My little red Corvette and I

Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved Corvettes.  I didn’t know anybody who owned one in the small town I grew up in, but I was the kid playing with my dinky car Corvette while other girls my age didn’t have any interest in cars.

As I grew up, I gravitated towards the automotive sector in my career.  I even spent some time working as a spokesperson for General Motors – the manufacturer of my dream car.  By that time, I had driven a Corvette a time or two.  But alas, the dream of owning one of these sports cars never seemed to come any closer to fruition.

I got married to an amazing man and became pregnant on our honeymoon. Our second daughter was added to the mix a year and a half later. So, a two-seater Corvette did not seem very practical for a family of four. We opted for more roomy SUVs that could haul around our family, sports equipment, and our Golden Retriever, Hunter.

I had big dreams when I started my career. And I did move up the corporate ladder quickly. I was a vice president by the time I was 31 years old.  Then ten years ago, I took a leap of faith and followed my entrepreneurial spirit to create the Executive Coaching firm, Potential Unlimited.  I felt with every fibre of my being this was the right move in my career and would lead to highly lucrative returns for doing work that I absolutely loved.

But 11 months into that business being born, I suffered a severe traumatic brain injury when my head went crashing down onto the concrete floor of a basement medical facility after I fainted during a stand-up x-ray. I was knocked out and could not see for three hours. I began vomiting immediately and my arms and legs were flailing around uncontrollably. 

I was taken by ambulance to the Emergency Department of a local hospital where the doctor told me the only treatment for a brain injury is to go home to lie in the darkened bedroom and not leave (except to crawl to the ensuite) until at least some of the brain pain subsided.  I stayed there in the dark for weeks.

I was advised to have zero stimulation to allow my brain to heal.  Now, I know for many of us during COVID, it feels like we are in isolation. But what I am talking about here is zero stimulation. For me, that meant my kids were sent away to live with my parents for a while. I was not able to watch TV, listen to music, read, be on any device. I could not even have conversations with my husband, Jeff, who delivered meals to the bedroom three times a day.

Over the years since the injury, I have been enrolled in five brain rehab programs and one clinical trial for brain injuries.

I was told by every neurologist I saw (except one….this is the one I still see!), that I would never continue to heal past where I was at the two-year post-injury mark.  I listened respectfully to them.  But in my head, I was saying BULL SHIT!  I didn’t know if I would ever heal back to normal, but I believed with every fibre of my being that I wouldn’t live out the rest of my days in a constant state of headache, hibernating for 90 percent of my day in my darkened bedroom.

Even though I look and sound normal, I do still continue to heal.  But I have come leaps and bounds in my healing since the two-year post-injury mark. I chose to thrive when almost every one of the professionals said I would not. I chose the path untravelled.

My husband, Jeff, had been our knight in shining armor, stepping up to be the primary caregiver in our family.  We were devastated when we learned three years ago, he had stage 3 esophageal cancer.

Before this time, he had never missed one day of school or work EVER due to illness. He had been the picture of perfect health.  But here we were, going through 5 weeks of daily radiation, chemo, and a 7-hour esophagectomy surgery.  All in hopes of saving his life. 

Six months later, the cancer returned.  We were told he had months left to live. 

Jeff, I, and our girls (ages 7 and 9) were so heart-stricken yet somehow we rallied.  Despite the symptoms from the palliative chemo and cancer itself, we went to Disney and had a blast. This trip ignited something within Jeff and it wasn’t long after, we were off to Ottawa for him to participate in the Winterlude Triathlon. A few weeks later, he was on the championship team of the North American Pond Hockey tournament. He was awarded the MVP of the tournament after he scored the last goal of the game. Throughout all of this, we never stopped fighting for possible cures/trials to save his life.

But on our big girl’s 10th birthday, Jeff had a stroke while driving our girls home from their favourite breakfast spot, Sunset Grill.  Thankfully, the car came to a stop safely in the middle of the road.  Jeff was paralyzed down his entire right side.

He went from being a super active person to a guy who required a mechanical lift to be moved from the bed to his quadriplegic style wheelchair.

Jeff’s physical condition worsened and three months after the stroke, Jeff died in my arms while I told him how much I love him. How proud I was of him. And that he could rest.  This was the saddest day of my life.

That was just over one year ago.  And now we are amid a global pandemic and I am raising kids myself during their/my grief and running a business.  Any outside help we had since Jeff’s death has backed away due to COVID.

So when I heard one of my amazing brothers bought a red Corvette, I was thrilled for him. I love the car as much as any person can love a physical object. I enjoyed driving it with the top down on an unseasonably warm November day.  That time was a gift because of the car, but even more importantly because of the memories I was making with my brother.

You see, the idea of this car is no longer the ego trip it had once been when I was in my twenties. I have nothing left to prove to anyone or myself.  I am good enough. Brave. Smart and resilient. I am loving, empathetic, and strong.  Do not get me wrong, I am not saying everyone who drives a sports car is trying to fill a gap within themselves.  It is damn fun to drive them!  But for me, the Corvette represented a lot of stuff I no longer needed to gain from external sources.

I would trade a hundred of these Corvettes to get my husband back, but I cannot.  I suppose the moral of the story here is that I planned my life to be a certain way. A high level of career success and wealth, the Corvette, good health and wellness, a cottage, and a big, beautiful home.  But what I got is work that is meaningful that I enjoy getting out of bed for each day, a husband who loved me with his entire heart and soul, two daughters that I love more than anything, absolute gratitude for my life and the health I do have, and a deep level of respect for myself and the journey I continue to be on.

Who knows what the future will hold?  Will I still get the Corvette someday?  Before, it symbolized the pinnacle of success. Now, I truly understand success comes from within.  If I come into some cash, sure, I might buy it.  But the biggest feeling of success will be from the memories I can create (either with or without the Corvette) with loved ones…Because that is more precious than anything money will ever buy.