Little Feet

This book is dedicated to the two people who saved my life, Dr. Wakai and Mom.

Also, the Osaka National Hospital staff in Japan who provided excellent care and the attentive, and encouraging rehabilitation staff at G. F. Strong in Vancouver, Canada.

I thank you with overwhelming gratitude.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Prologue

Part 1

The Early Years

PART 2

After high school

Part 3

The Desert

Part 4

Universal Studios

PART 5

Osaka, Japan

Part 6

The West Coast

Part 7

Running Away

Part 8

Heather’s Rehab

Part 9

Rose-Coloured Glasses

Part 10

Thank you

Part 11

The Journey continues

Epilogue

About the Author

A VERY SPECIAL THANK YOU:

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Brain injury is such a broad umbrella. It comes in all different forms depending on where the brain is damaged. Unfortunately it is more common than people want to admit. My brain injury has caused problems with balance, coordination, vision and judgment. I bear few visible scars and most people are totally unaware of the continuing effects of my accident. The further I move away from the date of my accident the general belief is, I look better, ergo I must be better! I will bare invisible wounds for evermore.

In my case wearing a helmet would have protected my brain. It would not have made me invincible as the brain still moves inside the skull during trauma. But it would have absorbed some of the force of the impact. My experience is an appropriate opportunity to teach and have an open discussion about the importance of wearing helmets.

I would have gained more if the medical community regularly went over my ABI injury with me. It’s erroneous to think that I would have retained this information only being told once on discharge.

My choice to numb the emotional pain through alcohol during my grieving process could have ultimately destroyed the cells and the connections between them as well as increasing the chances of physical injury to the brain through another accident.

Writing this book gave me purpose and has been extremely cathartic and therapeutic. If anything it has saved me a lot of money in counseling sessions. I initially took courses about composing a screenplay in hopes of creating a musical. This journey brought me to the seaside Saltair cottage where my mom resides and where my screenplay became this book. I realize being raised in my early years on the Saltair farm acreage was like living in a little piece of heaven and also contributed to my recovery.

Prologue

I was blessed with the gift of movement and enjoyed anything physical. I knew early on that dance spoke to my soul. I went from entertaining on the lawn to the stage. This was affirmed by my success in competitions, exams and qualifying for the Canadian College of Performing Arts. My love of singing and dancing allowed me to work and enjoy new places. Initially I worked in the beautiful Butchart Gardens, then travelled to the USA touring different well-known cities like Las Vegas and San Francisco.

In 2000 I chose to audition with thousands for the inaugural year of Universal Studios Japan. I relish a challenge and continually want to enhance and advance my knowledge of my craft. Wow, I got in!

I arrived in Osaka, Japan in the early moments of 2001. The New Years’ celebrations mimicked my emotions. I joined other entertainers from around the world. The facilities were top notch. This was Universal Studios first theme park outside of mainland USA. I was delighted with the warmth of the Japanese people, customs and culture.

In 2001, July Friday the 13th was like any other day working in Osaka, Japan at Universal Studios. My cast did the early ‘Monsterfest’ shows at the theatre in the Universal Studio Japan theme park. During dinner, my friends easily convinced me to join them at our favourite karaoke Bar. I love, love, love dancing and singing, so persuading me wasn’t hard. It was another fabulous karaoke night. I did my signature number ‘All That Jazz’, then prepared to leave. Heather you have to stay. I replied, Sorry, I have to work tomorrow and need my beauty sleep. They watched me leave alone, assuming I hopped on my bike in the early moments of July 14th.

Part 1

The Early Years

On December 1, 1977, I entered the world in Victoria, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. I popped out the womb with hyper extended limbs. I was blessed with the gift of movement. By 9 months, I was walking on my tippy toes everywhere and pursuing anything physical.

At the age of 4, because I was so physical, my mom put me in gymnastics in Duncan. I took to it naturally, and soon I was in an elite class intended for the ’92 Olympics. We did pummel horse, high beam and uneven bar drills. It was exhausting. By the time you finished your turn and ran back in line, it was your turn again. I even got to the point of doing aerials on the high beam. Our instructor was a heavyset Ukrainian man who always demanded work, work, and more work. One class, when doing the trampoline with the instructor, he landed on my hand and it turned blue and swelled up. He expected me to suck it up and to continue on in pain without complaint. This incident, plus his military precision, was the impetus to quit that day. This activity lacked the freedom and creativity my heart desired.

On New Years day 1983, my goal was to take my new Strawberry Shortcake banana seat bike up to the top of Seacloud Road. I stood at the top of the road and looked down over the expansive pastures where the dairy cows were grazing. Gran’s seaside cottage, where we lived, looked like a speck compared to the barn my great grandfather had built. I launched my bike into motion and halfway down the steep, slippery road I went ass over teakettle. My relatives drove down the road and found me in a puddle. They scooped me up and took me home. Mom washed the gravel off, then rushed me to the Chemainus hospital. The doctors worried about a head injury and possible broken wrists, so I was kept overnight for observation. Thankfully, my cuts and scrapes proved to be the only concerns.

