A swim story

Once upon a time I was feeling ambitious, so I made a plan to take both Rachel and Janneke swimming at our local community centre. I visited the pool ahead of time to learn of their regulations, as I’d be arriving with two medically fragile teens who use wheelchairs. I also hired a caregiver; together, we could manage the one-on-one care.

As all community pools ought to, our local pool offers a gradual entry area that is made specifically for those with mobility issues, and the change rooms include a ceiling lift system and an adult-sized change table. This means I can bring the girls into the changeroom and use our home slings for transferring from chair to table, saving my back from lifting them manually. The pool also offers various sizes of water wheelchairs, to allow for safe entry into the water. 

A chilly reception

As we entered the pool area, I suspect we made a bit of a parade, four of us in our bathing suits, each adult pushing and pulling two wheelchairs. A young lifeguard approached us, catching all of us with her gaze. I smiled at her, as if to assure her, and asked if she or someone could help us with entry into the pool. She responded with, “These wheelchairs will be in the way on the deck, and no, we can’t help you.”

Cue a deep breath. The caregiver and I looked at each other and turned to watch everyone else enjoying the pool. Together we wondered how or if we were going to actually get the girls in the water. I caught the eye of another adult already swimming and explained to him we needed an extra set of hands with the wheelchairs & my children. Thankfully, he was happy to help, and our girls loved their time in the water.

Conversation vs confrontation

As we prepared to leave the pool later that morning, I was not my best self. I was frustrated and felt some shame.  Standing shivering on the deck, being told the chairs were in the way and we could not be helped, essentially felt as if the lifeguard said, “You don’t belong here.” I was tempted to share all my strong feelings with the front desk staff, but I knew a conversation with a cooler head would probably achieve better outcomes. 

Known & understood

A few days later, I reached out to a friend who works for the city’s recreation department. Like me, she is a parent caregiver of a child with a disability. She knows what it is like to manage the ordinary with extraordinary challenges. Much to my relief, she was able to advocate for my girls and learn of the gap in communication and understanding with the pool staff. After some re-training, the lifeguards are now ready for us when we return for a swim. Authentic advocacy creates meaningful impact. And that’s a happy ending for all.