath.
I got to the emergency room and was assessed and prepped for exploratory surgery. My father finally got to the hospital. He entered the room and with his dry sense of humor he looked at me and said, “you’re grounded”, I responded by flipped him off 
https://abs.twimg.com/emoji/v2/... draggable="false" alt="😊" title="Smiling face with smiling eyes" aria-label="Emoji: Smiling face with smiling eyes">That was our relationship.
When I woke up days later I had staples from my sternum to under my bellybutton, tubes everywhere and was told I’d likely never walk again. I took it all in stride. “Everything happens for a reason” was my mantra. My other injuries were pretty serious but I was stable.
One bullet entered my body on my right side about 3-4 inches below my armpit and exited on the left side of my lower back. I had a 3 broken ribs, a pierced lung, damage to my liver, a kidney, and it clipped the vertebrae at T12 and L1 causing my spinal cord to swell up to T10.
I spent about 3 days in the NSICU and then about 10 days in the trauma nursing unit at UCDMC. I was moved to the rehab floor for another 4 weeks to learn how to live my life from a chair. Looking back, I never once thought about the gun. Only the MAN holding the gun.
My father was a firearms expert. I had been exposed to guns all my life. I learned early on how to properly handle and shoot a variety of firearms. I knew it was just the object chosen to take possession of the vehicle. I was more angry that I didn’t have a gun to protect myself!
I was released from the hospital after 6 wks. I went home to a house full of firearms. Instead of feeling scared of a tool, I felt safe and secure. And once I had a family of my own, all of my children were raised with the respect and responsibility needed to handle these tools.
I feel that my story is one that needs to be heard. People need to understand that even though my life was completely changed by the use of an object, it was the user that was ultimately responsible for my injuries.
