Episode 3: Victoria's Story - A Journey Through Trauma, Recovery and Hope

Life has a way of blindsiding you when you least expect it. One day, everything feels normal, and the next, you’re staring at a reality so surreal it feels like a nightmare you can’t wake up from. That’s exactly what happened to me on April 14th, 2023. It started like any other Friday. I was working, busy with the usual demands of my cleaning business, hustling to get home early for once so I could pack for a weekend trip to North Carolina. I was planning to surprise my family at my stepmom’s new cabin, and we even had a funny prank prepared—glittery signs welcoming my sweet grandma “home from prison.” But before the day could unfold as planned, everything changed with a phone call.

My husband answered the phone, annoyed at first because, like any millennial, we don’t pick up unknown numbers. Then I heard him say, “Yes, I’m her father. Are they okay? Which hospital?” My heart dropped. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion as he told me our daughter and my grandmother had been in a car accident. I thought it was just a fender bender—my grandma always took the back roads, and how bad could it really be on a quiet street?

We rushed to the hospital, seeing my grandma’s smart car on the side of the road, with just the door panel missing. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, “Okay, maybe it’s not that bad.” But nothing could have prepared me for what came next. As we arrived, my mom leaned in and whispered the words I never imagined hearing: “Nana didn’t make it.”

I went from expecting a minor injury to realizing I’d just lost my grandmother, and my daughter was fighting for her life. They rushed us into a room with a social worker, and everything felt surreal, like walking through a fog. They eventually led us to my daughter’s room in the ICU, where I saw her tiny body intubated, motionless, and sedated. It was the worst moment of my life.

Days blurred together as we waited for answers. The doctors were cautiously optimistic but kept mentioning things like severe traumatic brain injury, diffuse axonal injury, and brain swelling. Every medical term felt like another punch to the gut. The worst part? They couldn’t guarantee she’d ever be the same. I remember one doctor, fresh out of Johns Hopkins, telling us that based on her MRI, I should expect her to be in a vegetative state. I couldn't even process it. All I could think was, "This can’t be real."

But even in the darkest moments, there were glimpses of hope. A nurse named Carrie told me not to lose faith. She’d seen kids in worse situations make full recoveries. Slowly, signs of my daughter began to emerge. First, a twitch of her hand, then her familiar sass coming through in ways only she could manage—like flicking off a nurse who tried to comfort her with a stuffed animal or rolling her eyes at the hospital food.

By the time we reached the rehabilitation center in Orlando, it felt like we were turning a corner. Every day, she showed a little more progress, even if it was baby steps. I’ll never forget the day she ate her first bite of pudding after weeks of not eating. It brought tears to my eyes. The girl who hated cheese with a passion and would sit on the pantry floor claiming there was “nothing to eat” was suddenly complimenting the hospital’s microwave meals, saying, “Delicious! Compliments to the chef!” It was her humor and spirit shining through.

The weeks spent in rehab were a chance for us to reconnect. In the midst of trauma, there was a beauty in slowing down and just being together. I turned our hospital room into a mini-party zone, creating themed nights—ice cream parties, dance-offs, spa nights. It was a way to bring a little light into the darkness. And while she missed her siblings terribly, technology allowed us to keep them connected. We had FaceTime dance parties with Baby Yoda, and I’m convinced it helped her healing process.

I’ve come to realize that healing from trauma is never a straight line. There are setbacks, and there are miracles. My daughter’s recovery is still ongoing, and we’re navigating what her new normal looks like. But no matter what, she’s here. She’s fighting, and she’s fierce. And that’s all I could ever ask for.

This journey has been the hardest thing I’ve ever faced, but it’s also been a reminder of the strength we don’t always know we have. To anyone out there going through their own unimaginable journey, I want you to know:

You’re not alone.

You’re stronger than you think.

And even when you feel like you can’t survive another day, just hold on.

There’s light, even in the darkest places.