Slow and Steady: My Recovery Story by Kim Taylor

Hi! My name is Kim. I love skiing, and I have a recovery story for you. Now, you might be thinking, “Why haven’t I heard of this comeback story before? Why hasn’t there been a movie made about this girl?” You might think, “I’ve heard about Lindsey Vonn, I’ve heard of Marc McMorris, why not Kim Taylor?” Well, the answer is simple. These people are extraordinary. I am a pretty average person, and my story is a pretty average story. My recovery was pretty standard. Boring, even. I mean, there are some exciting parts of it, for sure. Some helicopter airlifts, some handsome Ski Patrol (totally kidding, I have no idea what they looked like.), some blood and broken bones and tears. Yet, there was also a lot of sleeping and a lot of Netflix. There was a lot of watching Olympic athletes ski with metal plates in their knees and hips and ankles with relentless fearlessness, and feeling weak for not being more like them. So while this recovery story may not be quite as “extraordinary” as you’re used to, I’ve definitely learned a lot through my recovery process. I hope my story illustrates that sometimes, taking it slow takes more strength than rushing back. I hope my story inspires you to see the not-so-inspiring recovery stories as a little more inspiring. Better yet: Maybe you’ll realize that your own recovery story is in fact, inspirational. 

It took almost 25 years of skiing before this story really begins, and since I’m not writing a novel, let’s fast forward a little bit. Here’s what you need to know: I’ve been a skier my whole life. I come from a family of ski instructors, ski patrols, and ski enthusiasts. From a very young age, my twin sister and I were as comfortable on skis and on snow as we were walking. Rachel and I were always known for being pretty fearless (It’s easy for a pair of cute twins to get a reputation, isn’t it?). We were the kids who went off all the little bumps they could find, who the Ski Patrol had to yell at for going too fast, who would zoom through the trees not knowing where they’d end up. Simply put: We loved skiing. We became assistant Ski Instructors at 14 years old, and then certified Ski Instructors when we were 15, and never really stopped. Skiing made us feel confident, free, and invisible. We loved pushing ourselves and testing our limits. We became full time ski instructors in British Columbia as soon as we graduated university, in 2015. Rachel and I continued to be a full time ski instructor while I took a job that required me to travel and step away for a couple years. After two winters, in 2018, I decided I needed to get back to it. I found an incredible job in Switzerland working at a ski camp. It was the most amazing skiing I’ve ever done. I was with incredible instructors who pushed me to really challenge myself and test my limits. I went even faster through the trees, I skied incredible powder, I jumped off little cliffs, I skied areas I wouldn’t have even thought were skiable. Oh my gosh, it didn’t even just remind me how much I loved skiing, it made me love skiing even more. More than ever, I felt like on skis, I could do anything. There you have it: my first 25 years in a nutshell.

So, in the summer of 2018, I decided to go to New Zealand for their winter to continue ski instructing. At Cardrona, the park is a really big part of the ski culture, so I wanted to embrace it. I learned how to ride rails and boxes, do little tricks of off jumps. There was one set of jumps, the “medium line” jumps, called Antler Alley. A set of 3 jumps, ranging from 15-30 ft. Now, these are technically “intermediate” jumps. There are bigger ones for the really crazy people. But to me, these intermediate jumps were huge and super scary. They’re the kind of jumps that you start by standing on a ledge, and go full speed down the really steep part to make it up to the jump. You truly have to go full speed or you won’t even make it to the top of the jump, let alone to the landing on the other side. The landing on the other side also happens to be the steep take off of the next jump! I was so scared, every time, but that awesome scared where once you’ve done it you feel incredible. Every time, my body seems to say “what are you doing, slow down!!”, and yet I did it, and I landed, and it was SO MUCH FUN. The adrenaline was incredible. They became so fun that another instructor and I would try to make time to do them each morning. What a way to wake up in the morning, right? This one particular morning, July 27th, after we had done these jumps for weeks now, we went out before the lessons to do our morning routine. (Side note: how cool is it that something that once seems nearly impossible can become routine?). 

