Wilfred Lun

Transcript

I used to think that reinvention was a choice. Three years ago, I collapsed in a hotel lobby in Vancouver. Far from home, far from family, and completely unaware that my life had just split into before and after. I got off the plane feverish, tired, with a pain in my leg, and I told myself that I could push through. Within hours, my leg swelled. It changed color, and then, in the place where I was supposed to be celebrating, my body gave out.

The diagnosis was necrotizing fasciitis, a rare infection that spreads fast. Emergency surgeries followed. My organs began to fail. My family flew to Vancouver to prepare for the worst. And then, in order to save my life, the doctors amputated my left leg above the knee. I was sedated and intubated for a week, and when I woke up, I didn't just woke up weaker. I woke up to a life I did not recognize. I remember looking down at the space where my leg used to be and thinking about all that I had lost in that moment.

My independence, my confidence, and the version of myself I knew how to be. Before this happened, I would have told you that reinvention meant starting over, choosing a new path, becoming someone new. But on that hospital bed, reinvention, it was not inspirational. It was survival. It was asking myself, "Who am I now?" before I even had the strength to sit up. And that was the first thing that reinvention taught me, life does not ask for permission before it changes everything. Recovery became a full-time job.

Rehab, hospitals, surgeries, learning to walk on a prosthetic limb, learning to trust a body that felt unfamiliar. One more physio, one more step, one more attempt, one more morning choosing to try again. But the hardest rebuilding, it wasn't actually the physical. It was the quiet part that no one could see. I had to rebuild my identity. I had to learn that needing help and accepting help did not make me any less capable. Doctors taught me the rehab steps. My family gave me love when I had no strength to give love back.

My colleagues reminded me that I still belonged before I even truly believed it myself. When I was rebuilding from zero, success did not come down to toughness alone. It down to people. It came down to the love, the empathy, and the belonging that made the impossible feel survivable. And that was the second thing that reinvention taught me. Healing may be personal, but none of us should have to carry it alone. Reinvention, it's not always a choice. Life broke open the future I thought I was walking toward.

And when that happened, reinvention started as rebuilding, one step, one decision, one act of love at a time. And if we stay close to one another, none of us will have to rebuild in the dark. So, if you know someone who is rebuilding from a life they did not see coming, stay close. Remove one barrier. Make one thing easier. Remind them that they are still human, still capable, still worth walking beside, because that is what helped me find my way back.

Thank you.

Transcript generated from the recording and lightly cleaned. Some names and wording may differ from the spoken speech.