My sister Natalie is an absolute rockstar. Seriously, I’m not kidding – she may not sing like one (sorry, Sis) – but the rest of her existence has been shiny, center stage, rockstar material.
She’s a marathon swimmer (the youngest ever to complete a crossing of Lake Ontario) and a medical doctor in the middle of specialization training to become a Physiatrist. She's a physician who works with patients who require physical medicine and rehabilitation treatment.
She works with survivors of stroke, or those in need of cardiac rehab, or those with spinal cord injuries, or – you guessed it – people with CP.
She works hard, plays hard, and never shies away from a deep end adventure.
Last week, I had the opportunity to catch up with Nat and spend some much needed time with her and her husband during Covid-19. It was wonderful to see them, and I am so grateful for the time we got to spend together as a result of these unusual circumstances.
While she was in town, I asked Nat if she would mind sitting down with me to share some of her experience. The following interview is the result of our chat:
As we were talking and I was thinking about what I wanted to share with you this week, I was struck by the importance of my bond with my sister, not only because she is my family, but because for much of my life, she has been a source of support, encouragement and strength for me.
Growing up, I attended a lot of appointments. I went to hydrotherapy, hippotherapy (also known as therapy on horseback), physiotherapy and even the occasional occupational therapy session. I swam in the lake, played adaptive sports, became an ambassador for Easter Seals Ontario (a worthy organization that raises funds and support for families of children who have disabilities in our community) and even went to accessible summer camp. I had surgeries and leg braces and swimming lessons and sledge-hockey.
These were remarkable experiences - privileges I am beyond grateful for – and ones which marked my childhood with fun, wild, free memories amid other moments of pain, frustration and pushing my uncooperative limbs toward conformity.
Each of these experiences, though wonderful, shoved my rock-star-of-a-sister out of the spotlight, and into the shadows.
My childhood was a rollercoaster, and for much of it, my amazing, talented, beautiful little sister was simply along for the ride.
I don’t say this to inspire pity for Natalie, nor to insinuate that my folks didn’t care for us equally, or endeavor to level the playing field. My sister doesn’t need or want to be pitied, and my parents did an incredible job raising their girls (am I allowed to say that?! Lol).
I say this because it can sometimes be hard for siblings to grow up with a child (younger or older) who has a disability, and for parents to share their attention equally.
I also say this because, whether or not she knows it, my sister is one of my heroes, and is an integral part of my support network. She is someone who motivates me, and continually inspires me to strive for success.
When we were six and eight years old, Nat and I joined the Kingston Y Penguins Aquatic Club swim team – a competitive program for persons with physical disabilities (that’s me!) and their able-bodied siblings (that’s Natalie!).
We were the perfect fit. We both loved to swim, and the water - as an equalizer - offered us something to do together. 'Something to do together' quickly turned into a shared lifelong passion. It wasn’t long before Nat could swim faster than me (she kicks, I don’t), but she couldn’t out-swim me. We loved to push each other to see who could swim longer; who could swim farther.
Everywhere we went, we had our own personal cheering section. We drove each other off the deep end (pun absolutely intended) and encouraged each other to pursue Big, Hairy, Audacious goals (more on staying motivated to achieve BHA goals when I chat with world-famous marathon swimmer, Vicki Keith, in a future post!).
After two years of competitive swimming, I made Nationals as a para-athlete. Not long after that, I was traveling internationally, competing for Team Canada on the international stage. Then, I became the first woman with a physical disability to complete a crossing of Lake Ontario.
For me, a competitive and marathon swimming career meant years of travel and speeches and hotels and hard work. For Nat, it meant years of travel (helping me with luggage, supporting me on the pool deck) and speeches (where she expressed her struggle with living life in my ‘shadow’) and hotels (attending events where I was often the center of attention) and hard work (keeping her dreams alive, while also supporting mine). ______________________________________________________________________________
I have a disability called Cerebral Palsy (CP) Spastic Diplegia. At its most basic, CP is categorized as a group of movement disorders resulting from brain damage before or shortly after birth, which impacts the relay of information from the brain to various muscle groups.
There are many different types of CP. Persons with CP might have loose muscles, or tremors, or tight muscles, or spasms. I have the kind of CP that makes my muscles tight (also known as spastic).
People (especially little ones) often ask me what it feels like to have CP. I usually smile, and ask them what it feels like not to have CP? It’s a hard question to answer, because my body has only ever known what it feels like to have CP. Unlike most folks my age, I use assistive devices (like crutches or a wheelchair) to walk or get around, I have had surgeries to fix wayward limbs, and I attended a lot of therapy to train my muscles do what I want them to do.
I know these aren’t what most people consider “usual” childhood experiences, but they are my experiences. They are my family’s experiences, too.