Now, this is where the story would get really interesting…if only I remembered it! So some of this has been filled in by those around me, because I was either unconscious or don’t remember most of it. We were at the top of the ramp, ready to go. I went first. My friend didn’t see me come back up the 3rdramp, meaning something had happened on the landing of the second jump. He rushed down to check on me, and found me unconscious at the bottom of the second jump, face down in the snow & blood around where I landed. He called the ski patrol, and as they got to me, I gained consciousness enough to say that my neck hurt. I totally don’t remember this and often wonder if I said anything else embarrassing that they just won’t tell me. Who knows! Anyway, I was airlifted to the hospital for possible brain injury and spinal fracture. From there, I have pretty random memories. I remember asking to hold my friends hand before they loaded me into the helicopter. I remember opening my eyes for a second in either an MRI machine thinking “oh dang, this is just like Grey’s anatomy, cool”, and I remember the doctor walking in holding papers and saying “good news, no spinal fracture!” I remember the nurses shining a light in my eyes like you see in movies after a car accident. Honestly, I remember those two days being like a really comfortable 2 day nap (Thank you, fentanyl). I do remember going to the bathroom and seeing my face for the first time in the mirror. There is no better way to say this: my face was f**ked. My lips were comically huge, I had one eye fully swollen shut and the other half swollen shut, goggle shaped cuts under my eyes, and my nose skin had been scraped off. I was a pretty sight to see, trust me. I left two days later with my official diagnosis of a Mild Traumatic Brain Injury (In other words, a severe concussion), and a good case of whiplash. Cause: A really, really epic faceplant. 

So, on to the recovery story, right? Here’s the thing. The next part of the story is, as promised, really boring. I mostly slept. In the hospital, I was told no skiing until I got the go-ahead from the doctor. I thought they meant in a couple weeks. At my first doctor checkup two weeks later, they told me to not even think about skiing until our next checkup another two weeks later, and that chances were I still wouldn’t be able to. Although in hindsight, it made sense and seems obvious, but at the time, my concussion was kind of messing with my logic. I was still showing pretty severe concussion symptoms, even if I didn’t realize it. Concussions mess with you without you even realizing they’ve messed with you. So although my face healed really quickly, I was still really feeling the concussion symptoms. I was still sleeping all day, not sleeping at night because of insomnia (a really common concussion symptom), felt really hazy, still had memory problems, and got headaches every time I spent time in the sun or exerted myself. I could also barely move my neck. When I went to one of my checkups, I couldn’t balance on two feet with my eyes closed. My doctors’ advice: whatever you do, don’t push it. No screens, no loud spaces, not too much stimulus. Just listen to your body, and that’s the quickest way to heal and get back on the mountain. So that’s what I did. I didn’t try to ski again before I was supposed to. When I got a headache, I stopped what I was doing. It was an incredibly lonely and boring month. Eventually, after a couple of appointments of doctors telling me I still shouldn’t ski again, I made the tough decision to come back to Canada. At that point, I felt defeated. I wanted my family, my home, my own healthcare system. Making that decision made me feel like such a quitter, and like I wasn’t being tough enough. I had watched a documentary called The Crash Reel, about an amazing snowboarder Kevin Pearce who suffered a severe brain injury snowboarding. He snowboarded again even though it was super risky, and he was fine. Why am I not able to when I only have a little concussion? These are the thoughts that went on in my mind. Even though I knew deep down that while I was doing “nothing”, my body was doing so much healing, and that “nothing” was actually the best thing I could’ve done for my recovery…it’s really hard to escape these thoughts. Which is a shame, because guilt and shame are not the feelings you need when you’re already going through a tough time. 

