At the tender age of five, my father called out to me while I was playing at the entrance of our fourth-floor apartment. He asked me to fetch some of his belongings from our ground-floor apartment.
Eager to combine play with responsibility, I chose to slide down the house railing. However, I lost my balance and fell from the fourth floor, leaving my family in shock as they heard the crash.
I have no recollection of the subsequent two weeks, but my father later told me that they rushed me to the nearest hospital, where I was admitted to the intensive care unit in critical condition. I spent 14 days there, and my condition eventually stabilized enough for the doctor to discharge me.
Although I wasn't fully conscious during my journey home, my mind was filled with hope and excitement about resuming play. However, my body reminded me that I hadn't fully recovered, despite convincing myself otherwise.
Upon returning home, my dreams of play and recovery were shattered. I struggled to breathe normally, and the doctor had to insert a long copper tube into my trachea to help me breathe. The tracheostomy became a long-term companion, casting doubt on a full recovery.
The next day, as I regained consciousness, I realized I was temporarily paralyzed on the right side of my body. My journey of physical therapy began, spanning a year of sessions until I could walk again and regained vision in my right eye. Eventually, I returned to the hospital for another surgery to remove the tracheostomy.
Despite a year of waiting, the end of my restrictions on play didn't come with the removal of the tracheostomy. My respiratory system continued to trouble me, leading to frequent shortness of breath attacks.
I replaced physical therapy sessions with inhalation treatments to help my lungs breathe. Medical instructions prohibited me from engaging in any physical activity that involved running.
This period was the hardest on my psyche. Watching my classmates play while I was forbidden to join them was painful, especially in the winter when the mere thought of running left me breathless.
The "ban on play" lasted until the third year of middle school when I began swimming to regulate my breathing.
Despite initial anxiety, my enthusiasm for playing again overcame my fear of shortness of breath attacks. As I continued swimming, the frequency of these attacks decreased until they stopped completely.
Swimming became my salvation, helping me overcome my respiratory issues and muscle weakness. It not only protected me from bronchitis but also helped me strengthen my body muscles.
Swimming transformed me from paralysis to an athletic body, making it the perfect prescription for my treatment and recovery.
