by Catherine Hedgecock WRITING FOR HER LIFE Published December 23, 1996 Other Columns by Catherine Hedgecock	Abby Collins-Sears began her journalism career in the fourth grade. Even then, it wasn't easy to break into publishing. She asked all of her teachers at Silver Wing Elementary School in San Diego, California to oversee her planned newspaper. But no one ever seemed to have the time. Determined, she persisted -- and finally the school librarian agreed to back the project. Collins-Sears rounded up half a dozen classmates, and together they published the Silver Wing Journal. Collins-Sears wrote a column as, of course, Dear Abby. It was an auspicious start to a career that has given her identity and a passion for her work. And, last year, it even helped save her life. Collins-Sears, a tall, striking Filipina-American, has a buoyant charm that is both youthful and wise. At age 26, she has nearly a decade of professional journalism experience in California, Oregon, and Washington state. She started early, writing her first stories at age 4. After graduating from Silver Wing Elementary, Collins-Sears worked for her junior high and high school newspapers. Upon graduation, Collins-Sears landed a job at the local paper in Gresham, Oregon, where her family had moved. She earned her bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Oregon in Eugene, and later went to work for the Yakima Herald-Republic in Washington state. There she was the only minority staff member in a city with deep racial divisions. She focused much of her attention on the Yakima Indians who lived on a nearby reservation, producing the paper's first in-depth writing about the tribe.
At 24, she had life by the wings -- but then disaster struck.	In 1993, Collins-Sears moved to California, where her husband, also a newspaper reporter, had landed a job. She began work for one newspaper, then moved to her current job with the Contra Costa Times, a 100,000-circulation paper in the suburbs east of San Francisco. She worked 10- and 12-hour days as a rule, fueled by enthusiasm and ambition. She was 24, had life by the wings, and wasn't about to slow down. But then disaster struck. While out on assignment, Collins-Sears got dizzy. She called in to the office, but was too disoriented to describe where she was. Someone was able to locate her and bring her home. The dizzy spell was passed off as stress, and Collins-Sears was immediately back at work -- and back to long hours. Ten days later, Collins-Sears suffered a massive stroke. Despite a 35 percent chance of survival, she pulled through, only to be struck again when a blood clot lodged in her brain. This time, she was paralyzed. "You can feel your body ebbing away," she said, recalling her first days in the hospital, "and it would be so much easier to give in. But you realize how many people depend on you, in big ways and in small ways, and that's what keeps you going." Surrounded by family and friends, she told them she wanted more than anything to return to work -- to her writing, to her colleagues, and to a normal life. Paralyzed on the right side of her body, she was known as a "zebra" among the scores of doctors and interns who puzzled over her; hers was an inexplicable case. The medical staff had high hopes for her recovery because she was young, but no one could be sure. Confined to a wheelchair, Collins-Sears went from the hospital to a rehabilitation center, where she had intensive physical therapy every day, lifting her limp right hand over and over in the hopes that her body would relearn its old movements. It was excruciating, tedious, frustrating. What kept her going was her desire to return to work.
Her work helped her regain a sense of control that the series of strokes stripped away.	"Work was the ultimate test," she said. "If I could get back to work, I would get my life back. My job was who I was." So, she brought her work to the rehab center. She got a notebook and a pen and carried them in her wheelchair. She interviewed nurses, therapists, and her fellow patients on their lives, work, progress, pain. She regained a sense of control that the series of strokes stripped away. "The biggest help to me in rehab was to return to my role as a journalist," she said. "I didn't plan to write anything. Interviewing people just kept me sane." In occupational therapy sessions, she typed news stories -- each keystroke a torture for her right hand, her thinking processes slow and sometimes jumbled. Nevertheless, she made rapid progress and was sent home after a month. She continued daily physical therapy for five months, and, last January, was ready to return to work. "I was afraid I would forget things or repeat words or make mistakes," she said. "I was afraid my editors would be so worried about me that they wouldn't trust me." Her worst fears never materialized, and within a couple of months they had faded away. The physical effects of the stroke have gone, and the emotional scars are healing. In September, Collins-Sears, an avid traveler, spent three weeks in Turkey. Her brush with death has impacted Collins-Sears' beloved career in unexpected ways. "Before, when I would write a story, I would have so much angst. Now, when I realize what's important, I just relax and let the words flow. My writing has actually gotten better." She is also determined to finish writing about her stroke and its ramifications. What started as a feature for the newspaper is rapidly growing into a book. She has applied for a fellowship in order to complete it. Even though she was taught as a journalist to stay in the background, Collins-Sears believes it is urgent that she come out of the shadows. "I don't want what happened to me to be wasted." Catherine Hedgecock is a freelance writer and editor in Berkeley, California. She has written for USA Today, Knight Ridder newspapers, GNN, and other publications. She has won first place investigative reporting awards from California Newspaper Publishers Association, Gannett newspapers, and Best of the West. Ms. Hedgecock is currently writing a mystery novel. © 1996 Catherine Hedgecock, All Rights Reserved