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(This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) The annual New Year’s Eve bash with Ellen and Lizzy involved more fondue and more treats. How easily the seventeen-year-olds laughed while watching the Grinch movie. Listening to them, there was no way of knowing that one of them had a severe physical disability. John and I toasted the New Year with gratitude and discussed how Beth’s injury had never been a tragedy—for her. We believed she had a better than average chance to contribute and be happy. My disability-related worries looped through the days. They could be condensed down to health risks and one big question: What kind of welcome would a young quad receive from a superficial world? I bought Beth a Harvard sweatshirt online for a Christmas gift. When she wore it to school in January, her classmates and teachers found out about her college choice, if they asked. Beth asked to attend Harvard’s admitted students weekend, even though she had already accepted. I agreed and scheduled meetings at the Harvard disability services office to figure out exactly how it would work. I had already booked flights to Minneapolis for the US Paralympic Trials in April, so I changed our flights home from Trials to take us directly to Boston for the Harvard weekend. Beth’s senior spring filled up our calendar with exciting trips and important events. As the end of the high school swim season approached, Peggy adjusted the specifics of training over weeks to promote fast times at the final meets. (‘Tapering’ workouts.) The girls stopped shaving their legs. Some practices added ankle weights. One evening at the YMCA, Beth wore street clothes and shoes in the water along with the rest of the team. Then, the night before the Sectional Championship Meet, the girls shaved their legs. The boys on the team chose to shave their heads in solidarity. All of this was new to us, as well as the excitement to follow. Next: District Championships! 
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(This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) John drove Beth to and from high school swim practices on the evenings I worked at the group home. Ohio's winter weather froze the streets--and wheelchair wheels. Beth insisted on wearing her favorite red flip-flops to practice. They stayed in place with an elastic strap I sewed on. She plowed her manual chair through light snow. Responding to questions about her footwear, she replied with a smile that she couldn’t feel her feet. If pressed, Beth also mentioned the very short distance from the YMCA entrance to the car and from the car garage to the house. Going anywhere else in icy conditions, she wore shoes or boots. With no socks. Despite several different kinds I bought for her to try. Beth survived her healthy teenage stubborn streak, without frostbite, by limiting her time outdoors in the winter. December blurred with my added responsibilities at the group home. We passed the state inspection with flying colors, only because I put in volunteer hours. The four men planned with me to host a Christmas party for their family and friends. It was a big deal for them, a first for the group home. Beth visited ahead of time to help us make cookies for the event. It made me happy to see how much the residents loved the well-attended party. I bought college choir CDs from Ben's and Maria’s holiday concerts and played them continuously in the car. At the Christmas party in Toledo for the spinal cord injury group, a mom thanked Beth for encouraging her young son to start swimming lessons. His scoliosis stopped progressing, avoiding major surgery. The doctor credited swimming for his stronger back muscles. At the first home meet of the season for the high school team, Beth swam the 100 butterfly in under four minutes. Her time qualified for a US Paralympics S3 American Record. However, it didn’t count because the meet had not been sanctioned ahead of time with USA Swimming. “Beth just keeps improving with every meet,” Peggy said. ”It's awesome to watch her strokes and racing ability move forward.” A picture in the Tiffin newspaper showed teammates at the end of the lane cheering Beth on as she turned at the wall. Lizzy and Ellen shouted from the bleachers. “It's fun climbing out of the pool and hearing people clapping for you,” Beth said. “It gives you a little boost of confidence.”  