I arrived back in Canada August 28th, about a month after my crash. I was still feeling concussion and whiplash symptoms pretty hard. I couldn’t drive yet, so my parents had to drive me to physio a couple times a week to work on my neck and my brain. Who knew brain physio was a thing? I had to leave a room if it became too loud, and got headaches with little frustrations. I tried to stay healthy, but if I took a long walk in the morning, I just napped all afternoon. Recovering from a concussion is so weird. So many things that used to make me feel healthy did the opposite. I tried to do yoga, but it hurt my neck so much. The crazy thing about brain injuries is that you can’t really separate the physical recovery and the mental recovery… they’re kind of the same thing. I found a yoga program called Love Your Brain (Started by Kevin Pearce, the guy from The Crash Reel!), that is specifically for people who have experienced brain injuries. Slowly but surely, I was able to handle doing more. My physiotherapy for my neck was helping more and more. I was finally able to drive without feeling dizzy. I was able to do some volunteer work, to exercise…. eventually, I felt like myself again. I was so relieved, because my goal was to be ready to head back to Switzerland in January. As long as I could go back to Switzerland, I was happy. 

By the time January came around, I was more than ready to head to Switzerland again. I had skied a couple times here in Canada and it felt great. I was so ready to go back to my favourite place to ski. I headed back to Switzerland January 10th. The day after I arrived, January 11th, all the instructors went for a ski to just have fun and remember how to get around the mountain. We were having lots of fun cruising around in some powder. 

Ok, so this crash I remember.

The other instructors and I were skiing through the powder, and out of nowhere, there was a slight drop to a little cat track (a packed down, groomed part of the piste) I didn’t see. I hit the cat track in a weird way I guess, and one of my ski edges just caught the snow, and BAM. It shot me sideways, and I just started tumbling hard. I finally stopped tumbling, and I right away knew that something was very, very wrong with my right leg. I couldn’t even sit up; I just feebly waved to my friends, who I saw running towards me. one of our instructors, Tselane, is also an incredible nurse. I remember her asking what the pain out of ten is, and telling her, “I don’t want to say ten, because I’m sure it’s not and I’m sure it could be worse, but it definitely feels like a ten.” It felt like someone was squeezing my lower leg super super super hard. I kept saying “Guys, undo my boot!! Undo my boot!”, even though they kept telling me they had already loosened it. They called ski patrol, cuddled next to me to stay warm, and tried to tell me maybe if it wasn't so bad (such liars, but nice try on their part.) So anyway, ski patrol came, assessed the situation, and told us, “We need to airlift her to the hospital”, and I thought “NOPE. This cannot be happening again. No. No way. This is ridiculous.” Turns out I didn’t really get much say in that decision. While we’re waiting for the helicopter, they have to straighten my leg enough to fit into their sled, which was very not fun. So, for the second time in six months, I am airlifted to the hospital. In hindsight, it was kind of cool to be in a helicopter, but at the I was in a lot of pain, and you’re pretty awkwardly in a really small space with another stranger who is trying to stick an IV in your hand so they can give you pain meds and calm you down. Obviously, you’re lying down, so you can’t actually see out the windows at all. So it’s not my fondest memory. Getting to the hospital was actually pretty cool… my second “Grey’s Anatomy” moment, being on the helicopter landing pad on the hospital roof. So once again, I’m airlifted to the hospital. I’m wheeled into the emergency room, get an X-Ray, and find out I broke my leg in a couple different places. Complete spiral fractures to my Fibula and Tibia, including a butterfly fragment. In other words, a bad break of my lower leg. I was out for the season. I had surgery a couple of hours later. Two long metal plates and 14 screws to keep it all in place. I stayed in the hospital for 6 days, feeling pretty sorry for myself, imagining my friends all skiing in the gorgeous Alps. I actually started physiotherapy right in the hospital, a couple days after. I learned how to use my crutches. To be honest… it was terrifying. I suddenly felt so incredibly fragile. Learning to go up and down the hospital staircase was so scary. My sister and Dad were incredible and flew to Switzerland to help me and my luggage get back to Canada (and to eat some fondue). I was truly heartbroken. I love Switzerland so much. I had just spent 6 months recovering at home, and as grateful as I am to have an incredible home and family to go home to…It was the last place I wanted to be again. 

