35 Years Later, a Survivor With Scars Both Seen and Unseen
I've been a reporter covering the New York City region for years, and I'm used to asking people about difficult, even dark moments of their lives. But this story presented challenges from the very first interview.
I already knew the basics going in: On Jan. 25, 1990, Avianca Flight 52 took off from Bogotá, Colombia, stopped in Medellín, where Ms. López and others boarded, then headed to John F. Kennedy Airport. But bad weather, the need for a series of holding patterns and poor communication between the flight crew and air traffic controllers caused the plane to run out of fuel. It crashed into a wooded hillside in Cove Neck, on Long Island.
Of the 158 people aboard, 73 died.
Ms. López, who was traveling to New York to board a flight bound for Disney World, was 17. Her body was so badly mangled that emergency medical workers believed she was dead. They carried her to a temporary morgue near the crash site, where her moans alerted them that she was, incredibly, alive.
In the years that followed, she would need more than 70 surgeries. It created a pattern that continues to this day: Each surgery is followed by months of pain, and then, when she is healed enough, she undergoes another one.
'I am always in pain,' Ms. López told me during that first interview.
Then she said something I've rarely heard anyone admit: Sometimes, she said, she wishes she had died in the crash. The pain, and her fear of it, have prevented her from pursuing her goals, of becoming a lawyer, and a mother.
Cue the tension between Ms. López and her sister, Ms. Donlon. Ms. Donlon has worked for years, from her home on Long Island, to arrange health care for Ms. López, who lives in Colombia. An upbeat and determined person by nature, Ms. Donlon bristled at her sister's disheartened words.
Her sister needed to stay positive, Ms. Donlon said. She also needed to do more physical therapy, eat healthier food, take all her prescribed medicines and continue to pray.
As the litany of shoulds continued, Ms. López, I noticed, sat up straighter in her wheelchair. She folded her arms across her chest and laughed hard, from her belly.
I asked: Have you two had this argument before?
Both sisters laughed.
'At least once a week,' Ms. Donlon said, still laughing.
Some positive things did result from the accident: Air travel got safer. And the psychiatric care that Ms. López and others received helped to establish art therapy as an effective treatment for child survivors of mass tragedies.
But the dynamic I saw between the sisters made me realize this was not a simple story of triumph over tragedy. And 35 years after the crash, Ms. López's life remains almost unbearably hard.
Rather than look away from this difficult fact, I had to grapple with dark subjects that most stories about survivors manage to elide: Ms. López's continued suffering, her anger at how the crash had foreclosed the successful future she'd envisioned, and the clashes between a sister desperate for a normal life and the sister whose life would never be normal again.
Then there was the question of Ms. López's memory. During our first interview, Ms. López and her sister were adamant: Ms. López had remembered nothing of her life before the accident.
In subsequent phone conversations, however, they discussed Ms. Lopez's dreams of having children and a career, dreams she said she had held since she was a girl.
I was confused: Did Ms. López remember her childhood or not? Or were her perceived memories shaped by accounts she had heard from friends and family members over the years?
Ms. López's memory loss made writing and editing this article tricky. How do we describe her return to the crash site, which she had hoped would jar her memory, without oversimplifying the fact that her memory itself remains a mystery?
And when it was time to check to see that every fact in the article was correct, how could I, in good conscience, request a conversation with a woman in so much pain she could barely pick up the phone?
In the end, these questions were answered, in part, thanks to lots of phone calls and email exchanges with Ms. López's sister and her caregivers. Ms. López's most recent surgery, a replacement of her left knee, had rendered her barely capable of communicating in Spanish, let alone English. So Ms. Donlon set up a conference call between the three of us, so she could translate for her sister.
Even still, it was not so much what Ms. López said, but her body language in our first conversation back in November — growing stiff, clearing her throat, eyes gleaming with some mixture of humor and rage — which betrayed her pain, her anger and even, as she admitted, her ambivalence about living.
By noticing that, and by slowing the interview down to give her time and space, we managed to help Ms. López gradually feel comfortable enough to put those difficult feelings into words.
