My name is Monica, I’m currently fifteen years old and this is the story of something bad that happened to me that ended up changing my life. Before this incident I thought that the world was perfect or at least that my world was perfect. I had never known anyone who had died or gotten a terrible decease and nothing bad really happened to be. I thought that bad were reserved for bad people and for that reason I thought that nothing bad would ever happen to me.

This all changed when I was seven years old. Something was wrong with me. I was extremely weak and exhausted and although I was bright and loved to make up stories I struggled to read, write, draw and even keep my head up. My mom and dad were very wworried because they didn’t know what was wrong with me. So they did what what any good parents would do and they took me to various doctors with multi-word specialties like “pediatric-neurologist” and developmental-pediatrician. These doctors thought that something was wrong with my brain. And my parents, being the type of people who believed in medicine and science thought so as well.

One night after school my dad took me to a special department in Stanford Hospital. I remember lying on a hard surface as a technician attempted to slid plugs in my ears. The plugs were too big and kept popping out. I slid into a dark tunnel (which I later learned was called an MRI which stands for magnetic resonance imaging) and was told to stay perfectly still.

Afterwards I was poked and prodded once again by various doctors and specialists. After all this data was collected and analyzed it became clear that I had something called Muscular Developmental Delays in Fine and Gross Motor Development which I would have to live with for the rest of my life.

While unfortunately this defect remains incurable, conditions can be improved by rigorous occupational and physical therapy. So, for two years I made biweekly visits to a clinic that specialized in occupation and physical therapy for young people. While I was there I squeezed putty, wrote in cursive, practiced walking in a straight line and did many other things to improve my condition. While this was hard work at the end of some sessions my brother got to come with me to play in the “fun room” which consisted of various acrobatic apparatuses designed to strengthen my muscles.

In addition to weekly classes I also did an independent study program to further my progress. Everyday I would have a “challenge”. One day it would be to hang for twenty seconds on the monkey bars and the next it would be to open a fruit roll-up. To you these “challenges” probably don’t seem particularly challenging, but for me they were.

So anyways, after two years I graduated from the program. And now while I still don’t play on any sports teams and I won’t be getting a penmanship award anytime soon; I think I am a competitor. If people knew my history they’d know what it has taught me: to appreciate each day, work hard even when things may seem impossible, to have empathy for others who may be suffering through truly difficult things and that everyone is different and that’s okay.