Tim's Fight: A Story of Resilience and Hope for Recovery

My name is Michael Hastings and i am helping my good friend and his best friend in South Africa. Here is his story.

My name is Tim, and this is my story.

I'm 39 years old, and one year ago, I experienced a freak accident that shattered my everyday life. Since then, I’ve undergone some of the most agonizing surgeries, with promises of therapy and physiotherapy to help me recover. Unfortunately, the reality has been far from what I had hoped.

I grew up with five brothers and was one of the most active kids I knew, participating in every sport imaginable—from cricket and rugby to skateboarding, rollerblading, swimming, and running. I attended every athletics day, often reaching the podium, and took karate seriously, progressing quite far in my belt levels.

Growing up wasn't easy. Coming from a poor background, my single father struggled to raise six boys, providing for us as best as he could. Tragically, he passed away at 49 due to organ failure, and I never got the chance to tell him how much I appreciated everything he did for me.

I’m now a father to a 9-year-old daughter. This accident happened when she was just about to turn eight, and I never wanted her to feel she had lost her father. We share a close bond, and I’m reaching out now because I desperately need your assistance—whether that means helping financially or even just keeping us in your thoughts and prayers.

On November 17, 2023, I received a call at 2:00 AM on a Saturday—the only weekend I had off in months. There had been a diesel spill at work, and I was asked to assist. When I arrived, I was exhausted, having only gotten an hour of sleep. While cleaning up, I slipped and fell, hitting my head. I woke up in a pool of diesel, unable to move.

A security officer found me, but the pain was unbearable. I managed to get myself to the office but later learned that I needed to see a doctor and file an injury on duty claim. As I wasn’t on medical aid, I had to accept the company’s recommendation for treatment. The doctors I saw were, to put it mildly, not very competent. For months, they only prescribed medication and sent me home.

Three months later, after enduring constant pain, I demanded to see a specialist. I was referred to a neurosurgeon who ordered an MRI. The results were grim. He suggested a decompression surgery, which I agreed to in hopes of getting my life back.

After the surgery, I woke up to discover I had no feeling in my right leg. The doctor dismissed my concerns, suggesting it was just post-surgery. Within three days, my leg swelled to three times its size, and I returned to the specialist, who ruled out blood clots. Unfortunately, tiny scabs began forming on my leg, and I was told the decompression had failed. I then underwent a fusion surgery, which involved inserting six screws into my spine.

Despite my reservations, I had to proceed, assured it was my only option. The pain afterward was unlike anything I had experienced before. I pushed myself to recover for my daughter and wife, determined to regain my strength. The physiotherapist saw me for brief sessions, and I spent countless hours practicing on my own.

I was meant to be transferred to a step-down facility for further rehabilitation, but the doctor denied it, stating I could stand and walk. With no one at home to care for me, I had to fly 2,000 kilometers to receive care just 11 days after surgery.

In KZN, a doctor recognized my leg's rapid deterioration and urged me to return to my neurosurgeon. Upon my return to Cape Town, my doctor confirmed the severity of my condition and referred me to a vascular surgeon. After tests, he informed me that my main artery was completely blocked and that I would need yet another surgery.

Desperate to restore my health, I agreed to this third surgery, believing it would be the solution. But when I woke up, the surgeon informed me, without emotion, that my leg would need to be amputated. I was devastated and called my wife to confirm the news.

For almost a year, I have been unable to earn any income. My wife has worked tirelessly to support us, but she is burning out. I need help. I need HELP.

Recently, I sought second and third opinions, and each confirmed that amputation was imminent. The timeline has accelerated, and I face serious complications if I don't proceed soon.

My company’s injury-on-duty policy promised 75% of my salary for three months, but I only received 60%. I am still waiting for a response from the labor department. I cannot walk, stand, or perform basic activities without excruciating pain. I've been told I cannot claim the amputation under the injury-on-duty program because the doctors decided it wasn't related to my original injury.

With no medical aid, the entire procedure—including physiotherapy and post-amputation care—will cost around 400,000 rand. I simply don’t have that money, and without the amputation, the risk of infection will grow.

I am a devoted father, and my daughter asks me daily when we can play together again. It breaks my heart to tell her that I can’t play for long, and she doesn’t yet know about the amputation.

I reach out now because I don’t have family or friends who can help. I don’t want my daughter to grow up with a different father or for my wife to be without a husband. My few close friends are desperately seeking ways to help me. This platform was recommended by my best friend, William—a true brother who refuses to let me sink into despair.

If you can relate or find it in your heart to contribute to my cause, I sincerely thank you. Those two words feel so small compared to the depth of my gratitude. I promise that your support will not go to waste; I am determined to regain my life.

With that, I pray that God watches over each of you, whether you can help or not. May He grant you all your heart’s desires and fill your lives with abundance every single day.

My name is Timothy Cowley, and this is my story.