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Miami Herald
6 hours ago
- Miami Herald
Woman held days against her will in Miami mental health facility, lawsuit claims
Yesica López was walking in Little Havana one afternoon when she came upon an abandoned building that was set to be demolished. Her reaction to the building's impending demolition led her to getting picked up by police and detained in a mental health facility for nine days against her will, she says. The building reminded her of her childhood in Colombia, and a flood of memories from her homeland rushed through her mind. She felt uneasy and approached a Miami police officer asking why the building was going to be destroyed. The now 33-year-old was experiencing a mental health episode when this happened in April 2022 and likely needed temporary outpatient care, said her Miami attorney, Ricardo Martinez-Cid. She was going through a messy divorce that included domestic violence accusations, leaving her underweight and sleep deprived. With no family close by except for her two young children, she needed support, Martinez-Cid said. Instead, López was locked up in crisis stabilization unit with people suffering severe mental health issues, where she was given medications that pushed her deep into a haze of confusion, she told the Herald. 'It was hard because you saw people eating out of the trash can. People sitting in their own filth in wheelchairs. People screaming all night. It was horrible,' López said. The officer took her to Banyan Health System's Centralized Receiving Facility, Detox & Crisis Stabilization Unit on West Flagler Street because she was confused and he could not find any contact for her next of kin to pick her up, Martinez-Cid said. Staff at the facility evalutated López. Records from the examination state she appeared disorganized and anxious, but medical staff found her judgment to be fair, she was acting calmly and cooperative without any unusual movements, and she was not hallucinating or having delusions during the interview. López aslo told staff she had no current or past suicidal ideations or a history of substance abuse. She also told staff that she was going through a divorce and was homesick for Colombia, Martinez-Cid added. Medical staff inputted in her evaluation form that they diagnosed López with schizophreniform disorder -- similar to schizophrenia, but with shorter duration of symptoms. Despite reporting in their examination results that López's judgement was fair and she acted calmly and was not experiencing hallucinations or delusions during her interview, medical staff wrote in the therapy notes of their report that she was 'disoriented, delusional and with poor insight into mental health status.' They specified that she was to stay at the facility for five to seven days, Martinez-Cid said. The evaluation was conducted under Florida's Baker Act, which allows for the temporary detention of people experiencing mental health emergencies in a hospital or crisis center for 72 hours. The next morning, a Banyan doctor began prescribing López drugs, including sedatives, antipsychotics, anticholinergics, benzodiazepines, benzatropines and pain relievers, her attorney said. Martinez-Cid was able to have López released, but it took him three days to do so. . He learned of her situation from lawyers from the Cuban American Bar Association's Pro Bono Project, who were helping Lopez with her divorce case against her now ex-husband. He's now representing her in her false imprisonment and negligence lawsuit against Banyan Health filed last year in Miami-Dade County Circuit Court. The complaint was amended months later to include the city of Miami, since López's attorney's argued, the officer did not comply with the requirements of the Baker Act when he took her to Banyan. The amended complaint argued López was not suffering from neglect at the time the officer took her there, nor was she refusing to care for herself in a way that posed personal harm or harm to others. López and the city reached a settlement in June, according to court records. Martinez-Cid said the details of the settlement are confidential. The city did not immediately respond to the Herald's queries about the settlement. Banyan, through its attorneys, denies any wrongdoing associated with López's time in the facility. 'Banyan takes the confidentiality rights of its patients seriously and does not disclose the psychological conditions of its patients or the care and treatment they receive,' attorney Joshua Walker said in a statement to the Herald. 'The allegations made by Ms. López and her attorney are untrue and directly contradicted by the evidence, but we will not be commenting further at this time.' Martinez-Cid wrote in the lawsuit that the drugs, which were administered to López daily, caused her to 'become disoriented, confused, incoherent, and functionally impaired and experience increased anxiety and distress, auditory and visual hallucinations, and delusions.' 'When I saw her, she was in tears. She was so drugged out. She just kept asking, 'When can I see my kids. Please let me out of here.' It was horrible,' Martinez-Cid told the Herald. The 72-hour window to keep López at the facility under the Baker Act expired on April 22, but she would be kept there for another six days with little to no contact with anyone on the outside, including her mother, who had flown to Florida from Colombia to help her daughter. Martinez-Cid went to the facility on April 25, but staff would not allow him to see López, he said. Martinez-Cid spoke with López's mother, Magnolia Perez, who had by then spoken with her daughter. López told her mother she wanted to leave, according to the complaint. Martinez-Cid filled out the facility's application to seek release. The paperwork Banyan provided stated López was a 'voluntary patient,' which was never clearly communicated to her nor her family, Martinez-Cid said. Perez, with Martinez-Cid, went back to the facility the next day, where staff said they would not release López because she suddenly decided to stay, according to the lawsuit. Staff refused to let Martinez-Cid speak to López to confirm the decision to remain there was hers, the lawsuit alleges. Both López's mother and Martinez-Cid asked for a second opinion about López's condition, but were told by the staff doctor that that wouldn't be possible while she remained at the facililty, according to the lawsuit. By April 27, López was desperate to leave the facility and tried to get the nurses' attention. They administered more antipsychotic drugs and sedatives, and told her mother she wouldn't be discharged that day because they had to increase her medication, the lawsuit states. López formally applied to be discharged the next day, but when Perez arrived, staff told her that her daughter would not be released, the complaint states. She called Martinez-Cid, who went to the facility to demand López's discharge, according to the lawsuit. 