Isla Christner entered the world with a rare genetic change called H3F3A, but no one knew until she turned five. As she grew, her parents carried questions without answers for years, watching her work harder than most kids to grow and learn. They were constantly curious whether they were missing out on something; however, the doctors always reassured them that she would be fine, and every child learnt at a different pace. When the diagnosis finally came during what they expected would be a routine genetics visit, it landed like a thunderclap.
Her mom, Brindisi, felt shock and grief at first, like the future had narrowed in an instant. Yet alongside the fear came relief: at last there was a name, a reason, a place to start. H3F3A has made many things tougher for Isla. She’s smaller than her peers and has delays across different areas of development. She also struggles to learn new things. Since her diagnosis, the life of her parents has revolved around silent and constant prayers, and they too wish to see her thrive in life, just like children around.
Big-body movements are complex for her, and these words are not just hard. Doctors once labeled her “failure to thrive,” and her family lived for years not knowing why milestones were slow to arrive. How they got no answers in return, even after multiple hospital visits, was disturbing for the family, and when the diagnosis was official, it closed the long chapter of uncertainty. It didn’t change who Isla was, but it helped her family understand what she needed, and what they could do.
Then, just two months after the diagnosis, Isla took off on her own feet. The family was left surprised, as since her birth, they had seen their baby struggle with little things, and were not ready to witness these magical moments. For most families, walking is a quiet step in toddlerhood; it was a banner moment for Isla’s. When she walked alone on that first day of school, it felt like a victory parade, proof of her grit and growing independence. This brought a ray of hope for recovery for the family, too.
To people who didn’t know her before, she may look ordinary. Her mom makes a point to share the backstory: to explain how far Isla has come and how much effort sits behind every stride. As Isla grows, Brindisi has become her loudest champion. She talks with teachers and classmates so they understand Isla better: while she doesn’t speak yet, she understands a lot. Questions are welcome, and conversations help. The more people learn, the more they see the child before them, not just the diagnosis. Brindisi also tells other parents something she had to learn the hard way: trust one’s own instincts. No one knows your child like you do.
The past year has been full of small, steady triumphs. Skills that once felt out of reach were beginning to click. Each new step, literal and figurative, has brought pride, hope, and a wider circle of support. Isla’s family dreams simple, big dreams for her: a long life, full of joy, surrounded by people who understand and cheer her on.
They’ve learned that milestones don’t have to arrive on the usual timeline to be worth celebrating; in their home, progress is measured in courage. This story was shared to help widen that circle and remind people that differences deserve patience, that questions are okay, and that a diagnosis could be the beginning of clarity, not the end of possibility. Isla was still curious, determined, and more decisive every day.
