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My deteriorating conditions rendered my survival nothing short of miraculous. They recommended the immediate and permanent attachment of a ventilator. In a defiant, desperate attempt to save my life, I was transferred to a Boston hospital. Throughout the transfer, I contracted pneumonia, sepsis, and eventually septic shock. My hunger was satisfied by the dispensing of a glucose and water concoction through feeding tubes. Excruciating sensations pierced my shoulder, ironically indicating the onset of recovery. Recovery would be accompanied by discouraging setbacks, mental torment, and a major dependency on nurses. Regardless of the circumstances, I chose to maintain a positive outlook. I was graciously blanketed with optimism from my community. I began inpatient rehabilitation after eleven days in intensive care. I ritualistically engaged in physical, occupational, and speech therapies for nearly fifty days of rehab. Despite medical odds, I reclaimed the ability to breathe, eat, and talk without assistance. 
At The Same Time
I escaped the confines of my hospital bed and eventually the limits of a wheelchair. At the end of my inpatient stay at Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital, I limped beyond the entrance with a walker. Even with substantial weakness on my right side requiring years of outpatient therapy, I relished my triumph. My residual deficits include minor sensation weakness on my right side and the inability to move my right hand. The remaining physical damage from my stroke is nonetheless incomparable to the fortune and privilege I have obtained. I have been given insight into the strength of humanity. I have witnessed courage in its truest form. After my battle, I feel wholeheartedly responsible to use my recovered being as a vessel to serve the families on the pediatric floors of my hospitals. I have worked tirelessly to transform societal discomfort with disabilities through writing and public speaking. Ultimately, I have overcome. Overcoming and recovering do not necessarily sync. I am unfamiliar with the young athlete I was before my injury, yet I yearn for a chance to talk to her. A Haunted Heart
Upon greeting her, I would extend a lifeless hand. Sensitive to how little time she has with her health, I would speak unhesitatingly. I would prepare her briefly, gently, withholding the impending pain and uncertainty. Then, after reveling in her potential, I’d demand she sprint away from me. I would watch as she hurries from our conversation. She will clear tremendous hurdles and fill bleachers with spectators who will cherish her victories. She is young and unknowing now, but I am the living proof that she will find her way. I overcame my physical injury as best as I could, but rising above the mental toll my stroke took on me is a lifelong undertaking. Instead of feeling like I need immediate answers or results, or that I need to appear like some untouchable victor, I feel excited for the lifetime of energy I will pour into my development and take advantage of my past for my evolution. I’m not trying to advise you to spend the rest of your time thinking and talking about sadness. Celebrate that you are a sentient human capable of feeling and experiencing a perhaps infinite spectrum of emotions. Life, in all its glory and hurt, is remarkable. Some Good Things Never Last
Stop submitting to perfectionism and discerning social media’s idea of perfection as a reasonable standard for yourself. You are worthy of every version of yourself. I implore you to appreciate the convergence of two opposing forces, good and evil, which complicate yet enrich every single thing you experience. Remember your mistakes as clearly as you remember your greatest accomplishments. Let go of trying to expend painful human emotion to appear to yourself or others as something ultimately inhuman, something superhuman. Every once in a while, people need bursts of inspiration and want to hear only the good. Wholeness comes from reminding yourself of the entire story, regardless of your audience. You are complicated. You will complete your life one day with some ratio of suffering to joy, and even though I hope your balance leans in the direction of your happiness, I also hope you welcome the complexities of the human condition and find beauty in, or at least have a fascination with, all the good and the bad of everything you endure. Haley’s story reminds us that sometimes change and circumstances are not of our choosing, yet we are given the choice to move forward and have the ability to choose our path. We may need support from others in order to do so. Our next story reminds us of our abilities and resilience as well. Snowe, a trailblazer senator whose leadership organization sends ripples of positive change throughout the universe. My mother passed away when I was eight, and I lost my father, too, less than a year later, it hurt. After six years I decided to move back to Auburn, Maine, and live with my aunt and uncle’s family. I went to Edward Little High School and then the University of Maine, where I majored in political science. From my early years I had an innate interest in government, specifically in the way of helping others. After losing both of my parents at such a young age, I had tremendous empathy for people who work hard and, through no fault of their own, have terrible things happen in their lives and need support to get on their feet again. I naturally gravitated toward political positions in my early twenties. That said, my early experience with loss informed my reaction. I had found that the best way to manage grief was to keep moving forward and make the best of a negative situation. I was encouraged by colleagues, friends, and family to run in a special election to fill his seat and I won. The circumstances were far from ideal for undertaking an election, I felt extremely fortunate for the opportunity to dive into new work and pursue a career I was passionate about. I was the youngest Republican woman and first woman ever elected to Congress.