Choosing to Dance

You must meet the outer world with the inner world or existence will crush you.

-Mark Nepo

I met up with my friends, Charlie and Andy, for our weekly bike ride at Lake Crabtree, a county park bordering Raleigh, North Carolina. Our single-track mountain biking excursions involved leaning into curves, riding over roots and obstacles, and jumping piles of logs.

We approached a trail, one with an expansive view of Lake Crabtree surrounded by her forested shoreline. Tall office buildings poked above the treetops. We breathed in the beauty of the mild autumn day; a palette of shades of green sprinkled with maple tree leaves bursting into their seasonal glory of orange and red. Sunlight shimmered on the water and reflected a scattering of billowy clouds against a Carolina blue sky. Nature drew us into the woods — the fresh fragrance of the pines, the sunlight dappling the trees and the dead leaves crackling like fire beneath our tires. The forest came alive.

The bike trails spanned miles of roughly cleared paths worn smooth by riders over the years. At odd intervals, bulging roots had pushed through the earth and forced us to focus. We rode into and out of gullies, up and over piles of logs, and across a twenty-foot-long narrow wooden plank system. These planks stood about twelve inches off the ground and were no wider than a cereal box. The challenge was to stay steady the entire length of the planks. When we lost our balance, we would drop to the ground; after that we could continue to ride the path or go back and try again.

We reached a familiar teeter-totter, one we had mastered many times, riding up one side and down the other. We stopped and contemplated a much bigger and heavier teeter-totter that was new to the trail. I wanted to try it. The challenge excited me. Charlie and Andy stopped to watch me.

In mountain biking, speed is your friend. I pressed forward.

My front tire made contact with the teeter-totter and climbed to the top. But, my bike never came down the other side. It stood upright at the top of the teeter totter for a few seconds, without me; I had gone flying over my handle bars. Then the bike fell to the ground. I remember sailing through the air. A flood of thoughts flew through me. I was barreling toward the earth; I hit head-first.

I tried to move my arms, my legs, my body — nothing moved. I waited for the pain — there was no pain. I was just lying there. Charlie had come to my side; his eyes opened wide in shock. I wanted to talk — I really did, but no sound would come out. I mouthed 911 three times.

Then ... I stopped breathing — the imminent death sentence.

I had no movement, no voice, and no breath.

I had taken a fall. Taking falls are part of mountain biking but before I always got back up, bruised, cut, a little bloody, but never seriously injured. This time, this day, November 3, 2005, I had no breath and was paralyzed from head to toe.

I hung between life and death; my instincts propelled me to my inner power. I had been practicing spiritual and holistic healing principles for over six years. I tapped into the healing and manifesting potential of my true Being. I could not talk. I could not move. I could not breathe. Yet, I had everything I needed. I had my faith and Oneness with the creative force of the universe — God, and I still had access to my mind, my thoughts.

Instinctively, the mantra I daily recited when I needed to call back my power rushed forth. Still on the ground, motionless, breathless, I willed my body, emphatically. "I refuse to accept this limitation; God is my Source!"

Boom! What felt like a huge lightning bolt coursed through me. My beliefs — my thoughts — continued to spill from my mind to every cell in my body.

"I refuse to accept this limitation; God is my Source!"

Another bolt followed instantly. My left arm flopped at my side.

Moments later I regained my breath! My lifeless form had accepted the dance of my mind, body, and spirit.

The ambulance arrived in seventeen minutes from getting the call and took me to Duke University Medical Center. I was in a large examination room, more like a private room than a curtained area. There was a flurry of activity, much of which I do not remember. An ER doctor told me that my full paralysis was the result of my C1 and C2 neck vertebrae fractures and a profound spinal cord injury. I found out my C2 vertebra broke into two separate pieces.

The emergency room filled with friends and family. I said, "This is temporary. See me dancing."

My doctor, Robert E. Isaacs, director of spine surgery at Duke Medical Center, told me that most people with the severe spinal cord injury I had don't even make it to the emergency room. They die at the scene because they stop breathing. He said the surviving few who don't stop breathing were left quadriplegic. "People like you don't exist," he said.

However, I do exist.

He may have had more questions than answers to why I had lived. And, though he didn't seem to resonate with my mind power and faith, he did respect my beliefs.

My first and only surgery took place late that night. Dr. Isaacs told me right before the surgery, "Reconnecting your C2 is my responsibility, using your mind to your full advantage is yours."

Because my C2 broke in half my head was not connected to my body by bone. In surgery, Dr. Isaacs entered through the front of my neck and reconnected my vertebra to the spinal column with a two-inch plus screw. He verified the position of the screw every quarter turn with x-rays. The surgery was a success. However, I was still left a quadriplegic, a condition that I, in stark contrast to Western medical thinking, vehemently considered temporary.

