Write On!

              TO SWIM OR NOT TO SWIM
is NOT the Question
Margaret Dinnsen, Eagle Valley Wl
1st Place, Non- Fiction, 2002
After years of struggling with arthritis, I required aids such as
strategically placed bars and walkers, in ever increasing complexity. Two
years ago a severe deep vein thrombosis put me into hospital and further
immobilized me. I required a wheel chair.
Without the encouragement and daily assistance of my youngest
daughter, I would surely have given in and cashed out. Her persistent and
constant care over the year convinced me to put some effort into recuperation,
which I did.
My general overall health improved, but my legs were becoming
weaker as I depended more and more on the wheel chair, the walker, and my
arms to get me about. I spent a lot of time contemplating what to do, and
swimming always came to mind. The problem was how to get into a pool that I
could get out of... I figured I could fall into any of them.
Didsbury and Innisfail pools were suggested, and we tried them both.
Both are wheelchair friendly, and with the assistance of my daughter, I was
wheeled in and out of the pools. Scheduling was a problem. On several
occasions we were refused entry due to staff meetings or pool cleaning. As
each of these pools require a drive, a driver and several hours, the trips to the
pool soon petered out. But then Sundre opened their pool and I was excited.
Here was a facility near to home and in the very town we often
frequented, so getting there and back was much less of a problem. An older
grandson attended Sundre School, and my husband drove in and out for farm
supplies and repairs, banking and grocery shopping. Imagine my
disappointment when I discovered there was no way for me to get out of the
pool! I became very discouraged and stopped trying to swim.
After a time my arms began to object to the weight they were
required to hold and I spent many hours in my lift chair. I put on 50 pounds.
This was over and above the extra hundred pounds the surgeon required me
to lose before operating on my right hip.
From the beginning I had not liked the idea of being cut open and my
leg bone being forcibly removed, sawn off, attached to a metal socket and
replaced. The idea was even less appealing when I was told it was not a
permanent fix, that after five years it may have to be redone. As time
progressed and pain control kicked in, the operation seemed less and less
attractive.
In January, I began to devise ways of getting once again into the
water. Now it was not a question of whether to swim or not, but how I could
swim, and where.
I investigated hotels with swimming pools and convinced myself that
if I could swim for an hour every day, my muscles would respond.