When the doctors issue you the sentence of imminent death, would you sit in a corner and wait for the Grim Reaper to come and claim you, or would you throw caution to the winds and go skiing instead? 19-year-old Jothy Rosenberg opted for the latter. The loss of a leg and a part of his lung to cancer did not come in the way of his journey to Utah, where he skied for hundred days straight, and returned more alive than ever before. Jothy Rosenberg relates to anu gulmohar the amazing tale of how he went on to defy the verdict of doctors and now 36 years later, has been married for 28 years, is father to three children, started six tech companies, participated in seven bike-a-thons and swum across San Francisco bay 16 times. His ordeal and courage will now seek to inspire through his book “Who Says I Can’t?”
“I think I was a fairly normal, if perhaps a bit of a wilful, kid. Nothing spectacular but there were perhaps a few signs that I had some toughness… When I had to face a real and personal crisis, I actually surprised myself at how I handled it. At the age of 19, when the doctor told me no one had survived what had just happened to me, part of me did not accept that because someone of 19 years typically thinks they are immortal. But embedded in my brain from then on was a worry, and it mostly resulted in me living pretty hard and fast and in me taking risks. I figured that if I really was going to die, like they said, I should live it up while I could. I had always had the attitude that I would prove everyone wrong on any limitations they placed on me – whether it was how many days I would have to stay in the hospital, or that I would never ski as well as two-leggers. But I was not trying to prove them wrong about me dying; I was just trying to live better and faster while I could.
I lost my leg at 16 in January of that year. In March, before the snow was gone, I insisted my parents take me to a local ski hill. I was not even yet fully healed and my stump was still sore and swollen. Regardless, I was determined to find out if skiing was going to be off-limits for me. I used regular ski poles as that is all I knew about (later, I would learn that something called outriggers, which are ski poles with little skis on the ends, was the way to go). When I tried to ski a little and take a turn, I would immediately fall to the snow and it would hurt. Then I would get up and try a turn the other way. One turn direction was much harder because it was unnatural to turn to the left with just a left leg. Still, while my parents were cringing and trying to get me to stop, I began to see that this really was going to be possible. Skiing was the sport I was best at, and I loved it. I really wanted to be able to do it and this early attempt, instead of depressing me, made me elated. No one could see why. But I saw that with super hard work and maniacal focus I could learn this and be good at skiing again. And yes, that gave me a huge lease on life.
“I think I was a fairly normal, if perhaps a bit of a wilful, kid. Nothing spectacular but there were perhaps a few signs that I had some toughness… When I had to face a real and personal crisis, I actually surprised myself at how I handled it. At the age of 19, when the doctor told me no one had survived what had just happened to me, part of me did not accept that because someone of 19 years typically thinks they are immortal. But embedded in my brain from then on was a worry, and it mostly resulted in me living pretty hard and fast and in me taking risks. I figured that if I really was going to die, like they said, I should live it up while I could. I had always had the attitude that I would prove everyone wrong on any limitations they placed on me – whether it was how many days I would have to stay in the hospital, or that I would never ski as well as two-leggers. But I was not trying to prove them wrong about me dying; I was just trying to live better and faster while I could.
I lost my leg at 16 in January of that year. In March, before the snow was gone, I insisted my parents take me to a local ski hill. I was not even yet fully healed and my stump was still sore and swollen. Regardless, I was determined to find out if skiing was going to be off-limits for me. I used regular ski poles as that is all I knew about (later, I would learn that something called outriggers, which are ski poles with little skis on the ends, was the way to go). When I tried to ski a little and take a turn, I would immediately fall to the snow and it would hurt. Then I would get up and try a turn the other way. One turn direction was much harder because it was unnatural to turn to the left with just a left leg. Still, while my parents were cringing and trying to get me to stop, I began to see that this really was going to be possible. Skiing was the sport I was best at, and I loved it. I really wanted to be able to do it and this early attempt, instead of depressing me, made me elated. No one could see why. But I saw that with super hard work and maniacal focus I could learn this and be good at skiing again. And yes, that gave me a huge lease on life.
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