Unfortunately, during his sessions, the COVID restrictions applied to me! I wasn’t allowed to join Matt poolside, leaving me to depend entirely on Matt’s vague recollections or intermittent, brief reports from his therapist. Finally, one Wednesday morning, after two months held at bay, I barnstormed the doors—armed with a smile and a plea—and asked permission to observe. I wanted precise feedback on the “what and how” he was doing to double-check we were still on the right track. It was beautiful: he swam short distances with an Aquajogger belt, hung suspended in the deep end working his extremities, and plowed through the agitated water without being toppled as he traversed the shallow end.

Matt discontinued aquatic therapy in July, ending on a spectacular high note by treading water unassisted for five minutes using only a pool noodle and by swimming forty feet independently without any flotation device. This massive achievement definitely encouraged him to plan on swimming with his family at the 1,000 Islands in August.

Plyometrics—often called 'jump training'—is an explosive discipline designed to increase muscular power, speed, and agility through a rapid succession of stretches—specifically of the calf muscles—followed immediately by a forceful push-off. For Matt, this was no easy task. For the past year, he had tackled jumping in a variety of directions: forward, backward, and side-to-side, and, to a lesser degree, hopping on one leg. For him, each attempt was a deliberate, full-on attack. First, he would crouch pensively, mentally calculating his course. Then, with a sudden burst of intent, his arms would scoop upward as his legs thrust forward, only to land a short distance away with a loud, heavy thud—like a giant trampling through the forest in hot pursuit. Meanwhile, on the sidelines, I directed, cheered, and held my breath, trying to coach him through the physical execution. Shifting sideways required even greater concentration just to advance four to five inches. Nothing about the necessary nuances felt innate, even after all this time.

On the other end of the spectrum, we started using an Upright Go Posture Trainer to assist, you guessed it, his posture. Behind the scenes, the brain orchestrates our position in space, making it incredibly difficult to correct when it goes awry. This sensory input device, worn on his upper back, vibrated whenever Matt’s head or upper body bent forward more than ten degrees. The biofeedback would remind him to sit up straight until the habit became ingrained. He wore it twice a day for fifteen minutes. Unlike me, Matt was not a fan, and after several months, it was relegated to a drawer and later donated to the Regional Therapy Center.

Most people don’t realize how inexplicably intertwined balance is with daily activities and how imperative it is to independence and safety—until it is wounded or missing in action (MIA). We tackled this deficit both at home and at the gym, where we increasingly incorporated drills to supplement his regular routine on the treadmill, the arm-and-leg bike, and other fitness equipment.

Other gym members were intrigued, or perhaps amused, by the extensive obstacle courses I laid out using a variety of objects and mini-hurdles for Matt to wind around, step over, or walk across. I factored in the normal challenges of everyday life: navigating tight spaces, scattered toys, and pets, dodging pedestrians, or reacting to unexpected variables like a sudden noise, a swinging door, or a falling vase. To reinforce our focus on plyometrics, he also bounced up and down on a mini-trampoline, eventually advancing to doing so without holding the handrail.

At home, we practiced fancy footwork, crossing his feet in unique configurations as he traversed the living room, sometimes moving sideways or backward, or using a two-by-four as a makeshift gymnastic beam. As a spinoff of our gym sessions, Matt practiced alternating between stepping forward and backward over a five-inch obstacle, stepping up and over a BOSU ball, or moving side-to-side.

Single-leg stance was equally critical, so I introduced a variety of arm and leg motions to push him far beyond simply holding a static position. Walking with a Theraband looped around his knees worked wonders, testing his core stability while facilitating a longer stride length and a more natural arm swing. Or, when instructed, as Matt strode along, he had to turn his head as if greeting a passerby, or glance skyward in response to the sound of a bird or a plane—without stopping or pausing.

Mike and I each added a functional twist to Matt’s daily grind. Outside, they kicked a soccer ball, threw a frisbee, hiked uneven trails, and headed to the driving range to hone their golf swings. Mike was an incredibly patient teacher. In the fall, they planned to play a round of par-3 golf. Matt would need a cart because carrying a heavy golf bag across the uneven fairway would be precarious and physically taxing.

