Conner’s Story

January 22, 2020 started as a fantastic day. It was a month to the day before my 30th birthday, I was in Puerto Escondido in the southwest tip of Mexico for a wedding and my biggest worry was if I had forgotten a collared shirt for the affair. The sun was shining, the weather was hot, and my girlfriend Jane and I decided to go to the beach for a couple of hours to work on our tans and splash around in the ocean.

But then, in an instant, everything changed.

While swimming, I was picked up by a wave and slammed down onto the beach. I clearly remember the unmistakable and never welcome sound of bones breaking as my C4 vertebrate fractured and my C5 invertebrate burst completely. My spinal column shifted and I was paralyzed from the neck down, floating helplessly, face in the waves unable to breathe. I screamed the air out of my lungs, fully conscious of my need for more and my inability to get it myself. Luckily, Jane was nearby and saw my limp body in the surf. She flipped me right side up and pulled me out of the water to safety.

With the help of a bilingual couple on vacation from Guadalajara who saw the accident, an ambulance was called. Those same selfless individuals came with us to the hospital, translated medical documents, spoke on my behalf with the doctors, and got our bags from the Airbnb. This was the first of an incredible amount of love and support that has been instrumental in my continued recovery.

I spent the night shirtless, covered in sand, heavily sedated on the third floor of the open-air hospital while a network of family and friends jumped into action to get me the best care possible. Calls in multiple languages were placed in multiple countries to surgeons, hospitals, medical flight companies, insurance companies, and embassies. The next day I had a medical flight to Mexico City and surgery scheduled with one of the most experienced surgeons in the country.

The next weeks took me from the intensive care unit to the spinal cord-specific rehab unit, from being attached to oxygen to being able to breathe on my own, from being completely immobile from my neck down to being able to move my shoulders and biceps. I was doing five hours of therapy a day and being shifted and rotated every two hours to fight pressure ulcers. The poking and prodding of tests was constant. This was a difficult time made better by the support of my family, friends, and even the kindness of complete strangers.

Among those strangers was a man named Luis. I met him during physical therapy, watching him learn how to run and work on strengthening the fine motor skills in his hands. He later told me his story as to how he came to be where he is today. His journey started with a stroke that left him in the hospital unable to move anything but his eyelids. He spent four months in the hospital and then continued to come back for rehab every day for the next three months. He shared with me his philosophy of recovery, which was by working constantly throughout the day, every day, “poco a poco”. It's so simple, so concise, so utterly manageable. Poco a poco...little by little.

A month later I was out of Mexico. The day before my 30th birthday I had the second medical plane ride of my life taking me from Mexico City to San Jose where I spent the next month and a half at inpatient rehab in Santa Clara. The coronavirus began to take hold across the nation and restrictions in the hospital clamped down. Eventually, no visitors were allowed.

Regardless, every day brought an opportunity to work harder and get better “poco a poco”. And, slowly, the results of my hard work began to pay off. Some stability was coming back and with it, strength and mobility.

Eventually, I was well enough to go home. This time, by a rented wheelchair-accessible van. I continue to recover, growing stronger all the time. It takes hours of stretching and exercise at home in addition to physical therapy, occupational therapy, personal training at an adaptive gym, and pilates to continue to get results. The results are astonishingly slow, but results nonetheless.

In the big picture, it's incredibly overwhelming. The time, money, and effort that has been expelled already is astronomical. And, looking forward, the task in front of me seems too big to conquer. But, broken down, everything becomes much more manageable. The body is an amazing thing meant to be used and enjoyed. It will take care of itself better than can ever be imagined. The milestones will continue to come one step at a time, “poco a poco”.