May 12, 2004
Tiffany Hodgens can swim for hours on end, buoying her body above water, using one arm to ward off water polo defenders and the other to fire the ball past a whiplash-prone goalie and into the back of the net.
For five years at UC Davis, Hodgens has been one of the nation's best collegiate players, if not the best. She scored 355 goals in four seasons, a national career record in the young history of a sport that began its rise in the 1990s.
And in mid-June, Hodgens will walk across the commencement stage at UCD with an ease of gait her mother, Linda Olson, hasn't had in more than 20 years, grabbing her college degree in one hand while receiving a handshake with the other.
But as Tiffany knows, her miracle mom will always have the upper hand for what she did in 1979, turning tragedy on its head and making a new life out of near death in southern Germany.
In late August 1979, Olson and Dave Hodgens were less than two months from their two-year wedding anniversary and nearing the end of their medical residencies in San Diego. But on their summer vacation, they left the stress of young medical careers behind, joining Dave's brother and sister-in-law to visit the brothers' parents, who lived on the military base in Berchtesgaden.
On the day Olson's life took a twist, the group of six was winding its way through a hilly road in a borrowed Volkswagen van. They were headed for Berghof, a hideaway for Adolf Hitler during World War II and not far from his retreat known as the Eagle's Nest.
Midway through the drive, the van stalled as they maneuvered a tight corner, its tires straddled over railroad tracks. Seconds later, the sound of an oncoming train was barely ahead of the train itself.
Sitting in the front row, the three men escaped quickly through the side doors. Two of the women darted through the side door and out of harm's way. But Olson, whose sliding door wouldn't open, couldn't get out.
In a panic, Olson rolled into the front seat, falling out of the door and onto the track. Dave glanced back, then rushed to help his wife. When he lifted her 95-pound frame in his arms, the train struck the van, ripping Olson from his grip and knocking him unconscious away from the wreckage.
Olson, however, became part of the mangled mess, her legs severed and lying on the track at the point of impact. More than 50 yards later, the train, with the van and Olson, came to a stop.
"When I came to, I was surrounded by passengers from the train, and I'm asking 'Where's my wife? How's my wife?' " said Dave Hodgens, who suffered only a broken foot. "I was getting these glum looks, like nobody wanted to tell me."
But Olson survived. An ambulance took her to a small hospital in Berchtesgaden, then to a trauma center nearby. Seven surgeons spent the night working on her. She had lost both legs below the knee and her right arm, and her back was broken. The next morning, Dave came to visit, limping through the doors of the intensive care unit on crutches. He saw a body much different than he remembered but a spirit that was without a scratch.
"I walk in and she's sitting there with a big smile on her face, an amputation bridge over her torso, just smiling at me," Dave said. "The first thought I had was that they had her on so much morphine she was loopy, but she wasn't."
That's when Olson, who had spent the morning thinking about their future, offered a proposal less joyous than the one she'd said yes to some two years before.
"I was thinking how I was only 29, he was only 27, and I should be realistic," Olson said. "I told him that he didn't have to stick around, that I'd understand if he left me. He said, 'If you can do it, then I can do it. I didn't marry you for your arms and your legs.' "
Twenty-five years later, his famous line is the climax to what's become the family's favorite story.
The couple's children are two talented athletes, Tiffany and her brother, Brian, a freshman water polo player at UCD. And their parents went on to esteemed careers in the medical community. Hodgens is the director of radiation at Scripps Memorial Hospital in La Jolla, and Olson is a professor of radiology and breast cancer physician at the University of California, San Diego.
Tiffany, who has her mother's drive and her father's stubbornness, can't count how many thousands of times she's told their tale. She calls her father "the white knight," and still marvels at how "amazing" her mother was and is.
"As I get older, the effect their story has on me increases," said Tiffany, who will graduate with degrees in English and studio art. "I can say that my parents are just two incredible people. It's such an incredible story."
When the couple returned to San Diego three weeks after the accident, the rebuilding began.
Olson spent her first two months in the hospital, doing four to six hours of rehabilitation every day. The right-hander had to become a lefty, bringing new meaning to the stereotype of a doctor's sloppy handwriting. She learned to walk on two prosthetic legs while dealing with the loss of balance that came with her lopsided upper body.
Two years later, the couple bought a vacant lot in University City in San Diego. They built the two-story house they still call home, customized for Olson. She raised the two children in that house, mastering the art of one-handed diaper changes, one-handed feedings and one-handed shoelace ties. She did it all from her wheelchair.
While Olson stays on her feet at work, walking slowly with a cane and a noticeable limp, she uses the wheelchair at home. The house has an elevator, ramps at every turn and extra wide doorways so she doesn't chip the paint. In the kitchen, one sink is at standard level, a second one lowered. The plug outlets are raised, so she can reach them with maximum ease.
And to see Olson in action when there are guests present is a thing of wonder, according to Aggies women's water polo coach Jamey Wright.
"She does everything that anybody else does as fast or faster," said Wright, who has often visited and stayed at their house. "She got me coffee and asked, 'Do you want some cream?' Then she's over there and she's got the cream before you can answer, and she's dishing it out and zigzagging all over the place. You're left thinking, You go, girl. She knocked me out."
Not that Olson is afraid to venture far from home. Family vacations have come in the least likely places, far from Disneyland or any other wheelchair-friendly locale. Their outdoors family lives for wide open spaces, and a few amputations never slowed them down.
There has been a 10-day journey in Saskatchewan, a trip to Vancouver, multiple visits to Yellowstone National Park and hiking getaways in the deep forests around South Lake Tahoe. They go far from the camp sites, creating their own home base while carrying both food and shelter on their backs and trekking through miles of isolation.
But the terrain isn't kind to wheelchairs, and Olson's legs can't handle steps or mountains. So Dave Hodgens, having lost grip of his wife so long ago, carries her on his back, using a contraption meant for hunters hauling their felled game. It's been modified, with a cushioned seat for Olson to perch on and straps to keep her in.
"Last summer, he carried me up to Meeks Bay Trail in Tahoe," the 75-pound Olson said with a laugh. "With the water, it was 95 pounds. He went up five miles, dropped me off, goes back five miles and brings the bags up. It was 15 miles in all."
One father's duty was the daughter's source of jealousy. Tiffany always wanted to carry her mom, to show her off and prance her around with pride, but she wasn't big enough.
"(The disability) wasn't something I associated with pain or thought that other people would find horrifying or tragic or whatever, because my mom was one of the happiest people I know," Tiffany said. "It was normal for me. I always wondered why other moms had too many arms and legs. What was wrong with them?"
Olson's amazing recovery has become a point of inspiration for the kids she didn't have when it happened, lending perspective that makes everyday life all that much easier for them.
"They've gone through life figuring there's really nothing that can't be done if you're willing to put the effort in," Dave Hodgens said.
For all her efforts, there are still things Olson can't do. She was once an avid swimmer, and a "beautiful piano player" in Hodgens' memory, an athletic woman in a time when female athletes were rare.
But the losses are outweighed by gains in their story, one that will be retold a thousand times again.
"Many times a day, I think about my Linda," Dave said. "I tell her, 'You don't know how many times a day your image pops into my mind.' I could talk about her forever."
About the Writer
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The Bee's Sam Amick can be reached at (916) 326-5582 or samick@sacbee.com.
