Nick Prefontaine was told he'd never walk, talk, or eat independently after a 2003 snowboarding accident left him in a coma. He set one concrete goal: run out of the hospital. Through years of therapy, coachability, and his grandfather's fart machine bringing laughter to patients, he did.
What are you, an idiot? No way. You can't do that. What are you, kidding me?
Has someone ever told you you can't? It was 2 PM on February 5th, 2003, ski club day. And we were heading to Wachusett Mountain. My friends and I had all brought our snowboard gear onto the bus to get ready so we wouldn't miss a precious moment once we got to the mountain. We got to the mountain and headed straight for the chairlift. On the ride up, it had been raining. We noticed that it was very icy. I buckled into my snowboard, Took a breath of that crisp winter air and confidently charged towards the biggest jump in the terrain park, Speed. Going up to the jump, I caught the edge of my snowboard on the snow going up the jump, which threw me off balance. And that was the last thing that I remember. Chris, I was told that I landed on my head and I wasn't wearing a helmet. The doctors told my parents that I probably wouldn't walk, talk, or eat on my own ever again. I was in a coma for 3 weeks. I don't remember A month of my life from when I got in my accident. After a month, I was transported to Franciscan Children's Hospital in Boston. Coming out of my coma, I had a burning desire to run out of the hospital, but I couldn't. Coming out of my coma, I had a burning desire to speak. But I couldn't. I couldn't speak, so the way that I communicated was with eye contact, only eye contact. Then it was blinking. That progressed to mouthing words, and that progressed to a whisper. Eventually, I was able to get my speaking voice back with the help of my speech therapist. The first thing I did was set the big goal of running out of the hospital. Everything fell into place after that. I shared it with all of my family, therapists, and doctors. In order for me to be running out of the hospital, I had to be walking, talking, and functioning exactly like I was prior to my accident. Everyone knew my goal, so then it just became a matter of doing the work every day. Every day, whether I felt like it or not, getting up and quite literally taking one step at a time, doing what I could control. I would start my day off with a shower. Not unusual, but my occupational therapist would have to Teach me how to shower again. Picture that. I would need the help of my therapist while I was in the shower at one of my most vulnerable moments. She would teach me what order I needed to do things in, that the water came before the soap, for instance. Then I would get dressed and have breakfast. After that, I started my morning therapy sessions. I started with physical therapy, then occupational therapy, and finally my last session of the morning was speech therapy. As I regained my strength, I began mouthing words without any sound. That progressed to whispers and finally talking. Once I was able to talk, I had to continue to work with my speech therapist to regain the strength of the muscles in my throat. This particular day, my speech therapist was working with me to sound out single-syllable words. D.
D-dog.
C-c-cat. In my head, I'm screaming, it's a dog and a cat, I know what those are! However, because of my accent, the words weren't coming out on the other side. Once I had set the goal, I had to make sure that I was being coachable. To achieve it. What that meant was following each one of my therapist's instructions with blind faith that they knew how to get me to where I wanted to go. Once you set your goal, are you being coachable to give yourself the best chance to achieve it? Now, for me, that was to the therapist, but for you, that can be the coaches, the mentors, or the experts. By setting goals and being coachable to achieve them, you give yourself the best chance of reaching them. Those are the building blocks of being successful. After speech therapy, I headed back to my room, and waiting for me that day was my grandparents, my mom's parents. At this point, I still wasn't laughing or smiling or really being my old self for that matter. My grandfather had brought me a gift that day, a gift to laugh, to lighten up, to smile, to be my old self. It's something that we all point to that really aided me in my recovery. That gift was a fart machine. As soon as he gave it to me, I put it to work. At the time, I was still in my wheelchair, and my grandparents wanted to take me to lunch. At Franciscan, the cafeteria was located in the basement. To get there, you had to take the elevator all the way down and then down this long hallway. I can picture it now. My grandmother was pushing the wheelchair. And my grandfather and I thought it would be a great idea to stash the fart machine right in the corner of the wheelchair. We would wait until we got by a doctor, and we would press it. They couldn't believe it. They thought it was my grandmother that was the one farting. As you can imagine, the fart machine was a big hit. With all of the other kids back on the second floor unit at Franciscan. It allowed everyone, including me, a chance to laugh and be a kid for a moment. When you're absolutely consumed with the pursuit of your goal and all the hard work that comes with it, don't forget to laugh. It can be the best medicine.
What are you, an idiot?
What are you, a leader?
No way.
Yes way.
You can't do that.
You can do that.
What, are you kidding me?
What? You're amazing. When someone tells you you can, listen.
