I grew up playing a wide variety of sports, but it was skiing, specifically alpine racing that grabbed my heart and attention. In central Massachusetts my family embraced Winter’s cold weather on ice skates or skis. We spent the majority of the colder months at ice hockey rinks or the local ski area, roughly a fifteen-minute drive from our door through the woods. My parents to this day would say that they didn’t struggle getting me up early as long as we were going to play in the snow.

As my skiing and passion for the sport grew bigger, mountains, more snow and a coordination between sport and education quickly became apparent. I would leave home for high-school with the hopes of finding the elusive balance of sport and schooling. New Hampshire provided the closest thing to this idealistic teenage period as I looked to push myself on snow and in the classroom.

Towards the end of my junior year of high school I suffered a tib-fib spiral fracture and nearly lost my left-leg to compartment syndrome. This was my first major injury and bouncing back from it are life skills that I still lean on heavily. Unfortunately, my returning to racing took longer than I would have liked. But spending time away from the world of alpine racing only stoked a stronger fire of desire to get back in gates.

A move to Maine to attend undergrad at Bates College was the next phase shift. There I spent my first winter racing independently and focusing on my academics. I saw no benefit in putting off school to rebuild my racing. I would eventually join the NCAA Alpine team and double major in Rhetoric & Philosophy. These were times I will never forget. Skiing was still fun a driver for my soul. How would I find time on snow to compliment time in an office? After two winters in New England, the answer was obvious. “Go west, young man.” Ski City, Salt Lake, Utah was about the best place for outdoor access, higher education and a job market that at least superficially shared these values.

Brace for impact…

Memorial Day weekend of 2017 my life took a drastic turn. I was wrapping up the end of the ski season with a talented group of friends at Snowbird in Salt Lake City, Utah. We had the fortune of a deep snow year allowing us to ski well into the spring. The day had been magical, bright sunny skies plenty of terrain still accessible and great friends made for great memories. That was until the last run of the day…

We had decided to pick our way over to terrain that we skied the entire winter long and where we assumed snow would have held on throughout the warm day. When it was my turn to ski down, I was excited to wrap the season up with this group. A few turns later I took some air off of one of the moguls. Grinning ear to ear as I landed I felt the snow let go from underneath my feet and the next thing I knew I was on my back head first sliding into extremely unforgivable terrain, carried by wet slough. I began bouncing off rocks and after a hard hit to my hip I was in the air with a tree in my periphery. All I could do after not being able to self-arrest was brace for impact.

After being knocked out by the impact with the tree on the backside of my head and left shoulder, I found myself face first in the snow. My goggles had been broken, I could taste blood on my lips as adrenaline began and I opened my eyes. I wiggled my toes, flexed muscles running up my legs and after feeling relatively comfortable that my spine was intact, I attempted to turn my face out of the snow in hopes of being able to take a full breath of air. Next, I lifted my right arm and as I attempted to do so with the left realized I had no ability to move the limb. Assumptions began to flood my mind, running through all of the reasons why. I could not completely focus on that as I knew getting off the mountain was the next priority and held myself in a relaxed position on my knees. I could hear the voices of my friends as they made contact with me and began the coordinated effort of contacting ski patrol. The distress I caused was palpable. They stayed calm, kept me grounded, breathing and stable while we waited for the sled. For this, I will be forever grateful.                                                                                                                                                                            

Fast forward and ski patrol did an excellent job of getting me off the mountain. They addressed which hospital I wanted to be transported to and did what they could to help me manage the pain that started to surface. A close friend and mentor traveled with me in the ambulance, helping me manage the onset of shock. He would be a key pillar in navigating the onslaught of information as we reached the hospital, and the extent of my injuries began to unfold. Without a few key souls I do not know how I would have been able to navigate the emergency room and first hours of the ICU as the cocktail of anesthetics began.

My memory continues to be fuzzy to this day of the beginning stages of my time in the hospital. a subdural hematoma and pseudo aneurysm of my subclavian artery alongside a collapsed left lung were initial major blunt trauma hurdles that needed to be addressed. Once initially stabilized and these injuries became more of a secondary focus, I realized that my arm was still immobile and lacking any sort of sensation. Shortly after my neurosurgeon entered the room.

It was at this very moment that my memory comes bursting into clarity. I was told the extent of the  injury to my left arm. I had experienced a complete brachial plexus avulsion where the nerve roots and the nervous system controlling my left arm had been violently disconnected from my spinal cord. The nerve roots from vertebrae C5-T1 had been severed like wall plugs being ripped from their sockets. I no longer had power running to any of my muscles from the left side of my neck to the fingertips of my left hand.

This is the moment that I knew my life had been altered altogether and that the next decisions would be some of the heaviest I would face as a young adult. I would be faced with whether or not to save the limb and how to navigate the blunt reality that I would experience some of the worst nerve pain imaginable. Transparency kept my sanity as this journey began.