Mom heard about Kirkwood Academy in Nanaimo and took my sisters and me to their year-end show. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time and wanted so much to be up on stage performing too. My sister Sarah and I attended their ’83 summer school at Malaspina College. The summer school was an introduction into the performing arts. We took ballet, character, tap, ukulele, and drama. The day was full and I was hooked. The college was enormous and little five-year-old me would run from class to class, hugging my ukulele, grinning from ear to ear. Mom then enrolled us in the weekly classes at Kirkwood Academy.

The classes were held in an old, spacious church. Ballet, tap, jazz, speech arts, drama, and piano were offered. The large ballet studio had sprung, hardwood floors and mirrors on the majority of the walls.

When not in the studio, I would organize performances with my sister’s help on the farm acreage beside our seashore cottage. Our audience, composed of family and friends, would be seated in lawn chairs looking at the bed sheets hanging on the line, which served as our curtains. We would burst through the bed sheets in full costume and make-up.

When I was seven, we moved to Nanaimo to reduce travel time to my mom’s work and our extracurricular activities. I spent all my time at Kirkwood Academy when not at school. This became my happy haunt. I was dancing five days a week taking ballet, tap, jazz, and musical theatre. I was also enrolled in weekly piano and speech art classes. I played on an old post-World War II piano my grandparents had bought for my mom.

I finished class and was waiting for my busy mother yet again. I peered through the partially opened studio door watching the senior dancers in awe. They were standing by the ballet bars and their elongated posture was reflected in the floor to ceiling mirrors. Their hair was pulled neatly back in traditional ballet buns. Most had legwarmers over their tights and t-shirts that fell off their shoulders partially covering their bodysuits. They were so cool! Wow, I couldn’t wait to be like them.

Our well-groomed, experienced dance mistress had made her weekly ferry commute from Vancouver to Nanaimo, Vancouver Island. Dolores Kirkwood was a professional performer, choreographer, singer and dancer.

Ms. Kirkwood saw me and beckoned me into the room. With baited breath I crept into the dance space. She told me to find a place at the bar and join in. I was ready for the challenge! We began with pliés and to my delight we finished with grande pliés, something I’d never attempted before. She stopped the class and acknowledged the incredible arches in my little feet. I was in seventh heaven. This made my heart sing and I knew this was where I belonged.

Every spring Kirkwood Academy entered the dance, speech arts, and piano sections of the Upper Island Music Festival. I was challenged to perform an eight-page, four-handed concerto for the piano section. Dave, who I knew from dance and was often a pas de deux partner in our dance shows, accompanied me. Early mornings for weeks we met up at the Malaspina College to practice on the two pianos. My little feet were swinging in the air, nowhere close to the ground while sitting on my piano bench. I was overwhelmed by the complicated piece and grand pianos. The festival day arrived and we performed the entire piece without faltering. Our adjudicator was amazed and we received first place.

I loved musicals. I had watched Gigi and West Side Story endless times. When I was at the ripe, young age of 9, my favourite song from the musical A Chorus Line was Tits and Ass. I innocently choreographed a routine to the music and taught my cousin the song and dance. One day my aunt was looking after us, and her neighbour came over. We thought this was a perfect time for a performance. Both of us were still in elementary school, so my aunt and her neighbour were horrified and shocked with the lyrics. We were young and naïve so we didn’t understand their reaction. Why didn’t they want an encore?

Joy Camden, who trained originally in the Cecchetti and Russian schools in London and Paris, began teaching ballet at Kirkwood Academy. She was invited to Canada in the 1950s by the Ottawa Ballet Company to choreograph. She stayed and joined the Royal Winnipeg Ballet Company and thankfully ended up on Vancouver Island where we were blessed to have her expertise. In grade 7 I wrote about Joy for a school assignment, which ended up in our school newsletter. Here it is!

Joy and Jed

I felt a few butterflies in my stomach, while standing at the bar anticipating the arrival of my new ballet mistress. The whole class was groomed to perfection. We had an image of someone similar to Margot Fonteyn drifting through the door momentarily. Screeching brakes broke our train of thought and drew us to the window. There in front of us was a small, old lady dressed in multi-coloured fifties attire. A lit cigarette hung precariously from her mouth and a black dog, much like a mop, scampered after her. Who was this weird character?

This character and her arrival had disrupted a previously disciplined group. Gurls, Gurls, she uttered in a broad English drawl while batting her eyelids and motioning us to attention. My gosh, was this our new ballet mistress? Our new mistress was to come from England having traveled the world and danced with many prestigious companies. The woman in front of me hardly met this description!

Words limit my ability to introduce you to Joy or more appropriately Ms. Camden. She has an austere, strict manner but peppered this with comic wit and often laughs at her own jokes. One would assume such a prominent lady would run an efficient class. However, Joy is always late, arriving in a fluster. The modern tape recorder challenges her. Such a bother! You’ll have to excuse me gurls, I haven’t worked this damn thing for awhile. She sets an excellent example for good nutrition. Her daily lunch consists of a Kit Kat and a banana and of course, a cigarette.

A description of Joy would be incomplete without mention of her constant companion, Jed, a black Shih Tzu. He attends every class. Joy eludes to poodle parlor visits, but not often enough it seems- Phew.

A colourful barrette holds a ponytail atop his head revealing enormous chocolate brown eyes and a pink tongue. He even wears a coat in blustery weather. One day while proceeding with Ronde de Jambe