My best friend, her aneurysm and the horses that are healing her

by Julie Dye

As I drove up to Inja’s home, I saw her waiting on the front doorstep for me, anxious to get out of her house and spend time with me, her oldest friend. At first, I felt uncertain about how much I should help—do I offer her my arm? Do I help her into the car? But soon, I relaxed and remembered I’ve known Inja for more than 35 years and regardless of what has happened to her, we are as we have always been: comfortable friends.

It has been nearly 11 months since her mother phoned me late one Friday night, desperate to get to her daughter from 1,800 miles away. A kidney infection that had gone unrecognized and untested by her doctor had turned septic. She was fighting for her life. But Inja has always been a fighter and while the infection put up a near equal fight, she overcame the infection that ran rampant in her entire body, heart, spine and brain. Though she showed a strong recovery each day, a week later, Inja suffered a brain aneurysm, called a mycotic pseudoaneurysm–meaning the infection caused the aneurysm. She was flown by “flight for life” down to the University Hospital in Denver. During her 6 hours of surgery, the lead surgeon came to the lobby to tell the family of my best friend: a mother of three, sister of three, loving daughter and dedicated wife, that she would “not make it off the table.” There was too much damage. Another call from her mother who told me I needed to come to the hospital the following day to say goodbye to my dear friend. Remembering her mom’s voice sob “oh her babies, her babies…” still brings me to tears.
And yet she survived. Again and again, through multiple strokes, continued infection, two full brain surgeries where they removed a piece of her frontal lobe, she survived. She did more than survive: she amazed.

Today Inja walks, she talks, she reads, she writes, she thinks, she heals, and yet she has not survived without scars—and in more ways than just the huge circular scar hidden under her hair. Her memory is still resorting itself, as if her brain were a computer that has rebooted and must sort each file. She faces continuing complications, which slow her process. Inja is home with her husband and three active children, but can be overwhelmed and confused by a busy life.

Which leads me to when I arrived at her home. A couple months ago, I met Tara Pagoda who owns Fifth Element Ranch in Loveland, CO, just 30 minutes away. Tara is a therapist and uses six therapy horses who help Tara access and understand patients. I had told Tara about Inja and she invited me to bring Inja to the ranch. On the drive through picturesque rural Colorado, Inja and I spoke about how she was doing, how the kids were adjusting, and even the difficulty in picking the right school for her children. Inja told me “If you expect more, you get more. If you give more, you get more.” I felt as if she were speaking about more than school, but her life.

A lot of people no longer know how to relate to Inja. Many ignore her, don’t make eye contact, talk about her instead of to her. When we arrived at the Fifth Element Ranch, the reaction was anything but disregard. The horses were immediately drawn to Inja. We were first introduced to Max, regal in white and black, and Joe, kingly in white and brown.
We were shown how to offer a closed fist as a handshake, and gave treats. Tara then explained to us how horses are able to see true emotion and understand the subconscious. They live authentically and in the present and help others to have that kind of renewed awareness. Horses help people to find their gifts. Tara said “they are trying to tell you something right now. What do you feel? What’s going on in your body right now?” Inja began to talk about how people have told her she is brain damaged.  She affirmed, “It’s not true!” Just then, Max started making sounds and Joe became very engaged. Tara instructed, “did you see how he was supporting you? They know something special is happening here.”

Inja and I were introduced to soul horses, Cassie and Kokopelli, in the field and made our way into the arena. There we met Andy, a stunning dark brown horse who had been orphaned at a much too early age. He was very attached to a horse in the neighboring stall: Misty, a gorgeous grey horse covered with tiny brown markings. Misty had been used excessively to breed and was a mama to 10 horses. She was very interested in Inja and kept walking over and putting her head down in front of Inja. It was quite touching to watch. Inja was equally as drawn to Misty and remarked on how she wanted to bring her home. Tara invited us to go into one of the stalls and just sit on chairs. Inja selected Misty.

While Inja sat down, I stood, stroked Misty’s muzzle and talked with her. Tara asked me to talk about what was going on in my body. She instructed me to close my eyes, take a breath and move down from my head, through my neck, chest, arms, legs and so on. She asked if any specific body part was talking or feeling something. I told her my shoulders and knees. Tara asked which was louder. “My knees.” “What are your knees feeling?” “Overwhelm. I’m just tired and overwhelmed.” She asked me to put my hand on Misty and feel what my body is trying to tell me. Inja said “family,” which actually made my knees feel lighter.

Tara asked Inja if she was feeling anything specific in her body and Inja responded that her knee hurt.  Tara asked why. Inja said “I am stressed about trying to be the mom who does everything right…does it all…is perfect.” After everything she has been through, her biggest concern is how she can be the best mom possible. We spent a little more time talking with Misty and feeling her calming energy, and walked back toward the car. On the way, Tara talked with Inja about her oldest son, who has been really struggling, living in the hope that his mommy doesn’t die. Tara’s suggestions for Inja on how to ease his fears were so beautiful.

I’ve always thought horses were both calming and invigorating at the same time. In a horse’s presence, it’s impossible for me not to feel more positive and grounded. With Tara’s guidance and warm-heartened facilitation it was a very magical time.

I received an email from Tara shortly after I got home. She had been hanging down with the horse including mama Misty, and started hearing a message about Inja’s quest for perfection as a mom. Here is the rough translation Tara sent me.

“Mothering takes many forms. It’s basic point is love, and connection, and not a specific form, in a specific format, i.e. it may not look like what we think a mother is supposed to look like, and/or act like, as in June Cleaver in Leave It To Beaver. Love and heart and connection. Having a bond. That’s the gift of mothering, and having that, is what makes us feel right inside. Having our heart be heard, is first priority. Then, the how-to meet our logistical life needs (food and shelter) and by who is not as precise. Someone kind can meet these needs. But, our heart connection, that’s the mothering we truly need. Andy says he’s doing alright, and look at his mothering life. And, Misty weighed in and said her heart has always tried to stay open, no matter what happened to her babies. It’s heart, it’s connecting, and then all the horses chorused that we all (not just a mother) need to connect, and our heart is how. When you feel truly connected to the divine being, everything just rights itself.”

To me, this was a “perfect” response to our drive for perfection. Inja might never be the mother she was—but that does not make her a mother who is incapable of love. To recognize this is so empowering and I’m so thankful for the experience.

In our next blog, we’ll take a look at why horses make incredible therapeutic partners.