It doesn't take much for Jan Lambourne's mind to go right back to the horrific night of Oct. 1, 2017, when she was shot as a gunman opened fire on country music fans in Las Vegas. The things that can set her off can happen at any time.

This month when she was driving along a highway north of Winnipeg, a train travelling alongside the road blasted its horn and she almost lost control of the steering wheel.

Then there was the sound of the Winnipeg Jets' mascot banging on a drum when she was at a hockey game in May. It nearly caused her to dive for cover under her seat.

A few weeks ago, while sitting under the bright lights in the open air stadium at a Blue Bombers football game, she found herself constantly scanning the crowd.

"Nobody was worried and they don't need to be," she says. "But this is just my mind now."

Throughout her recovery, Lambourne has been seeing a physical therapist and a mental health counsellor. She has been diagnosed with PTSD. (Chris Corday/CBC)

One year after the worst mass shooting in recent U.S. history, the 47-year-old is still struggling to heal physically and emotionally from the wounds that have scarred her body and shaped her life.

She regularly sees a mental health therapist and suffers from post-traumatic stress because the memories of what happened to her in Las Vegas continue to haunt her.

It was her first trip to the city — a long weekend away and a chance to see her favourite country artists play in the three-day Route 91 Harvest music festival just off the Vegas strip.

She was up near the left side of the stage when the rapid gunfire began and she was struck in the abdomen. The bullet and its shrapnel shattered her pelvis and remain in her body today.

She dragged herself to a tent and hid under a wheelbarrow until a bartender found her. He stayed by her side until she was taken to hospital, where she had surgery.

Lambourne spent a week in the hospital in Las Vegas before being transferred back to Canada by medical jet. That flight cost more than $21,000, but it, along with the rest of her health care in the U.S., was covered by her husband's work medical insurance plan, (Chris Corday/CBC)

Lambourne spent one week in hospital in Las Vegas before being flown by medical jet back to Manitoba, where her long recovery continued.

She spent seven months sitting and sleeping in a hospital bed that was set up in her living room in Teulon, about 60 kilometres north of Winnipeg.

Immediately after the shooting, friends launched a GoFundMe campaign and in November they held a community fundraiser to help offer Lambourne and her family financial support.

Her injury meant she was unable to return to the salon she ran in town and her husband had to take months off work from his job as a boilermaker to help care for her at home.

As she lay in the hospital bed, she would stare up at a set of wooden stairs, wondering if she would ever be able to climb again.

"I honestly thought I would be up and running in January, then reality kicked in."

During the winter when she tried to sit up quickly, she heard a loud crack in her hip and immediately fell over. Turns out she had pushed herself too hard and her pelvis was still fragile.

So she slowed her pace and practised patience, gradually moving from a wheelchair to a walker to crutches and finally to the cane she now leans on.

She credits her 16-month-old grandson for helping to motivate her through the physical struggles because she realized "grandma needs to keep up."

One year on, she is able to go up and down the stairs, but is in pain with each strenuous step.

Finding a way to get rid of the constant throbbing is her next goal, because it remains an ever-present reminder of what she and thousands of others went through when the gunman opened fire.

Motive still unknown

Fifty-eight concert-goers were killed in the shooting, including four Canadians. Hundreds of others were injured.

Las Vegas police pieced together the carefully calculated massacre. In their final report, officials found that Stephen Paddock fired more than 1,000 rounds of ammunition that night, but they haven't been able to figure out what motivated him to do it.

Lambourne says that doesn't really matter.

"Some asshole didn't think my life was worth living," she says. "Whatever was in his mind, we will never know. Just cruel, absolutely cruel."

Lambourne has connected with a survivors' group online. Through text messages and phone calls, she says her new-found friends have helped her get through this past year.

They understand why she suddenly finds herself in the middle of a panic attack and why she can't yet bring herself to go to an outdoor concert. She bought tickets to festivals over the summer, but didn't attend because she found it too overwhelming.

"There is something in me that just says no, I am not ready," she says. "There is no security feeling."

During the shooting, as Lambourne dragged herself away from the gunfire, she lost the cowboy hat she was wearing that night. It was returned to her by festival organizers a few months afterwards. (Chris Corday/CBC)

When the anxiety gets to be too much, she grabs her cane and walks down the hallway to a spare bedroom that has become a refuge of sorts for her. She knows the memories aren't going to disappear so she is trying to reclaim them by allowing herself to think about what happened in Vegas.

On walls and shelves are photos from the festival, even the cowboy hat she was wearing that weekend.

There are orange ribbons that say Route 91 survivor and on the wall. there is a flag that she has had signed by other country artists she has seen since the Vegas concert, including Keith Urban.

But her most meaningful tribute to the Vegas victims is permanently with her.

While lying in the hospital in Las Vegas, Lambourne read a plaque with a saying that resonated with her. In May, she decided to have it tattooed across her left shoulder. (Chris Corday/CBC)

In May, she got a memorial tattoo across her left shoulder. On it there is is a clock that reads 10:05, the time the shooting began.

There are cowboy boots and a hat along with a saying she first read while lying in the hospital in Manitoba. She's repeated it over and over again during the past year because she felt it gave her strength.

It reads: "To heal but never forget. To honour the ones we lost. To celebrate the life we have."

It's a motto that she believes is guiding her recovery.

"I have never had anything mean so much."