{"Title":"The Paralympic Queen of the slopes ","Description":{"Value":"

For better or worse, I was born in the 60s, in 1967 to be precise, just three months before the Greek Junta, January 1967. I was born in Athens, and I spent my first years, until the age of two-three if my memory serves me, in the countryside, in a village in Arkadia.

I was born with a relatively visible and severe motor disability dubbed as follows: birth defect which is also called kyphoscoliosis. In simple terms, I don’t have a left leg, so one limb less, plus, I was born with acute kyphosis and scoliosis, which means that my spinal cord is not straight but bend at an angle of about ninety degrees. Pretty big number for scoliosis.

As years passed, I found out that they did not give me to my mother right after birth, apparently I don’t know, I guess they didn’t want to upset her, scare her and so on. I also learned that doctors back then gave my parents the options of euthanasia, of being given for lab experiments or adoption. My parents decided to give me a chance and took me home.

Sure, I recall being rather bold and stubborn because, despite the fact that I lacked one leg, I have been told that I strolled around the whole village with one foot and my left hand as leg replacement going wherever my parents were, in fields or jobs; wherever they were, I was there and met them. In those days, villages were rough places, no streets and many noes stacked together. I guess I must have been quite a tough child and had a strong “backbone” so to speak.

At the age of four, we started visiting hospitals and came in Athens to see what future holds for me as I grew up. We visited almost all institutions – hospitals and both my uncles and their doctors recommended the Patriotic Institute for Social Welfare and Understanding (PIKPA) of Voula. Back then, it operated as establishment, it had a physiotherapy clinic, some doctors, nurses but no operation rooms or stuff like that. It was just an ordinary establishment, that also had a school. From the age of four up until seven, I stayed at PIKPA in Voula, I grew up there. It was there that I spent my childhood.

There were twelve wards at the establishment. They began with transfers, where there were month-old babies, right after birth, as many parents could not raise or accept the disabled child [sic] and many babies were found in trash cans, brought there and abandoned, never to be taken back. Ages varied from zero and reached, let’s say forty or fifty.

I remember when we went to the wards as kiddies and older girls sort of adopted us. There you go, you had a miniature of a fully-fledged family. In other words, you had your guardian. This meant that if other children teased you, the girls protected you, scolded them and so on.

Many children packed together, and when you are four-five-six-seven years old you cried at nights, you asked for your parents and especially your mother. This was the saddest thing, having bottled-up feelings from the institution, saying: “Why do I have to be here and not with my family?”.

I had to undergo some operations as scoliosis kept getting worse, I had not put any prosthetics and medicine had to help me somehow in order to stop scoliosis and be able to put an artificial limb. For there was a risk to bend so much that my life would be in danger.

We had no operating rooms or such facilities at PIKPA in Voula, therefore we were transferred to PIKPA in Penteli which indeed had a few. At the age of eleven to twelve, if I’m not mistaken, as I was a very weak child, I had to grow up a bit in order to undergo spinal fusion. They put a metal rod across my spinal cord, from the neck and all the way down.

The surgery had been completed successfully. Admittedly, I was bedridden for a year in a full body cast. About two months after that operation, which was rather painful, I had to undergo another on my left hip, to place an artificial limb, so that I could stand up, walk and, in other words, level up. From crawling on the floor, I had to stand up on both feet. And so it turned out. That surgery, or the cast to be precise, took three months. One thing is certain, I endured so much pain etc. but I stood my ground and managed to overcome it. After both surgeries were over, specialists, that is to say orthopaedics, built an artificial limb which I put on and finally I was able to walk. Talk about progress, from crawling with one hand and one foot, to this.

It was beyond words for an eleven - twelve-year-old kid. However, I recall that having a full body cast all the time led to some serious itchiness! Whatever Halloween toys I had, such as swords and other stuff, I used them to stick under the cast with various tricks I invented in order to scratch myself. I can also recall that when they removed the cast, they used a saw to cut it (yep, there were only saws back then for this), it came out in one piece, and I could not retain my body in standing position. I cannot describe how lightweight it felt.

I kept on with my elementary school and managed to finish it there, at PIKPA in Penteli. Whatever was to be done medically, it was done. Science did its duty. Now, it was time that my family took over or that something else happened.

