Macy's Suits and Deborah's Way

I used to fly to New York and visit the Bargain Basement at Macy’s, where I’d find beautiful wool suits, sharp shoes, and stylish clothes. My job had me meeting with company VPs, lawyers, division heads, and others I respected in the field of Project Management—even visitors from other countries. Looking professional mattered to me. I worked extensively to be able to answer any and all questions. I was very much a Type A personality.

My standard reply if I didn’t know the answer? I never lied or guessed. I’d say, “Thank you for the question. I’ll get back to you. How soon do you need the information?”

I had a standard way of introducing myself: by my first name only. It helped me stay strong but personable. That’s how I approached every project. I would review all specifications, all regulations. I welcomed input—but I had two requirements:

1. Find a way to keep employees. I never wanted staff cuts.

2. It had to be Deborah’s Way—or there was going to be a problem.

Because as a Project Manager, my goal was to keep workers in business.

My brain function was diminished, but I was still fully intelligent. I was still able to predict whether electrical engineering projects would work or not.

Then Dr. K told me he was moving back to Louisville to head up the Frazier NeuroRehabilitation Center for Brain and Spine. I sobbed. But he told me that if I could get to Louisville, he’d see me every week on Wednesdays.

So I started traveling back and forth to keep working with him.

Eventually, my husband’s job required us to move out of the country. Dr. K actually thought the move would be good for me. He wanted to push me into new environments, to see if my brain would shift. And those shifts were physically painful.

It took 20 years to prove that brain plasticity works.

Without him, I would not be here today.

Years later, at Frazier Rehab in Louisville, Kentucky, I saw a young man in a wheelchair. I would walk past him, and all he could do was cry. I had so much compassion for him—because I had *been* him. I had also cried, unable to grasp my new reality.

His injury was from an accident. Mine was a reaction to a treatment I’d been given.

And that’s where I’ll pause for now… but the train of thought keeps chugging.