The Wonders of One-Handedness

I mentioned on Facebook that Gavin had finally learned to ride a bike without training wheels, with a special handlebar made just for his nub. So, I had to document it and show pictures of the little contraption. It turned out to be quite simple, just a little pvc pipe and some foam padding. But, it was amazing! You see, I had tried several times to teach him to ride without his training wheels, and tried to get him to just lean over and hang on the best he could to the regular handlebars with his nub. It didn't work AT ALL! He wasn't making any progress, he wasn't balancing at all on his own, he was uncomfortable and frustrated, and I just felt completely helpless. But, with the help of someone a lot more engineer-minded than myself, we were able to adapt his bike for him.

I'm not usually one to cry when my children reach milestones, I definitely didn't cry when he first went to school, and I love watching them get older. . .but the first time he rode completely unassisted, I cried. It was such a triumph!

You see, lately I have been feeling really inadequate in my abililty to help him with his particular challenges. Most of his life I have approached it as, "you can do what everyone else is doing, just find a way to make it work." For the most part, he has taken much of the initiative to figure things out for himself. So, I haven't had to give him special treatment. But, he is at a particularly delicate age when all of his friends are starting to get skills that are much more difficult for him. So, in some ways he's a little bit behind. His friends are learning to ride bikes without training wheels, climb across the monkey bars, tie their own shoes, swim unassisted, and Gavin is struggling to keep up. I don't want to say, "You can't do that, because you only have one hand." But, I have had to start, really for the first time, saying, "this is going to be a bit more challenging for you, and it may take a little more time to get it." It is also difficult for me because I don't really know how to help him. I have NO idea how to teach him to tie his shoes with one hand. I have tried to teach him how to tie, and tried to figure out ways to adapt it, but to no avail. It's hard to learn from someone who has no idea what to tell you.

Then there is swimming. That is a whole different animal. I can't blame Gavin's lack of swimming ability completely on his lack of a hand. He has been terrified of the water, clinging to me for dear life, until maybe just last summer. He still is insistent upon wearing a life jacket, he has only just begun to try to go under the water just this summer, but now that he is finally open enough to learn how to swim, most of his buddies are already swimming underwater circles around him. I haven't been able to give him the individualized swimming instruction he needs, because my 3 year old is clinging to me for dear life, while my toddler is heading kamakaze style into deep water. But, even if I could give him my undivided attention, I'm not entirely sure what to teach him. I don't even know if he will be able to swim and keep up with his friends. I imagine swimming with one hand is a challenge, at the very least it probably makes you swim pretty crooked.

I have been baffled as to whether I should seek him some sort of specialized therapy. Maybe my occupational therapist friend would know what to do. Rachel, if you read this, I'm open to input. I've never wanted Gavin to feel "handicapped" or unable to do whatever he wants to do. But, I also don't want to be naive and try to ignore the fact that he, in fact, isn't the same as other kids. I really don't know if it's better to almost ignore it and treat him just as any other kid, and let him make the adaptations for himself, or if I should just say, "dude, there's nothing wrong with getting a little help for your challenge, because Mommy doesn't always know how to help you. I'm too used to doing everything with 2 hands."

I'm sure this isn't the last challenge we will ever face in regards to this topic. He has always done such an incredible job adapting to his nub. My heart rejoiced the first time I watched him put toothpaste on his own toothbrush by holding it in his mouth, the first time he put his own socks on (at age 2) by sticking his little nub down in the sock and pulling it open along with his other hand and trying to shove the foot down in there with his nub in the way, I taught him to floss his teeth by wrapping the floss all the way around his nub--it took quite a bit of extra floss, but he did it. I love watching him type on the computer and push keys with his nub.

We're still working on him cutting his own food with a knife, the monkey bars have been postponed until his arm is long enough that his elbow joint can reach, the shoe tying is so beyond me that I just stick with velcro. I secretly keep hoping he will just figure it out his own way one day without any help from his clueless, spaz of a mother.

So, our triumph this week was particularly sweet. Gavin's little friends, who have been riding bikes for a few years now, weren't overly impressed. But, all the adults were so proud. It is the opposition in all things, that makes me fully understand the joy. That is one thing about his defect that I enjoy, it makes me appreciate so many small things that most mothers would take for granted. And yet, as each challenge is presented--some conquered, some still baffling, I realize that this boy has a very complex existence beyond what a 6 year old can comprehend. He's starting to learn a little, but he will have to have so much courage and determination and confidence. When a new school year begins he will have to introduce his handless nub to a whole bunch of new, curious children and he will have to explain again, more often than he would prefer, that "he was born that way." That's all you'll get from him. He is like his father in that he only gives you the necessary information. We are trying to teach him how to laugh and make jokes about it. But, this is his course to navigate, and he will have to find his own coping strategies. Each day, each school year, Mommy will be there less and less, and I already have to let him figure things out on his own.

I just hope that I have done enough, without understanding his plight completely, to instill in him a courage and confidence to face the world. I hope he can be wholly unaffected by all the stares and points (but that's not really realistic), so I hope he is affected by the stares in such a way that he decides "I want to show you that I can do anything I want to do." He has to be brave in ways that I don't always fully acknowledge. But, he is so brave.