![]() (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) The sunshine of a new spring, along with my once-a-week counseling sessions, kept my well of worry from overflowing. Nearly three years post-injury, Beth showed me that her life with quadriplegia could be so much more than I had imagined at first. My anxiety dropped from a scary level to something more manageable. Chronic head pain remained a challenge. My obsession with worst-case scenarios improved from hourly to only some days. Most teenagers felt invulnerable and didn't worry about risks. That group included my youngest, despite her disability. We lived a few blocks from the high school and Beth liked the idea of wheeling there instead of driving with me. My first thought: NO! How could it be safe for her to cross alleys and streets in a wheelchair? Beth wanted to try. On a weekend, I walked next to her on a trek to the high school. The first obstacle involved wheeling over driveway stones to get to the sidewalk in front of our house. Next, the old neighborhood had broken sidewalks and no curb cuts. We tried a narrow alley instead that had bumps and stones and potholes. And almost zero visibility for cars with bushes blocking the view. When we crossed Tiffin’s Washington Street in between parked cars, drivers approached fast. On the high school grounds, there was no way to avoid either a long incline at the front entrance or a harder slope into the parking lot towards the automatic doors. I continued to drive her to and from school. The Quiz Bowl team finished a winning season, undefeated in the league. Against my advice, again, Beth joined the high school spring musical, Hello Dolly. She wore a headset to manage the stage crew while Maria shined in the lead role. After a show, I conversed with friends in the lobby without making a quick excuse to leave. The girls stayed out late at cast parties that followed the show's success. John and I dropped our strict curfew rule after the car accident. A spinal cord injury had changed our perspective, with a new awareness of what really mattered. And what didn't. Beth wasn’t happy with her ACT score for college, so she studied practice books before taking the test again. Not my idea. The second ACT improved on her first composite score by a surprising four points; she credited her English teacher, Mrs. Kizer, for her high English score. Beth set goals on her own and I supported her unconditionally, but not for bragging rights. More than anything else, I needed her to be okay, to be really okay, as she claimed the night of the accident. Was it too much to wish the same for myself, for everyone I loved, and for the rest of the world? Flowers burst into bloom in John's big garden with the ramped walkways. I loved the sunshine. Keeping up with Beth kept me busy and distracted most days, especially when my headache settled at a lower baseline. Lots of comings and goings. School, after-school activities, volunteering, swim practices, and time with friends. Sometimes I drove while Beth, often tired, dozed in the passenger seat. Overbooking her time shifted from a frequent inclination to an ingrained habit. She didn’t want to miss out on anything. Next week: Beth’s first swim competition with the forward freestyle!
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(This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
“I often swim with non-disabled swimmers at ‘regular’ swim meets,” Beth said. “Many people are surprised that I compete in swimming since I use a wheelchair, and it has been fun for me to show how people with disabilities can be competitive in sports just as much as others.” Coach Peggy had a passion for swimming that I had not seen before. She enthusiastically approached every practice with new ideas, willing to try until something clicked. She did not rely on standard drills and techniques for able-bodied swimmers. The shared excitement of small successes propelled Beth forward. “It was a new adventure for me,” Peggy explained. “I was in the water with anatomy books on the deck and I would ask her to move certain parts of her body, and then I’d try to trace where the nerve ending connected to the muscle. The light bulb went off then because I understood that she didn’t have the necessary nerves firing to do a particular movement. So we’d try a different movement to attempt the same goal. It took a lot of trial and error, but she was very willing.” So was her new coach. Peggy’s focus gradually changed, “from what she (Beth) didn't have to what she did have access to.” Beth registered for her second USA Swimming Disability Championships, to be held in early June in Minneapolis. Her times at recent meets qualified her to attend the meet as an S3, as she had predicted at the last one in Seattle. At the YMCA about twice a week through the spring, I walked the nearby track instead of staying poolside to read. I didn't need to watch for her head dipping too long underwater anymore. She had learned how to adjust and continue with muscle spasms. She stayed in the pool 30-40 minutes with breaks when she was on her own. Practices with coaches always ran longer. We drove to Toledo at least once a week. Beth combined a practice with a new favorite: volunteering at GTAC’s WaterWorks to teach safety skills and basic swimming to young children with a disability. One Saturday, she spoke to the kids about her spinal cord injury before getting in the water with them. The first thing Beth taught them was how to roll on their backs to breathe. Just like she had been taught at her first water therapy session after her injury. Beth loved WaterWorks Saturdays, the highlight of her spring. (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
