My efforts to anticipate and avoid problems failed during a Paralympic swim meet in Canada. I met Beth at the Montreal airport. She wasn’t a fan of flying but that didn’t stop her from getting on planes. Beth surprised people by traveling alone with a duffel bag on her lap and a big Harvard Swimming pack on the back of her chair.
I had no rental car reservation. The subway had been recommended, and it worked—if you could climb flights of steps. We decided on taxis instead. On the last morning, we rode through a heavy March snowfall to the swim meet. One of Beth’s big wheels flattened during prelims, a first in seven years of air-filled tires. After her injury, I worried about many things, but a flat tire had been completely off my radar. Overly optimistic, we hoped a new inner tube in an odd size could be easily found at a local bike shop. On a Sunday. During a snowstorm. I left to save the day while Beth rested in our hotel room. I planned to pick her up with an inflated wheel in my hand before the last finals session. I hailed a taxi carrying the flat wheel and a list of bike shops; thankfully, Montreal had several. A friendly driver headed for the nearest one while I called others. Phone recordings said some were open though no one answered. Beth called me in a panic when I left the third bike shop with the flat tire. She learned it was a big deal to miss a finals race at a championship meet, with paperwork required in advance. Time ticked away, and drivers acted as though they’d never seen snow before. Plows blocked roads and piled snow on parked cars. Miraculously, the fourth bike shop had the right size inner tube. By the time they fixed the wheel, and I arrived back to the hotel, finals had already begun. The taxi driver waited while I ran up to our room with the wheel and flew back down with Beth who wore her swimsuit under sweats. Peggy called us from the pool. We might make it in time for her first race. A traffic jam tested our patience and dampened the beauty of the white wonderland. Finally, I paid the driver way too much, and we rushed to the pool deck where Peggy waved frantically. Right next to a starting block, Peggy and I stripped Beth’s coat and sweats off in seconds and literally dropped her in the lane. Another quick moment, and the race began. Her hastily donned goggles came off and floated in the water behind her. We laughed about it later, but it wasn’t funny at the time. ;-) In hindsight, we should’ve borrowed a wheelchair from another swimmer for Beth to get to finals with Peggy. Friends on the team with prosthetic legs sometimes traveled with wheelchairs. I bought a set of foam-filled tires the next day--the only kind she’s used since!
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Back home in Tiffin, Ohio, I accepted an activities job at the upscale Elmwood nursing home. Almost 30 years earlier, 19 and newly married, I worked as the first manager of Elmwood’s first group home in the nearby town of Clyde.
I worked five days a week on the Alzheimer’s unit, learning more than I wanted to know about the disease. On the best days, we sang songs, told stories, made crafts, played games, walked together, and laughed. On the worst days, a sweet woman died in her bed or alarms blared when residents unable to walk thought they could. Or someone fell. Or a medical emergency required an ambulance. Sirens always reminded me of the night of my car accident. One November morning, Beth stopped at the dining hall for coffee on the way to a Harvard Women’s Swimming and Diving home meet. The cup slipped and scalding liquid spilled on her left thigh. She felt discomfort, but when she removed her leggings at Blodgett, she didn’t expect to see the small red hole in her thigh. Her coaches discussed the emergency room and asked a dermatologist friend in the stands to look at it. The doctor, a former college swimmer, cleaned and covered the third-degree burn, emphasizing the need to prevent infection. Wide scarring when it healed would be unavoidable. It surprised me that the dermatologist gave her permission for Beth to compete at the meet. I heard about the burn the same day, but not the severity. She neglected to disclose all the details. She left out the part about the burn exposing the bone. I assumed it wasn’t serious since the doctor and coaches allowed her to swim. She didn’t want me to worry. Nevertheless, I was alarmed when I saw the burn a few weeks later. Skin problems healed slowly for quads, and infections? Dangerous. We re-visited the issue of drink holders for her wheelchair, rejected in the past. Thankfully, Beth gave in this time. Next: Elbow Woes! One of the few perks of being a group home manager was making the work schedule. I set up everything at work so I could be off for a long weekend in early December. Beth made her way to Boston’s Logan airport on her own. She traveled with a duffel on her lap and a full backpack on her wheelchair handles, and rode in an accessible taxi to the big airport. She stayed in her manual wheelchair until the plane boarded, when she moved to a small aisle chair to access her seat on the plane. Her wheelchair was tagged and put underneath with the luggage. She kept her duffel and backpack with her on the plane to avoid baggage claim later. After the landing, she was always the last passenger to deboard.
