On The 21st of February 2004, my husband Darryl and I dropped our two girls off with family for a few hours because we had been invited to a dinner.  At the time, our oldest daughter Tannah was 2 yrs and 10 months old and our baby Tatum was 11 months old.  We were on our way back to fetch them and I was driving.  We were on the R28 highway when someone ran across the road right in front of the car - an incident that stretch of road is apparently well known for.  At highway speed, I swerved to miss him and the car rolled 4 or 5 times.  Darryl remembers everything, but I remember nothing because it knocked me unconscious. 

I suppose where the Proudly South African part of this story comes in is, after the car had come to a standstill, it was soon surrounded by a large crowd of people from the nearby squatter camp.  They rummaged through the wreck of the car while we were still inside (looking not too pretty, I’m sure).  After finding my handbag someone took my purse. I only found out about that when I was in rehab and thanks to my Aunt Kath, I was lead to believe that ‘someone’ might have needed the money to feed his children.  I know that little fact is a bit far-fetched, but that doesn’t make it less of a possibility. 

I also found out much later that my guide April came to help me at the scene of the accident. Guide?  Let me explain - a few weeks after the accident, my sister Tanya found an old silver ring under the bed in her spare bedroom with the name April inscribed on the band.  Strange, everyone thought?  Who’s April?  Why there?  How did it get there?  That started the process of everyone finding out that April was a young woman of about 19 years of age who had died at the scene of our accident about 20 years earlier.  After our accident, April came straight to me to comfort me and she stayed with me for a long time. 

The ambulance took both of us to Krugersdorp Hospital while our next of kin were contacted.  I’ve been told that Darryl looked MUCH worse than me, because his face was very swollen and the blood vessels in his eyes had burst.  He snapped the upper bone of his left arm in 3 places, broke his left collarbone, nearly lost his left ear, and the seatbelt damaged his heart and lungs.  A few days after being admitted, Darryl went into theatre to re-attach his ear.  During the surgery he went into cardiac arrest.  The doctor told him that if he was a smoker, he would not have come out of there alive. 

I apparently looked as though I was sleeping, because I was. 

I suffered a severe brain injury that included a higher brain function shutdown, I was in a coma.  I broke several bones, but the most critical was the odontoid peg of C2 in my neck, which, if severed leaves no chance for survival.  I also broke the pedicle of C3.  I broke my right collarbone, right scapula, I shattered the bones in my right hand, had gashes all over the back of my head, I had multiple rib fractures and my lungs and heart were also damaged by the seatbelt. 

Our girls went to stay with my Mom and Dad once everyone found out about the accident.  Darryl was in hospital for about two weeks then went to stay with all of them for a week or two, before deciding to go back home and back to work. 

While in hospital I had several operations, including ones to fix my right hand, I had my jaw relocated twice, because I dislocated it while lying in a coma.  After having pneumonia three times, I developed an abscess in my lung and they had to scrape away the layers that formed.  I suffered multiple organ failure at some time too and that usually happens when you are on your way out.  I had to have two holes drilled through my skull to release the pressure around my brain and I also had a tracheotomy which has left me with a very sexy deep voice (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

My in-coma prognosis was never good, and my family was told that IF I ever woke up I would probably be spastic and bed-ridden.  I lay in a coma for 78 days and I woke up on the 9th May 2004 – Mothers Day.  The doctors were not only surprised but cautious as they knew that being a coma for so long would have serious implications. 

For the next couple of days I went through stages that are normal for people who have suffer a brain injury - all very lady-like!  The nursing staff reacted quickly and within a week I was moved to the High Care Section at Riverfield Lodge Rehabilitation Centre in Lanseria.  Because of the extent of the brain injury, as well as statistics and previous experience, it was decided within a week that I could not be rehabilitated to full capacity, and the most they could do was get me to a stage where I could be left at home alone for 2 or 3 hours, before accidentally burning the house down or jumping out of a window (they really said that).  One of the exceptions was the Audiologist who after meeting me and seeing my amazing support system said “we have a winner here” and she apparently convinced the team to pursue the rehabilitation. 

