On June 13, 2025, my life changed in an instant.

An SUV ran a red light, crossed three lanes of traffic, and struck me while I was riding my motorcycle.

My right leg was shattered.

What began as an effort to repair a devastating injury has become a fight lasting more than a year—13 surgeries, two debridements, serious infections, significant bone loss, and an ongoing attempt to reconstruct my femur and give me the chance to walk again.

Through everything, one goal has remained the same:

Save my leg. Rebuild it. Walk again.

The Fight to Save My Leg

The impact shattered my right femur and caused extensive injuries throughout my leg. Since then, surgeons have repeatedly rebuilt, repaired, cleaned, stabilized, and reconstructed it.

After surgery #10, we believed we were finally seeing the bone growth we had been waiting for.

We weren't.

What appeared to be progress turned out to be infection.

The surgeries that were supposed to move my reconstruction forward had to be postponed. Instead, I spent five weeks receiving IV antibiotics 24 hours a day through a central line while we fought to get the infection under control.

Then came another debridement.

Surgeons had to remove approximately another two inches of my femur because the bone was infected.

And then another complication arrived. On top of the primary infection, I developed a fungal infection.

Because I have a history of severe anaphylactic reactions to multiple antibiotics, my treatment options are extremely limited. I continued treatment with heavy doses of the oral antimicrobial medications I could safely take while my medical team fought to get the infections under control.

Only then could we move forward again.

The Choice: Amputation or Bone Transport

Eventually, I reached a point where the choices became brutally simple.

My femur had been shattered, significant bone had been lost, and infection had taken even more.

My surgeons gave me two paths.

The first was amputation just above the knee.

The second was to attempt bone transport—an extraordinary reconstruction process that offered me a chance to keep my leg, but came with much greater consequences if it failed.

To begin the transport, surgeons would have to deliberately cut through the upper portion of my remaining femur. Specialized hardware inside my leg would then gradually move a segment of healthy bone through the large defect while my body attempted to grow new bone behind it.

A fraction of a millimeter at a time, we would essentially ask my body to rebuild a missing section of my femur.

But there was a reality I had to accept before choosing it:

If the bone transport ultimately fails, I could lose the entire leg from the hip.

So the decision wasn't simply between amputation and saving my leg.

I could choose an above-the-knee amputation then—or take the risk of reconstruction for a chance to walk again on my own leg, knowing failure could eventually cost me much more of it.

I chose to fight for my leg.

Surgeries #11 and #12 placed the internal bone-transport hardware and began that process.

Then, in early August, another major setback hit. The femoral head shifted out of position and hardware failed, requiring emergency surgery #13 to repair and stabilize the reconstruction.

The bone-transport fight continues today.

There are no guarantees, and amputation is still a possibility. That reality hasn't disappeared simply because I've made it this far.

But neither has the possibility of success.

So we keep moving forward—millimeter by millimeter.

Where I Am Today

I'm still primarily using a wheelchair and remain unable to walk normally on my right leg. Recovery and reconstruction are ongoing, and there is still a long road ahead.

But my leg is still here.

And so am I.

Before June 13, motorcycles, adventure, and pushing beyond my comfort zone were part of who I was. I worked hard, helped others when I could, and built a life I was proud of.

The wreck changed what I'm physically able to do today.

It did not change who I am.

I'm still the man who shows up.

I'm still the man who fights.

And I'm not finished.

Why I'm Asking for Help

For most of my life, being the person who helped others came much more naturally than being the person asking for help.

But more than a year of surgeries, hospitalizations, travel, medications, rehabilitation, and being unable to live and work normally has changed the financial reality of everyday life.

My medical bills have exceeded $1 million, but the need goes beyond hospital bills.

Donations help with the real-world costs of surviving a recovery this long: travel for medical care, medications and recovery expenses, accessibility needs, help maintaining my home and property while I'm unable to do it myself, and the everyday expenses that continue whether I'm standing on two feet or sitting in a wheelchair.

My mother has also carried an enormous part of this burden, helping care for me throughout this recovery. One of my goals is simply to take some of that weight off her shoulders.

I'm not asking anyone to solve everything.

I'm asking for help getting through the next part.

If you're able to donate, thank you.

If you can't donate but can share this fundraiser, that matters too. Every person who shares my story puts it in front of someone we couldn't reach otherwise.

Help Me Take the Next Step

Thirteen surgeries.

Two debridements.

Serious bacterial and fungal infections.

Five weeks of IV antibiotics around the clock.

More bone lost.

Bone transport.

An emergency surgery when the reconstruction failed.

And we're still going.

There have been plenty of opportunities to quit.

I haven't taken one yet.

A military buddy once told me something that has stayed with me throughout this fight:

“You're never out of the fight. Only the battlefield changes.”

My battlefield has changed more times than I ever imagined it would.

But I'm still in the fight.

My goal isn't complicated.

I want to stand.

I want to walk.

I want my life back.

And with your help, I'm going to keep fighting for it.

Help me walk again.

— Rico