andseethebandHotTunainconcert.Comingbackfrom
the show, they piled into a VW minibus, and, on a
highway somewhereoutsideRochester,NewYork,the
driver, drunk, rolled the minibus over an embankment.
Carstensen barely survived. She had a serious head
injury,internal bleeding, multipleshattered bones. She
spent months in the hospital. “It was that cartoonish
scene,lyingonmyback,legtiedintheair,”shetoldme.
“Ihadalotoftimetothinkaftertheinitialthreeweeksor
so, when things were really touch and go and I was
coming in and out of consciousness.
“IgotbetterenoughtorealizehowcloseIhadcometo
losingmylife,andIsawverydifferentlywhatmattered
tome.Whatmatteredwereotherpeopleinmylife.Iwas
twenty-one.EverythoughtI’dhadbeforethatwas:What
wasIgoingtodonextinlife?AndhowwouldIbecome
successful or not successful?Would Ifind the perfect
soulmate?Lotsofquestionslikethat,whichIthinkare
typical of twenty-one-year-olds.
“Allofasudden,itwaslikeIwasstoppeddeadinthe
tracks.WhenIlookedatwhatseemedimportanttome,
very different things mattered.”
She didn’t instantly recognize how parallel her new
perspectivewasto theone oldpeoplecommonlyhave.
Butthefourotherpatientsinherwardwereallelderly
women—their legs strung up in the air after hip
fractures—andCarstensenfoundherselfconnectingwith
them.
“Iwaslyingthere,surroundedbyoldpeople,”shesaid.“I
gottoknowthem,seewhatwashappeningtothem.”She