Happy New Year! You read that right. To me, September has always felt more like the start of a new year than January. In September, everything starts again after the summer; we return to routine, work, and class with a sense of fresh beginnings and new opportunities.

In this edition of Spinal Times, you’ll meet Judah and Sierra, two young SCI-AB clients who share their stories of adapting, adjusting, and thriving following devastating accidents that left them paralyzed. I’ve always admired how young people seem uniquely able to see the good in difficult situations. Young people possess a tenacity of spirit, a stubborn hopefulness that helps me engage the world with greater empathy, and a heightened sense of possibility.

As thousands of students begin a new school year, I encourage you to read Judah and Sierra’s stories through the lens of accessibility. Judah and Sierra discuss the challenges of returning to school after their injuries. They highlight the urgency required of policy-makers to put accessibility at the forefront of planning and design. But while accessible washrooms, classrooms, and playgrounds are vital steps in creating accessible schools, attitude shifts are even more pressing. As a society, we need to expand our perspective on disability. Judah and Sierra both highlight that a spinal cord injury isn’t a life-ending event; it’s a life-changing one.

This issue of Spinal Times is dedicated to Bryce Clarke. Bryce was a dedicated volunteer with SCI-AB for several years, most recently serving as the Vice Chair of our board of directors, until his sudden passing in July. Those who knew Bryce best celebrate his kind heart and generosity of spirit. I will remember Bryce fondly for his selfless and authentic commitment to SCI-AB.

Thank you, Bryce; you’re missed.  

Sierra was 16 and already a leading name in motocross racing when a fall from a routine jump left her paralyzed from the chest and down. Sierra’s mom, Teri, watching in the audience, remembers looking at her daughter immobile, unable to remove herself from the track, and understanding she had a spinal cord injury, “I knew right away.”

Over the next 24 hours, Sierra was transported from one hospital to another until finally ending up at Calgary’s Foothills Medical Centre. After an 8-hour surgery, Sierra said to her mom, “There goes pro-Nationals next weekend, hey mom?” Teri remembers watching her daughter realize that her life would never be the same.

Sierra started intensive rehab at the Glenrose Hospital in Edmonton a week after surgery. Two and a half months later, Sierra returned to grade 11. Teri says the rural school was unprepared to have independent wheelchair users. There were no buttons on doors, no ramp from where the bus stopped, and no accessible desks, washroom stalls or lockers. Sierra says that no one thought she would be able to come back to school so fast.

She remembers thinking, “When I’m sixteen, I shouldn’t have to advocate for myself.” But she had to; there was no other way. So she got a driving licence and got an accessible SUV, and she did her best with the few modifications that the school was finally able to make.

Sierra says that she understands that accessibility is more difficult in a rural community. Still, her mom, constantly battling for her daughter’s accessibility, thinks it should not have been that hard. One day another mom, whose child was about to start at Sierra’s school, came to her and said, “Thank you for battling for me. Now I don’t have to go through this.”

Things started to look up. Teri started grief and loss counselling, and Sierra started to open up to the possibility of meeting other wheelchair users. Eventually, Sierra finished her BSc in Kinesiology from the University of Alberta (while living on campus!)

She tried numerous adaptive sports, such as wheelchair racing, rowing, mountain biking, and strength training wheelchair rugby athletes. Sierra says SCI-AB has helped her figure out a direction in employment and education and involved her in volunteering. For Teri, who says that those first few weeks in the hospital were a big blur, the most memorable moment was when an SCI-AB staff member laughed with her and her family in the hospital and gave her the book “Life Interrupted: For Youth with a Spinal Cord Injury (SCI) and Their Families.”

With time, Sierra got more involved with peers and persons using wheelchairs, and she says it helped her as she learned more about her injury and the different things she could do. “It got easier with time,” she says. Teri remembers how Sierra’s father’s first instinct was to go and try to fix things for his daughter. Still, he realized that Sierra needed to learn to advocate for herself.

During the pandemic, Sierra became involved with the “Wheel Girls” group, an all-female peer group coordinated by SCI-AB’s staff. Members meet over zoom once a week and go on outings together. The group provides support, information, and a safe space for people to discuss their injuries.

Sierra says, “It got easier once I involved myself with other peers, and I learned more and more, and I’m still learning; I’m constantly adjusting and adapting.” Her note to her past self is: “Adventures don’t stop after injury. Be open to new experiences and connect as much as possible; peer support is the biggest thing. It’s the reason why I am where I am today.” Teri proudly adds, “No mountain is too big for Sierra anymore.”

When asked what they would say to a newly injured person and their family, Sierra says: “Take one day at a time, learn as you go and dream big!” Teri adds, to the parents, “You don’t have to do it all by yourself; you don’t have to be so darn strong! There are people there to help.”

Currently, Sierra lives in BC and works predominantly with people with disabilities as a Kinesiologist. She is heavily involved in mountain biking and volunteering with peers. You can follow Sierra on Instagram @sierraroth22

In the picture above: Sierra and her mom, Teri.

