- Spending a day on the water with teammates, Parker Byrd, 20, never expected to be fighting for life just hours later.
- As Parker made his way towards the boat, the rope he was holding caught in the propeller and sucked him towards its rotating blades.
- To save his life, docs had to amputate his leg.
Here Parker tells his story in his own words.
As I gripped the handles of the inflatable tube firmly, the boat’s engine roared to life.
‘Yahoo!’ I cried as we took off and I skimmed across the water.
It was July 2022, and finishing high school, I’d moved interstate for a baseball scholarship at uni.
It’d been my dream to play professionally since I took up the sport, aged five.
‘I’m done for the day.’
Now, my new teammates and I were on holiday getting to know each other.
We’d spent the morning having a blast on the water, taking turns to see who could hold on for the longest on the tube.
When it was my turn to ride again, I hopped in the water with another teammate.
As the boat picked up speed, the first sharp turn sent my mate flying.
Laughing, I gripped on tighter, determined to keep going.
But as the tube hit the boat’s wake, it flung me high into the air.
Terrified of heights, I let go of the handles and slammed into the white wash.
When I resurfaced, my body felt tender.
I’m done for the day, I decided, making my way back to the boat for a rest.
‘We’ve got you mate.’
My mate was around 20 metres behind me.
When I reached the end of the rope attached to the boat, I used it to pull myself the rest of the way.
I was nine metres away when I realised, in horror, that the boat was reversing towards me.
‘Stop!’ I screamed, waving frantically.
Spotting me, the guys on board yelled to the captain.
But it was too late.
The rope I was holding got caught in the propeller and sucked me towards its rotating blades.
There was no time to react.
‘If I close my eyes, I might not wake up.’
With my lower legs dangling below the water, the sharp blades chewed through my thighs over and over again, as I fought hard to stop the rest of my body being sucked under the vessel.
Holding on to the edge of the boat with my right hand, I used my left to try and release my butchered flesh.
But the blades slashed my fingers.
Then the propeller jammed on the rope.
Shreds of my blood-soaked boardies floated to the surface…
‘My legs!’ I cried in shock.
Trembling uncontrollably, I tried to get to the boat, but I was too weak.
One of the guys jumped in and pulled me on board.
‘Please do whatever it takes to fix it.’
‘We’ve got you mate,’ he soothed.
Thankfully my hands had just a few minor cuts.
But tearing their shirts, my mates made a makeshift tourniquet for both legs.
As blood gushed from my wounds, I was in too much shock to feel pain.
But the trauma had taken a toll on my body, and I fought to stay awake.
If I close my eyes, I might not wake back up, I thought.
With the propeller still jammed, some of the boys managed to flag down another boat to take us to land. Another had called an ambulance.
When we reached the shore, paramedics were already waiting to take me to hospital.
But my injuries were so severe, I was soon airlifted to a bigger facility 15 minutes away.
Drifting in and out of consciousness on the flight, I worried if I’d ever walk or play baseball again.
But I didn’t blame the boat captain. It was a freak accident.
By the time I arrived, the painkillers the paramedics gave me had worn off and I was in agony.
Doctors whisked me into surgery to stop the bleeding and stitch up my hand.
When I came to after the seven-hour op, my parents Jeff and Mitzi, both 46, and my sisters Gracen, 16, and Brinley, 10, were there to support me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I sobbed, grateful to see their faces.
‘We’re just so glad you’re okay,’ Mum said.
Shortly afterwards, a doctor came to see me.
‘You have several laceration type wounds across your upper legs and left hand,’ he said, adding that the major arteries in my legs were completely severed.
‘Please do whatever it takes to fix it,’ I begged.
Over three weeks, I had seven gruelling surgeries to try and save my legs.
Heartbreakingly, I had limited blood flow to my right leg.
‘We’re going to have to amputate,’ my doctor told me gently. I was gutted.
Back under the knife 12 days later, my right leg was amputated below the knee.
I had a further 15 surgeries to repair muscles and place skin grafts.
Afterwards, I struggled to come to terms with how it would affect my life.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to play baseball again,’ I said to Mum. ‘There’s never been a division one baseballer to play with a prosthetic leg.’
‘There has to be a first. Why can’t it be you?’ she encouraged.
Discharged in a wheelchair a week later, I put everything I had into my recovery.
I was over the moon when I took my first steps with my new prosthetic in December that year, and last March, I received my first running blade.
Making my debut on the baseball pitch in February this year, the crowd erupted in cheers.
I was so grateful for everyone’s support and incredibly we won the game.
While I still have a long way to go in my recovery, I’m so proud of how far I’ve come.
Every step towards my dreams feels like a home run to me.
