The last line. That was the one that got her.

"Hockey is a great game," I had written, in the finish to a column last Saturday condemning violence in hockey. "But changes must be made soon - before someone is paralyzed or killed."

I was referring to the NHL. But had missed the boat. People were already being paralysed playing hockey. Lots of them. Every year.

Sarah Hunter knew this all too well.

"I was the recipient of one of those hits in 1997," Sarah wrote in a letter last week. "It left me with incomplete quadriplegia."

Today, we are publishing some of the more than 300 letters I received regarding last week's column. They are still coming.

They came from concerned moms and dads. Worried grandpas and grandmas. Frustrated referees and minor hockey officials. They came from scared hockey players too. In all, a group bound by a passion for the game but also a deep concern for where it's heading.

No one, however, spoke with the same painful authority on the subject as Sarah Hunter.

"The hit on Mike Modano brought back many unpleasant memories for myself, my family, my friends and my teammates," Sarah, 34, wrote. "The impact of this type of violence on all these parties can never really be gauged. The trauma is not restricted to the injured player but rather to all who were involved and the psychological scars it leaves will likely never heal."

At the time of the accident, Sarah wrote, she was a member of the Canadian women's field lacrosse team, preparing to play in the World Cup in Japan. In a split second those dreams died.

"It is difficult not to jump on some sort of soapbox and tell you what it is like to have your dreams, job and lifestyle stolen from you," Sarah wrote. "I am now establishing new dreams, and working towards being employable in a different area and am developing new ways of finding life enjoyable. However, I must say that is no easy task.

"The monetary demands of being profoundly disabled are incredible. The psychological obstacles are enormous. When I hit the boards my head took the full impact, leaving me not only with a spinal cord injury but also with sporadically laboured speech, an often confused and patchy memory, the inability to write very well and, at times, I am not even able to think clearly.

"Prior to the injury I had a fulfilling job, a very active life in sports, and was a good student."

I had to meet Sarah Hunter.

She left a telephone number on her e-mail so I phoned to see if we could meet and talk further about her letter. She told me she was taking classes at Simon Fraser University but we could meet Thursday afternoon near her home in Burnaby.

She couldn't promise what kind of shape she'd be in, she warned. Or how well she'd be able to articulate her thoughts. Some days, she said, were better than others.

I'd take my chances.

We decided to meet in the upstairs restaurant at 8 Rinks in Burnaby.

"How will I recognize you?" I asked.

"I'll be the one in the wheelchair," she said.

In her letter, Sarah had mentioned she was playing senior women's hockey when the accident occurred. During her playing days she had seen plenty of hits from behind. Most women were lucky to get up and skate away. Others weren't.

Much of the problem, from Sarah's point of view, lay with officials who had little supervision or training. Many games, consequently, got out of hand. Dangerous hits went unpenalized.

Sarah's comments regarding training for referees were echoed by a number of people in the letters we received. Kids, some barely into their teens, were being asked to officiate pee wee and bantam level games. Many felt over their heads, unable to cope with the scope of violence going on around them.

I showed up at 8 Rinks Thursday afternoon for my appointment with Sarah. When she was 15 minutes late I phoned her home. There was no answer. Then I checked my voice-mail at work to see if she had phoned to say she'd be late.

There was a message from a friend of Sarah's.

"Sarah was admitted to emergency last night," the woman said. "She won't be able to meet you."

I phoned the hospital the next day to see how she was doing. She was fine, a nurse told me. Might even be released Friday afternoon. I told her that if Sarah felt up to it, to have her call me. Meantime, I began wrapping up this column, so many of the questions I had for Sarah unanswered.

Then the phone rang.

It was Sarah.

She sounded tired. She told me that stomach pains, the intensity of which she'd never felt before, had put her in emergency. They were likely linked to her gall bladder. For now, however, she was being released and heading home.

We talked briefly about the night two years ago when she was smashed into the boards. She still can remember the shocked faces staring down at her. And panic in the voices.

"Don't move her, don't move her," someone kept yelling.

She doesn't like to dwell on the accident. Or her injuries. She has some movement in her legs and arms so it could have been worse, she figures.

As for today's problems, she said, something horrible was going to have to happen to an NHL superstar before the league did anything about hitting from behind. Until then, she said, there just wasn't the will to do anything. And kids would do what they saw on TV.

How sad but true her words were.

"After seeing what happened to Modano I decided that was it, I'm not going to watch hockey anymore," Sarah said.

"It just brings back too many bad memories."

With that she said good-bye.