Beth was stuck on the plane until someone brought an aisle chair to carry her back to her own wheelchair. I flew out of Detroit and met Beth at the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. It was wonderful to reconnect with Beth since we had been separated for months, for the first time. I drove a rental car to our familiar hotel across from the university pool complex. I had a cell phone, but no smart phone or GPS, so I had a routine for swim trips. I printed Google maps to navigate around a new city. By the time the two or three day swim meet in a strange city ended, I had just started to gain my bearings. In Minneapolis, I could relax, since I knew where to go from previous swim meets there. I had a good sense of direction. Ever since I grew up a few blocks from Lake Erie in Lorain, Ohio, I could usually find north, to the water, from different places around the state. My lake sense, my true north, didn’t work in other regions, unfortunately. However, my real true north was my family. The beautiful pool at the University of Minnesota bumped down to second on Beth’s list of favorite pools after Harvard’s Blodgett. She achieved an unexpected milestone at the winter meet: a PanAmerican Record in the 100-meter backstroke. She also added a brand new American Record in the 150 IM (backstroke, breast, and free), and reached an amazing fourth place in the IPC World Rankings in the 200 freestyle! If only the 200 free was an official event for her S3 disability classification. With an eye on the 2008 Beijing Paralympics, we hoped it would include at least one longer S3 event. Beth set and reset American Records on the Harvard Women’s Swim Team and the U.S. Paralympics National Team, working toward the perfect freestyle, the ultimate 50-meter freestyle record, and Beijing. Next: Moving On! I loved being home in Ohio, but the thought of Beth in Massachusetts made me sad, even though I knew she could handle living independently with her disability. I missed her.
We had been a team for four years. I hit a snag with an incompetent clerk and a new prescription for her medical supplies. With a fast-dwindling supply, I called the company again. I made the effort to be nice—at least the first several calls. Then, I asked to speak to the clerk’s supervisor and she refused. I lost my temper and started over with another supply company, finally arranging an overnight delivery to Beth at our expense at the last minute. My sadness amplified the normal day-to-day stress of my job. With elevated headache pain, I had trouble sleeping at the group home. I barreled through more weeks with unpaid overtime hours. Often on the verge of tears, I talked to John and let him convince me the stress of the manager job wasn't worth the money. Looking back, I could have ridden it out. Holidays were always the hardest time of the year to staff group homes. So instead of quitting my manager job in November, before Thanksgiving and Christmas, I decided to be considerate of the residents and other staff by leaving early in the New Year, almost three months away. I turned in my notice, relieved the end was in sight, and focused on setting things in order for the next manager. I talked to Beth on the phone after she finished a 2,400-yard workout in one practice: 96 lengths in the 25-yard pool, almost a mile and a half. Swimming that distance had not been possible a year before. As college competitions began, Beth would compete at all home meets at Blodgett pool as an official member of the Harvard Women’s Swimming and Diving (HWSD) team. Always too-busy, she appreciated the extra time she would gain by not traveling to away meets with the team. I wished I could have been there for the first home meet of the season in mid-November. Beth dropped fifteen seconds in the 100 free compared to her first Harvard meet ten months before! And reset two of her short course American Records. “She's probably one of the easiest people to coach in the sense that she always has a smile on her face, she's got a great positive attitude, and she's willing to try anything,” HWSD Coach Morawski said. “And she just kept getting faster and faster.” “For her to make that commitment to coach me and, this year I’m on the roster, is really important,” Beth said. “It’s been great. I love it!” Next: Together in Minneapolis! (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Back home after our Norway trip, Beth bought the new Harry Potter book, The Half-Blood Prince. I didn’t need to wait long to read her copy. During a family trip to Columbus to see Ben, we watched Murderball, a documentary about the remarkable U.S. Paralympics quad rugby team that competed in Athens, Greece. Rugby was an aggressive sport with frequent injuries, and caught Beth’s interest when a friend invited her to use his special rugby wheelchair at a Columbus practice. Ben volunteered to pick her up off the court floor when she got knocked out of the chair. I loved to hear them laugh. Coach Peggy vetoed Beth's plans to participate in a rugby practice, and also the sit skiing she wanted to try. Peggy reminded her that broken bones would derail her freestyle and Beijing goals. Beth technically could swim with a broken leg, with no cast, but the