…more than somebody who walks like they’re permanently on a wobble-board.  Somebody who, all of a sudden, sheds the image of mild disability to become like anybody else.  I can speak of the lengths I have done, and not the length of naps I’ve had or how hard I’ve found the day.

Nobody knows, in the pool, who I am or what’s wrong with me.  I’m just this dark-haired girl in a navy swimsuit who smiles and makes standard comments about the temperature of the water, or how busy it is.  As I swim, I don’t think about anything.  Not how weary I’ll be, or what other things I have to exert myself to do.  I don’t notice the weakness of my legs, or the imbalance of my body.  I just keep the number of the length I’m on in my head.  I just swim.

It’s the only time that I forget about my troubles, and assert my right to physical fitness.  In the water, I am graceful.  Not like the way I feel on land, that’s for sure.  I can do as much, sometimes more, than other people I know, and that is a rare occurence for me now.  Of course it’s a hard slog too, but it’s a precious time to me.  During those 30 minutes, my monster sleeps forgotten.  It will return, but when I swim, I’m in a blissful, watery state of oblivion.  And that feels to me like a very real glimpse of heaven.