I continued to use the teachings and Truths I had learned along my spiritual journey and shared as a holistic life coach and healing facilitator to influence my outcome. Our bodies do not know the difference between what is and what we affirm and expect. The nervous system creates a pathway with each thought — whether the thought is real, remembered or made up. That is why I ignored what was so obvious and gave little attention to my paralyzed body. I refused to spend energy asking why me or rehashing what ifs when instead I could picture myself dancing again.

I directed my mind, time, and energy into my healing. I more than desired — I expected — to ride a bike and dance again. In my mind, I felt the excitement of high-energy music and saw myself dancing with my friends on a crowded floor. I visualized riding my bike and saw in detail the greenway trails, the woods and a pond with a water fountain in the middle. My visualizations created in me a sense of gratitude and joyous expectation — energetically imprinting into my body that I fully healed.

Only eighteen hours after surgery, and against earlier medical expectations, I had the opportunity to combine my positive expectations, visualizations and faith. I got a chance to walk. I trusted my body to respond and prepared my mind for taking my first step. I visualized myself walking the full length of the long corridor, much further than what the therapist asked me to do. And, I did walk, ever so slowly with legs that felt like cement, the length of the corridor and back.

My arms felt weighted down. I ignored that feeling, and when I had to lift my arms, I first saw myself doing it with ease. I attribute a great deal of my recovery to my belief and use of this visualization process. Whether I was opening a flip-top yogurt container or bringing a spoon to my mouth before I moved, I visualized it done. Each day in the hospital, I developed more dexterity. Dr. Isaacs found this promising — the earlier a quadriplegic has movement, the better her prognosis.

Everything was focused on physical therapy at this point though not all of it was serious. The day I left the ICU, my daughter, Brittany and my ex-husband visited me at dinnertime. They had always known me as a physically active, independent, and healthy woman. And now, they saw me paralyzed and painstakingly attempting to put food in my mouth. Even though my spoon's handle was modified with a fat, red rubber piece to assist my grasp, my paralysis made it hard to handle. Brittany broke out in laughter — seeing me playing airplane to get the food to my mouth — much as I had done when she was a baby to get her to eat her food. The laughter was contagious and, as we often hear, superb medicine.

I loved having family and friends with me, but I also relished the quiet time. I knew the profound, full healing I desired was now my responsibility to co-create with God, and it would need to manifest from the inside out. When I was alone, I focused on rebalancing my energy field. I did affirmations, visualizations, and meditation. Sound healing rebalances one's energy field to allow more life force energy to flow. So, I bathed my body in the healing sound frequencies of Tom Kenyon's nearly four-octave voice.

Because of my faith in the powerful healing capacity of the mind, body, and spirit, I expected to have remarkable results. To me, miracles are just God being God. I got out of my own way and allowed God to express its perfection through me. After surgery, I refused pain medicine, trusting that I would heal in comfort. I did, experiencing no pain. They told me I would be in the ICU for seven to ten days. I said I would be out in two and walked out of ICU two days later. The medical personnel expected my hospital stay would last three weeks minimum. I said I would be released in one week and left the hospital on the seventh day.

Dr. Isaacs told me that I had the same injury as the late Christopher Reeve, who had received the immediate medical attention of the highest quality after being thrown from his horse in an equestrian competition in 1995. Reeve was still left a quadriplegic and needed to use a breathing apparatus for the rest of his life. I didn't have help from EMS early on — it took seventeen minutes for them to reach me. Yet my belief and understanding of the mind, body and Spirit allowed me to trust that I had everything I needed — my mind — I could choose my thoughts — and my connection to a Higher Power.

Dr. Isaacs said, "Considering Suzette's spinal cord damage, her results surpassed medical expectations. The rapidity and completeness of her improvement were truly remarkable." Dr. Isaacs' validation letter is at the end of chapter three.

I am a testament to the amazing healing capacity of our bodies. We can accomplish more than most of us realize if we stretch our thinking beyond the limits of traditional medicine; if we focus on more than matter alone and remain open to the interconnectedness of the mind, body, and spirit.

My Recovery Continues

The first two weeks at home, I spent most of my time healing in bed. I got up for short spells to eat, go to the john, be showered, and do my physical therapy. I had to budget my energy, for example, choosing to have a friend visit or take a shower.

Sixteen days after my injury, Charlie took me for an unassisted half-mile walk down my street. We walked further each day. Three weeks after my injury, I felt a shift in strength and function. It was Thanksgiving Day, and I gratefully walked one and one-half miles.

I became more and more able to do the things we take for granted. I could unscrew my supplement bottles, button and zip my clothing, and move my plate from the table to the sink without dropping it.