increased spasms would slow her down. “Peggy is immensely caring,” Beth said, “and she thrived on the challenge of coaching me in a new way.” In late July, I flew with Beth and Peggy to Portland, Oregon for a rare national meet at an outdoor pool. Swimming under the hot sun meant the few with quadriplegia contended with fevers, since their body temperatures couldn’t regulate normally. Despite a rising body temperature, Beth earned American Records in the 200 free and 50 back. She would’ve added another in the 150 Individual Medley (IM) except for an uneven touch at the ending wall. A disqualification. Beth’s right hand bent into a fist more than the left, so Peggy started the paperwork to apply for an IPC exception. In Portland, no other S3 women competed. This meant Beth couldn’t see swimmers on either side of her during races, since faster swimmers with higher-numbered classifications quickly moved out of her sight at the start. After a race, a reporter asked about her decision to give up the spot she earned for the Athens Paralympics. “I’m definitely not going to miss out on China,” Beth said, “and have put myself on a three-year training schedule to qualify.” Between swim sessions, we drove the Columbia River Scenic Highway to picturesque waterfalls, with Mount Hood in the distance. Beth and I recalled the view of Mount Rainier where her swimming journey started. We wondered where we would be if we hadn’t gone to Seattle—where Beth set big swimming goals, and where we saw the unusual billboard with the caption, “Quadriplegia at Harvard: A+.” Next: Back to Cambridge for Year 2! (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
The spring sunshine brightened my view. I ran low on my anti-depressant with no refills, so I gradually discontinued the Zoloft and packed for a long weekend abroad. Beth headed back to Boston's Logan airport in May for her first overseas trip, a month after the Michigan meet. She accepted her invitation to the inaugural Paralympic World Cup in Manchester, England. British Paralympics paid the travel expenses for every athlete and coach attending from around the world, with funds from their national lottery. Peggy and I flew to Manchester on our own dimes, though she had started the process to become a U.S. Paralympics coach. I had been to England during my summer as an exchange student in Norway, but only in the London area. We explored Manchester’s stunning town square and massive historic buildings. The large pool complex held teams and spectators from every corner of the world. The World Cup was Beth’s first official meet as a member of Team USA. She didn’t request a personal care assistant for the trip because she didn’t require one, but I missed being with her in the hotel, the locker room, and on deck. Like others on the USA team, even those with better-working hands and arms, Beth squeezed in and out of a new tight leg suit with help from team coaches who called themselves “hiney hikers.” Beth’s hotel bed in Manchester was too high for her to get in it independently. She asked a teammate to remove her twin mattress and prop it along a wall. She slept on the hard box springs to avoid asking for help to get into bed. I didn’t find out until after the trip. It felt strange for Peggy and me to be spectators in the upper stands instead of in the middle of things on deck. She couldn’t sit still and often watched the meet standing up. Beth competed in the 100 freestyle in a mixed heat with swimmers in higher classifications. She reset her American Record in the event, swimming her fastest stroke, the back, during freestyle races. For Beth’s big race, the 50-meter backstroke, Peggy and I watched S3 swimmers wheel or walk to the starting blocks while the announcer introduced them to the overflowing crowd. A wide range of disability was apparent, including cerebral palsy, spinal cord injury, and limb differences. In a perfect world, they all had identical functional abilities. Beth held the world ranking of eighth in the 50 back. She took her place in a full heat of S3 female swimmers for the first time. A rare race with true competitors. After the buzzer sounded, she could see the swimmer in the next lane moving at a similar pace —also a first for Beth. I stood up and cheered as she picked up her pace, touching the wall in time to earn an unexpected third place bronze medal. After the race, officials “tagged” Beth for random drug testing. They followed her to the cool down pool and then to the staging area to be presented with her medal. Kiko, a friendly U.S. Paralympics coach, stayed with her and other teammates being tested, while the rest of the team returned to the hotel. Beth’s times moved her up in the IPC World Rankings to sixth in the 50 backstroke and seventh in both the 50 and 100 freestyle. The last evening at the first World Cup, Team USA celebrated the meet with a pub dinner of fish, chips, and mushy peas. Beth’s food tastes broadened, leaving behind her childhood staple of macaroni and cheese for late night pad Thai with tofu and veggies on Mass Ave, spinach salads in the freshman dining hall, and sushi in Harvard Square. Back home, Peggy shared her thoughts on the World Cup with a reporter. “It’s quite an accomplishment to see Beth take her swimming to such a high level in such a short period of time and know that she is still improving. This was the first international meet for Beth to swim in a whole heat of like disability classifications from all over the world. To place third and earn a Bronze medal is just incredible. There is a big horizon ahead for Beth.” Next: My Alarming New Low! (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
