In the crisp January air of 2011, our family eagerly set out on a journey to Disney World—an inheritance gift that promised to sprinkle magic over our lives, which had been touched by the sudden departure of two beloved grandparents in 2007. Little did we know, this trip would weave both joyous and harrowing chapters into the fabric of our family.
As the sun dawned on the first day, the air buzzed with anticipation. Sea World was in the plan, and I felt a surge of youthful energy flowing through me. The dolphins soared in the stadium, their acrobatics mirrored the elation within our family. The decision to save my favorite place, Disney World, for last lingered in my mind. Yet, that night at the poolside feeling elated, under the star-studded sky, I couldn’t have fathomed the twist the universe had in store.
Amidst laughter and dancing, the atmosphere brimmed with a rare happiness. Those moments where bliss remains. Then, in an instant, the night transformed into a nightmare—a dive gone wrong, a shallow dive but a collision with scraping the pool’s bottom. The pain was immediate and searing. As I emerged from the water, time seemed to stretch infinitely, and a strange intuition urged me to brace my neck. It was as if the universe, in that very moment, cradled me in its arms.
Chaos erupted as my family scrambled. My husband’s fear and anger collided, questioning how such a thing could happen. Amidst the disarray, my mother, a beacon of clarity, dialed 9-1-1. Fear gripped me, and I implored her not to call, aware that my actions might shatter the joy we had found. The ambulance ride to the hospital felt like an eternity, the pain in my head felt akin to a bowling ball. So many thoughts and feelings flooded my mind, many of which involved my two beautiful sons waking up without mommy.
I lifted to the universe my life and a priest was summoned. Amid uncertainty, I clung to the belief that the universe held me. The tingling in my extremities, the prospect of paralysis—it was the stuff of nightmares and thoughts it could never be me. Then, a miraculous return of sensation—a touch from the universe, a glimpse of hope.
Days unfolded in a blur—a diagnosis of a C1 fracture, the rarest and most precarious. The decision not to operate led to the imposition of a halo—a metal 8lb contraption that would be my companion for the next 80 days. Separated from my children, I grappled with the emotional weight of my transformation.
The highly anticipated moment when my children first saw me in the hospital with the halo was charged with a mix of emotions that linger in my memory forever. Their innocent eyes, filled with both curiosity and trepidation, reflected the impact of the unforeseen changes in their mommy. As they entered the hospital room, the stark reality of my transformation confronted them in seeing the iron contraption connected to my skull. I yearned to embrace them, to assure them that despite the metal encasement, I was still their mommy. Their expressions, etched with horror and fear, tore at my heart in so many ways. Unable to physically comfort them with a hug, I summoned every ounce of strength to set aside the pain and bring lightness to the room. In that delicate moment, I stretched the truth, assuring them that I was not in pain—a well-intentioned untruth meant to shield them from the severity of the situation. Attempting to lighten the mood, I knew deeply I would become a source of strength: “Mommy is a transformer—how cool is that?” A faint smile broke through the initial shock on their faces, but the emotional complexity of that encounter etched itself into the canvas of our shared history. My husband stood and watched, and his eyes showed it all, admiration, love, and still disbelief. So many emotions, so much to come of the unknown. But I knew in that moment and the moments to come – I could control how I chose to respond. That is all I really had control of.
Separated from my boys for weeks, the ache in my heart existed but I knew I needed to embrace a new normal. The return home brought a mix of emotions—gratitude for being alive, the burden of guilt, and the challenge of adapting to a changed body. Upon returning home, the need for distraction was needed, and in hindsight, counseling might have offered healing at a deeper level, this is something I had learned over time. The emotions swung between sadness, anger, and gratitude. Adapting to the physical changes became a profound learning curve—figuring out how to dress, sleep, and resume routine activities felt like navigating uncharted waters. Two weeks into my return home, I tentatively resumed work from home, immersing myself in a few hours a day, a lifeline that provided a mental escape from the tumult within. The familiar rhythm of work served as a stabilizing force, a semblance of normalcy amid the extraordinary. Mentally, it was a lot to absorb, and work became both a sanctuary and a challenge—an intricate dance with the known and the unknown, as I grappled with the aftermath of a life-altering event. I was convinced to show my sons I chose to respond to this event by continuing to do the same things their mommy did before the accident. I see now they were unphased which brings me so much solace…..
The 80 days of the halo marked a journey through physical and emotional terrain. Pin sites loosened, hospital visits became a routine, and the uncertainty of healing lingered. Life’s small pleasures—hugs, skin-to-skin contact—became treasures in the midst of a metal encasement.
As the halo came off, a CT scan delivered unsettling news—an unhealed fracture. Fear threatened to engulf me, but a newfound resilience emerged. Life continued with a “new normal,” where gratitude trumped pain and perspective shifted.
The videos captured moments of triumph and vulnerability—walking with added weight, the removal of the halo, and the bittersweet realization of an unhealed fracture. A CT scan painted a grim picture, but with a leap of faith, I chose to step into a new normal.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4j7lE5d0BI
Removal of the Halo (this video is a bit hard to watch as a look back – but my boys were unphased which leads me to believe I kept stability during this time for them)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o23NLhgjZ0g
Getting the collar on, having so much fear with the new:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_5lk01G8y0
In the grand symphony of life, broken chords can compose melodies of resilience. Today, I celebrate 13 years of second chances of finding gratitude in this messy yet beautiful life. Viktor Frankl’s wisdom echoes—a testament to the power of choosing our response. If you wish to delve deeper into my journey, you can watch my interview on YouTube titled “Viktor Frankl, the Holocaust, and a Broken Neck: Vanessa Chesters Speaks to Daniel Schonbuch.”
In every dark moment, there lies a resilience that weaves a tapestry of gratitude—a testament to the beauty that emerges from life’s unexpected twists. I would never take away the difficult, as it has brought me to where I am today. I value every moment, I see light in the darkest places, and believe our true purpose of this life is to unlearn and return to a place where we see beauty within and truly learn to love ourselves for who we are. Once we do that, we can spread so much to others in this world, we can bring love and light to all those we come across.
She glances out the window and realizes all of the time that has passed. The reflection looking back at her, aged, the lines deepened and reveal the roads she has traveled. Her thoughts of him come rushing in.
As each year passes, I feel like the hands of time are slipping by. I look in the mirror and looking back at me, I see a woman that has changed, and still requires refinement. I hear a voice that tells me I could do better. The voice has been with me for most of my life, I am learning to snuff it out. John 10:10 comes to mind so many times when the voice comes upon me.
Awakening the Soul 