I did not return home to my family. At the age of fourteen and a half there was a Handicap Rehabilitation Centre in Chasias Avenue, this has been my transition. This means that at this age, I went to the institution to continue school, then to another institution, and another so that I may finish school and learn a trade, so to speak, to become useful to society.

It goes without saying that during my teenagerhood, when I started to be aware of the world around me as well as of myself being different, however not “being different due to disability”, but rather due to being different as a personality, I thought of things that would pave my future. Ok, I was born with a disability, quoted “defect”, based on the social model, right? To put it in words, these are all labels of our society. How will I manage to dissociate my disability in my mind from the person I truly am? This is what I attempted to do; I tried to develop a strong mind and spirit, and I found out that I was good at this. I said to myself, ok, in order to be able to compensate for this, to be strong and to come through, you have to reach a certain standard of knowledge in the context of a social model that says “You know what? You can’t…”

While I had severe disability, my hyperactivity and hypermobility were over the top. I had so much energy in me that I didn’t know where to spend it, since I was up to my eyeballs in rejection. Indeed, I had my fair share of disappointment, especially in terms of job opportunities. To be honest I worked here and there for some time, but not satisfactorily or in a field I really liked; it’s true. Then you are forced to do something, somehow, somewhere to make a living. You say to yourself: “I will survive, I will make my life as I can and as I really wish to.”

I found out that if I dealt with sports, I would improve my quality of life and increase life expectancy. To put it in another way, I would have a good life quality as a person and my physical reflection would be enhanced. And so it happened. I turned to sports.

I began rather gently. To be honest I was a bit bored; I was not fond of relaxed sports and I turned to more extreme ones, probably because they were more difficult. Whatever requires the most, whatever was the hardest, that is what I would choose. Then, I had the first reactions, such as: “Why do you do this?”, or “Are you not afraid?”, “Are you not afraid of hurting yourself? Of being in pain?” You responded like: “All right, and do what? Stay at home? No, I’m not afraid.” Or they told you: “Why are you doing this now?” I do it because I like it, it gives me pleasure, because maybe I am made for this, it is what I want.

Thus, it began, I got hung up with alpine skiing. “What is alpine skiing?” I hear you asking. I didn’t know either, I just put my humble ski on, trainers holding me from my hood, and we started. Little by little I slid and little by little we reached 2006 and had a seminar on Mount Parnassus. I had never been there before and didn’t know anything. That’s how the whole thing set off.

We started on Monday, the instructor came and picked me up and we went down the slope. I got knocked down and found myself rolling countless times. Discouraged, I got back to the hotel saying to myself: “What on earth have you got to do with all this? While being disabled?” I kept mumbling many bad things, to be honest, way too frustrated. Until the man came once more: “Come on, don’t give up. Tomorrow will be better. We will try another ski etc.” The third time, snow was considerably softer, I began falling less times which translates to less pain which means “oh, I think I have the hang of it. I’ll manage somehow”. You know the drill, third time, fourth time and we reached the point where the instructor was sitting on the lift, waved at me while I went comfortably down the slope. That’s how I grew fond of skiing. Until we went to the Olympics. Greece had never sent a female athlete abroad, no woman had participated for more than forty years.

We were now in 2010, the Olympics were held in Vancouver, Canada. We began our preparatory training. At one point, about a month and a half, I fell and broke my arm. Both my left foot and arm were “out of service”. Even then, I didn’t say a word. I had the right to go to the track, observe it, and if I thought I couldn’t make it, I could say: “Ok, I won’t compete.”

In the meantime, before we went to the Olympics, I underwent rehabilitation, to the extent of my abilities of course, which would never be sufficient as my doctors and physiotherapists kept saying. It hadn’t been long since I broke my arm. Unfortunately, I used my arms a lot in skiing, but I didn’t give up.

We went to Vancouver and I participated. Together with me, my country also participated for the first time in the history of the Winter Olympics, with a woman competing and finishing, the first woman; and I had the honour to be that woman. I finished, I made history and done, that was it. Yes, it didn’t bother me at all, nor did medals or anything like it. If you watch the video of me finishing, you’ll see just a smile, nothing else. Which also translates as: “Hell yeah, I made it!”.

To reach the finish line in every race, be it sports or real life, you must make it to the end. The secret lies in finishing, in finding a way to finish.

"}}

The Paralympic Queen of the slopes

Featured stories

The one-handed boxer

K2: conquering the killer summit

Παπαϊωάννου Σοφία