In late April, Beth and I flew to Michigan for the Second Annual Disability Open. Her goal was to officially get back on the U.S. Paralympics Swimming National Team, since she had temporarily lost that status by declining her spot for the Greece Paralympics. “I heard stories from the other swimmers,” Beth said, “but I don’t have any regrets. I knew I’d have more chances.” She happily reunited with Coach Ewald and other friends on the pool deck. Her fan club watched. My parents, John, Ben, and his girlfriend traveled from Ohio to join me in the upper stands. (Maria had to work that weekend.) Everyone in our family showed an interest in Beth’s swimming, but Ben shared the understanding of intricate details of classification, competitors, rankings, and records with Beth and me. I fervently hoped Beth regained National Team status, but not to be pushy or to brag. I simply wanted what she wanted, whatever was important to her. Wearing a Harvard swim cap, Beth swam the 50 butterfly in record time, but was disqualified. International Paralympic rules required air space between the elbow and the water for the butterfly, which she could do, but not every stroke. After the 100 freestyle, she touched the wall just tenths of a second under the needed qualifying time for the National Team. And reset her American Record. Beth beamed when she saw the time on the scoreboard, then waved at us in the stands while we hooted and hollered. Despite the chilly spring day, the post-meet tradition of ice cream carried on at a Dairy Queen, ending with long goodbye hugs with Peggy and the rest of Beth’s fan club. I wished John could return to Massachusetts with me, but he had to teach until the end of the school year in our Ohio hometown. Back in Cambridge, Beth signed up for the housing lottery with two friends. No personal care assistant. All of the freshmen living in Harvard Yard moved the next school year to one of the upperclass houses. The lottery worked a little differently for Beth since the only accessible options were in the Quad, the housing farthest from the main part of the campus. She would live in a dorm with multiple elevators. Newer elevators. Her dorm suite would have an accessible bathroom. A dining hall in the dorm added another advantage. I would be no longer needed in Massachusetts when Beth started her second year of college. I was proud of her and I fully appreciated her rare accomplishment of independence as a quad—but not the 700-mile separation approaching in the fall. Next: Beth’s First Overseas Trip! (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
As 2005 began, Beth and I started the drive back to Massachusetts. John stressed over the snowstorm in our path. I didn’t worry about weather, but I respected it, even more so after I hit an ice patch on the highway through Buffalo and spun full circle across three lanes. I shrieked and steered out of it, suddenly winded. With no cars near us, I stopped for a moment and breathed deeply to counter the tidal wave of feelings that took me back to the earlier accident that injured Beth. Lucky for us, few cars braved the weather. Beth studied for finals and swam with the team for three practices a week at Blodgett, her new favorite pool, with two more practices each week with the assistant coach. Beth called me one morning, exhilarated. Coach Morawski asked her to race at a Harvard home meet for the first time. We ordered the team T-shirt for parents for me, with Beth’s name on the back, and celebrated with Finale desserts in the Square. At her dorm, she showed me a new gift with a big smile: the HWSD team’s warm up jacket and pants. At the early January home meet, I sat in one of the red seats in the section for parents, right above where the team congregated on deck. I proudly wore my shirt, but it wasn’t about me. I was thrilled for Beth. I also met friendly parents, understandably surprised to see me in their section and a girl in a wheelchair warming up on deck with the team. They no doubt would question their daughters after the meet. A full crowd gathered in the upper stands. Beth joined a procession led by the Harvard team captains, chanting in unison all the way. The young women gathered in a circle to wrap up the cheers before warming up on deck. I never thought I would see my daughter with a college swim team. Wearing a coveted Harvard swim cap, Beth wheeled by herself to the far corner of the huge pool and used the chair lift independently to get into the water. She swam under the plastic lane lines easily, no longer a challenge as it was at her first wheelchair games. To begin the 200 free, Beth pushed off the wall with her hands while others dove off the starting blocks. I watched the clock and jotted down the numbers every time she touched the wall. I sat forward in my