16.01.18

Our daughter first sat independently when she was two-and-a-half. She took a few independent steps at around seven. She still needs help with walking but can take the initiative when it suits her and walk short distances in the house to get to where she wants to be. When we tell people how she was in the early days they find it hard to believe.

We’ve worked hard to keep her on her feet over the years, even through difficult periods at school when teachers tried to limit this by keeping her in her wheelchair when we knew she would have done better out of it. “Health and safety,” they’d say. “Whose?” we’d ask.

The other day one of our daughter’s PAs called in sick. A gym and spa pool outing had been planned and it seemed a shame to have to cancel. Our girl was in good form and we really wanted to capitalise on that with activities to enhance her fitness and mobility, and include fun and downtime.

She is funded for 2:1 support in the community and the remaining PA on that day would not have been able to take her alone. After a quick call to work to rearrange appointments, I picked up my swimming costume and off we went, the three of us.

The gym and spa are specially adapted for people with disabilities and are part of a well-known education and resource centre. Our girl hadn’t been to the gym for a good while and when she used to go it had been a bit hit and miss. She was having a tough time with illness and change then, and it’s fair to say was not at her best.

We were prepared for a shortened session after her break but our daughter had other ideas. She walked and pedalled, bounced and stepped, checking us out, and yes, occasionally glancing at the ubiquitous screens dotted about the room.  The instructor was lavish in his praise throughout and told us afterwards that he could see how much she had come on since he had seen her last. He seemed sincere. He suggested that there were gentler exercises she could do if she wasn’t feeling up to scratch at future visits and that it was always worth coming. “There is always something she can do,” he said emphatically. “There is always something.”

We are so used to her being measured by what she can’t do that it’s refreshing to be around people who recognise her progress and achievements, however small, and encourage her to keep learning as an adult.

Early on we would be told, “She will never do that”, “She’ll always be at the terrible two stage”. We’d be forever advised to manage our expectations. The gym instructor was not of that mind. He clearly understood the importance of “can do”, “will do”.

We went next to the spa. The perfect way of winding down after the hour’s effort and intensity of the gym. We had the pool to ourselves. We hoisted our girl into the warm water and before I’d even stepped in, at the push of a button the lights changed colour and bubbles started bubbling. We watched as she played and splashed, exploring the water, moving around and through it, relishing her independence.

After a while the PA took a small watering can from the box of toys lying idly by and begin playing with it. Our daughter was fascinated. She watched as water was poured into the pool beside her and very gradually over her hands, arms, shoulders. Then the PA dropped the can into the water. The game seemed to be over.

As we chatted and wiggled our toes to start another game, all of a sudden our daughter took the can, dipped it in the water and tipped it over herself gleefully. I had never seen her do anything like this before. Didn’t know she could do such a thing. She can be easily distracted if there are too many sequences in a task. And she rarely copies, being more of an observer. I beamed. The PA gave me a look. “`Of course she can do that,” she seemed to be saying.