Wobbly Williams and the TryAthletes

Just found this GREAT Blog. http://wobblywilliams/com/  humour, hope and Parkinson's. This blog is out of Scotland and one of their tabs is for TryAthletes; I feel like that is the perfect way for someone of my inability/untried-ability to begin thinking about an exercise program.  As the mother of an Ironman (who now claims to be a Titianium Alloy Man...since his near fatal accident that nearly severed his foot and resulted in a long plate and many screws to hold his foot together at the ankle) I have to admit that I have been totally unmotivated to do much in the way of exercise and my body is showing it.  Now, since my Parkinson's diagnosis, I am convinced that I must become a TryAthlete and get myself on the adult tricycle that sits unused under the carport and get back in the swimming pool, if only with the senior water-walkers.  A yoga class might be fun and I've heard that Tai-Chi is really good for balance. For the past twenty years I've encouraged Don to keep active and I've excused myself because taking him to all his appointments, etc. took up too much of my time.  No more excuses, I've only been kidding myself, anyway...this is long over due! I think that the very least I can do is become a "TryAthlete".

My brain's writting checks that my body can't cash!

“His brain is writing checks his body can’t cash.”  Dude Benson used to say, about his dad (and my friend), Ken Benson.* I suppose there is some truth to that statement; after all, we all have limitations imposed by accident or disease or native ability, but I refuse to let that keep me from cashing in on the maximum effort my body can deliver.  Everyone with hope has images of a better future flash within their brain and without hope we live dismal lives, consigning ourselves to become prisoners of our circumstances and I never learned how to do that.

Don (right) lifeguarding at LPHS 1959

 I learned to swim before I could walk and I intend, with a fixed determination, to swim until I die.

In 1960 I was assigned to the Navy’s Electronics Technician “A’ School on Treasure Island, San Francisco, California.  The island must have been beautiful when it was the center piece for the 1939 World’s Fair.   When I attended Basic Electronics School, way back in 1960, T.I. was rivaled for austerity and lack of creature comfort, only by the other rock in the Bay: Alcatraz.  We lived in pre WWII barracks; 80 to the unit, and we ate in a substandard chow hall that tried to feed 500 hungry sailors during a staggered 2 hour block.  The same movie was shown Sunday to Saturday.  The trolleys ran infrequently. There was only one way into or onto the island.  We were unbelievably  isolated. There were no snack bars, restaurants or any other form of entertainment.  There was an old “gym” on the base, but the “gem” of the island was the 50 meter 8 lane swimming pool.  It was constructed during WWII and was used to train pilots how to ditch at sea.  It didn’t have much room for spectator bleachers and the 8 racing lanes were a functional mystery given the initial intent for its use.  A small group of sailors got together to form a team, but the effort would have been made in vain had  Finn Ruska not needed a place for training his Olympian daughter, Sylvia.

 I participated in the 12^th Naval District Swimming Championships in 1960 which were held in the 50 meter pool on Treasure Island. My older brother, Walter, had come to cheer me on and there was hardly enough room in his MG for a driver, a passenger and my trophies. Two things can be attributed to my success: for the first time in my life I was eating three square meals a day, and Sylvia Ruska paced me and pressed me to achieve more with each stroke during work outs. 

 Ironically by 1987, the Navy had moved Headquarters 12^th Naval District to Seattle, Washington and just before retiring, I swam in the 12^th Naval District’s Swimming Championships held at the Submarine Base Bangor, Washington and I swam every race I had won in 1960.  It wasn’t until five years later that I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.   I still didn’t know how and when to quit.

In 1995 we moved to Cedar City, Utah, near the campus of Southern Utah University (SUU). I had been teaching high school electronics and math in Washington but the progression of my Parkinson’s made it impossible for me to work in a classroom setting, so I thought that I would work on getting my Master’s Degree. I did not realize at the time, that new Parkinson’s meds had affected me cognitively and I was unable to accomplish tasks that required sequential thinking; I also began experiencing double vision and had to relinquish driving a car to my wife, Carol.  This was a pretty low point for me and I found my days spent at the SUU swimming pool and wood shop instead of in the classroom.  The first time I swam in the Utah Summer Games, in 1996, I won eight gold medals.  Over the next 5 years I won about 15 more and at one time I held 13 records in my age group, at the Utah Summer Games.

By 2002 my lower back began giving me trouble from an old injury and my Parkinson’s made it safer for me to use a power chair at least part of the time at home and around town.

