Why Mexico is the best place right now for Oliver’s healing

Many evenings, when all the kids are asleep, I sit in front of my computer and wonder why I can’t just let go for a moment. Why I can’t just sit on the couch like I used to. I can’t. My thoughts and emotions are always with our situation, with our life around and with Oliver.

It has become my therapy to do something that helps me process everything that has happened. In the past six months, I’ve experienced more emotionally than in all my 44 years before. I held my child lifeless in my arms right after the accident. I called my parents from the ambulance in the middle of the night in Germany and through tears told them we’d had an accident and that Oliver was gone.

That call was something I always feared. I always imagined one day one of my parents would call to tell me the other had passed away. I still get chills when I think of that desperate call. I witnessed two cardiac arrests, and I saw Oliver during his stroke when he was completely gone, his eyes empty. Those are moments darker than anyone could ever imagine.

And that’s why I write. It’s my way of dealing with all of it. Some of what I write stays private, in my journal. Some things I share here, in this blog.

These experiences will always be part of me. I need to learn to accept that they now belong to my life. I often think about the “what ifs.” Where would Oliver be now? What would he already be able to do? Instead, he has lost half a year of his life from before the accident.

That’s why we’re still here in Mexico. Of course, returning to Germany would be possible by now. Oliver could travel more safely than before his surgeries in Chicago. Maybe he’ll even be able to take off his neck brace soon. But still, going back is not an option for us.

We’ve made Oliver’s healing our absolute priority. We’ve taken big decisions – sold our family car, the Multivan, and now our house. At the end of November, I’ll travel to Germany for the notary appointment. I’m not looking forward to it, because it means leaving Oliver here and returning to the house where we spent so many wonderful years together. But that’s a story for another entry.

So why don’t we return to Germany, even though it would be possible? (And let’s not even talk about travel costs – that’s not the real reason.)

Our house in Germany is a small terraced home. To create enough living space, you have to build upward. That means stairs – four floors, with a finished basement and attic. It was perfect for us, exactly how we wanted it. Just a year ago, we installed solar panels on the roof to save money in the long run. According to my spreadsheet (yes, typically German), the return on investment would have come after 9.5 years.

But now we’re selling it, after only one year. Everything we built, everything we lived there – we’re letting it go. A wheelchair-accessible renovation isn’t possible. On the ground floor there’s only the kitchen and living room, and even the guest toilet is up three steps. The garage isn’t next to the house but down the street. Taking Oliver to the car would mean getting wet in the rain or snow, and lifting him is already complicated enough.

Then there’s the care situation. Yes, Oliver would qualify for the highest level of care support in Germany. But who would provide 24-hour care? The reality is, there’s a shortage of caregivers. And Oliver can’t be left alone, not even for a minute. A single involuntary movement could disconnect his ventilator.

But the most important reason is this: Oliver has better chances for healing here in Mexico – or rather, in the Americas. I don’t mean just Mexico itself, but the medical environment, the proximity to the U.S., and the access to specialists.

Here in Mexico, Oliver has the best conditions for Phase 3 of recovery. He currently receives three different therapies every day, from three different therapists. A critical care doctor visits every two weeks, along with a urologist, a nutritionist, and a doctor specialized in ventilator management and weaning. All of this happens right here at home. In Germany, such intensive home visits would be unimaginable. Of course, all of this comes at a cost, but we get exactly what Oliver needs most right now.

The five phases after a spinal cord injury

Phase 1 is the most critical – it’s all about survival.

Phase 2 begins when the spinal cord slowly starts “rebooting.” Right after the accident, the body enters spinal shock, meaning all signals are blocked and even reflexes disappear. Only in phase 2 do they begin to return.

Now we’re in Phase 3 – the rehabilitation phase.

This is when the brain starts to relearn. The original nerve connections are gone, and the body has to find new paths. A young child like Oliver still has a high level of neuroplasticity – the ability to form new connections when old ones are damaged. That can be trained and strengthened through physiotherapy, electrical stimulation, and respiratory therapy.

That’s why we stayed in Mexico. Laura has spent the past weeks in daily contact with therapists and doctors, building the best plan possible for the next six months.

Phase 4 is what will bring us back to Chicago – not to an ICU this time, not for another operation, but for something that gives hope: stem cell therapy.

Dr. Bydon is not only a neurosurgeon but also a pioneer in spinal cord research. There’s still no proven way to fully heal such an injury, but with every case, researchers learn more. Oliver will be the first child this young to receive such a treatment.

What do we hope for?

We hope that stem cells will help reconnect nerve pathways at the site of injury, or even create new ones. There are already studies showing adults who regained movements after stem cell therapy that were impossible for years. These people are called super responders – those who respond exceptionally well.

Then there are those who see small improvements. And some who see none.

Risks? None known.

The only “risk” is that the effort might not pay off. But when five out of ten patients show strong responses, three show small ones, and only two none at all, it’s what I call a no-brainer – a decision that needs no long discussion.

Why people respond differently to the same treatment is still a mystery. That’s what Dr. Bydon is studying. And maybe Oliver’s case will help bring a new piece to that puzzle.

Phase 5 – the emotional phase

And then there’s the fifth phase – the emotional one.

It actually starts right at the beginning. It’s the phase of hope and love.

A superhero lives here. Only tears of joy are allowed.

Healing happens not only in the body but also in the mind.

When Oliver came home from the hospital in Mexico after 39 days, to stay with my father-in-law, we hung a sign at the entrance that said: “A superhero lives here. Only tears of joy are allowed.”

Oliver is two years old. He doesn’t know how severe his injury is. He doesn’t know how critical his situation was. And that’s why we try to show him every day that this is only temporary.

My last words to him each night are always the same:

“Oliver, we will run a marathon together one day, and soon we’ll play with Lego again and build a house just like before.”

It may sound unrealistic right now. But Oliver believes in it.

And maybe he’s like a bumblebee.

For a long time, people thought it was impossible for them to fly.

Now we know they can — just in their own special way.

Just like Oliver. 

And that’s how I see my Oliver. #theskyisthelimit