It was a rare beautiful afternoon in Seattle in the spring of 2002, and I was throwing a football around with the guys at work. I probably shouldn’t have been doing so in a skirt and heels, because I wound up with a fractured finger, sprained wrist and damaged rotator cuff. After the cast was removed, the doctor told me to wash my hands. The last thing I remember was going to the sink — and then everything went black. I had momentarily passed out from the pain I experienced just washing my