seat, my excitement growing with each lap. The other girls finished the race and I held my breath as she swam the last lap by herself. I wished John, Maria, and Ben could have been there. Beth’s first race at Blodgett pool set a new short course S3 Paralympic American Record in the 200 free—and in every official distance along the way, the 50 and 100. Three new records in one race! The announcer shared the news with the crowd, and the young women on the Harvard team cheered the loudest. And not for the last time. Next: Blizzard! (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Beth added the song Jump by Van Halen to her music mix at Peggy’s suggestion. At local USA Swimming summer meets, many swimmers wore ear buds and held iPods as they waited to compete. Beth was the only one in a wheelchair—with the perk of a lap to carry the iPod on top of her towel and goggles—but not the only teenager with a disability. In my support role as the Adapted Chairperson of the Ohio Swimming Board of Directors, I talked to other swimmers with visual challenges and limb differences. The teenagers with a disability at those USA Swimming meets had no competition, with no one else in their classification in attendance. They swam in full heats with able-bodied peers who always touched the ending wall before them. Each of them, my daughter included, raced the clock. At a meet in Canton, Ohio, I cheered as Beth reset three American Records and added a brand-new one in the 200 Individual Medley. During a SAK practice at the outdoor pool, dark clouds brewed. I waited at the pool, knowing that the approaching storm would trigger Beth’s tornado anxiety. At the first distant rumblings, she asked to get out of the water. She couldn’t get out and into her wheelchair by herself. Peggy stuck to her club policy and kept the practice running until the siren blared, indicating lightning in the vicinity. That was the only time Beth was not happy with her coach. A time she remembered and teased Peggy about later. Beth wheeled through rain to the car as lightning streaked the sky. We couldn’t get home fast enough. Her trauma abated after she immediately checked the computer to confirm the absence of tornadoes in Tiffin. An Ohio girl, tornadoes didn’t trigger anxiety for me, but other things bothered me. I worried about my job, about the residents at the group home I managed and what might happen next. At home, Beth’s transition to college dominated my thoughts. And living in a strange city by myself in the fall. (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
We loved the familiar Minneapolis pool complex, a short walk/wheel across the hotel parking lot in brisk April weather. We arrived early on the first competition day for Beth’s first U.S. Paralympic Trials meet. Through warm-ups in a packed pool, driving beats of loud music accented the nervous tension. Beth, wired and ready for her first race, entered the pool from a side corner and dunked under the plastic dividers to get to her lane. Peggy lay flat on her stomach next to the starting block with her shoulders and her head over the pool, reaching down to grab slippery, wet legs. Wearing a Toledo swim cap, Beth floated parallel to the lane lines, her feet touching the wall. Patient practice had resulted in her ability to be still for many long seconds before the official start of the race. the timing crucial. Peggy could only release her ankles—no pushing or helping. About 5’8” tall, Beth erased about a second off each lap of the backstroke, freestyle, and breaststroke with the assisted foot start. Vital seconds. I held my breath as Beth reset her previous American Records in the backstroke for the 100 and 200 free. A great swim! Unfortunately, new records were not sure tickets onto the Paralympics team for an S3 swimmer. The 50 free long course, the hardest S3 record to beat, remained far out of reach as her forward freestyle improved incrementally. Team USA would be in Greece for almost all of September. Peggy requested a meeting to find out if the Athens Paralympics might be possible for Beth. We learned she could be in Greece for the first part of September and return to the U.S. as college classes started. Though missing freshman orientation at Harvard would be necessary. If she made the team. The only S3 female at the meet, again, Beth collected 5 national medals. Our flights east would leave before the team announcement ceremony Sunday morning. After finals on Saturday, the manager called Beth to invite us to her hotel room. I hurried to keep up as she wheeled down a long hall and knocked on a door hesitantly. The smile that greeted us confirmed good news. Beth earned a spot on the team! She could compete in 3 races in Greece, her first trip overseas, before leaving mid-September to start classes at Harvard. Back in the hallway, Beth called her swim coaches while I shared the news with John. Peggy suggested ice cream to celebrate. She officially initiated the longstanding tradition we observed in cities near and far after every swim meet. Over swirls of chocolate, Beth’s enthusiasm flowed with the promise of adventure as an official Paralympian. Next: Flight to Boston! |
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