'I told them I am not leaving this facility without her. Have her evaluated now. Bring in her doctor,' Martinez-Cid said. Martinez-Cid said while he was there, staff said they would call the police if he didn't leave. He told the Herald he welcomed the police showing up so they could see what was going on inside the facility. 'I said, Great, because I want a light to be shined on this place,' Martinez-Cid said. Banyan let López go home with Perez later that day, according to the lawsuit. In the years since López's time at Banyan, she has since finalized her divorce, has 50/50 custody of her children and is working as a cashier at CVS. 'It's been a terrible ordeal, but I have been healing because of my mother and my kids,' she said. As part of her divorce proceedings, she had to undergo a psychological evaluation with a court-appointed clinical psychologist, who found her to be 'psychologically stable and capable of managing her own affairs, and capable of adequately providing caregiving to her children without the need to be supervised,' reads the evaluation, which was included in the lawsuit. 'It has to stop' Banyan settled in March with the family of a woman who was admitted for cocaine-induced psychosis in May 2021 and kept there for 15 days. The lawsuit, filed by the woman's mother, states lab results came up negative for cocaine, but the woman was experiencing acute psychosis when she was transfered to Banyan from Baptist Hospital. While at Banyan, the lawsuit alleges the woman was confined against her will, medicated and hit by staff. In the settlement, Banyan agreed to pay the woman's mother $914,792 and $101,643 to the woman's minor daughter, according to court records. 'I know others have suffered the same thing. We're funding this as taxpayers, and it has to stop,' Martinez-Cid said. 'They are using the law that is meant to protect people against these people, to justify another night in their bed.'
UPI
06-08-2025
- UPI
Colombia pushes for pharmaceutical self-sufficiency
Through investments in science, research and development, Colombia aims to ensure access to essential treatments for its population, signaling a structural shift in its public health and trade policy. File Photo by Allison Dinner/EPA Aug. 6 (UPI) -- Driven by lessons from the pandemic and a reliance on imports -- more than $2.16 billion in packaged medicines in 2023, most from the United States -- Colombia has launched a national strategy to regain control of its pharmaceutical supply chain. Through investments in science, research and development, the country aims to ensure access to essential treatments for its population, signaling a structural shift in its public health and trade policy. This dependence extends beyond finished products. Colombia's pharmaceutical industry also relies heavily on imported active ingredients and other key inputs to manufacture its own medicines. The United States is an important player supplying these components. Central to the effort is the Health Research Fund, a program led by the Ministry of Science, Technology and Innovation. Since 2023, the fund has invested nearly $2 million to expand domestic production of essential medicines. The initiative, developed in partnership with the Ministry of Health and the University of Antioquia, aims to reduce reliance on foreign inputs and strengthen Colombia's scientific and technological sovereignty. The first major success of the initiative was the development of chloroquine, a key drug used to treat malaria. After a $500,000 investment in 2023, the medication has been approved by Colombia's National Food and Drug Surveillance Institute, or INVIMA, and is ready for large-scale production. The milestone clears the way for producing other essential medicines for the country's most vulnerable populations. The scientific community is now awaiting INVIMA approval for praziquantel, a critical antiparasitic drug, expected by the end of the month. This week, it was announced that regulatory procedures are being finalized for the production of two additional antiparasitic drugs: niclosamide and benznidazole. The latter is especially critical as the primary treatment for Chagas disease, an endemic illness that affects thousands of Colombians. Colombia's path toward pharmaceutical self-sufficiency is a long-term effort requiring coordination among the government, academia and industry. The Ministry of Science's investment is not only supporting the development of essential medicines, but also strengthening research capacity, laboratory infrastructure and training specialized personnel. The Colombian Ministry of Science said in a statement that having a sterile filtration line "will make it possible in the long term to expand the portfolio of sterile compounded medications, gradually incorporating other essential treatments currently facing shortages in the Colombian health system." Science Minister Yesenia Olaya told Colombian broadcaster Caracol: "This public-private collaboration model is crucial to ensuring that science and technology translate into concrete solutions for the country's health problems. "The final goal is clear: to guarantee that Colombians, especially those in the most remote and low-resource areas, have timely access to the treatments they need without depending on the volatility of the global market."
