Personal Injury

I woke up in a hospital bed with a concussion and a broken wrist, and the only thing anyone from the grocery store wanted to talk about was a “minor incident.” Two days later their insurance adjuster mailed me a letter that said I fell for “unknown reasons,” like the robot wasn’t even there.

I woke up in a trauma bay with gravel in my hair and a rideshare receipt on my phone. By morning, the company was already calling it “driver error” and telling me their GPS logs didn’t exist.

I had the green. Their driver had a schedule to keep. The dashcam saw everything, but the trucking company spent two years trying to convince a jury I was lying. They failed.

Eddie Salazar said the fall destroyed his back. He said he couldn't bend, couldn't lift, couldn't play with his kids. He said he'd never be the same. Then the defense found his YouTube channel.

I reported the water stains on my bedroom ceiling three times. My landlord said he'd get to it. He didn't. Six months later, forty pounds of wet plaster came down on me at 2 a.m. What happened next made me lose faith in the entire legal system.

Kyle Brannick wasn't watching what he was doing when an 80-pound dumbbell landed on his foot at FitZone. But according to his lawsuit, that was the gym's fault—and he wanted three and a half million dollars to prove it.

I spent four years going to class at night while my kids slept at my mother’s. When I finally walked across that stage, a loose ramp plate sent me crashing to the floor—and what the college did next made me dial a lawyer before the swelling went down.