Patient Stories

I've always been an athlete. When I was younger, I pitched the Amateur Athletic Union (AAU) World Series twice. After high school, I played baseball for the University of Arkansas at Monticello. But, despite those achievements, I never imagined how much physical strength I would need in a wheelchair. Late one Saturday night two years ago, I got on my fourwheeler to visit a friend, but I never made it to his apartment.

It's the dead of winter, but college junior Darin Ruark is spending much of his winter break afloat in a sparkling, penthouse-level pool. The air is warm and the sun shines through floor-to-ceiling windows. But while it may sound like a relaxed get-away, Darin isn't enjoying a winter vacation with friends or family.

When Lily Wilkinson was three, her neck was broken in an automobile accident leaving her paralyzed below the waist. A moment of screeching tires and crumpling metal, and her new life appeared etched in stone before she had ever entered kindergarten. After months of intensive care, her parents were told she would never be able to use or feel her legs again.

It was a twisted ankle that finally brought Corinne down. After so many injuries-a broken hip, surgery on her knees and her shoulder-it was one small twist, something anyone would dismiss offhand, and Corinne was flat on her back, in absolutely unimaginable, intolerable pain.

Life has dealt 14-year-old Jeffrey a particularly challenging hand. Jeffrey, who lives with his parents and sibling in a low-income neighborhood in South Baltimore, has bipolar, obsessive-compulsive, anxiety, and attention-deficit hyperactivity disorders.

Mealtimes can be a source of tension for many families with young children. From cajoling finicky eaters to eat their broccoli to battling restless youngsters who simply refuse to sit at the table and finish their dinner, parents can face an uphill battle when it comes to feeding their children balanced meals every day.

Most 18-year-old girls love to talk. Maggie Piet is no exception. She just uses modern technology to do so.

The lobby of the ice rink hums with excitement as children laugh and talk while their parents bundle them up and help them get their skates on. In one corner, a little boy grins from ear to ear as his dad helps him to his feet and his mom snaps photo after photo. Across the room, another mom keeps a careful eye on her son as he practices walking in his skates, one hand on the wall for stability.

Every month, I meet my best friends for dinner where we get to catch up with each other. Then we go to Circle of Friends, a part of Kennedy Krieger's Brightside mentoring program, where we learn about friendship and how to socialize with other people. I am 25 years old, and I have Down syndrome, which means that I was born with 22 chromosomes instead of 21.

As 6-year-old Cameron Mott sings and dances her way around her family's North Carolina living room, it's obvious she has some serious star power. But things weren't always this way. At age three she started having seizures and was diagnosed with cortical dysplasia, an abnormality in the development of the cerebral cortex.

"She was having six to 10 seizures a day," says her dad, Casey. The seizures robbed Cameron's family of their little girl. Every morning she was clear and bright, but then the first seizure would hit. Cameron would lose consciousness and fall to the floor.