THE POOL
My pool session is now a routine. I park my frame adjacent to the silver bars, positioning the wheels so as not to trip people up. Goggles around my left hand, flippers in my right. I enter; the temperature only detected by my right side. To my left, heating is a waste of energy. Onlookers are amazed as I walk without my frame in the water. Like I have to reassure new physios that I won’t stroke from their massages. I’ve had to explain to lifeguards my wobbles, gasps f
or air and sudden grasps for lane ropes. Like the red sea, playing children part. I’m a sea monster. Although the recreation area is packed, my clumsy entrance has an emptying effect. I commence every swim with stretches and a walk. When I ran behind my twin I’d often zig-zag up hill, the steep gradient too easy. My friend and I had zig-zagged down Mt Kinabalu to save our knees. Now, my zigzagging is mistaken by many worried parents and lifeguards as drunkedness. I wish! A ball lands in front of me. I throw it back but to the wrong image. I wasn’t helping the child, I was unintentionally teasing them! An action I did frequently when adapting to my double vision when playing water polo in hydro. Swimming straight without bumping passing swimmers on my right and the hard lane rope on my left. Playing kids use the bright coloured lane rope as a seat under water – my floating friend gone. A lady sprints to my right; a group of elderly ladies and one man bop in a water aerobics class. Both activities I can’t do and I’m forced to observe twice. Thank goodness my anti fog goggles don’t work. I reach the end of my lane- a tumble turn is out of the question. Instead, I desperately grasp the pool’s edge. A nearby lifeguard ready to save me, no doubt. I attempt to mimic the sweating instructor’s moves whilst holding onto the edge. How is she sweating? Far from easy, she’s up to the 20th side lift, I’m only up to my third! I give up and swim the other way, attempting to push off the wall but I misjudge. Instead of my intended graceful glide I float to the surface. A toddler in a waterproof nappy, a concept I don’t get, fearlessly jumps into his dad’s outstretched arms. Floating mats transporting piles of kids may as well be sharks. I fear being trapped underneath. Children diving deep for quoits are another moving obstacle. The squealing kids, “Mum! Mum! Mum! Look at me!” Laughter soon turns into cries as a little boy bombs a harmless swimmer. The end of the lane is the ‘social’ side of swimming. As a land exerciser, conversations I’d have in gyms or whilst running, I mistakenly thought would be non-existent in the pool. It’s amazing! The swimming caps and tinted goggles fool people above water level. After hearing my story a lady says, “I was told to have brain surgery to remove a benign lump…but now I’ve seen what surgery can do I don’t think it’s an option”. Great! I move crab style against the wall. My field of vision occluded, I put my hand on a guy’s upper thigh, mistaking it for the pool’s edge. How embarrassing! Initially, passing other swimmers in my lane would create a turbulence that would cause me to hit them or the lane rope. After accidentally brushing one irate woman she stopped and yelled, “Watch where you’re going lady!” Literally speechless and shaking from shock at her outburst, I felt my confidence leave me in the fast lane. In future, I would make sure I stopped, my feet planted and body braced for the turbulence I would encounter. However, on this occasion, I swam to the end of the lane and waited for her. I could rest here or renew my confidence and approach her. I took off my goggles, removing all armour and said, “I’m sorry I bumped you. My balance is bad and I’m relearning how to swim”. Shocked at my assertiveness, confidence inflated, I had the best swim I’d ever had. Nowadays, although still in the slow lane, I’ve even overtaken swimmers or been told to go first as I’m faster than them! In the past I would insist they go first but I grab my rare express ticket opportunity. Swimming rehab is a broad experience. The childhood myth of one’s bodily fluid in water making it turn purple was proved wrong when I unfortunately witnessed a 35-year-old man expose his male anatomy and release the yellow fluid. At first I thought it was my vision but seeing it twice (my double vision) confirmed my observation. I exited as fast as possible at turtle-pace and never returned to that pool. Ever since I’ve wondered why he needed to expose himself, his bathers either way would be drenched. Silly man. I wished that day, mainly for the sake of those swimming nearby or accidentally swallowing the toxic water, that the childhood myth was true. My time in the pool over, my goose-bumped body exits the pool. I wish I had feathers to absorb the beads of water that sit on my skin. The freedom I felt in the water was short lived. My frame waits on land. My legs are tired. The benefits are not seen. I walk rigidly, as if I have no kneecaps. My head too tired to gaze up or is it my confidence? My toes pruney and purplish. I once wore thongs to deter tinea. I now walk bare foot, allowing the fungi to grow.