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) In early December, a long-awaited email changed our course. Beth’s unexpected acceptance to Harvard College launched another shift in the horizon for my family. After reading the email, she lowered herself to the living room floor in her lift chair. Lying on her back, she spread out her arms, closed her eyes, and smiled. Incredulous, I watched my jubilant daughter. What would happen next? She had planned to send out more college applications. A few days later, Beth told me she didn’t want to apply anywhere else. She said that if she didn’t attend Harvard, she would always wonder what might have been. John and I decided to make it happen. Tuition would be $27,448 for the 2004-2005 school year. Add room and board plus fees for a total of $39,880. Plus travel costs and my living expenses off-campus. John and I intended to borrow money on our home, though four years of Harvard would cost more than it was worth. Beth applied for more college scholarships. She chose not to broadcast the acceptance beyond her family and best friends. For the first swim meet of the high school season, the girls on the Tiffin team painted their nails in school colors, blue and gold. I drove with Beth to the away meet since an accessible bus wasn’t available for the swim team. A flight of steps led down to the pool and parents watched from a higher level. Beth shared the safest way to move her manual wheelchair on stairs with two teammates. We learned that high school competitions ran like USA Swimming meets, but on a much smaller and less formal scale. Everyone seemed to stare at the girl in the wheelchair, but Beth didn’t let it bother her. In the 100-yard butterfly, she finished third—one of three swimmers in the race. “I was able to score quite a few points in high school. My coach put me in the harder events that nobody wanted to do, like the butterfly. Since the top three swimmers scored, as long as I finished I would score points.” After the meet, Beth hurried and left the locker room just after the rest of the team. She found herself alone by the pool, so I bumped her up the steps. Peggy and the team apologized a few minutes later in the lobby, but I completely understood. My youngest made it easy to forget she used a wheelchair.  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) I had stayed through my daughter Beth’s first high school swim team practice, in case she needed my help. She didn't. So for all the others, John or I dropped her off at the entrance of the YMCA, left, and returned later in the evening to wait for her after practice. Changing in her wheelchair on her own was time-consuming at first, even loose sweatpants over a wet swimsuit. She usually wheeled out the YMCA door into a nearly empty parking lot. Officials with the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency interrupted a high school practice for one of Beth’s random drug tests, her first outside of a national meet. Her teammates were impressed. We sent in another quarterly report for USADA with her location at all times, as she would for the next five years as a member of the U.S. Paralympics Swimming National Team. Letters arrived periodically to verify she passed the tests. I submitted the extra paperwork and doctor signatures to allow for her one prescription, advair, to keep her asthma symptoms in check. Routine tests in Toledo showed small, but steady gains in lung capacity. “It pushes her to train with us, and it pushes the other kids because it’s taught them that all things are possible,” Coach Peggy said. Peggy met Beth for an additional practice at the YMCA most weeks, so we rarely made it to the Toledo pool. I arranged my work hours at the group home to be available for swim meets. The once-a-year USA Swimming Disability Championships evolved into Can-Am Paralympic meets twice a year, one in the U.S. and one in Canada. The United States also hosted a special Trials meet every four years before the Paralympics. At a Can-Am meet in Indianapolis in November, my daughter earned two American Records in the 100 and 200 freestyle. “Three years ago, the only way I could swim was with two physical therapists holding me in the water,” Beth said. “Since then, swimming has become a significant part of my life.” I made travel plans for the April Trials meet five months ahead, though we didn't know if Beth would qualify for the 2004 Paralympics. Or if September in Athens would be an option with whatever college she would attend. What we did know: women in the S3 classification would be cut to only three events in Greece, the 50 and 100 free, and the 50 back. The reason? The small number of S3 swimmers in the world. It made no sense to me to restrict exceptional athletes who dealt with enough limits from severe disabilities. Beth moved up the International Paralympic Committee World Rankings to tenth or better in several events, including the individual medley. Many S3 swimmers struggled with long races. She pushed herself farther at every swim practice. The greater the race distance, the higher her world ranking. However, the 100 free would be the longest event for S3 swimmers at the ultimate competition held every four years—the Paralympics. “My favorite event is the freestyle,” Beth said, “but fewer people who have (severe) disabilities can do the butterfly and breaststroke, so I’m grateful I can.” The strokes she was grateful for also would not be an option at the Paralympics for S3 swimmers. The unfair cuts frustrated me, while Beth resigned herself to more restrictions and carried on. Next: a monumental change of direction!  |
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