"Defied the odds"

This is an article written by the son of our friends at Teenink.com.

I'm not complaining. I'm not complaining because I'm alive and walking, and that's more than I expected, sincerely.

There is something strange about being a survivor of stroke of sixteen years of age. I had the race when he was three weeks old, by what people seem to think that it would have little bearing on my life now. And honestly, even the title of "stroke survivor" feels weird to me. I don't remember being anything other than the child who had a stroke, so there really is a stroke survivor title, or is just a part of me?

At the age of 16, I am partially blind and had trouble walking even at eight o'clock. As a child it was almost impossible for me to really understand; I do not understand the idea of not being able to run and play with other children, and I do not understand why gravity seemed constantly I pulled to the ground and bruising in my hands and my clothes tearing. Then I resigned myself me to sit on the stairs while other children played. Most of my time spent reading a book or watching the sky.

The bright side for someone who spent each hole torn through books and much of a philosopher like you can be even in six is that you learn things.

Fortunately both, unfortunately, the fact that I couldn't walk meant physiotherapy. The wine of the part unfortunate decision of my parents put me in a sport of whole body, in other words, dance. I can't even begin to explain how disastrous, this decision was, but as you would expect a girl who can hardly walk can't walk any more easily when their movements are choreographed and she wears a pair of tap steel-tipped shoes.

The part luck came later. When he was nine, they bet dance for gymnastics, and that is when my life changed. Girls with optimized figures pirouetted in their hands, blew and flipped and they turned with a flagrant disregard for gravity, made swing bar in bar as circus performers, took their beautiful flips and spins and spins and put them into a beam of four meters in height, four inches wide. It worked in vaults with the intensity of the creatures chasing its prey and then instantly catapulted into the air. They were superhuman.

I was finally decided. I felt equal ­determined felt decided to run with the children on the playground. But it was even more intense that: truly, truly, I felt that I needed this. It needed to be superhuman. I have worked harder than the other kids and still have less results. Not dry until you can run, and does not run until you can walk.

That is only the obvious progression of things. But somehow I got through it. There were some advantages to my situation, it had fallen so much that he was extremely tolerant to pain, and unlike the others I felt as if I had something huge to win. I got through training of conditioning without complaining. I listened to every criticism. Eluded sympathy. I learned to walk. Then to run. After the fall.

Last year the my peak. After all this time, I came to one of the highest levels of gymnastics. This meant that it had earned the right to travel and compete and even wore an expensive leotard, to my teammates and looked up to by young children.

Although it was not my first year competing, it was the most intense. I knew that would be my last too; my body had learned the sport, but my heart was growing tired of it. It can only be so committed until your heart gives in and I had given up too mine at the beginning. My goal was known and overcome: walking. Screw that, I was flying!

The final ­opportunities and older were to compete in Hawaii and to compete one last time in a State Championship. Thirdly I took versatile in Hawaii and took first on beam in State. The girl who could not walk took first on beam. Pigs can fly and the blind can see and not I can walk alone, but also win the beam.

After a summer of aggravation, I gave up. I just felt that he had won nothing more. I ended up flying. It gave me the possibility of leaving. I was surprised and grateful, but I was ready to go.

I am sixteen years old. I am partially blind, and had trouble walking when he was eight. It will never be like everyone else. My left side is weaker than my right, and walk with a limp even after my training. The things I forget constantly, and part of me wonders if it's my career. Most of my friends do not say that I had a stroke; not could never look at me the same thing again.

But the reality is this: I'm not complaining. I had a stroke, but he defied the odds. I had tried every medical evil, and did it with style.

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