My name is Amy Pietrafitta, and I am a survivor of a traumatic burn injury. But I am also a daughter, friend, athlete, teammate, coach, colleague, and Ewing/AMI Amputee, which wouldn’t have been possible without the Stepping Strong Center at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.  Here is my story.

I have always been an athlete, adventurous, and eager to try new activities. Whether it was skiing, softball, paintball, 5K’s, or a New England Warrior Dash, I was up for anything that piqued my interest; I was always all in. But when I lost my leg, something shifted inside me. I began pushing my body in ways I never thought possible, playing community sled hockey, rowing and signing up for more intense competitions like Spartan races and even Paralympic events. I was nervous every time, unsure of what I could do, but I had this mental mantra with myself: Just keep going, one step at a time.

As I prepare for my next race, the 129th Boston Marathon on April 21, 2025, I feel a mixture of excitement and nerves. My mom has been encouraging, telling me that I will be unstoppable with proper training. She still has a photo of me from the first 5K I ran after my amputation on her iPad, saying her reasoning for holding onto it is that it provides her “pure joy”. Her belief in me keeps me going, and I feel proud of how far I’ve come. I’ve learned that strength isn’t just about completing a race—it’s about pushing through the obstacles, no matter how tough things get, remembering where I was, how far I’ve come, and where my journey has left to go.

My journey wasn’t always about races or sports. It began when I was living in Florida, studying fashion design, and later moving to Brighton, Massachusetts. I worked at places like Milton’s and Legal Sea Foods while pursuing jewelry design and also taking classes at a local metal company. I had just started my own business, Bridgid Design; and had just been commissioned for my first big job, designing a pendant as a gift for board members at Jeff’s Place. This piece and other designs were going to be displayed at the foundations event when my entire world changed in under a minute.

I was a head server at a local Legal Sea Foods, about to celebrate my 3-year anniversary at the restaurant. It was Monday, I remember because I was supposed to go to work with my mentor at the metal company on Tuesday to try a new tool that I got for design, and I was working a double shift. Although most of the day is a blur, I remember the order I needed to pickup for my table--two bonbons: one chocolate and one coffee. I went to the kitchen to give the chef a modification I needed for the bonbons, which led me to the expo line, the accident, and my injury.

I was standing by the expo line and the sink was leaking. There were three warming drawers with superheated water to keep food piping hot. The third warming drawer had been broken since I started. Instead of fixing it, the restaurant put an unsecured catering bin on the shelf in its place. As I stood along the expo line, the chef acknowledged me, and I shifted my right foot ever so slightly to turn when trauma struck and I began to fall.

As I fell, I reached for the chef, who backed away out of shock, and what happened next is not from memory but from what I have been told since my mind has blocked the experience. My hand hit the counter, where cords attached to the catering bin were placed. I couldn't grasp the counter, and in trying to grip something, I grabbed the cords. As they slid off the counter, they pulled the catering bin, which came down on top of me. The first doctor who cared for me said the water that spilled on me was anywhere from 750 – 1,000 degrees.

I stood up. My left leg was burning. My body was in shock, and I was on autopilot, also called disassociation. I ran to the break room, where I started to rip my clothes off, but I was suffering from such severe burns, especially on my left side, that my clothes fused to my skin. The pain was excruciating, and my body was on fire.

I found out later that there was a delay in calling 911 because my coworkers were in shock and didn’t know what to do until someone named Dan Sone spoke up. I owe so much to Dan for stepping up and getting medical attention for my critical situation. Once they called 911, I heard someone mention Brigham and Women’s Hospital, and I remember feeling safe because my dad was a surgeon and my dad's best friend, Hugh, was an anesthesiologist at BWH. I knew my situation was very, very bad.

When I was finally taken to the hospital, I learned that 25% of my body had been burned. The hospital’s staff quickly acted, but the whole situation felt surreal. I had a coworker accompany me, and I called my mom to reassure her that I would be okay, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

The weeks that followed were a blur of surgeries, pain management, and physical therapy. I was in the ICU and eventually transferred to the burn unit for about two and a half weeks, enduring painful debridement procedures twice a day. The doctors tried everything to help, but the recovery was slow. Along the way, I struggled with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and over-medication. I wasn’t myself. And what made it harder was at one point, during my recovery, my employer tried to blame me for the accident, but thankfully OSHA confirmed that I was doing my job, as expected. Changes were made in the weeks that followed at the restaurant for better safety, but it couldn’t turn back what had happened to me.

After I was discharged from the burn unit, I started seeing more doctors. After a year of zero progress, my body deteriorating from the physical damage of the trauma and medications, the conversations shifted to the possibility of amputation. After all that time of unsuccessful treatments, I felt that amputation was the best option. However, some doctors hesitated due to their belief that I had Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS), while other doctors weren’t sure of a CRPS diagnosis. It turns out I did (and still do) have CRPS, but despite their concerns, I knew amputation was the path I needed to take. Luckily, I was introduced to Dr. Matt Carty, a plastic surgeon and the Stepping Strong Center’s Director of Strategy and Innovation at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, in Boston, MA. This is where my amputation story begins.