I stayed at ‘The Lodge’ for about 12 weeks.  That’s when I had to start the physical healing. I was in a child-like state when I arrived and had to be taught how to sit, stand, walk, talk, swallow, catch a ball, etc. I was lucky enough to have lots of visitors every day.  Not one day went by without at least 4 or 5 people coming to see me. Kath came to see me every morning, usually bringing somebody with her.  Tanya and my Dad would visit me sometime in the day and then at night it would be Darryl, my Mom, and my Dad for his second shift.  I had fantastic therapists and I believe I progressed quite quickly with the physical healing. 

On the 23rd of July I went home and not only had to carry on with the physical healing, but that’s when the emotional healing really started - undoubtedly the hardest part for me. My girls were still so small so they were very confused about the whole thing, and then all of a sudden grumpy Mother Hen came back home to keep them on track.  I was not their favourite person for a VERY long time.  Although the physical side of it was never easy, the first few months at home were emotionally the most trying.  That got me writing. 

The easiest way for me to understand something, is to write it down so my diary started.  My girls were at nursery school in the mornings and I didn’t go back to work till just over a year later, so writing became my only respite from my new physical and emotional challenges. 

Another part of the emotional struggle was learning to deal with being judged by people, because of my rather obvious issues.  That was emotionally draining and honestly very disappointing and confusing for me.  Some strangers as well as people who knew me well were very disapproving and treated me like an idiot (for want of a better word).

Soon after going home I started my physio therapy with Lisa Bawden.  Lisa’s task soon became twofold because she mostly had to kill two birds with one stone. Besides my physical issues, Lisa worked on my emotional issues at the same time.  To say I am grateful for Lisa is an understatement and I’m so thankful that our Angels were in cahoots and made our paths cross. 

Just before I started work in the August, I finished my diary which I called My Journey.  I added parts from my Mom’s diary that she wrote for me detailing life for a few days after the accident.  I also added sections of the journal that Kath wrote for me.  Back in rehab, Kath had also inspired me to write about the whole story to add to what she had started.  Kath wrote something every single day, from Day 1 right up until the day I left rehab – I realise that I grew up in an amazing family.  My Mom or I would then print a couple of copies, my Dad would get them bound for me and I would give them to friends and family.  

I was given the opportunity to go back to work in August 2005 and had to try get back into the swing of things, which was a little tricky with my new physical challenges.  Those being: 

The name of my speech disorder is Dysarthria and symptoms of Dysarthria include a weakness of muscular control over the speech mechanism, difficulty with articulation of sounds, mono pitch and breathing problems. 

My speech problem was without a doubt the most difficult thing for me to accept.  It was something I always took for granted, like most people do.  One just assumes that when you open your mouth, the words will come out – it doesn’t work like that for me anymore.  The fact that words don’t come out the way I ‘think them’ is most frustrating. 

My hard-to-break habit of being a motor-mouth was well illustrated by Tannah a couple of years ago.  I was reminding my girls that its just good manners to say “Bless you”, if you hear someone sneeze.  I said, “You’ve heard me in the shops, if I hear someone sneeze, even though it’s a complete stranger, I say "Bless you!” Tati giggled and Tannah said “Ja, and then you start talking to them!” Oh, bless my girls.

Balance and proprioception are higher brain functions that fine tune movements and integrate them into complex combination forming functions.  These are lost with a brain injury as well as prolonged periods of incapacity and re-education is extremely time consuming and difficult. Balance is self-explanatory but proprioception is the awareness of where body parts (like feet) are in space.  My balance problem together with proprioception and my constantly stiff neck does nothing for my rather strange gait so I move around like a space cadet most of the time and that does zero for my self-confidence. It is probably the worst nightmare for a lot of women, but shoes with even the slightest heel are absolutely out for me - shock, horror! (I know) 

My hearing was affected because of the part of the brain that was injured.  It has nothing to do with my ears, because I hear everything around me.  The problem is that words don’t get processed properly at the cortex of my brain, so I can’t always distinguish the sound or exactly where it’s coming from.  As a result, the TV, radio and telephone are generally out for me, as it’s a bit pointless when I mostly hear ‘noise’.  Also shock horror for most people, I’m sure!  But, I’ve come to realise that the less you do certain things, the less you want to do them (this doesn’t apply to everything of course). 