In 2004 my lower back was causing me constant pain and I was seriously disabled by Degenerative Disc Disease. After surgery on my lumbar spine I gained considerable relief and having been out of a pool for several months, even the therapy pool was encouraging me to imagine my return to swimming competitively.

In March of 2006 I began having some pain in my chest and left arm but hadn’t mentioned it to anyone until, after enjoying lunch with Carol at one of our favorite cafés in Cedar City and stopping to browse for treasures at one of the town’s thrift stores, I climbed into the passenger seat of our SUV and Carol asked if there was anywhere else I wanted to go before we headed home.  I quickly replied, “Take me to the hospital.” Carol looked over at me and saw a pale and sweaty face and obvious signs of pain.  She turned the car toward Main Street and headed to the hospital, all the time asking me questions about how long this had been going on and exactly what my symptoms were, gathering as much information as she could in case I lost conscientiousness. The next day I was transported to the Regional Hospital in St. George, about 40 miles away, and received two stents to open blocked arteries. As soon as the doctor would allow it, I was back in the pool at SUU where I was a part time assistant pool manager and enjoyed lowering myself into the pool from my Jazzy power chair and swimming as though my Parkinson’s had been cured. I had even had to pass the Red Cross lifesaving course before I was hired at the pool.

In 2007 I lost the use of my right hand, which collapsed into a tight fist; I could only extend my fingers by prying them loose with my left hand.  Many months later I was told that I had ulnar nerve damage that had caused my hand to be useless to me, especially as I tried to pull my body through the water.  I made plastic paddles to which I strapped my pried open hand, and I was back in the water again; this time I would not return to competition (at least not formal racing), but, I pushed myself to compensate for the “fist stroke”.

In July of 2008 while visiting my brother, Walter, in El Cajon, California I was working alone on a wood project and fell backward on the driveway hitting my head and injuring my neck.  A trip to the hospital revealed that the Degenerative Disc Disease had done serious damage to my cervical spine, and I underwent surgery on all the vertebrae in my neck.  My two week visit to my brother’s was extended to six weeks as I worked to regain function at an inpatient rehab facility.  Without the pain of the injury I could have imagined myself at a country club, what with the pretty therapists, great food, big screen TV, outdoor dining at umbrella covered tables and even golf lessons in the beautifully landscaped gardens under the warm California sun.  The only thing missing was a swimming pool, and I couldn’t wait to get back in the water again.    

In mid-September of 2009 I returned from the Submarine Reunion in San Diego, anticipating our 50^th high school reunion in October.  As we drove home from the airport I mentioned that I was tired and short of breath; Carol and our friend Delores said that it was probably because of the trip and all the eating out that we had done. I also mentioned that I had had some tightness in my chest before the trip.  After some discussion, we decided that if I wasn’t feeling better in the morning I would go to the hospital and get things checked out.  Morning came and with it the visit to the hospital; by then I was having real chest pain and the doctors scheduled me for an angiogram.  I had some serious artery blockage and an angioplasty was attempted but they couldn’t get through the calcified plaque.  Another angioplasty was scheduled for the following day and this time the artery was dissected.   Things went from bad to worse and after three weeks in ICU during which time I “coded” having had a massive heart attack and other complications, I was transferred to the University of Utah Medical Center for an emergency mitral valve replacement and bypass that saved my life. The details of this hospitalization is another whole story, but in November I was transferred to an inpatient rehab hospital and began a month long recovery before being sent home for Christmas. In February of 2010 I returned to the hospital for a pacemaker.  Finally, in March I was able to get back in the water; swimming much more slowly, but happy to be in my element again.  

In 2010 we moved to Enumclaw, Washington. Then, in 2011, after several bouts with congestive heart failure and severely diminished heart function (25% ejection fraction), I returned to the hospital to have my pacemaker replaced by an ICD (pacemaker with a defibrillator) so I’ve been banished from the swimming pool again.

When I had had the surgery on my back in 2004, the doctor told me that I should be able to get about four years of benefit from the lamonectomy.  Well, it’s been eight years and today I had cortisone injections in the hope that I can get enough relief from the pain that has finally returned, to be able to get back in the pool and back to the Cardiac Rehab Program I had started at the Seattle, VA.  I may only be able to “water walk” with the Seniors at the Enumclaw City Pool, but…

 …I still don’t know how or when to quit… ...don’t want to learn either!

*see “Hanging on the Wall”, an earlier blog post