The first couple weeks after surgery were really, really hard. I knew that technically, progress was being made. I knew that my bones were fusing back together underneath my cast. But once again, I was told to do nothing. I couldn't put weight on my leg for 6 weeks. To be honest, breaking my leg was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I had always thought it would be hard not being able to walk…obviously. There was so much I didn’t think about, like needing a chair to shower, not being able to carry things because you’re using crutches. You really lose independence. 

I could feel myself slipping into a depression, and knew I had to do something about it. So one thing that helped a lot was writing things that I’m grateful for each day. My friends were all super supportive. They came over, made me dinner, brought me to movies. That really helped. I also signed up for an online course, which gave me a sense of purpose and something to do with my time. I found some “chair workouts for seniors” on the internet that I did to at least have something to do. 

I was finally able to start physiotherapy at the end of February, and that definitely helped my morale. Needless to say, recovery took time. If I pushed it and tried to rush it, my leg would swell up and I wouldn’t be able to do anything the next day. So, again… I didn’t push it too much. I knew if I pushed it, I could cause even more damage or slow down the healing. By the summer, I was able to do most things pretty normally. I could swim, even jog (with a funky limp if I went too far!). I was feeling good, but I knew that skiing would really be the test. Again, my goal was just to be ready for Switzerland. 

The first crash, after NZ, fine. I was going off a jump. It happens. This time? I felt like skiing betrayed me. I was just skiing. Doing what I always do. It came out of nowhere, no way to avoid it. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding silly, but I felt mad at skiing. How could something that I love so much, something that made me feel so confident and invincible, suddenly cause so much pain and heartache? 

Winter 2020 finally arrived, and I went skiing again. Don’t worry, 3rdseason was a charm, no falls this time! Skiing was very, very painful, but also wonderful. I could ski, so that was a start, but I needed to get the pain manageable enough so I could go to Switzerland in January. I switched boots to looser, more comfortable ones, which meant I couldn’t ski as technically good as before, but that couldn’t be my priority anymore. I wore really thick socks; my ski tech friend put customized padding on the boot lining. I headed back to Switzerland January 13th. While I was so happy to be back and to be able to ski again, it was definitely really hard. Skiing all day long was a big challenge. I took Advil most days for the first couple of weeks and my leg was on the back of my mind pretty consistently. Skiing in powder hurt a lot, my leg didn’t seem to respond quick enough to do tree skiing, and carving on ice required too much weight on that one leg. The worst part though, was the mental game. Suddenly, the “what ifs” were consistent in my brain. “What if I fall here?” “What if I land wrong on that jump?” “What if my students can see I’m not skiing right?” I didn’t trust myself, or my skis, or the mountain like I before. I used to just know the snow would break my fall. I used to just know my skis would do what I wanted them to do. I used to trust my legs to know what I do. I always thought that I could just tell myself to be tough and brave and it would happen, but I learned for the first time that sometimes, your brain and body are just not ready. Another really tough part was that I used to be a really fun ski instructor, who would find all the fun little side bumps for my students to go on, or do fun one-ski skiing drills, try new things, take risks… I couldn’t really be that person that season. I was so grateful to be able to ski again, and it was definitely getting less painful as the season went on, but I could tell, the road to recovery wasn’t quite over yet. At least, I hoped it wasn’t. I wasn’t ready to accept that that was as good as it will get again. 

It’s safe to say, it was a frustrating year. Recovery is ongoing. Even when injuries are temporary, sometimes, they permanently change you. It was a long, frustrating road, but I definitely learned a lot. 

