....Gives You Wings

So there I was with a broken back, lying in the bed of a third-world medical clinic - still in my bikini, still caked in sand. And there I would stay for the next two days, with minimal food or water, before being strapped to a backboard for 15 hours (the second most agonizing experience of my life) and airlifted home over 1500km away.

As the Lear Jet’s propellers whirred to life stirring the thick, sludgy air, a parade of memories and vivid images from the past few days marched across my conscience:  like staring up at the dark ceiling unable to sleep and listening to the cries of the mothers and babies who were crammed into the “maternity ward” in room across the hall; or the horror I felt lying on the sunken bed with my legs spread open while three torch-bearing island nurses hovered over me arguing “which hole” they should insert the catheter in… punctuated by my repeated retort, “NOT that one!”; or the day of the accident, watching the burn victim being wheeled past me into the clinic and hearing his horrific screams of pain; or looking into the eyes of the newlywed wife (soon to be widow) of the man in the next room who was being kept alive by machines but was brain-dead.

As the screenplay rolled on and on in my mind for days… weeks… months, it slowly dawned on me how distant it all seemed. Rather than feeling the enormity of these events, I simply observed them in my memory as though they had actually happened to someone else. None of it made me cry. It still hasn’t, and I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps it is my own unique survival response to extreme trauma; to detach myself physically and emotionally and become a spiritual witness to the event (as what unfolded during my labour experience). Perhaps the overwhelming emotionality of the scene triggered an instant blockade around my heart, letting nothing in, letting nothing out. Who knows?

What I do know is that the events of that day nearly 14 years ago, followed by my four-month convalescence lying supine in my living room, lifted the fog of restless complacency that had entombed me for years. I arose with a clarity of purpose – an infinite awareness of what was possible for me to achieve and the courage to chase it. My fears and doubts vanished, and the dogged pursuit of a life that would bring me daily joy and utter, holistic fulfilment became my religion. To this day it is my religion, as I am spiritually guided and made whole by being true to who I am and doing what makes me happy.

The tenets of my life range from the commonplace to the esoteric: the good health and enduring love of my family; financial success; career achievement within a part-time commitment; personal artistic expression; athletic prowess; skiing; intellectual progression; living in the moment; surrounding myself with the natural environment; and nurturing those precious friendships that continually give me wings.

But beyond everything else that defines my life, I AM grateful – every day – because there will come a day that will be my last.