Two-and-a-half years after I had two massive strokes, the doctors and therapists told me, “This is as good as you’re going to get.” This happens to most stroke survivors at some point. The patients come to believe this, and so do the people around them. When they told me this, I was only forty-four years old, a hemiplegic, without the use of my left arm and leg. But I told myself I was lucky to be alive, and my husband, the children, parents and I began to emotionally adjust to the fact that the rest of my life would be spent with this limited style of functioning. They’d all been great at helping me with therapy, and I was thankful for their wonderful emotional support.
I resisted the doctor’s words, but in a way this diagnosis let me off the hook. I knew very well that I was and was not capable of doing. My life was comfortable. Not adventurous, not joyful, but comfortable.
So I was not at all prepared when my parents moved to Florida, and excitedly told me they’d gotten back in touch with our old neighbors from twenty-five years before.
“The Borgusses have founded a dolphin research and education facility in Key Largo,” my mother said, “and Lloyd Borguss has invited you to come and swim with the dolphins!”
Yes, I knew such things made picturesque documentaries, but this was totally out of my comfort zone. In fact, when I realized my parents were serious about wanting me to accept, I was scared silly. There was no way!
“What are you frightened about, Rusty?” Lloyd Borguss asked me over the phone. “This is salt water. You can’t sink. We work with quadriplegics. You’re only hemiplegic.” (First time I’d heard it described as “only.”)
He explained his belief that stroke survivors have to challenge themselves with new experiences in order to move beyond their apparent boundaries. He finally talked me into visiting, and my parents decided to come along.
I don’t have to go in the water if I don’t want to, I told myself.
I spent an afternoon at Dolphins Plus and watched those highly-developed mammals interact with the visitors who came to study and swim with them. I saw dolphins and therapist working together with disabled children and I was impressed. But couldn’t I stay impressed from the sidelines in my wheelchair?
No! The message came from Lloyd, from my parents and – all of a sudden – from myself as well. I had to get beyond these limits I’d accepted. No more excuses. I said yes to the three sessions offered and vowed to try my best.
The next morning, I used my wheelchair to get myself to a trampoline-like platform just above the water surface. Two staff people lifted me down to the mat. They put fins on both my feet – no more rest for the “bad” one. Then they supported me on both sides as the platform moved on its huge lift into the water. When we were partially submerged but still on the platform, they fitted a mask and snorkel to my face, and held me carefully as we all floated together off the platform. Lloyd was right – I didn’t sink after all.
My first session was spent mostly getting used to the water and getting acquainted with my therapist, Christy. The mask was uncomfortable, so I wore it only a short time. Floating on my back instead, I lay back and put my ears under the water. I could hear the dolphins beneath me. Christy explained that they were “scanning” my body with their sonar, a fast, clicking noise like showers of buckshot on a hollow block.
Suddenly, as I lay motionless, a dolphin brushed up against me. It knocked me off balance and I completely tensed up. I was terrified of drowning.
“Let’s set a goal of spending more time on your stomach,” Christy said. “That way you can look through the mask at the dolphins as you swim.”
But just being so helpless in the water felt overwhelming. Frankly, I couldn’t handle any goals except getting out!
“Try one more thing before your session’s over,” Christy suggested. “Grasp these barbells and hold on to them at arm’s length. Then you can swim with fins, without having to use your arms.”
I was encouraged to grasp the barbells with both hands. I protested that my left hand was useless, but when I looked, I realized that my fingers, which Christy had carefully placed around the bar, were indeed grasping it. For the first time since my strokes, my paralyzed arm had become part of my body’s overall effort. My arm had a purpose again!
The first session lasted a half-hour. I expected to be exhausted, but I wasn’t. After lunch and a rest, I was more than ready for another try with my new acquaintances.
My confidence level was definitely higher that afternoon as I slipped into the water for my second session. Christy found me a better-fitting snorkel and mask, and this time I was able to float on my stomach, arms, outstretched, both hands balancing my body with my flotation barbells, for longer and longer periods of time.
Being with the dolphins motivated me. Now that I could see them, I liked having them near me. I was amazed at how gentle these big creatures could be. Most striking was the total acceptance I felt emanating from them. They never came on too strong nor did they seem afraid of me. They somehow unerringly matched their energy with my own, as if they could sense my feelings. I found their attention invigorating and especially enjoyed interacting with one named Fonzie. All the dolphins were playful, twisting and spiraling effortlessly through the water. But there were times I swore I saw laughter sparkling in Fonzie’s eyes. I found myself laughing, too.
My playmates took me so far out of myself that I felt completely comfortable in the water. Toward the end of the session, I asked my mother, who was watching us, whether my left leg was obeying my “commands” to move. She gestured excitedly for me to look for myself. I turned and found that my leg was moving side by side. It was still a limited motion, but it meant my brain and my leg were communicating again. I was elated.
As the session ended, I swear that Fonzie was grinning – sharing in the responsibility for my success.
When I got back to my hotel room, I found myself feeling so “up,” so energized, that I couldn’t stay still. The old me would have stayed comfortably safe in my room, but now I wanted to get outside, to feel the breeze. To my own surprise, once I was outside, I still felt restless. I wanted more than a breeze, I wanted to go down to the bay.
I headed my wheelchair for the water. My brain and my leg are communicating! I kept telling myself. If I could swim, it seemed there was nothing I couldn’t try.
Do you really believe that? I asked myself. The answer was an unexpected, unequivocal yes!
Before I could come to my senses, I stopped and pulled myself up out of my wheelchair. The bay was a good 100 yards away, down an uneven gravel road. I grabbed my quad-cane – and began walking.
My parents, walking the same way a little later, found my wheelchair abandoned along the road. Scared to death, they hurried ahead, terrified in what condition they might find me.
Imagine their surprise when they found me walking, my head held high, delighting in the beauty around me. They brought the wheelchair back empty, as I walked back to my room. That was the first time since the strokes that I’d walked so far. I felt like I’d won the Boston Marathon!
The third session with the dolphins was even better than the second. I discovered growing movement in my affected leg and I was able to control the spasms in my limbs, which had been a problem in past sessions. Perhaps the hightlight of the session was when Fonzie raced with Christy and me while Christy pulled me around the pool. “See? I knew you could do it!” she exulted.
Nor did I feel any fear as several of the dolphins brushed gracefully against me. Christy explained that that was their way of making sure I felt welcome. I couldn’t believe I had ever been frightened of these magnificent creatures. Their acceptance and playful spirit reopened the place in my heart that looks forward with joy to all life can offer. I felt truly renewed.
My three sessions completed, I returned home to my family. I was energized and enthusiastic, and had a greater confidence in myself and my physical capabilities. I had new control over the limbs we’d all given up on.
There was no medical explanation for my improvement, but it was real. What’s more, the improvement went far beyond my physical body. The dolphins’ total acceptance of me helped me to better accept and love myself. And the act of overcoming my fear and pushing past my limitations had a profound impact on how I approach every aspect of my life.
Since then, I have bought a specially equipped bicycle that I ride regularly. I’ve also signed up for horseback riding and registered for a special sailing program designed for people with disabilities.
I’m determined not to set any more limits for myself. Whenever I’m tempted to give in to fear, or simply stay in my comfort zone, I picture the grinning Fonzie, pushing me along, beyond the limits of my doctors’ prognosis. They said, “This is as good as you’ll ever get.” I’m glad the dolphins knew better.
- Roberta (Rusty) VanSickle