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Jim's Journey

  • Mar 6, 2025
  • 3 min read

Jim never imagined that a simple household chore would change his life forever.


66, Jim was sweeping his flat deck when he slipped and fell. In an instant, everything changed.


“I’ve had bike accidents and all sorts over the years, but it took sweeping the deck to break my neck,” he says with a wry smile.


Jim fractured his C3 and C4 vertebrae, breaking clean through the bone and damaging his spinal cord. Lying there, unable to move, he knew it was serious. “I told my son, ‘Don’t touch me, just call the ambulance.”


Jim was rushed to Middlemore Hospital, where doctors did all they could. When he arrived at the Regional Spinal Unit, he had no feeling from the neck down. His world shrank in an instant—no movement, no sensation, no way of knowing what his future would look like.

That was four months ago. Today, Jim has regained some sensation—pins and needles all over his body. He still can’t move much below his neck, but he can twitch a few fingers, and that small victory keeps him going.


His days at the Spinal Unit are long, beginning at 6 a.m. just to get through the morning routine of medications, washing, and breakfast. The rest of the day is filled with physiotherapy, occupational therapy, and medical appointments. It’s exhausting, both physically and emotionally.


“The physio is hard, but I enjoy it because I know I’m getting somewhere,” Jim says.


One of the hardest challenges has been learning to drive his sip-and-puff wheelchair, which he controls by inhaling and exhaling into a special tube. It’s been a battle. “I’ve hit every wall in this place!” he laughs.


But there are days when it’s not funny—when the weight of this life-changing injury feels too much to bear.


“You have to take it a day at a time. If you have a negative thought, it can bring you down, and you’re lost to it all day. I try to make sure my positive days outnumber my negative ones.”

Jim is about to be discharged, but his journey is far from over. His home needs major renovations before he can live there safely. Until then, he’ll move into a care home. He’s hopeful, determined—but also anxious. Because while the Spinal Unit has been his safety net, the next stage of his recovery will be even harder.


The truth is, Jim’s story is not unique.


The Regional Spinal Unit serves a population of four million people. Every year, it helps hundreds of New Zealanders who, like Jim, have had their lives turned upside down by sudden, catastrophic injuries


This unit is a place of healing, resilience, and hope. But while the need for care grows, the unit itself remains outdated. A new facility has been promised, but for now, staff and patients must make do with what they have.


That’s why we need your help.


Your donation today will ensure that Jim and others like him continue to receive the best possible care. Your support will fund essential rehabilitation equipment, peer support programmes, and dedicated staff who work tirelessly to help patients regain their independence.


When someone suffers a spinal cord injury, their world changes in an instant. But with your help, they don’t have to face it alone.


Make a gift today to support the Regional Spinal Unit and the patients who need it most.

Donate Now




 
 
 

9 Comments


johnnathanlez123
May 15

Personal narratives that track a deeply transformative life path always provide incredible insights into resilience, growth, and the power of human perseverance. Exploring these unique experiences reminds us how valuable every individual story is when navigating the unexpected twists and turns of life.

And when I take a quick break, I usually just check out Instagram Story Downloader since it’s simple and quick to use.

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mia_white
Apr 14

Learning to control a wheelchair by breath sounds unbelievably hard—like you’re re-training instincts you didn’t even know you had. I’d be interested to hear what therapists do when someone hits a wall emotionally, because the story makes it clear how draining the days can be. Not sure why this popped into my head, but this page reminded me how much identity is tied up in everyday “normal” choices—when those get taken away, even small bits of control probably matter a lot.

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mia_white
Apr 14

The wry smile about breaking your neck doing a normal chore… I’ve heard people cope with dark humor, but it still lands hard. I also appreciate that you included how relentless the schedule is—rehab isn’t some inspirational montage, it’s just work. Total side note: I was messing around with imgg the other day and it made me think about how people in hospital settings use visuals (posters, cues, reminders) to keep routines straight when everything changes overnight.

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mia_white
Apr 14

That “world shrank in an instant” line is brutal because it’s so accurate—your whole horizon becomes the next appointment, the next therapy session, the next tiny gain. I’m really glad the story includes the exhausting parts, not just the highlight moments. Slight tangent: https://hrefgo.com popped into my feed recently while I was browsing, and it reminded me how much assistive tech and rehab tools are evolving, even if the day-to-day reality is still so hard. https://hrefgo.com

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mia_white
Apr 14

Those 6 a.m. starts just to get through meds/washing/breakfast really underline how much time injury steals from a day. I found myself wondering how people track progress without getting discouraged—do they keep a little log of sensation changes, finger movement, etc.? Kind of like using this site to make time feel measurable, even when it’s moving slowly.

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