I believed in achieving goals. Living with trauma forced me to appreciate the journey

This first-person narrative is written by Natalia Rybzinski, who lives in Ottawa. He worked with CBC producers to structure and transcribe his oral story. For more information about first person stories, see FAQ,

I firmly believed that if I was motivated enough and worked hard to achieve my goals, everything was within my reach.

I was working as a paleontologist with expertise in the Canadian High Arctic. It’s fascinating to study ancient ecosystems, such as the one four million years ago when camels roamed the lush forests of Canada’s far north.

I believed in positive thinking. I was used to facing challenges. My job demanded it. I led research campaigns, mentored students, wrote grants, and published research. I was always productive and active. At the time of my injury, I was training for a ski race.

That’s why when my doctor said my stroke symptoms would go away in about 10 days, I believed it.

the day my life changed

My injury occurred in 2011 while skiing one night in the Gatineau Hills near Ottawa. I was on a fast, icy track when another skier lost control and collided with me. The collision threw me into a ravine. It left a void in my memory and a pain in my jaw.

The next morning, I realized something else was wrong when I was so confused I had trouble finding the toothpaste tube on the counter.

After a few days, I was diagnosed with a concussion. The doctor asked me to remain relaxed and said that my symptoms of dizziness, nausea and headache would go away soon.

The trip that changed everything

About a month after my injury, I was scheduled to go to Antarctica. It was a huge undertaking that I put a lot of work into – a once in a lifetime opportunity.

I felt a huge responsibility to my students and colleagues that I went there, even though I was still experiencing symptoms. The CT scan showed no brain bleeding, and the doctor said I was good to go.

During the trip, I noticed that my symptoms were getting worse. I often felt nauseous and found it difficult to engage in conversation. While hiking, I couldn’t keep up with the group, and I felt extreme fatigue which was very strange to me because I was used to being athletic.

But I believe it was the real turning point in my life while returning from Antarctica.

In the infamous Drake Passage, known for its massive storms, the ship was shaking so violently that we were asked to stay in our rooms to avoid injury.

I can’t be sure, but I think getting stoned caused more damage to my already swollen brain.

When I reached home, I had difficulty unpacking. I found a tube of sunscreen with Spanish written on it and I had no memory of buying or using it. This was the first time I noticed significant memory gaps.

a messed up reality

Along the way, I was told by a few doctors that my symptoms were from anxiety or that I was “catastrophic.” It made me question my reality.

But my symptoms were real, and they were increasing.

For years, I believed I would get better. I did all the recommended physical therapy, and I kept trying, trying to get back to work and planning future Arctic trips.

My brain was injured, so it was difficult for me to judge the depth of the injury. I was living with the assumption that I would soon return to my old life.

In 2014, I was diagnosed with post-concussion postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, which meant I felt severe fatigue and dizziness, headaches, nausea, and chills whenever I stood up.

Sometimes I experience these symptoms even after sitting on a chair for too long. Medication helped manage these issues, and I remember feeling a surge of hope, thinking, “This is it; this is the key to my recovery.”

I had enough energy to even think about washing windows.

One reason I maintained hope was that my post-stroke symptoms fluctuated. Some days I can do more, but I pay the price the next day. I could have a meeting with colleagues, but I would have to spend my entire day preparing for it and then take time to relax afterward. So I can deceive others and myself into believing that everything is okay – or at least that it is getting better.

It wasn’t until four years after my injury that a doctor’s note to my employer made it clear that I would not be able to return to work full-time. Still I had hope. I still believe in the power of positive thinking.

finding a new way forward

I eventually retired in 2016, five years after my injury. My job was flexible, allowing me to keep working long hours, but eventually it became clear I couldn’t continue. The loss was huge. Not only did I lose my career, but I also lost my hobbies, my ability to socialize comfortably in groups, and my sense of identity as an active, productive person.

I have been fortunate to have a supportive family and especially my husband who has been there for me. He has been a rock, taking on more responsibilities and understanding my struggles.

But the pain of losing who I am still remains.

I can accept where I am today with my health, but that doesn’t mean I’ve come to terms with it.

Every day is difficult. Simple tasks like grocery shopping or driving require excessive effort. I have to pace myself and listen to my body, which is a big change from my old mentality of pushing through.

My previous approach to positive thinking—which got me through graduate school and made me a highly motivated scientist—was actually harmful during my recovery. It forced me to ignore my symptoms and try to live a life I was no longer able to live.

But I have not completely given up the power of positive thinking. These days, I still sometimes have to remind myself that my brain is injured, but I’m getting better at seeing and believing in my symptoms and I’ve learned that it’s possible to combine hope with acceptance.

In 2024, I return to field work in the High Arctic. It felt like a tremendous accomplishment.

Although I still have a lot of symptoms, especially fatigue, I have improved through other treatments, including neck and vision therapy. Maybe someday I’ll get better and get back to my full potential before my injury.

But if I don’t, that’s okay too. I’ve also learned the value of small pleasures – a walk in nature, a short visit with a friend. I also make time to do paleontological research. These moments help me embrace the messy middle of my healing journey and still find beauty in my life.

Watch Frozen in Time on the CBC Gem and The Nature of Things YouTube channels.

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