I have come to a conclusion about the problems that I still encounter as a result of the accident and contrary to the proof, I don’t think its to continually baffle the experts, but maybe that’s the price I have to pay for still having my intellect in tact?  After great deliberation and serious consideration, I’ve decided that’s a fair trade.

After reading my diary, people wanted to know more, they wanted to know how I was coping. So after we had moved house twice and I was used to being back at work, I started writing again and added a few more chapters to my original diary.  I also added the letters I had been writing for our girls.  I was then sponsored a print of 500 and I gave copies to friends, family and anybody who wanted or needed to read it.  I must say that finishing the book was quite a high point for me as putting pen to paper (or fingers on keyboard) gave me a lot of perspective and I think formed a big part of my healing.  After the print, I took the story a few months further and then Gwen Watkins of Freelancers Writing Services got a hold of it, edited it and gave it her Midas touch. 

After reading the story, Gwen asked if I would consider doing a talk. Gwen knew (from reading about it) that speaking was difficult for me, but it was just to show that sort of patience, will-power and non-judgmental attitude to others.  I told Gwen that my mind was telling me that would be a bit over my head.  Me, a speaker?  Now!  But my heart was telling me it was something I must do.  So I replied, “If you have the people, I’ll make the speech.”  It was booked for August being Women’s Month.  Now the last time I ever did a speech was at high school (a little while before that), so the nerves kicked in big time, I was terrified!  But with mouth trembling and knees shaking, I stood up in front of over 100 people.  Goodness Gracious – can’t slowly can I?  I did a 15 minute talk, which I mostly read because thanks to the brain injury, I could not memorise all of that.  I can’t say that I aced it, because I definitely didn’t speak as slowly as I wanted to and I didn’t articulate my words as well as I could have but from the faces I saw and the feedback I received, I think I got the message across.  I was very grateful for being given that opportunity and decided then that I would love to do more of the same.  Later, when it sunk in that I actually stood up and spoke to more than 10 people ‘all at once’, I thought to myself, “YOU BISCUIT!”  As challenging as it was for me, I absolutely loved it! 

I’ve done four talks since then and they too were well received and have given many people food for thought.  Two of the talks were to smaller groups for organisations that support head injured patients, ex-patients and their families and included a bit of Q & A afterwards.  Those really struck a cord with me as the interaction in a ‘one on one’ session is fantastic and I hope to do more of that.  I love the fact that something I say might help anybody realise that they should never underestimate the human spirit.  I also like to remind them to NEVER EVER lose their sense of humour, because that can carry you ....really, I promise. 

Towards the end of 2008, Gwen nominated me for the inaugural Feather Awards.  The Feather Awards is an initiative of The Female Tribe in association with 1st for Women Insurance Brokers and I was nominated for the category ‘Courageous Woman’.  After a lengthy selection process, I went on to become a Finalist and the Gala Event was held in February 2009.  It was an amazing evening, but it was also a bit surreal for me.  I really felt as though I stuck out like a sore thumb.  What was I doing among so many dynamic, chatty and entrepreneurial women (all wearing high heels)?  I was far from chatty because I couldn’t hear what everyone was talking about, and I’d rather not mention the shoes.  As usual I came across the perfect written words to put my feelings of inadequacy into perspective – chop, chop!  These are the words of Mary Anne Radmacher, who I assume was wearing trainers at the time - Courage does not always roar, sometimes it is a quite voice at the end of the day saying ‘I will try again tomorrow’.  See why I love words? 

I sometimes get asked, “How do you cope?” Or “What made you carry on?”  I can honestly say that my daughters Tannah and Tatum have always been reason enough for me.  They make life so interesting, very challenging, full of laughter, a few tears, a test of my patience, but unquestionably worth it.  I also grew up in an amazing family (did I mention that?) and I’m also blessed with an awesome circle of friends. The feedback from people who have read the book and have heard me speak about it has also gives me endless inspiration.  