I worked at not being a pushy parent and continued to follow my 16-year-old daughter’s lead. If Beth asked to go to the YMCA pool to practice on her own, we went, but I never suggested it. I worried about her getting run down from pushing herself too hard. Everything took more time and effort with a spinal cord injury. After Beth figured out the balance needed to move on her stomach in the water, the butterfly seemed to be the most doable forward stroke. She took a breath after two arm strokes of the butterfly, as she did with the backstroke. Breathing was more of a challenge with her initial freestyle attempts, but the breaststroke was the hardest. “When I first swam the breaststroke, I went backwards,” Beth said. Once a week in Toledo, she tried to learn the butterfly, freestyle, and breaststroke. A coach sometimes worked with her in the water before her backstroke laps. At her practices without a coach at our local YMCA, she experimented with the forward strokes, despite impaired arms and no use of her legs. Beth competed with the butterfly for the first time at the Turkey Meet in Toledo on Thanksgiving weekend. She loved how it felt to fly (slowly) through the water. She also selected her events for the Ohio Senior Meet in March. With typical courage, she signed up for the 150 Individual Medley (IM) that included strokes she could hardly swim. A week before the March meet, a Toledo coach suggested dropping the IM. Beth talked him into keeping it. It wasn’t smooth or pretty, but she swam the butterfly and breaststroke (and backstroke) nine months after Seattle at the Senior Meet in Erlanger, Kentucky. I lifted her out of the pool while the packed crowd applauded. Beth and I hadn't known that our hometown had a swim club — until they attended the same Senior Meet with their coach, Peggy Ewald. We had only known about the high school's team. Peggy talked to Beth’s Toledo coaches and volunteered to help with some of her solo practices in Tiffin. We met Peggy at the YMCA pool about once a week as Beth pursued her quest to master all of the strokes. They took on the intricate details of moving and breathing in the water. “Coach Ewald was excited to work with me from the first time I met her,” Beth said. (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) After every swim practice, Beth leaned into a corner, put her hands up on the ledge, and raised her body up as far as she could — before being lifted out of the pool. A familiar dynamic: complete assistance very (very) slowly becoming partial assistance, with her clear expectation that it would be no assistance in the future. As a junior in high school, Beth managed to keep up with a full school day, swim practices, volunteering, and extensive homework. She typed lab reports and essays on a standard computer keyboard. The early version of DragonSpeak, voice recognition software, never was used. She didn’t use the typing aid I bought that strapped on her hand or the supports to rest her forearms on. Beth used three fingers to type. She always relied the most on her left index, the only finger she could move a few inches, to press down on the keyboard. The useful left index also worked her laptop’s built-in mouse, set to respond to a soft touch. The same finger also hit letter keys on the left side and center. The index and pointer on her right hand contracted in an arc and focused on the right side of the keyboard. To type with those two fingers, she had to move her right hand to place a fingertip on a specific key, since she couldn’t move those fingers. When a finger or hand spasmed, she used another and kept going. Her accuracy was amazing, but in high school, her typing (and handwriting) was significantly slower than her peers. Against my advice, she took the American College Test (ACT) with no accommodations. Beth stubbornly refused extra time for assignments and tests. Her application for a lift chair to use at the pool was approved. We met with senior students at the University of Toledo who took Beth’s measurements and discussed the design. The chair would have a standard seat with back support and a toggle switch powered by a motor with a rechargeable battery. Sitting on the seat, she would push or pull a toggle switch to lower or raise the seat. The finished project impressively accomplished the task. At the YMCA, Beth stayed in her manual chair while I pulled the lift chair to a spot on the deck close to the water. She adjusted the seat bottom of the lift to a position slightly lower than the seat of her manual chair before moving onto the lift by herself. She used the toggle switch to move the seat down to almost floor level. From there, she used her arms to scoot to the deck and into the water without assistance. Unfortunately, we could not store the chair at either pool. I could barely lift the heavy device to put it in and out of the car, so it found a home in our living room. Beth used the lift chair to get on and off the floor independently, sometimes stretching out to do her homework while a familiar movie played in the background. Austin Powers movies were comedy favorites. John made the girls laugh with lines from silly movies. Beth found humor in her disability that her friends and family shared. At school, a friend scolded her for not standing up during the Pledge of Allegiance. When Beth’s friends gathered at our house, I loved to listen to their easy laughter.
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