Where is aimee copeland from

How would she dress herself without hands? Who would hire her? Would she ever live on her own again? Rolling through the hospital in a motorized wheelchair, she would read the inspirational quotes on the walls at Shepherd and sob. Her fingers were so dainty. Her nails manicured just so. By then, Aimee had become a media sensation. The Copelands were getting calls from every television network in the country. At first they had participated with the media, giving interviews and appearing on camera, but they soon began to feel like a sideshow.

The media glare soon became too much. Aimee started putting on sunglasses and hoodies to hide her identity for trips to the movies and other outings. Meanwhile, she was getting physically stronger, learning to use her wheelchair, working three hours a day with a physical therapist. She was being fitted for prostheses.

But she was also starting to struggle with her body image. There were no full-length mirrors at Shepherd, but one day Aimee got a day pass to visit a friend. She was using the bathroom when she saw her reflection for the first time since the accident. She was horrified at what she saw. I felt like a monster. Then she remembered the doll a nurse had given her in the hospital.

Click above to read more of our Personal Journeys. But for the first time, Aimee and her parents sat down with Gracie Bonds Staples to share the whole saga from the beginning to present day.

It is an inspiring story about the power of faith, the power of community and the power of positive thinking. Suzanne Van Atten Personal Journeys editor personaljourneys ajc. Gracie Bonds Staples has been writing for daily newspapers since , when she graduated from the University of Southern Mississippi. Staples, 58, lives in Johns Creek with her husband of 30 years, Jimmy.

They have two daughters, Jamila, a third-year medical student, and Asha, a broadcast reporter at Fox10 news in Mobile, Ala. Hyosub Shin was born and raised in South Korea. Inspired by the work of National Geographic photographers, he came to the United States to study photography and joined the AJC photo staff in Read more of the AJC's coverage of Aimee Copeland's battle with necrotizing fasciitis: Free-spirited student battles for her life Woman battling infection doesn't recall events Aimee Copeland's father speaks Copeland on amputations: "Let's do this".

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Create a new password We've sent an email with instructions to create a new password. Resend Email Verification. Whoa there! Looks like you're already verified. If you still have trouble signing in, you probably need a new confirmation link email. Thanks for verifying your email address You're now logged in. But the truth is even simpler than that. Aimee had no other choice. She yelled to her friends who were frozen in place.

I need to go to the hospital! I need help! Within minutes, an ambulance arrived and Aimee passed out. The year-old version of Aimee was not much different from the little girl. She was outgoing, smart and competitive. In , Andy got a job as a Wachovia Bank trust officer so the family moved to Snellville.

When she was 9, Aimee started a Bible club for the children in their Snellville neighborhood. By high school, Aimee was pretty sure what she wanted to be: a cheerleader and a film editor. Eight a. She had just three credit hours to complete when the accident happened. She was fine, or so they thought. Her boyfriend threw her over his shoulder and headed out the door to the hospital. Sir, you need to get here right now , he said. Andy and Donna were en route and 20 minutes away from Carrollton when the doctor called again.

He hugged his wife and tried to assure her Aimee was going to be fine. After the surgery, the doctor had sobering news for Andy and Donna. Aimee might not survive the night. Donna went first, accompanied by her sister. And throughout my recovery, it became evident that physical barriers are not the only obstacles these individuals must overcome. People with auditory, visual, cognitive and behavioral impairments also have unique mental health needs. Since the accident, I have relearned how to connect with nature.

I bike, swim, kayak and lay in the grass — just like I used to. Reconnecting with the outdoors has been an essential component to my physical, mental and spiritual recovery. And developing a safe space that promotes healing, while providing accessible outdoor environments, has become my passion and my goal.

To do this, I created the Aimee Copeland Foundation, which raises funds to create opportunities for connecting with the self, the community, and the earth — right here in metro Atlanta. ACF provides a fleet of all terrain wheelchairs for free use by people with disabilities within select Georgia state parks. We put on our swimsuits and started wading in the water.

Soon enough, we stumbled across an old, homemade zip line. All of us went across the zip line once with no problems. But on my second try, I heard a loud snap. The zip line broke, and I was hurled to the sharp rocks below. I got a nasty gash on my left leg and had to go to the hospital, where I was given 22 staples to close the wound. Then one morning, I woke up and discovered my entire left leg looked like it was rotting.

What happened next remains a blur. I was rushed to the hospital, where doctors eventually diagnosed me with necrotizing fasciitis—also known as flesh-eating bacteria—a bacterial infection that was destroying my tissue.

I was airlifted to a hospital in Augusta, and upon arriving, doctors told my parents that my organs were starting to fail. They asked for their permission to amputate my left leg and some of my abdomen to stop the bacteria from spreading to other parts of my body. My parents said that every time I woke up, I would ask them where I was and how I got there. Each time I would react like it was the first time they were telling me. It was traumatizing for all of us. The first thing I solidly remember from the ordeal happened a few days after losing my leg.

My dad sat next to me in the hospital room, gently took my hands into his own and held them up so I could see them. My hands were dark purple and black and looked unrecognizable. Drugs I was taking, called vasopressors, had tightened my blood vessels and raised my blood pressure to keep adequate blood flow to my organs.

But as a consequence, my hands and feet lost blood, and my risk for infection was high. The doctors want to amputate them and your foot today to assure your best possible chance of survival.