My affirmation, "This is temporary, see me dancing." became a reality one month after my injury. I went to the Raleigh Ski and Outing Club's annual Christmas dance. This club is where Charlie, Andy, and I met, and I knew I would see many friends there.

My friend Amy, before driving us to the dance, showered me, dried and curled my hair and put make-up on me. I felt nurtured and loved. When we arrived I felt more love; my friends' hugs and words of encouragement expanded my heart.

The jovial atmosphere was palpable; friends playfully coaxed me out onto the floor — not that I needed much coaxing. I danced twice. My dance partner and I locked arms, our hands resting on each other's elbows for balance and safety. My legs and feet moved slowly, feeling as if they were glued to the floor. I wasn't graceful, but I was dancing. I was very sl-ow-ly dancing, every part of me thankful to Spirit and my body.

After an hour, I felt as if I could fall asleep sitting up. It took all my remaining energy to say goodbye to my friends and walk to the car with Amy. I carried with me the warmth of the evening. Getting to this dance was such a major accomplishment for me and more evidence that we are so much more than we have been taught to realize.

Support of Loved Ones

I was single and lived alone, but I was not left alone. My mother and siblings live in Maine and me in North Carolina. Mom flew down immediately and stayed three weeks. She was always at my side: getting me water, helping me in and out of bed, dressing me, answering my phone, and doing anything useful she could think of to do. Besides taking care of me, she took care of the household duties; she cooked, cleaned, and laundered. Sometimes it took every ounce of courage she had to see me so disabled. Her love and support were immeasurable.

My daughters Brittany, a senior in high school, and Bri, two hours away at the University of North Carolina, Wilmington, visited when they could.

I had once told Britt that if I ever got a tattoo it would be of a heart with wings on each side. She must have channeled her feelings of pain into love. At two o'clock in the morning, when I returned from surgery to the ICU, she was waiting for me with a painting — the acrylics had yet to dry on the wings.

My ex-husband Rick was there for me, too. He came to the emergency room and then to the hospital each evening after work. He made sure I had the best doctors, and he encouraged me. His presence strengthened me. We had moved in different life directions and had divorced seven years earlier, but, still, a depth of caring remained between us. My older daughter Bri shared, nearly six years after my injury, how watching her father's attentiveness toward me mended something in her that had broken. She told me that her heart felt it more than she knew how to say. It was as though her sense of family was restored, not through a physical reunion of her parents, but through something very special — a reunion of the hearts of the two adults she loves most.

My sister Bea, who loathes flying, felt compelled to fly here, saying the power of her love for me surpassed her gripping fear. With the help of a Kahlua Sombrero en route, she was waiting to surprise me when I returned home from the hospital. The fact that she got on a plane at all, let alone on short notice, filled me with joy and comfort.

My sister Ramona, my brother Doug, and other family members checked in with me often and kept me in their positive thoughts.

My friends Jodi and Amy nurtured my spirit in the emergency room and beyond. Amy and I had each purchased a Staple's Easy Button a few weeks earlier for our law-of-attraction work. It's that three-inch round, red button that when pushed says, "That Was Easy." On her way out the door to get to the emergency room, quick-thinking Amy grabbed her Easy Button. Just like in our law-of-attraction work, she pushed the button, and it said, "That Was Easy." We all laughed. That affirmation lightened and eased my recovery.

Jodi and Amy visited me daily in the hospital and stayed either with me or in the reception room for hours at a time. They shared bedside duty with my mom, tending to my needs and keeping the mood positive. Jodi even helped me feel put together with a little makeup and a dab of lipstick. They wrote positive thoughts — I Am Love, and I Am Whole — in black magic marker on the intravenous bags that raised the energetic vibration of the nutrients.

One I got home, Jodi brought meals, and Amy handled all the logistics of my emails, bills, business calls, doctor's appointments, grocery shopping, and my in-home physical therapy. She created a calendar on the internet so friends could sign up to drive me to my medical appointments, bring meals in, and take turns visiting. They were my Earth angels.

Charlie walked daily with me. My guy friends from my Rotary Club signed up to give me my showers. No, just kidding! Though they did, with the help of their wives, bring me meals. I was honored and encouraged by the care and concern of so many generous people.

Through all of this support, I was assured of the healing power of love.

Becoming More Mobile

I continued healing. Even though I had a stiff neck, I was able to drive my car four months after surgery. I remember the first time. It was a balmy seventy-five degree March day. I had planned to drive just through my neighborhood in my red convertible with the top down. Instead, I drove the ten minutes to Jodi's house to surprise her. I passed at least a hundred Bradford pear trees, their white flowers fully opened, ushering in spring. Every spring I had relished driving down that road just to feast my eyes on those pear trees for the three weeks they were in bloom. This time, an intense appreciation for all I was experiencing welled up within me.