Without even realising it, we’ve been quite happily ticking along in a comfortable little bubble where Hero’s limb difference is concerned. Actually, that’s not entirely true, I’ve written before about how I felt we were in the golden years of her childhood where her difference is concerned; about how she’s too young to even know she’s different. And yet it’s amazing how quickly you can start taking that comfort for granted and accept it as the norm.
Yet it’s often the moment that your happy boundaries are pushed and tested just a little that you become aware of your comfort zone at all. It’s the breaking, the growing and the adapting of those edges that make you appreciate their existence most.
I feel like we had a bit of a limb-difference level up a few weeks ago. If I’d written about the experience back then, all of a month ago, it would have been a very different post indeed. It would have been a lot more emotionally fraught, it would possibly have been a bit tearful. But times have already changed, and what once took me weeks, months or maybe even years to acclimatise to, now takes mere hours or days.
The golden years
For the last year or so we’ve been blissfully unaffected by Hero’s difference. Aside from a few minor stares or comments we’ve had no negativity. She took to RugbyTots like a nerd takes to Comic Con. She might drop the ball a little more often than the others, but aside from that you would have absolutely no idea that she was at any kind of disadvantage, and it’s been that way since the very start. So there we were, Hero thriving at nursery, excelling at RugbyTots and just all-round smashing it at life.
Then gymnastics happened.
I skipped along to toddler gymnastics way more excited than Hero, as always with these new enterprises of mine. I had added a note onto the paper work mentioning her hand, with the vague feeling that it might be useful for insurance purposes. I mentioned it briefly to the receptionist too, I always like to make new class leaders aware so we can avoid that awkward “oh!” moment when someone tries to help her with a task and realises. But when we arrived for our first session, it didn’t occur to me to say anything else.
We took our seats in the circle and took the two little wooden sticks we were offered as part of the warm up. To start off the toddlers had to tap the sticks together. No problem; Hero just clamped one of the sticks against her body with her little hand and tapped the other one against it. Check!
Then they had to roll one of the sticks along their outstretched legs. A little trickier, but still, after a bit of readjustment; no problem. No warning bells.
But then they were asked to stretch up high and tap the sticks together above their heads. The kids all leapt to their feet and duly obliged. Hero also leapt up, attentive as usual, and then just frowned a bit as she watched everyone around her doing a task that she just couldn’t adapt for this time. She brushed it off but next they were asked to tap the sticks together behind their backs and my heart dropped a peg or two. There was a little warning bell ringing in my head now.
Seeing her just stand there and watch her peers, wanting to join in and not really registering why she couldn’t was tough. I even had a moment of anger, one I’ve not had since the early days. “Really? Above their head? You get that she only has one hand right?!” I don’t expect the world to adapt to her difference, as rare as it is, but there are moments every now and again where I feel a little more inclusivity wouldn’t go a miss. After you noticed the kid that couldn’t tap them above her head, could you not have skipped the behind your back bit? But it was our first time and I suspect there was a little bit of sensitivity coming out in me, I’m not used to seeing her struggle after all.
Your hands don’t fit here
The warm up ended. I beamed and smiled and, as she returned the sticks back to the box, we brushed ourselves off as we skipped off to our activity. When we got there the first thing we were confronted with was two hand prints, set in contrast against the bench, showing the kids where to place their hands whilst practicing this particular move. Now I’m absolutely not complaining, but it did come a little hot on the heels of the Stick-gate Scandal and my heart lost another rung on the ladder. Look Hero, your hands don’t fit here. I buried the feelings again, as I’m pretty expert at doing (and I know I’m not alone in that) we were really enjoying ourselves despite these little stings along the way.
Next up was the parallel bars, at toddler height, where the kids were asked to hold onto each bar and lift their feet from the ground. I wasn’t sure how Hero was going to go about it, but I didn’t doubt that she would. As we approached, however, the helper waved a hand dismissively and told us that Hero could “just walk across instead”.
There wasn’t time to reply as we were swept along in the line but inside I felt a bit tumultuous. I was angry at her dismissal, I was frustrated at the immediate suggestion that an activity should just be avoided rather than tackled and of course, the edges of my comfort zone were wobbling dangerously in the breeze. This could have been one of those hypervigilance moments from me; she could have simply meant it because she knew it was Hero’s first session. Maybe. Perhaps. But either way, the result was the same and I have to confess to feeling a little disappointed that Hero didn’t even want to try that activity. I’d wanted so bad to prove that lady’s doubts null and void! Maybe next time!
Shaking the boundaries
It might not sound like it, but we actually had a wonderful time at gymnastics, despite the blips, and we’ve definitely been back since. We both had our comfort zones irrevocably shaken. Her’s physically, as she tried to master using her body in ways she’d never done before, and me emotionally as I watched her do just that. As I watched her come up against the very first thing in her life that she simply couldn’t do because of her hand. There was no working around it, no finding another way; she wasn’t about to tap those sticks above her head.
Having your comfort zone shaken, while painful at the time, is not really a bad thing. Instead your boundaries settle back into place, only this time they’re wider and you’re comfortable with just a little bit more than you were before. So when we went back the next week the handprints on the floor didn’t upset me. Mercifully, there weren’t any tapping sticks in the warm up either. Annoying really, as I had an EazyHold cuff in my pocket ready!
When we started the warm up at the latest session she needed two hands again. Only this time they were using a rope. No problem, we simply folded the rope and hooked the loop over her little hand and held the other two ends in her left. She too could hold it high above her head this time, just like the others. Boom!
So here we are. Three sessions later and we’re pretty cool again. That didn’t take long, did it? I remember a time, when I was pregnant with Hero, when she was a little baby, when the mere sound of “if you’re happy and you know it clap your hands” would make my heart shrivel up for days on end. There was a time when I could feel sensitive about something someone said for weeks, maybe I’d even carry it around for months.
We found that first gym session tough. But we bounced back, we levelled up as a limb-difference family and we learnt that we could cope with a little more than we had before. We came marching back in and now we look for the next challenge. We puzzle out how we’ll overcome it before we get there. We watch how each activity should be done, and we have a rapid power think so that I can offer a strategy for Hero to try if, and only if, she needs it.
They had to hang onto the bar with both hands today and walk their feet up a wall. We gave our shoulders a shake, preparing for the fight, and in we dived. Hook an elbow over the bar and off we go.
Three weeks ago we were knocked for six a little bit, for the first time in a long time. Three weeks ago is so last season! Three weeks ago we were sheltered in our wonderful world where Hero didn’t find anything particularly hard. Today we know that we can problem solve on the spot. We know that there are things out there that she will struggle with and some things that she simply won’t be able to do. But we also know that we – and she – will be ok. We know that we’ll work hard to brush those moments off and to throw ourselves into the next task without losing heart and without losing our confidence. We got this, she and I; roll on next term’s challenges.