I, on the other hand, in my ongoing quest for innovative solutions, decided to experiment with wheels—specifically a glider bike, similar to how young children are now taught to ride. This concept forced Matt to coordinate rapid, reciprocal leg movements while steering, staying steady, and overcoming his fear of falling. That last variable ultimately put a kibosh on the venture.

Like the bike, not everything panned out. In June, we filled out a detailed four- to five-page intake form to see a Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine and assess Matt for musculoskeletal asymmetries and determine whether specialized mobilization techniques or other approaches might enhance his performance. However, due to her limited office hours and COVID-related constraints, the initiative ultimately fizzled out.

Along similar lines, in January 2021, his optometrist, Dr. Kushner, prescribed natrum sulphuricum tablets—a remedy intended to restore systemic functions disrupted by his injury and prolonged recovery. Interestingly, just four weeks later, his digestive function improved; his lingering tendency to cough or clear his throat while eating, as well as his post-meal hiccups, were nearly eliminated. Equally noteworthy, his vision, speech, and body awareness sharpened. Rather than cutting corners too close or bumping into furniture and doorways with his right side, Matt began to leave a wider berth. Whether coincidence or not, it was welcomed nonetheless.

The most direct correlation, however, was the sudden calming of his jumpy legs, secondary to restless leg syndrome. While this had been a minor, pre-existing condition, in the ICU his legs had flexed and jerked constantly, resembling a wild dance. Those intense, frantic jerks persisted for a full year during his recovery, gradually decreasing in frequency, though they never quite returned to baseline. Astonishingly, since starting the remedy, he generally experienced only two episodes per month.

Then there was the MELT Method. Using small, soft blue massage balls, we applied gentle techniques to the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet to supposedly flush out metabolic waste. In turn, this drew fresh fluid into the connective tissues, triggering a chain reaction that reduced stiffness and tension and improved overall mobility. It was soothing and kind of fun. For Matt, the most obvious outcome was that his tight right wrist muscles relaxed, allowing him to fully extend his hand. To be fair, because this and other strategies I’ve mentioned worked quietly behind the scenes, there is no way to know their full impact on his ongoing or future recovery or on areas not under a microscope.

In the summer, to switch things up, Matt started the 7-Minute Workout—a familiar routine he’d done in his basement when he just wanted to keep in shape. The standard protocol included thirteen thirty-second bouts of bodyweight calisthenics, ranging from jumping jacks and wall sits to push-ups, planks, and lunges. To match his current abilities, we reduced the inventory and modified several tasks to safely build his strength and endurance until he could perform them correctly. In the beginning, his back sagged while performing push-ups, his lunges wobbled, and his sit-ups were bleak. But Matt was deeply motivated to reclaim this specific milestone, and for me, seeing that drive was a dream come true. Eric, his first outpatient physical therapist, even cheered him on when I shared the news on Facebook, writing, “What a great update. Most glad to hear your motivation to do the 7-minute exercise program as you did before.”

To complement this regimen and give his gains an extra boost, we used a large therapy ball. While lying on his stomach on the ball, Matt performed arm and leg raises, alternated contralateral limbs, and did modified push-ups. He then recruited trunk control by performing similar tasks while sitting upright on the ball.

Furthermore, after some research, I learned that bursts of sustained isometric contractions—holding a near-maximum muscle contraction for three to ten seconds—could rapidly build muscle mass, enhance joint control, and provide efficient total-body conditioning. Together, Matt and I—after all, there was no reason I shouldn’t benefit from these drills—did a circuit of fourteen different tasks. Pushing or pulling against a doorframe, pressing against a wall, or resisting leg contractions with our hands, we completed five repetitions of each contraction. It took at most twelve to fifteen minutes, which suited our busy schedule perfectly.

Everything was a labor of love, but the foundation built with this final, double-punch, triple combination ultimately paid the biggest dividend. Even after six months of trying, chair step-ups, a central component of the 7-Minute Workout, had been a persistent bugger. Consistently, Matt stalled halfway up the step and had to pull himself the rest of the way. Now, in just three weeks, he began to power right through that stubborn midpoint and straight to the top. Additional returns on investment included earnings from growth in areas of jumping, hopping, and skipping. We gladly claim every perk!

© 2026, Sarah Watkins