Business Insider
25-07-2025
- Business Insider
My parents sold their home of 40 years and retired to Colombia. I moved them back to the US when they both got sick.
When my parents retired at 70, they both knew immediately where they wanted to go. With its year-round temperatures of 80 to 90 degrees, peaceful blue waters and a welcoming and lively culture the seaside city of Barranquilla, Colombia, called to them. After all, my Colombian father would be going back to his homeland, and my Cuban mother relished in the Latin culture that seemed so fragmented in the U.S. They sold their home of more than 40 years in Houston and purchased a two-story condo with a partial ocean view for $135,000 USD. Their social security and retirement money went a long way in Barranquilla, where the average cost of living is much lower than it is in the US. The move was great, until it wasn't In the beginning, their retirement life was idyllic. They enjoyed afternoon coffee with friends at sidewalk cafes, they walked along the beach every morning and they would attend parties in their condo development with fellow retirees. But one day, while they were visiting my family in Texas, my mother stopped and stared at my younger son splashing away in the pool. "Who's that little boy?" she asked. I stared at her face, as she scrutinized my son, with his dark curls and almond brown eyes that looked like mine. "Ma, that's your grandson," I said. That's when I knew something was terribly wrong. On another visit, my father would wander in the kitchen aimlessly, looking for the cabinet where we kept our water glasses, despite the fact that he had no problem finding them a year ago. A trip to the neurologist confirmed what I had already suspected. They both had Alzheimer's disease. We needed to make a plan While the diagnosis for both of them was still early-stage, I knew what the future held. My grandmother (my mother's mother) and my mother's brother both had Alzheimer's. Worst yet, my father seemed to be progressing at an alarmingly rapid rate. Unfortunately, retiring on the Colombian coast would be a dream unfulfilled. They decided to move back to Houston to be closer to family and their doctors. They agreed to sell their condo and move in with us temporarily until we could find a suitable assisted living apartment. But it's been tricky. Some days, they would say they were moving back to Barranquilla permanently. It was a constant flip-flop, but my husband and I made an executive decision to keep them in Houston. They've been living with us since February. In that time, I've had to reset all their passwords because they couldn't remember them. I spend every morning scrambling to the kitchen to make sure I'm there to give them their medication, a routine they consistently forget. The biggest challenge, though, has been navigating foreign laws. One thing I did early on was get a power of attorney and medical power of attorney. While those two documents have been incredibly helpful in the states, I'm not entirely sure the legal weight these documents may carry in Colombia. I'm currently looking for a lawyer and a real estate agent abroad who can help me with the sale of their condo. Once that's taken care of, I then have to sell all the stuff they've amassed in the 15 years they've lived there. I'm planning for my own future, too Perhaps the biggest lesson I've learned in all of this is to be prepared. I plan to sign up for long-term care insurance so my children won't have to stress over how they plan to pay for my care in the same way I have had to with my parents. I've been taking steps to improve my health and I'm also financially prepared for the inevitable — when my parents pass away. Right now, though, I'm going to relish the time I still have with them, here, close to my family.
