It all began in March 2020. I had just returned in February from a nine-month overseas deployment to Kuwait and Syria, and March 1st was my first day back on the job as a police officer. I was excited to be working again. I didn’t love the job itself, but I loved helping people—it’s always been part of who I am. After nearly a year away, it took a few weeks to get back into the rhythm.

On March 24, 2020, I was dispatched to a reported burglary at a rural, heavily wooded residence. As usual, I arrived first. I checked the exterior for anything suspicious, then spoke with the homeowner, who said they heard a loud bang and believed someone had tried to break in. It was pitch black, with uneven terrain and debris everywhere. I couldn’t afford to keep my eyes on the ground—there could have been a suspect, or worse, a bear.

While canvassing the property, I heard a noise and moved toward it. Suddenly something wrapped around my foot and ankle. As I tried to kick free, it tangled my other leg too. Both feet were trapped in what felt like a bear trap. I knew I was going down. I threw my hands out to break the fall and landed in a push-up position. When my 240-pound body hit the ground, I heard a loud crack.

I’m no stranger to pain, so at first I thought I’d just snapped a branch. But when I stood up, my arm wouldn’t move. My brain was telling it to work, and nothing happened. Then the pain hit—burning, numb, and deep. Luckily, I had already cleared the property. With my left arm hanging uselessly, I told the homeowner everything was clear. When another officer arrived, I explained what happened. My supervisor sent an ambulance.

It was humiliating. I thought I had simply tripped and broken my arm.

At the hospital, initial tests showed nothing, despite the excruciating pain. Days later, an MRI revealed the truth: a completely torn triceps tendon. Surgery followed—and failed. The tendon wasn’t properly reattached and tore again. A second surgery used an Achilles cadaver, which my body rejected. Frustrated and fed up, I demanded a transfer of care. After a brief conversation with worker’s compensation I finally went to Tri County Orthopedics and saw Dr.Willis A third surgery finally succeeded using my own tendon. I lost range of motion, but at least it was connected. He also fixed the scar which was huge!

All of this happened while I was out of work, COVID shut the world down, gyms closed, and my two children were home full-time—one in kindergarten, learning how to read and write. I went from being highly active to stuck inside, rehabbing from three surgeries while trying to be a teacher and running a household. It was one of the hardest periods of my life. On top of that I was planning on getting a dog, a chocolate lab next year. The breeder contacted me and told me they had a puppy available for me. I had no clue how I was going to take care of this dog in my condition, but something told me I need it. That’s when Denzel the chocolate lab became a member of my family.

I returned to work in 2021. On December 21st, we were called to a hotel for an erratic individual destroying furniture. We de-escalated the situation, but thirty minutes later we were called back. This time he was violent. Words weren’t working. As we restrained him, my right hand was on his back when he suddenly pushed back hard. I felt a crack—this time in my right arm. I knew immediately, this pain was all too familiar. Pain always has a memory.

I finished securing him with my already damaged left arm and called my supervisor. The ambulance came. The embarrassment returned. The diagnosis was confirmed: a torn right triceps tendon. Surgery followed.

The trauma and inflammation led to severe nerve issues. I required carpal tunnel surgery on both hands. That’s when I knew my career was over. I couldn’t safely do the job anymore. I refused to be a liability or put my coworkers at risk.

Nearly a year later, my medical retirement was approved. Until then, I lived under constant stress—no guarantee of approval meant no health insurance for my children and no clear way to provide. I was 33 years old when I retired from both law enforcement and the military.

Sitting still was destroying me. Between surgeries, I earned my New Jersey real estate license and completed a Master’s degree in Cyber and Homeland Security. By then, I had already undergone six surgeries. But something new was occurring, I had pain in my right my right shoulder. It was ruining my days.

When gyms reopened, I returned cautiously. Training had been part of my life since I was 12, and modified workouts were miserable—but necessary. I went from being one of the biggest and strongest guys in the gym to what I felt like was an average joe. I was able to build my physique back with extremely careful and modified workouts, but eventually, the shoulder pain became unbearable. An MRI revealed a catastrophic rotator cuff tear. My surgeon described it as if a stick of dynamite had been set off inside my shoulder. In August 2025, I went under the knife again. What was supposed to be a 90-minute procedure lasted over five hours. Even then, it was unclear if the repair would hold.

After surgery, my leg went numb. I nearly collapsed trying to stand. Tests revealed rhabdomyolysis. I was rushed to the hospital and spent five days in the ICU. My CK levels were over 70,000—normal is under 300. The back pain was unlike anything I’d ever felt. I barely noticed the shoulder pain because of it.

That led to another diagnosis: degenerative disc disease, likely from a hard parachute landing years earlier that I had ignored. In January 2026, I underwent a three-level TLIF with eight screws in my spine. I developed rhabdomyolysis again and spent three more days in the ICU.

I’m still recovering—from the shoulder, from the back—but I’m not a quitter. Eight surgeries in five years while balancing family life nearly broke me. I wouldn’t be here without my fiancée and my mother. I owe them everything. I would also like to thank Dr. Willis, Dr. Speteri, and Nurse Susan, who went above and beyond to ensure I was taken care of. I’ll never forget them.

Pain has a memory—but so does resilience.