eSpecially Ben

Gale, Ben's physical therapist, started working with him in the pool one year ago. Ben has always liked the water. He has received lessons or therapy for the past six years, with lots of recreational play in between. Ben's progress has been phenomenal over the past year - working with Gale, his physical therapist, combined with all the water work we did in the pool last summer made a difference. Endurance and confidence in the pool increased, and Ben's ability to move his body deliberately in the water is remarkable. Ben goes where he wants in the water, and if he decides he is going to chase a brother, watch out! Gale is jumping at the bit to get Ben in the swimming event for the Special Olympics, but she, I mean , Ben will have to wait. This sport does not start until middle school. I try to tell her it is just more time for Ben to improve his stroke, but she is ready now. Gale's excitement and enthusiasm definitely drives her to push Ben. However, she makes

When it rains, it pours at our house. In the midst of the scramble for a wheelchair (the sweet tale in my previous post does not portray the heartache of finding a chair for Ben), we developed yet another issue: On the Sunday after Christmas, it rained miserably. The roof over Ben's room (and Logan and Sean's) is a shed roof, meaning it has a very gradual, almost flat roof. We have known for about four years that replacement was imminent. About two years ago, we made a temporary fix. In my grand plan, when the accessible bathroom was built, this roof would be replaced. Over the past couple of months, I noticed bubbling on Ben's wall when it rained and in the weeks before Christmas, I saw damage on the ceiling from water. It did not look good. That same Sunday, the sun came out and it turned out to be a pretty day. I was thankful that the rain had not made the situation in Ben's room worse. Boy was I wrong. About 5 o'clock, I checked on Ben, and water was pouring

Once upon a time in a city not too far away, a family went to church on Christmas Eve. Just as they arrived, their red-headed son's Convaid Wheelchair broke. The metal cross bar under the chair cracked in half. The mother, in her panic, contacted the medical supply salesman, simultaneously praying for forgiveness for texting in church. Over the next week, different chairs were suggested and tried. One pink chair did not have transit ties for the bus, and the brothers of the boy cried, "Thank goodness!" A blue one so large, the red-headed boy's father fought him for it. Finally, after much searching, a blue one was found in just the right size. Although a loaner, it will work just fine. THE END.