Personal Journey

Soccer was my world growing up in Brazil. I lived and breathed the sport—every afternoon spent training, every weekend defined by matches. But at fourteen, everything changed. A hard tackle led to a devastating femur fracture in my left leg. The break extended into the growth plate, and one of my doctors confidently predicted that the epiphysis wouldn’t close due to the injury. For months, I clung to that hope, only to learn later that the prediction was wrong—the growth line had closed prematurely. Four months after the fracture, I underwent an epiphysiodesis on my right leg to compensate for the length difference.

That experience left more than a scar—it taught me early that medical predictions, however confident, can be deeply uncertain. When I moved to the United States still recovering from that surgery, I was chasing a dream that had already been reshaped by medical error. I came to play soccer at a competitive level, but my body—and my relationship with the sport—were no longer the same. The recovery was slow, the trust in my body fragile, and the realization that medicine doesn’t always have clear answers began to take root.

At twenty, my world shifted again—this time not because of a broken bone, but because of two torn labrums that forced me to rethink what it meant to recover, persevere, and make decisions about my own body.

In January 2025, while skiing, I tore my left hip labrum in two places. The pain was sharp, but what shook me most was the prognosis. My orthopedist told me bluntly: 'You’ll likely face early arthritis and may need a hip replacement one day. (...) I know little about conservative approaches. My experience is with the aggressive approach.' Those words stuck with me. He admitted he knew very little about the science behind conservative care—his world was surgery first, everything else second.

This wasn’t my first encounter with such decisions. Years earlier, I had torn the labrum in my left shoulder. A shoulder specialist told me surgery was the 'common route' for injuries like mine. But I decided to gamble on my body and dedicate six months to disciplined strengthening and rehab.

It wasn’t easy—progress was measured in millimeters, not miles. Yet, against the odds, I came out stronger. The rehab demanded patience, consistency, and a willingness to rebuild from the ground up.

Today, I can bench press 295 lbs without pain, something I was told might never happen again.

These two experiences taught me something profound: orthopedic surgeries are not always the best path forward, and physicians—no matter how skilled—often don’t see the full picture of how conservative care can transform outcomes for the right patient.

The challenge isn’t just medical; it’s informational. Patients are forced to choose between aggressive interventions and uncertain alternatives, without clear, personalized evidence to guide them.

This realization was mirrored in my brother Arthur’s journey. A month before Intermed 2024, he tore three ligaments in his knee and his meniscus. After surgery, physiotherapy, and months of setbacks, he faced the same paralyzing question I had: 'What’s best for me now?' When MRI scans suggested another procedure, he dug into the literature, only to discover population-level evidence but no clarity for his unique case.

That’s when he called me. His frustration echoed my own: why do patients have to make life-changing decisions with incomplete evidence? Why does 'aggressive' so often come before 'proven'? Together, we decided to transform pain into purpose. Out of this restlessness, CareFuse was born: an engine to give patients and physicians clarity when choosing between conservative care and surgery.