by Alexandra Capellini
Summer has officially hit, and for many of us, that means it is beach and pool season. This is prime time to enjoy the warm weather and cool off in the water.
If you’re like me, you have struggled in the past to manage a prosthetic limb around water. Growing up, I was lucky enough to have high-quality prosthetic legs. However, none of them were waterproof. Every time I went to the beach, I had to plan ahead. I needed to bring an extra towel to wrap around my prosthetic leg, which I would have to remove before going into the water. I needed to leave the prosthesis far enough to be out of reach from the water, but close enough to be able to get into the water easily. Unless I wanted to be carried, hop, or shimmy through the sand, I needed to bring a pair of crutches to get myself to the water. Unlike a pool setting, where you can wrap a towel around yourself until you slip into the water, the beach is much more open. You have to leave your belongings a good distance away from the water. At the beach, being carried, hopping, shimmying, or crutching into the water meant having my little leg on full display. As a child, teenager, and college student, having my little leg on display like that was a major source of stress. It was the barest that I ever felt.
Even at pools, when a towel was available to wrap myself in, I felt uneasy. I would often walk over to the pool edge while wearing my prosthetic leg with a towel wrapped around my waist, then discreetly take the prosthesis and towel off right before I slid into the water. Other times, I would crutch my way to the pool edge and, again, discreetly take the prosthesis and towel off right before I slid into the water.
At both the beach and the pool, if I sensed that anyone was watching me intensely, I became extremely uncomfortable. The thought of having the public see my little leg was too much. I would start breathing heavily, bowing my head down, feeling something stuck in my throat. I would distract myself to bring my headspace to a clearer place. It was difficult to actually enjoy being near the water.
Things began to change in medical school. I had taken several swim lessons in high school and college. I knew that I loved being in the water. Amidst the stress that already came with being a medical student, I had limited capacity to be stressed about much else. I was tired, I needed ways to recharge, and I wanted to swim. Quite frankly, I became fed up with my headspace around pools and beaches. It was time to take charge of my experience.
I began to take my prosthesis off further away from the pool at my local Y center. I would sit on the ground and slide myself over to water, and I stopped carrying my towel to the pool edge. These small changes forced me to spend time with my little leg uncovered. What did I notice? People were still staring. But I could let them stare and carry on. I was training myself to zone out and let it be. I chose to ignore it. I chose to focus on how much I was going to enjoy myself once I got into the water.
Over time, as I kept returning to the pool, I found myself spending less time thinking about how to keep little leg covered. And guess what? I was having a much better experience. Nothing else needed to matter.
About 18 months ago, I was due for a new prosthesis. This time around, I was told that I had insurance coverage for my first waterproof microprocessor knee. An entirely new experience came to be. While I continued to remove my prosthetic leg to swim laps, I now had the opportunity to wear my leg into a pool while I was hanging out with friends.
Last June, I attended an amputee conference at a beach resort in Hollywood, Florida. One afternoon my friends decided to go to the pool. I changed into a bathing suit, carried my towel out to the pool, and realized that all I had to do was drop my towel off. I looked around at the crowded pool edge and took my first steps into the water. I had not walked into a pool in more than 20 years. I walked around the pool edge, learning what it felt like to bear weight on a prosthetic leg in water and bend a prosthetic knee in water. I could stand longer in the water without tiring my left leg out.
Since that day, I have stepped into many more bodies of water. When my friends want to enjoy a hot tub after a long day of skiing, I can maneuver myself in and out of the close quarters. I can enjoy pool parties with my co-residents. I have even figured out how to tread water with my prosthetic leg. (News flash: You become hyperaware of how heavy that prosthetic leg is!)
Now that I can walk into water, I spend less time planning out those excursions. Technology is working in my favor. Life is easier. But what I am most proud of is not my ability to wear my prosthetic leg into water; it’s the mental progress I made before I even had a waterproof leg. I think back to high school Alexandra, overwhelmed by opening a pool party invitation, consumed with body insecurities; then I think about medical school Alexandra who let it all go and shimmied herself into the local Y pool, baring little leg because we are one and the same. Loving my body fully means loving little leg out in the world, too. I take pride in knowing that I don’t need the waterproof leg to enjoy the water. I have built the mental stamina to navigate the beach and the pool with a sense of pride in little leg. I have taken charge of my own experience.