12-year-old Judah was riding his dirt bike near his house in Grimshaw, Alberta, in June 2020 when he was hit by a car. He had multiple injuries, including broken bones, brain damage, and a complete spinal cord injury. “It was a miracle he survived,” says Odessa, Judah’s mom.

After a few months in the hospital and rehab at the Glenrose in Edmonton, he returned home, slowly integrating back into school via online learning. Finally, seven months later, Judah returned to class. Judah says that the school was already “pretty accessible,” and he was assured that people would be there to help if he needed something. Judah’s school even facilitated a few adaptations for him.

While Judah did not have significant challenges with accessibility in school, his social life transformed drastically. Judah admits that “the kids were mostly okay, but they’re teenagers, so they can be mean sometimes.” Then, after a moment of silence, he adds with a smile, “but I can deal with that!”

But participation in sports was an entirely other experience. Judah says he was treated as a “fragile object” and felt excluded, adding, “They didn’t think I could compete anymore.” But Judah continued to adjust, getting involved in wheelchair basketball and other adaptive competitive sports.

When Judah’s parents reached out to SCI-AB, they were immediately connected to peers in the community. They visited with other SCI clients to get ideas about how to make their home more accessible. “I thought it was pretty cool,” Judah says of SCI-AB’s support, which also included connecting the family to resources in the community, and assistance finding used adaptive equipment, such as an FES bike and a standing frame.

Judah says he needed to learn to be careful with his lower body, as further complications and damage are genuine threats. “He had to mature fast; he had no choice. It was either adapt or spend all day in bed,” says Odessa. One of the consequences of being injured so young is that Judah went through a massive growth spurt right after his accident, and he has scoliosis now, “which he hates,” says Odessa.

Asked to reflect on SCI-AB’s motto, Adapt, Adjust, Thrive, Judah says, “I adjusted my life from running and walking to rolling and wheeling… I go hard at everything, exercise a lot, and never give up. Thrive is like a beginning of a tunnel. You just began your journey through spinal cord injury, and it is extremely dark, and it seems like the worst thing to ever happen to you. But it becomes better if you never give up and continue going… and slowly, I move towards the light at the end, which is the prosperous life I can have. If you are not willing to get out of that bed, I don’t know how you can be helped because I believe that just because you are paralyzed doesn’t mean you are less of a person, something that I did a couple of years ago that was boring, now—it feels amazing. It takes years; nothing comes in the short term; the journey is so much more than the injury.”

Judah’s mom, glowing with pride, says, “He was determined to be as athletic as he was before; he is so amazingly disciplined!”

When asked what he would say to a newly injured person, Judah says, “It might not feel that way now, but it will get better.” Odessa agrees and admits that she was skeptical when she first heard that. But, in time, and with more time spent with his peers, it did get better. Odessa says, “It was hard for him to connect with other peers in the beginning, but now he actually wants to. He has accepted that he can learn from them.”

Odessa concludes by saying that it might feel like an SCI is a life-destroying event, but it isn’t. In reality, an SCI is a “life-changing event.”

In the picture above: Judah and his family.

Bryce Clarke was a remarkable man whose life was dedicated to helping others. He was an exemplary board member of SCI Alberta, always putting the needs of the organization before his own. His wisdom, guidance, and support will be deeply missed.

Bryce became a police officer with the Edmonton Police Service in 1998. On August 26th, 2001, he was diving into a swimming pool when he hit his back on the bottom, severely damaging his spinal cord. After alengthy rehab, he began trying to return to work in 2004 and eventually returned to work full-time in 2009. He was one of only two quadriplegics in Canada working in the police force. He previously worked in the historical homicide department as a detective on cold cases, served in the metro Edmonton drug and gang unit, and patrolled on the south side of Edmonton. He also served on Alberta’s Premiers’ Council on the Status of Persons with Disabilities and was an ambassador for the Rick Hansen Foundation since 2007.

Bryce was a devout Calgary Flames fan and was sure to let everyone know it, especially if he found out you cheered for the Edmonton Oilers.

He was an amazing role model for people living with a spinal cord injury and other disabilities. He showed that anything is possible if you put your mind to it. He was proud to be one of only two quadriplegic police officers in Canada, and he used his lived experience and role as a board member of SCI Alberta to help others facing similar challenges.

One might wonder how we can keep Bryce's spirit alive and well in our everyday lives, which is quite simple. Be like Bryce. Always remember to offer kindness, wisdom and encouragement to each other, our staff, stakeholders and, of course, our peers in the SCI community. Bryce was the epitome of a kind-hearted, hardworking and humble human being, and we can all learn a lot from his example. Only through these actions can we hope to adapt, adjust and thrive in the face of adversity, just like Bryce did.

Bryce will be deeply missed by all who knew him, especially his loving partner Miriam, sister, brother-in-law, nieces and nephews, and mother, Judy.

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