“Is there anything I can help you with?” asked the lifeguard at the Cook & Phillip Pool, noticing me as I surveyed the surroundings.
Before undergoing a lower leg amputation last year, I used to regularly visit the pool for exercise and relaxation. Yesterday marked my return to the pool, an experience that came with a certain level of apprehension.
Concerns about my swimming ability, particularly in regards to the “kicking” motion, and uncertainties about getting in and out of the pool, prompted me to explore “learn to swim classes” tailored for individuals with similar disabilities. I haven’t really found anything suitable yet, though I’m sure it exists.
What struck me was the lifeguard’s open-ended offer for assistance, without making assumptions about my needs. While standing there, I considered the process of entering and exiting the pool, determining the best way to handle my prosthetic limb.
Expressing my uncertainty about my upper body strength, I told the lifeguard that assistance might be required to exit the pool. She reassured me about the availability of wheelchairs and encouraged me to tell her of any additional needs.
Entering the pool proved manageable, and I carefully removed my prosthetic limb at the water’s edge. Notably, I opted for the hydrotherapy pool, acknowledging its suitability for my current post-amputation phase.
The sensation of water enveloping both legs was a delightful return to the familiar. Although my attempt at freestyle presented coordination challenges, backstroke emerged as a more comfortable option, potentially serving as a starting point for my swimming journey.
An hour in the pool, including time on the hydrotherapy jets, provided a mix of therapeutic and unfamiliar experiences, especially the massage on my stump.
Despite initial uncertainties about upper body strength, I successfully pulled myself out of the pool. Rather than attempting to reattach my prosthetic limb poolside, I opted to navigate back to the nearby seats in a manner similar to a baby’s movements as they’re learning to walk by sliding themselves along on their bum.
Dressing and undressing took more time than before, because I had to do it seated. Showers were skipped, given the absence of a “wet leg” prosthetic.
In recent months, a newfound friendship with a gold-medal-winning Paralympian colleague, who also uses prosthetics, has added a positive dimension to my journey. While I may not aim for Paralympic qualification, I eagerly anticipate engaging in further conversations with her as I reintegrate swimming into my routine for exercise and relaxation.
That’s not something I’ve thought about. If you kicked with one leg, you might go around in circles. I can appreciate backstroke would be preferred. It’s great that you had the courage to give it a go, and now you know what you can do in water.
I thought about the going round in circles thing too, and laughed, remembering those 1970s jokes about the $6million dollar man being in a similar position. I’m going to see if I can go for a swim once a week to see what happens.