“I lost my wife to cancer in 2018 following seven hard months of caring for her as her health went downhill. It was an absolute honour for me to have the chance to be there for her through that time. In some ways, having had that experience made what came next easier, but in other ways, it made it much, much harder.
Less than a year after my wife’s passing, when I was still in grief counselling and still working with my daughters to figure out how our family could move forward from this loss, I got into a very serious bicycle accident. Cycling had always been a passion of mine and it was a great release for me while I was grieving, so I was riding as much as I could.
When I struck that vehicle, I died at the scene. I’d always heard those stories of people being called toward the light and then turning away, and it was exactly like that. The only thing I remember thinking in that moment was that I couldn’t leave my girls behind, not so soon after their mom had gone. And so I came back into my body.
But the body I came back into could barely breathe. It was filled with excruciating pain in the neck and shoulders. And worse, there was no pain anywhere lower down, because there was no sensation at all. I was completely paralyzed.
"I was angry at the world for the timing.”
In the ICU, and later in rehab, and later still when I was home again, I was so angry. I was angry at the world for the timing. I hadn’t even started to put my life back together following the loss of my wife, and now this. And I was angry at my wife, too. I’d been there for her when she needed me most. And now I needed her more than I ever had before, and she wasn’t there.
This anger, I later came to understand, was part of my grieving process. It was the grief I was still grappling with, and will always be grappling with, over my wife’s death. But now that still-fresh grief was combined with a new grief as I mourned the loss of my independence. Time hasn’t healed either wound. It won’t. I’ve developed tools to help me cope, but I’ll be dealing with these twin griefs forever.
In the ICU, they told me there are two types of spinal cord injuries. If you have a complete injury, a severed spinal cord, there’s really nothing that can be done. If you have an incomplete injury, well, it all depends.
When I struck the vehicle while riding my bike, the injury left me completely paralyzed from the neck down. I was told I’d likely be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I’d need an elevator in my home. I’d never walk my daughters down the aisle. But my injury was incomplete, so nothing was certain.
I wanted to go into rehab almost immediately, but every morning the ICU nurses would come in, do their assessment, and tell me I wasn’t ready yet. They’d ask me to wiggle my toes. I couldn’t. They’d ask me to squeeze their hand. I couldn’t. The work ahead of me was huge, but I was ready to fight.
I had the right mindset for recovery, but mindset isn’t always enough. When I was finally ready for rehab, I was fortunate that I had time and resources that I could devote to getting better. I’ve met a lot of people who weren’t as fortunate, and the truth is, the system gives up on them. It breaks my heart. The system wanted to give up on me, but I didn’t let it. Not everyone has that choice.
After three months of in-patient rehab, I was still in a wheelchair. But I was able to move my hands a bit. I was able to move my feet a bit. I’d relearned how to go to the bathroom. I was ready to go home, where my intensive physio would continue.
The very first thing I did when I got home was park my wheelchair at the bottom of the stairs. My daughter found me there and asked me what I was doing. I was counting steps. There were 13 problems I needed to figure out.
I moved my bedroom to my office on the main floor, but I didn’t put in an elevator. Then I got to work. After four months, I was able to get myself standing. Then I was able to get myself up one step. Once I could do one, I knew I could do two. And then three. The first time I managed all 13, I had nothing left for the trip back down. I kept working.
And, last year, I walked my daughter down the aisle.”
.jpg)