Throughout my recovery, I watched documentaries of athletes, thinking it would make me feel inspired and hopeful. I watched documentaries like “Unbroken: The Snowboard Life of Mark McMorris”, which is about his recovery process after a horrific crash and getting back to competition. I watched Lindsey Vonn’s documentary, Lindsey Vonn: The Final Season. Don’t get me wrong, these athletes are incredible, inspiring, insanely talented individuals. It left me inspired, but watching them also made me feel pretty frustrated. Here’s the thing. We praise Mark McMorris so much for his recovery, and for good reason… he went through a terrible accident and worked super hard to overcome his life-threatening injuries. However, I think it’s really important to acknowledge that he had a private physiotherapist come to his house every single day. He had access to the red bull training facility, which has a pool for hydrotherapy, a gym, and everything he needed. I’m lucky to come from a country with universal healthcare, so I didn’t have to pay for doctor’s visits, but physiotherapy isn’t covered. His reality isn’t most people’s reality. Lindsey Vonn, on the other hand, has said, “my body is broken beyond repair.” She has literally pushed her body past its limit. Her goal wasn’t to make sure her body was as pain-free and happy as possible, her goal was to win races. I am not saying these athletes aren’t incredible…they absolutely are. I’m saying that their recovery stories aren’t really attainable for most. They’re extraordinary athletes, and so their recovery stories are also extraordinary. We speak so highly of athletes who “get right back on the horse”, and here I was, with my doctors and physiotherapists telling me that the best thing I could do for recovery was to take my time. So while I let these movies inspire me, I realized that I couldn’t set that as my expectation of how recovery would look, or even how I want it to look. 

I get it. They’re professional athletes. I am definitely not. Watching these movies while going through my own recovery made me realize things. In the sports world, not only do we normalize not listening to doctors’ advice, we often celebrate it. We also celebrate risking our long term health to get “back on the horse” as soon as possible. You hear “get back out there”, “push past fear” so often. The way I see it, there are times we need to push past fear, but there are also times we should listen to our brains and bodies. I now realize that it takes courage to feel that desperate need to get back out there, that sense of urgency to heal so you can get back to what you love most, but still not do anything that will jeopardize your healing. I now realize that sometimes, taking it slow is the fastest way to recover. 

I also learned that sometimes, the mental and physical aspect of recovery don’t match up. There have been times where I felt so mentally ready, but the pain has made it not possible. Other times, I was too scared to do something even though the pain wasn’t there. The most frustrating times were when I couldn’t tell which was which. 

I learned that recovery doesn’t have an obvious end date. For some, it’s when you’re back to feeling how you did before. For others, it’s a permanent change, and it’s a “new normal” situation. If I was waiting to feel just like I did before, I would stay very disappointed. I wish we stopped asking people, “are you 100% yet?” because for some, that’s not the reality, and not the goal. 

What I truly learned is that slow recoveries are just as inspirational as the quick ones. The recoveries that take years of hard work? Those are the hard ones. The recoveries where you sit at home for weeks or months, because that’s all you can do. The recoveries where the victories are so tiny and sparse, most people around you don’t even notice them. I wish we celebrated and praised those recoveries as much as the speedy ones.

So for those of you out there who suffered an injury years ago, and still struggle through pain…you inspire me. For those of you who are more hesitant because of a scary thing that happened to you years ago, but keep fighting through that fear, that is bravery. For people who had to stop doing something they loved because risking their health wasn’t worth it… that shows true strength. The biggest lesson I learned through my recovery process, is that every single recovery story is an inspiring one. So if it’s what’s right for you… take your time making it great.

Kim is a Ski Instructor, Outdoor Educator and Youth Facilitator from Ottawa, Canada. With a Degree in Human Rights and Gender Studies, Kim’s long term goal is to bring her passion for Social Justice & Equality to her career in the Outdoor Industry. Her favourite ski spot is Saas-Fee, Switzerland.