Having CP – Spastic Diplegia (Diplegia is just a fancy way of saying that the CP mostly effects my legs), makes wearing any kind of footwear – from sandals to winter boots – a serious pain in my rear end. My muscles aren’t overly cooperative, and I don’t have a lot of flexibility in my ankles, so I usually end up in an epic battle with my footwear. Several years ago, as a counter measure to the severe frustration of fighting with my feet, I wisened up and stopped wearing socks altogether. Lol.
For about the last ten years, I have neglected to wear socks. Middle of winter? No socks. Snow up to your nose? No socks. Ice storm of the century? Still, no socks. I do have a pair of wonderfully warm slippers, and I sometimes fight with those, but most of time you can find me barefoot, ready for summer in the middle of Canada’s cold winter months.
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I can remember a number of cold, wintery seasons in our early swimming career when Nat and I would travel into the YMCA for two-a-day swim practices while bitter winter storms raged outside. We arrived at the pool at 5:15 AM (in the early morning, before school started) and again at 3:30 PM (in the mid-afternoon, after school ended).
We lived on a beautiful farm out in the country, so a thirty-minute trek at 4:45 AM was a hard sell – especially for two grouchy tweenagers who had to battle the biting cold and the snow.
Regardless of the hour, or the cold, you could usually find my speedy little sister sitting on a bench, tapping her foot, in the change room at the YMCA, waiting impatiently for me to sit down so that she could help me remove my stubborn winter boots.
Patience is not a virtue that comes naturally to Natalie. These days we joke good-naturedly that she was put on this earth to work with patients, and I was put on this earth to teach her patience.
No matter the time, morning or night, she would sit on the YMCA's warn wooden benches and wait.
She would wait for me to say hello to the woman working in the cafeteria, to make my way down the long, tiled hall, to wind my way into the change room, and finally to situate comfortably so that she could reef my slush-mucky winter boots off my feet and stuff them hurriedly into a locker.
Then, she would wait another few minutes for me to change, and walk me through the door to the pool deck (the tiles leading to the pool area were especially slippery - I hadn't yet acquired my stellar ninja skills with forearm crutches - and back then the door didn’t have an automatic opener).
Usually, by the time I got to the change room, Nat already had her deck bag packed and her swimsuit on.
My impatient little sister learned to be patient for me.
Not only did she learn to be patient for me, but she also learned to cheer for me. She cheered all the way across the Lake (and then some), and cheered at every subsequent event where I was in the spotlight. She was always there, softly lighting up the room, quietly making a difference – until it was her time to shine.
When she was 14 years old, Natalie (Lambert at that time) dove into her own deep end adventure and became the youngest person to ever complete a crossing of Lake Ontario.
She faced unrelenting waves, motion sickness, harsh storms and unimaginable setbacks, but she never gave up on her dream. I watched in awe as she met stubborn waves and moments of struggle with determined strength, and cheered until my voice was hoarse as she neared the shore in a feat that has yet to be matched.
She is a bright, shining star. No longer in the shadows, she is celebrated for her selflessness, for her brilliance, for her passion, and for her undeniable success.
As I reflected this week on what it must have been like growing up with me, a person with a disability, and on all that my sister has accomplished, I wanted to leave you with a question:
Do you have a ‘sister’ in your life? A support network? Someone you can lean on and count on to encourage you, to keep you accountable? To keep you swimming your fastest? Your farthest?
Who are the people in your life who celebrate with you on the mountain tops, and walk beside you in the valleys? Who are the people who will wait patiently for you – even when it’s against their very nature to do so – to remove your slush-mucky winter boots?
As you have embraced this season - and perhaps as you have struggled with your emotions surrounding Covid-19 - who is grounding you? Who is keeping you moored in the midst of this great storm?
Is it your sister? A friend? A family member? A crisis worker? A support animal? A therapist? A social worker? Your faith? What, or who, makes the deep end a safe place for you?
As you ponder, and consider those in your life who support and uplift and empower you, I encourage you to reach out - let them know. Thank them for their energy and for the times they took a backseat so that you could succeed.
I also encourage you (and me!) to think about the people in our lives who might need some extra help removing their boots in this season. Or, maybe they don't need help taking off their boots, but they could use an ear, someone to sit beside them on a worn YMCA bench; someone to understand their struggle as they work to get their boots off alone.
You and me, we have an opportunity to be patient with one another, to really listen to our neighbour, and to act when we see someone struggling with their boots.
Today, I am thankful for my sister. I am thankful for a childhood that was filled with wonderful, challenging, fun, scary moments that shaped us and pushed us both toward success.
Most of all, I am thankful for a young girl who, for just a few minutes every day, set herself aside and helped me remove my slush-mucky winter boots.
Thanks, Sis. Happy Birthday! 💕
If you or someone you know needs support during this season, don’t hesitate to reach out for help – we all need someone to remove our boots from time to time.
You are beautiful, valued & eternally loved. Let’s embrace the deep end together. Remember, whether you are facing the waves or sitting comfortably on shore, this journey is one to be shared – you never have to face the deep end alone.
💕