Can He Kick It? Yes He Can!

Tyler’s made some pretty impressive gains over the past few weeks, but we’ve been notably quiet about it. Not out of secrecy, and not because it didn’t matter—but because spinal cord recovery is never a straight line.

But this week, something real shifted. Something undeniable, with a name and a number and a doctor’s note.

Tyler’s prognosis was officially upgraded from ASIA B incomplete to ASIA C.
In plain terms: he now has Level 1 motor control in the large muscle groups below his injury line. It’s the kind of news we’ve been quietly hoping for, but not letting ourselves plan around. Until now.

One letter. But not just one letter. This is clinical language catching up with something we’ve been feeling in the room for weeks. And now, it’s not just a feeling—it’s a fact.

For those unfamiliar with spinal cord injury classifications, ASIA C means there’s now detectable motor function below the injury. For Tyler, it’s Level 1 strength. Minimal, but reproducible. Distinct. Functional.

At this week’s appointment in Physical Medicine & Rehabilitation (PM&R), the doctor lifted Tyler’s leg—his toes barely brushing the footpad of his chair—and said, “Try to kick.”

And he did.
He. Did. It.

The movement was small, but the moment was massive. It marked a shift—not just in his classification, but in what’s now possible.

From the doctor’s notes:

No strength score was greater than 1–2/5, but was reproducible… able to curl toes down and lift toes up, able to lift ankle up, minimal hip flexor strength, knee extension present, knee flexion present …

In other words, the legs—quietly humming since January—are beginning to speak. Not loudly. But unmistakably.

The right hip flexor is still asleep. The trunk is still soft. But everything else? Waking up.
The tone is high, but manageable.
And his upper body? Strong. Steady. Holding it all.

None of this means he’s walking tomorrow. He’s still a 4 on the Modified Rankin Scale—dependent on daily assistance. But it changes the map. It opens the rehab door wider. It reframes what’s possible—not just emotionally, but medically.

We’re still moving with care. Still pacing our breath. But we are also letting ourselves pause, mark the moment, and say—clearly, and without apology:
This matters.

Because when the body shifts, so does the spirit. And when the record finally reflects what the heart has quietly known, something long held in suspension begins, at last, to land.

You can call it a miracle.
You can call it muscle.
You can call it data.

I call it the loving work of living.

And yes—it’s hope. Not the wishful kind, but the kind you earn.