Part 7: Somebody help me!

I received physical therapy from my first month of life all the way until I was fourteen and a half. The first few years offered quite limited opportunities: electrotherapy and passive range of motion exercises. From the age of four to seven, my dad would take me to Skopje (we lived in Kumanovo back then, a beat up and poor town with almost no options for physical therapy for Erb’s palsy).

In Skopje, there was family with a daughter with cerebral palsy and they had a visiting PT from Bulgaria a few times a week, and my dad would take me to their apartment for physical therapy. I actually talked about this in the first part of this series, and I’d prefer to skip going into detail, as it’s a tiring, emotionally challenging memory that still gets me anxious when I go back to it.

I don’t remember the last session of exercises. My PT said to my dad that she had done everything she could to improve my situation (and according to my parents, she had) and she encouraged my dad to continue to work with me at home. He did. Every single day, at least twice a day. As I started growing and experiencing freedom—more hours with friends outdoors, I started avoiding physical therapy at home. I hated it. It was boring, painful and I hated every part of it, except the massage.

My dad was getting tired; he’d been working with me for over a decade by then, while fighting severe lower back pain from an old disc injury and a weakened left leg. As I already mentioned in the previous parts, he eventually had to leave for work and move abroad.

This left me free, in chains.

Factor: Physical therapy, massages and coaches

There was a long break of four and a half years during which I almost ignored my injury. I would stretch from time to time, but I mostly used my left arm and lost a lot of the progress I had achieved with the help of my first PT and my dad.

Somewhere after high school graduation, I realized I had to do something if i wanted to ever use my injured arm again. I started visiting a local gym and exploring exercises that could help me, including yoga and stretching. My father supported me all along the way, even if that meant encouraging me through our long Skype talks or giving me a massage, praying over me and stretching my arm as soon as he would land back home.

During university years, I stopped going to the gym, which cost me my arm’s progress again.

Some seven years later, when I moved to the capital and finally had the financial means, I dedicated myself to researching more about the injury and working out regularly. Little did I know that I would meet some of the best fitness coaches and physical therapists.

My first coach ever was the owner of an old-school gym. It had a low ceiling, zero aesthetics, clients of all possible profiles and a few framed photos with film and bodybuilding stars—including Sylvester Stallone.

I was 25 back then, and my coach was in his late 50s but the friendship we built was one without any trouble to understand each other perfectly. The first thing he said when I entered the gym was actually a question: “Why are you so scared and anxious?”

From that moment, I knew he’d be a great coach. He was the first one to teach me self-confidence, recognize my potential and my hyperactivity, and tell me that I shouldn’t be working at what I’m working at (I was at the beginning of my career as a copywriter and editor which meant prolonged hours of sitting and quick typing with my healthy hand), and that instead, I should have a “more active job, with people.”

He helped me focus on what matters: build a foundation for my further strengthening and raise my self-confidence.

After we moved to a different neighborhood, I continued my journey alone, all the way until 2020, when I met Nikola, one of the most complete sportsmen and professionals I’ve worked with, and a dear friend of mine.

This gentleman taught me about movement, repetition and muscle memory, form, proper weight lifting, kettlebell swings, deadlift variations and endurance. He also said some pretty rough things to me, which at first hurt, and then became a mirror and helped me change and grow.

Looking back, I realize it was all God — sending me the right people, at the right time.

It’s been over a decade since I have dedicated myself to healing, strengthening and learning as much as I can about Erb’s palsy.
Now it’s time to share the knowledge, wisdom and hopefully, help someone along the way.

In the next parts of this series, I will talk about biomechanics, personal experiences and mistakes, what worked and what didn’t, what caused flare ups and what brought me to relief, as well as the current progress and exercises that have helped me.

Until next read!

With love and compassion,
Ana

Lyrics of the day: Between You and Eye – The Color Morale

Note: All songs, lyrics, artworks, images, and other forms of inspiration shared here reflect a deeply personal way of expressing emotions tied to a specific period in my life. Some of these pieces may not represent my current thoughts, beliefs, or circumstances, but I continue to include them as an authentic reflection of what I felt and experienced at that time.

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Written in September, 2026.

© All rights reserved. Written by Ana Topshiova, Founder of ZEBRAS AND MAGPIES.

This story is shared with the purpose of encouraging and supporting others on similar journeys, as well as educating, connecting, and raising awareness about Erb’s Palsy/BPI.