Dr. Carty took me seriously and wanted to help, despite me being emotionally and physically depressed, he knew he could turn my life around. On Christmas Eve 2015, my wish came true. After researching my case and consulting with other medical professionals, Dr. Carty called me to say that we would proceed with the amputation. After the New Year, I set up an appointment to see Dr. Carty, where he mentioned his groundbreaking amputation procedure—funded by the Stepping Strong Center—the study he was conducting. Dr. Carty explained there was no added risk with his revolutionary amputation, other than the muscle constructs might not work. He also reiterated that with my diagnosis of CRPS, I may not be able to wear a prosthetic, from either normal amputation or his method. I’m not sure how, but I just knew in my heart that it was going to work. I was going to be pain-free and get my life quality of life back. I signed the papers without hesitation and went forward with this revolutionary amputation.

I’ll never forget the following three dates: June 17th of 2016, August 5th of 2016, and then November 8 of 2016. All three dates were chances to change my life, but each time, insurance denied my claims, forcing me to advocate for myself to get the amputation. I had to go through legal battles, attend hearings, and wait two entire years before winning the fight and finally receiving the green light. On February 27, 2018, after years of fighting, I had the surgery. It wasn’t easy, but it was a necessary step in reclaiming my life.

After my surgery, I managed my pain as best I could, even reducen my Oxycodone intake while at Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital, where I knew I was safe as my body went through withdrawals. After being on 60mg of Oxycodone every day for over 4 years, I was afraid that without the proper weaning, I might become a street addict. Thankfully, I was able to wean myself off of my Oxycodone on August 31, 2018 - 6 months after my amputation- and now I’ve been more than 6 years free from pain. Recovery isn't straightforward —pain management is a constant struggle, and difficult conversations need to be had. I had my share of setbacks along the way, like when I fell and split my sutures or broke my tibia bone training for Ninja Warrior 9 months to the day of my amputation. At times, it felt like the end, but giving up has never been an option; I was determined to heal and live fully.

Getting my first prosthetic in August 2018 was a turning point. During my recovery, I had gained weight but now was starting to lose weight and embracing activities like surfing and rock climbing. I even moved to New York to study and took journalism classes, but then COVID-19 hit, and I returned to Massachusetts. During the pandemic, I struggled with body image, self-identity, and the challenges of the world around me. My perception of myself—especially regarding my disability—shifted, as did how others saw me. I became more aware of the societal barriers people with disabilities face and realized progress was slower than I had hoped. However, through these challenges, I learned the importance of understanding my emotions and setting boundaries.

Over time, I’ve come to appreciate my journey, not just the physical challenges but the emotional ones, too. I’ve learned to push through not just for myself but for others facing similar struggles. And at last, I got active once again.

In 2019, I joined the Boston I.C.E. Storm sled hockey team, competing in the New England Sled Hockey League (NESHL). We placed 2nd at Nationals in 2022. Although I haven’t been able to play for the past two years due to a wrist injury in 2023, the Storm has remained like family and a strong support system. I plan to return to the ice in September. I also started flat-water rowing the same year but faced disruptions due to COVID-19.

I have trained at Community Rowing, Inc. (CRI), participating in long-distance running and track events (100m, 200m, 400m, and 1500m), as well as Spartan races. Along with rowing and hockey, I am training for the 2028 Paralympics, focusing on shot put, discus, long jump, and possibly javelin.

In March, I was invited to train and compete in Peru for coastal rowing, where I participated in endurance and beach sprints. I competed in the first-ever PR3 quad event, helping raise awareness for athletes with disabilities. Following competitions in Peru and Costa Rica, the PR3 classification was officially added to the U.S. trials and the World Coastal Championships.

I also trained for five weeks in Spain and Italy, competing with my quad at the 2024 Coastal Rowing World Championships for Endurance. We placed 24th in the world as the first PR3 quad to race against non-para boats. I continue to train and compete, preparing for Beach Sprints at the U.S. trials in hopes of qualifying for the 2025 World Championships.

As an international athlete, I have traveled with Team USA to Peru, Costa Rica, Spain, Italy, and Sarasota, driven by my accomplishments and personal goals. My trauma does not define me, but it has shaped me.

If there’s one thing I want trauma survivors to know, it’s this: Don’t let anyone dictate your future. Don’t let others limit your potential. Your recovery is personal, and your goals are yours alone. People told me I couldn’t run 25 kilometers, but I didn’t just run that—I ran even farther. I pushed myself every single day. And when you feel down, remember it’s not about how many steps you’ve taken; it’s about pushing forward, no matter the obstacles. You are worth every step, every fight, and every victory.

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