My name is Johnathon Irwin-Allen Denver Sandusky. I am exactly 14  years and five months in age. I was born in Munich, West Germany, but when I was a few months old (that is, right after I got out of the hospital and was flown to America to be put up for adoption), I was adopted by an American couple who lived in Tennessee. (My real mom died; she died while giving birth to me, so I never knew her.)

I didn't know this until just a few years back, but I have an older brother, Erick, who is three years older than me. He lives in New York City with a different family. (I got the chance to meet Erick several years back; now the two of us have become very close. We talk on the phone or e-mail one another; we're always in close contact.) Meanwhile, I live in Tennessee, in the city of Nashville.

I wsa born premature (I weighed only two pounds at birth; I was an itty-bitty squirt); after a month-long stay in the Neonatal Intensive Care unit, I was put up for adoption, as I mentioned earlier. I was adopted by Bill and Louisiana Sandusky, who lived in Tennessee, in Nashville.

They are the only parents I have ever known.

I seemed to have an okay early childhood, but at about the time I was learning to walk, mama said I seemed clumbsy in nature. She said I kept falling, and seemed to have difficulty in negotiating stairs.

At first, it was thoguht it was due to my being born premature, but then a doctor did some tests; he suspected it was something more--something to do w ith my muscles.

I had to go to the hospital, where I had many painful tests. Mama said I screamed. (I really don't remember any of this; I only know what mama has told me.) It ws soon discovered that my clumbsy nature was due to my having muscular dystrophy.

This devastated mama to pieces: muscular dystrophy was a fatal disease: those who had it were not expected to live to their teens. At the news, mama cried and cried.

As for me, I didn't care. For one thing, I was just a very young toddler, barely out of babyhood. I didn't know all that  much.

At the age of 1 1/2, mama said I became sick with what appeared to be a bad cold. She said I was miserable. I only knew I felt bad, that my nose was all stuffy, and it hurt to breathe. She said I cried constantly.

The doctor told her that there was really nothing that could be done for me: just let the cold run its course, as well as give me plenty of fluids, try to relieve the stuffiness in my noes so I could breathe better, rub gunk on my chest (also to aid in congestion), and give me baby aspirin to ease the fever if it went high.

I seemed to be doing better after a few days, mama said, but then my fever rose higher and higher, and I started vomiting after every feeding. When she went to check on me, to see how I was doing, she said I went inot a horrible head-to-toe spasm and screamed out in pain. That scared  her so bad she called for an ambulance to take me to the hospital. She said she'd never seen anyone acting so sick.

At  the hospital, I was taken to the E.R. I guess I must have been in pretty rough shape. In the E.R., I had another seizure; I then quit breathing. Luckily, they managed to get me back, but I was not doing well, according to the doctors.

When I woke up, I found myself in the I.C.U. I couldn't talk or move because I had tubes everywhere. It was frightening. I wanted mama or daddy to hold me, but they couldn't because of all the tubes that were stuck in me. I was also scared because...I couldn't hear anything.

I was deaf.

******************End of Part One.**********************

~To be continued.~