Things I Learned Since the Night My Twin Sister Almost Died 

Two weeks ago, my sister was hit by a truck while riding her bike.

She survived the unfathomable.

Those words still don’t make sense to me. I’m still trying to understand how. In the blur that followed, I moved through shock, survival, and awe — watching both the fragility and brilliance of the human body unfold in real time.

What I witnessed cracked something open in me: the deep knowing that life, love, and the will to heal are sacred forces far beyond our control. 

I wrote this once the dust had begun to settle—when I was finally out of fight or flight and could see what the past days had taught me. Not as a teacher or clinician, but as a sister and human who had been brought to her knees. These are the things I’ve learned in the space between fear and faith, medicine and miracle.

1️⃣ Trauma really boils out the bullsh*t.

You can tell real quick who cares and who doesn’t. Very, very fast.
From the people you thought would be there but are nowhere to be found, to the family, friends, and even past acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in literal years showing up in ways that are amazing and unexpected.

My patients going the extra mile—making food, sending notes of care and encouragement, donating to someone they don’t even know—is wild.
The ways love has shown up for my family are breathtaking.

2️⃣ Trauma loops are scary as f*ck.

Getting stuck in the self that was at the emergency room that night caused me to operate from fight or flight for roughly ten days.
I needed to put eyes on my sister every day just to know she wasn’t dead. I overextended myself to be available for anything she needed—helping her drink water, use the restroom—doing everything in my power to make sure she would be okay.

I was dumbfounded that she was still here and couldn’t quite believe it. I operated from that place for days, with little awareness that it was even happening.
I’m deeply grateful for the therapists and loved ones who encouraged me to exit that space when I could.

3️⃣ The body keeps the score.

A few days after the accident, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.
Dark purple under my eyes. “Four eyes,” as we call it in TCM—the whites visible all around the iris.
It looked like my eyes were bugging out of my head. Pale face, pale lips.

Despite eating, drinking, and trying to care for myself, it was visible: I wasn’t okay.
The Shen is seen through the eyes. I was unspirited. Fear was my baseline.

My brain said, “If she’s okay now, she’ll probably be dead in a few hours… who survives this? I don’t know anyone who survived a crash like this.”

4️⃣ I can’t unsee it.

Drivers too close to bikers.
Bikers without helmets.
Kids on scooters without protective gear.

I clam up every time I come across a pedestrian or cyclist now.
Gear saves lives—period.
Team MIPS helmet for life.

5️⃣ Once you’re out of the trauma loop: pure exhaustion.

Fight or flight is like running uphill on a treadmill for days.
When your nervous system finally drops out of that state—collapse.
I couldn’t work. I had to cancel patients, cancel plans. I couldn’t keep any commitments. I couldn’t do much of anything except lie down.

6️⃣ Reorganization.

When the ground falls out beneath you, life reorders itself.
What doesn’t serve goes.
What matters stays.
No explanation needed.

7️⃣ Watching someone you love almost die changes the way you see everything.

The smell of fall air.
A blue sky.
A droplet of water running down a leaf.
A sunrise.

Literal gold. Life shimmers.

8️⃣ Proximity changes everything.

I always thought I was gifted when it came to death. I’ve called myself a birth and death worker for years—comfortable in those liminal spaces.
But when it’s someone I love, that knowing disappears. I can help others through birth, death, and grief, but when the mirror turns toward me, I can barely function. It’s too close. Too raw.

9️⃣ Modern medicine is miraculous.

It gets a bad rap sometimes, but I watched it save my sister’s life.
I’m not a purist. I don’t believe in only alternative medicine. I am endlessly grateful for the tests, surgeries, medications, and especially the nursing staff—angels in human form.

🔟 The wisdom of the human body is unmatched.

As a clinician, it was fascinating to witness.
I’ve helped patients through surgery, falls, and trauma, but this was by far the most I’ve ever seen a body endure.

Those first five days were wild. The body locked everything down—a therapeutic level of stasis that was lifesaving.

In Chinese medicine, we often view stasis as the enemy; we’re always trying to move Qi and blood. But in this case, with massive bleeding and bruising, stasis was protective. The body preserved what was most vital for survival.
A perfect, intelligent design.

1️⃣1️⃣ Acupuncture in trauma is quietly profound.

Given how injured my sister was, I couldn’t do much—and I felt like I was doing nothing—but I wasn’t.
“Battlefield acupuncture” works incredibly well for pain control in severe trauma. It’s a protocol in the ear, accessible even for broken bodies.

It reminded me why I love this medicine. Acupuncture, herbs, liniments, reiki, tui na—these tools matter. They change lives.
Working alongside Western medicine reaffirmed the power of integration.

Sometimes I forget how miraculous this work is until I zoom out and see it in action.

1️⃣2️⃣ Flashbacks don’t mean you’re back in the trauma.

Even though I’m out of fight or flight, I still have flashbacks.
I can’t un-hear her begging for help in the ER:
“Dee, do you have any needles? Can you press somewhere to reduce my pain? Please help me. Please.”

I can’t unsee her broken body.
I could villainize this part of my healing or try to push it away because it hurts so badly—but this is part of processing trauma with a capital T.

There’s no bypass. The only way through is through.
It’s something I tell my patients all the time. Now I’m living it. And I feel humbled to be here.

1️⃣3️⃣ Guardian angels are real.

I was getting off the ferry when I felt the strong presence of someone who had passed.
They were sitting next to me in the car—every time I looked over, they weren’t there, but I could feel them.

In my frazzled state, I couldn’t connect to the message. At first, I felt defeated, but then I remembered what I already knew deep down: on paper, there was no way my sister should have survived.

And yet—she’s here.
She’s still making jokes.
Still making me laugh.
Still here.

I’m so grateful.
I know they helped save her life.

Healing is rarely linear, and grief doesn’t end when the crisis does. I’m still finding my way back to myself—to softness, to trust, to my own Shen returning to my eyes.

If you’re in the midst of something that has stripped you bare, I hope this reflection reminds you that your body is wise, your spirit resilient, and that love—whether seen or unseen—is always at work.

Thank you for being here and reading something so personal. May it find you where you need it most.

💗 Dee