The book (available below) details the story and describes how, for the better part of 4 years I wanted to know the answer to my question - WHY? After much sadness, anger, loneliness, and self-doubt, I got the answer …… WHY NOT? 

And, I don’t think the question was too happy to be left hanging in the air by my mere acceptance, because it kept on asking, “Is it?”, and eventually had to give me a running kickslap in August 2009 when Darryl left me. It was an enormous jolt that literally left me hanging over the toilet bowl in shock, grief and fear, but it was a long time coming because happiness had eluded him for many years.  I had trusted and loved him unconditionally for half of my life and he is the father of my children, so that curveball was ALL about my heart and I had to find myself all over again. 

Like everyone, he makes his choices and is entitled to do so but this time, his night out was followed by a bombshell when he got home the next morning – he had no desire to return ….. ever really.  I would be lying if I said that it was easy for me, because I was absolutely torn into pieces.  Once again my girls were reason enough for me to carry on and my family was there to help pick up the pieces. 

Darryl put our house on the market a week or so after he left so the girls and I had no choice but to move. They were at a school across the road from our house and were settled in and doing so well, so I was reluctant to change school at all, but the most I could do was refuse to leave before the school year was over, even if there was an offer on the house.  I was not going to add to the suffering that they were already going through.  As I cannot afford to buy a place for us on my salary alone, my Mom and Dad stepped in to put a roof over our heads and we are still staying in a flatlet on their property – very comfortably and well supported. Tanya, knowing that I couldn’t phone a soul, stepped in to help me organise the change of school that was necessary because it was a move to a different area. 

I don’t think highly of how he went about divorcing me, not least of all the details that were unashamedly revealed to the girls on their first weekend with him, which was just nine weeks after he left.  His conduct was questionable to say the least, but his timing was impeccable, because it was literally a few hours after the hastily arranged court date. If I had the time, energy or inclination (and communication skills) to do something about it - well, sorry for me because it was legally over.  Even if only by a few hours.

The why is a totally different story - I know I am not the Tobi he married. After standing in church all those years ago and vowing ‘for better or for worse’, I’d like to think I would not do the same thing if the tables were turned, but how would I know?  How can I judge him when I’ve never been in his shoes? The fact that I am human made this particular lesson a bit more difficult to learn.

Although I’m not a deaf mute (which I think most men would secretly be happy with anyway), my speech impediment, hearing difficulties and physical clumsiness leave me with a few communication and social difficulties so that makes me a bit of a 'high maintenance chick' and it is unfair for him to now share the responsibility of that.  I guess. 

Besides the everyday routine of work/school run/homework/extra-mural run/attending school functions, etc, was the logistical nightmare of changing school, consultations with a play therapist, packing up and moving out of our home, moving away from all of our friends, etc, etc.  Still, the most difficult part for me was answering the girls’ questions as best I could.  They both adore their father and wouldn’t benefit from thinking that he did something wrong, but why should they believe his devious actions were acceptable and how on earth am I supposed to teach them that? And should I be teaching them about that when its their own father?  Yes, they must also learn that this is the real world and things like this can happen to anybody and life carries on, but as their mother, I cannot lead them to believe that this is the inevitable result of putting your complete trust in another person.  This is the hardest part for me, especially since I’m no longer convinced of the notion myself.

All said and done, the camouflage from this blessing in disguise seemed to clear a lot quicker for me.  It didn’t take me too long to realise what I had to do ….. bless him and let him go. 

I know that everything happens for a reason, but I was still left thinking, ‘so, what is my lesson here?’  I learnt a few things from my divorce, some difficult lessons and some not so difficult.  It was the surprisingly easier lesson that was probably the most beneficial:

If you can leave a relationship with love, empathy and compassion, without any thoughts of revenge, hatred or fear - that is how you let go.

To summarise, it’s certainly a story of sadness that had a huge effect on me and everyone around me but it’s also a story of faith, support, gratitude, and quiet determination in the face of enormous difficulties.