‘I overcame tragedy – to build a whole new life’
Jane Enright, 54, from Toronto, endured three traumatic events in just one year, but vowed she would bounce back
Sitting in the stands at my son’s volleyball tournament, I’m bursting with pride as I cheer him on in the middle of the excitable crowd. “Way to go” I yell, beaming proudly. Then, suddenly, a frustrated player hits the ball hard. It careers at high speed from the court and strikes my head – BAM! – with an almighty crack before it all goes black...
We were in our local stadium in Toronto and it was 2017. I didn’t see it coming and neither did my son, who watched it all helplessly on the court below as spectators jumped up to help me. By the time I saw a doctor, the damage was done. “You have life-altering concussion and a serious brain injury,” he gravely told me. But that was only the beginning of my journey. From then on life became about enduring crippling headaches and fighting to overcome my speech loss and hearing.
For nine months I worked hard to improve my speech aphasia (word-finding issues) and I grappled with short-term memory loss, just like Dory in Finding Nemo. A friend told me, “You’re still you, but sometimes you’re just delightfully ditzy.” I lived in a new reality and I had to accept this new me.
A black curtain had come down in my brain – I couldn’t say the right words or remember the right things. I knew I couldn’t return to the work I loved, talking for a living as a strategic planner. I’d helped people deal with change by looking at things from the outside in. Little did I know just how useful my skills would be in my own life.
A year after my accident, in 2018, my fiancé Clayton was in a car crash and hit his head. We still don’t know what happened that day but 24 hours later, he collapsed on to the concrete floor in our garage and suffered a big bleed on the brain. Somehow he’d managed to stand and walk into the house. I came home from work and found him on the sofa, completely unresponsive. I waved my hands in front of his face and his eyes remained fixed, staring ahead.
He mumbled my name, but he deteriorated in the ambulance and he forgot his address, his family and even who I was. I cradled his head in my hands, covered in blood. I couldn’t comprehend the trauma.
“How could this have happened?” I thought, shocked, disbelieving and anxious about our future. I needed to dig deep and explore my faith in a way I never had before.
I’d met Clayton, a market research company
‘I cradled his head in my hands, covered in blood’
owner, in 2009 through work. After a year of chatting on the phone, one day, he just said, “Hey, I think you’re pretty special. If you ever want to date, I’m first in line.”
We got engaged in 2016 and began planning our wedding in Canada. Yet here he was two years later, lying in a semi-comatose state, drifting in and out of consciousness. He didn’t say my name for 10 days. I was sick with worry.
Panic and pretence
When he finally awoke, he was so bright and cheery, like nothing had happened. He said, “Everyone’s so nice here. I can’t remember anyone but you’re the prettiest.” I realised with horror he had no idea who I was. I pretended I wasn’t fazed, but inside was pure panic.
Sitting at his bedside, I assumed his amnesia would last a few hours, maybe a day, tops.
But that wasn’t the case.
While Clayton’s memory was shot to pieces, there were bigger worries still. The bleed on his brain had also affected his mobility. He’d never live alone – if he fell, his fragile brain wouldn’t recover.
I’ve always been a glass-half-full sort of person. I took each day at a time, spending the next 100 days in hospital by his side as he took baby steps from ICU to rehab. I promoted myself from Vice President in Charge of Conversation – keeping everyone updated with C’s progress – to CEO of Everything.
My frazzled brain was on the back foot, juggling my teenage sons and trying to keep our jobs afloat on my own. The stress caused painful headaches to resurface from my own injury.
One day Clayton turned to me and said, “We live together? I must be a lucky son of a bitch.”
He was still a charmer and, despite it all, he pulled me through. When I asked the doctor if he’d ever make a full recovery from his catastrophic brain injury, he said, “He will have challenges for the rest of his life.”
I felt like a schoolgirl who was being punished. Was I a bad person in another life? Did I deserve this? I was scared and even considered moving us to a retirement community to get the care we needed. It was so far from the future we’d planned.
What happened next, in March 2018, floored me even further. Jenn, my best friend of 40 years, who’d supported me through everything, was diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer. I sobbed and shook uncontrollably as I took the call telling me the news. A month ago we were laughing over breakfast in my kitchen.
I wrote Jenn a heartfelt email, pouring my love and emotion on to the blank page. Life isn’t all fluffy clouds and rainbows – I felt raw.
I spent 100 consecutive days travelling between two Ontario hospitals, supporting Clayton and Jenn. She died three weeks later, but it comforts me knowing I was there for her.
I couldn’t let my future be defined by these events. If I couldn’t accept the good and the bad, I’d be caught in the weeds, in denial. So
I lived in the moment, just like Clayton. He couldn’t remember the past or anticipate the future, but he was happy.
My best friend had died, my fiancé was in rehab, and my sons were leaving to work in Australia. I was losing so much, but I had to focus, become mindful and change my outlook in life. In order to be healthy and happy, I needed to step back as lead actress in my relationship and play a supporting role instead. A dear friend wisely said, “Jane, love never dies. It just changes.”
I knew Clayton was cared for by family and friends. I wrote a letter, thanking him for the love and joy he’d brought me. We’d survived a hellish year together. Now it was time for me to move forward. For seven months I travelled with my sons to Australia and we saw the world together. I boarded that plane on a wing and a prayer and it was the best decision of my life.
I don’t feel ashamed that I left my fiancé. We didn’t even speak for seven months. But we’ve adjusted to a different life and we talk and meet constantly. We look out for each other and that’s what’s important.
‘My frazzled brain was on the back foot from all the juggling – the stress caused painful headaches to resurface’
Reasons to be cheerful
My travels gave me clarity and made space in my life for my own aspirations so, in 2019, I launched mysuperawesomelife.com – a platform full of travel stories to inspire other people to navigate change, move forward and create your own super awesome life.
Writing about the worst year of my life has helped me realise how far I’ve come. I practise gratitude for what I’ve gained, not what I’ve lost.
Everything happens for a reason, but
I can’t pretend to know what it is. Out of every bad experience in my life, something wonderful has happened. I’ve found a job that I love, teaching people that change is OK. My motto is – seize the day. You don’t find happiness, you create it.