Three-and-a-half years post-injury: Beth races with a sloppy freestyle at her high school swim meet. ![]() I worry that her perspective won’t survive this defeat. With legs that drag behind and hands that cannot cup the water, she pushes forward – until she lifts her head up to take a desperate breath. At her first wheelchair games, she decides to learn the freestyle stroke. She swims slow backstroke laps, alone in the lane. At the pool, she tries to put on a swim cap, before handing it to me. When a therapist leans on her back, she nearly straightens her arms. Two years post-injury: Beth achieves a perfect messy ponytail on her own. I lift her up and splash my face to hide my tears. ![]() She finds freedom in the water at a time when moving on land is difficult. Not a swimmer before the injury, she loves to float with her arms waving gently under the surface. She fails, with arms that no longer tremble. At the YMCA, she decides to put on a swim cap. On the mat, she lifts her shoulders several inches while a therapist leans on her back. One year post injury: Beth attempts a ponytail, again and again, before handing me the elastic band. When the water sessions end, she asks for my help in the pool. They also demonstrate how to roll over to breathe, but she can’t do that or anything else in the water. She fails when the therapists agree to let go. In the rehab pool for the first time, Beth is held up by two therapists. My guilt constricts I can’t breathe deeply. At therapy, she lies flat on her stomach, unable to lift her shoulders off the mat. ![]() She fails, with fingers that don’t work and arms that tremble. One month post-injury: Beth, 14 years old, decides to put her hair in a ponytail. She is paralyzed from the chest down with a cut spinal cord at C6-7. I wake Beth in an effort to keep my eyes open, giving her a clear front-row view of the accident that follows. Late one night, I drive home from his choir concert with my youngest daughter asleep in the passenger seat. Twenty-four years later, my son Ben is a freshman at OSU. When I attempt the freestyle, panic grows – until I lift up my head to take a desperate breath. I dangle my feet in a pool and listen to my swim instructor. In 1976, I am a freshman at Ohio State University. Inspiration Breathing Lessons: How My Paralyzed Daughter Taught Me to Stay Afloat
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