The Collapse of My Cervical Spine and the Fight for Care
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel no outside pressure weighing on me. Let me explain.
I thrive on productivity—I always have. Even as a child, I loved the satisfaction of completing tasks. As much as I hated chores, I also found a strange sense of fulfillment in them. That drive never left me. Even after my cervical spine began collapsing, over and over again, I continued chasing productivity. I refused to let my condition define me.
So, I decided to start graduate school.
God placed it in my heart that I would survive, and that how I used my time would be critical—not only for my survival but for the rest of my life. With that in mind, I took my educational journey to the next level. Given the severity of my health challenges, I chose an online program through Capella University. I completed all my coursework and earned a master’s certificate for my program. I even traveled to Chicago, IL, for my first residency, where I was initiated into the International Counseling Honor Society—Chi Sigma Iota.
That was August 2015. At that time, I had a chronic broken neck. I was progressively declining, and no one was listening.
The Night My Neck Broke
At the beginning of 2015, I suffered a catastrophic injury—I broke my neck at C7-T1, across both pedicles—just by turning over in bed.
At the time, I already had a titanium cage spanning C4 to C7. I was lying on my left side. When I turned to my right, I heard a loud crash inside my neck. I felt it, every bit of it. It was as if something had shattered and ground together, like metal being crushed. The sound was so loud I imagine it could have been heard from across the room.
I was paralyzed with fear.
The only thought running through my mind:
“If I move, will it kill me?”
We are always told that a person with a neck injury should never be moved unless their neck is stabilized. Yet here I was—lying in my bed, alone, frozen with terror. After what felt like an eternity, I forced myself to sit up, slowly and carefully. But the fear didn’t leave. It clung to me, promising to stay.
The next day, I went to the emergency department at the G.V. (Sonny) Montgomery VA Medical Center in February 2015. I arrived around 2:30 PM. Hours passed. It wasn’t until after 7:30 PM that I was finally called back—only to be told that the doctor wouldn’t see me because they wouldn’t do imaging that late.
I tried to explain what had happened. I knew something was seriously wrong. I was begging for help.
I was ignored.
Instead of being treated, I was told to leave. When I refused, still pleading for care, they called security and escorted me out. I was scared for my life. They told me, “If you’re not happy, you can just go to another emergency department.”
This was how the VA responded to a veteran with a broken neck.
A Fight for Survival
After being turned away, I scheduled an appointment with my neurosurgeon. But when the day came, I learned he was on sabbatical. His nurse practitioner ordered an MRI, but given that I had three levels of titanium in my spine, a myelogram should have been done instead. The MRI was practically useless.
I requested a second opinion from my neurosurgeon’s partner. When I finally saw him, he spent two minutes with me—he barely listened. At that moment, I realized I had to find another neurosurgeon.
I officially requested a new neurosurgeon in late spring 2015. By August, I was deteriorating fast. It was clear that my injury was severe, yet my referral wasn’t moving. I was in a desperate situation.
I emailed five different offices at the White House and contacted my Congressman. Only then did I finally get an appointment—in October 2015.
A myelogram was finally performed. Even then, the damage was underestimated.
And then—another delay. The VA kept messing up my surgical authorization. Months passed. It wasn’t until December 2015 that I finally had surgery.
The Surgery
During the procedure, my neurosurgeon placed two levels of angled rods with screws at C7-T1, underneath the three-level titanium cage already in my neck. He believed this would give me the best chance of stabilization.
When he opened me up, he saw just how bad it really was.
It was worse than he had expected—far worse.
Inside, there was nothing but two levels of black mush—necrosis. It was a significant injury. The trauma my body had endured was staggering.
The surgery required eighteen staples and led to a brutal recovery.
Abandoned by the VA
The veteran healthcare system failed me at every turn.
Even after surgery, the VA delayed physical therapy for six months, despite the fact that I could not walk for over nine weeks.
I had to go it alone.
My recovery was traumatizing. My body tried to curl up—I couldn’t walk straight for over nine weeks. I couldn’t even lay straight in bed for nearly a year. The pain was excruciating.
Then, six months into recovery, the injury became progressive, leading to severe dysautonomia.
Ignored for Two Years
In 2016, my neurosurgeon submitted a referral for me to see a physiatrist—a spinal cord injury specialist.
For over two years, the VA ignored the request. They never denied it. They never approved it. They just ignored it.
After repeated failures, my neurosurgeon stopped taking veteran insurance altogether—he was done being ignored.
This was one of the most traumatizing times in my life.
The veteran healthcare system failed me as a veteran.
I pray that anyone going through something similar has the support they need. Because I know what it feels like to fight alone.
I’ll leave it here for now.
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