rules are rules.”
I was becoming very uncomfortable. “Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Well,” the officer said, “I could escort you.”
I looked at my mom and she looked at me. She shrugged.
“If it’s the only way...” I said.
That was the first and only time I’ve had a police escort to use the washroom.
Being a team sport, soccer presents unique challenges. Each wheelchair must meet specific standards so no athlete is at a disadvantage. Wheelchair soccer is a cross between murderball and hot-rodding. It’s crazy, but fun...most of the time.
Crunch!
Those within earshot grimaced as the two chairs collided and Joe’s foot broke. He refused to get it taken care of until he returned home. He didn’t want to miss participating in the men’s swimming events scheduled for later in the week. Such is the determination of a world-class athlete.
Before I’d left for New York, I’d received a new wheelchair.
“Make sure you don’t smash the chair, Deb,” my dad said.
He sure changed his tune. Above the noise of the athletes vying for the ball and the cheers of the fans, my father’s voice rang out. “Go for it!” Concern for the chair was long forgotten!
Though we won against Great Britain, the U.S. team played aggressively and secured the gold medal. Canada won silver and Great Britain bronze.
Between events, I spent time with my parents. We went to Long Island Beach, did some shopping, went out for supper and hung out in their hotel room. The hotel manager even sent flowers when I won gold.
Before the closing ceremonies, my parents packed my power chair in their car and headed home. We hugged goodbye, and I watched them drive away.
As I watched the flame go out at the end of the ceremonies, I sunk further into my chair and sighed. I felt like a deflated balloon. What an emotional rollercoaster ride it had been. And yet, I knew one thing: I wanted to work like crazy in order to qualify for the Games in Seoul four years later.
After a little sightseeing, we made our way to the airport. We flew to Detroit, where we caught a bus for Windsor.
“Hey, Deb,” my brother greeted me when I rolled off the bus. I could almost taste my mom’s homemade cooking as we drove to London.
“It will be good to collapse into my own bed.”
I should have known by his grin that something was up. It seemed my family had no intention of allowing me to quietly slip back into my pre-Paralympics routine. Friends and family swarmed around me when I arrived home.
“Congratulations, Deb...”
“To think I knew you when...”
“Our very own celebrity...”
That night I sank into bed with a grin on my face and a song in my heart. It was an amazing trip, an amazing dream. God gave me the ability each day to compete for Him.
If I ever had the opportunity to participate again, I decided, I would do some things differently. I had been so focused on the competition I hadn’t taken time to make friends. I didn’t give this much thought until I returned home. It isn’t always easy to find the right balance.
In a very real sense, the medals I won are worthless. But when I share my faith with others, now that is pure gold. If back on that June day I did not swim my race, how many opportunities to share God’s love would I have missed?
Receiving a silver medal, 1984
Swimming the backstroke
2. International Adventures
Nightmare in Belgium
“No, you don’t understand. You are going to allow all of us on the plane and you are going to assist us.” The coach was taking slow, controlled breaths in an attempt to keep his voice at a reasonable level.
We were returning home from Belgium, where I’d refereed at the 1993 World Boccia Competition. It was great to meet up with my brother Dan, who was there working at the Operation Mobilization office. He was able to join me in Antwerp and when I travelled to Brussels. When it was time for me to return home, he secured my wheelchair in a large crate to ensure it would reach Canada in one piece. Since I didn’t think I’d need it, I left my local currency with him. Not the smartest move ever.
The weather was a problem in Brussels, and we’d been on and off planes several times in hopes that it would clear. It’s hard enough for people without disabilities, but factor in our struggles with mobility and the fact that our wheelchairs were unavailable and you have the makings of a nightmare.
“Oh no!”
I looked out the window at the Brussels airport and saw the snow falling. They received an inch and a half, and by 6:00 all flights were cancelled.
“And what happens now?” the coach asked an airline official.
“Let me see what I can do.”
He soon returned and informed us that they would put us up in a local hotel for the night.
“Good. Because we can’t stay here.”
“And to make it easier, you can take one of the wheelchairs from the airport.”
The coach’s mouth dropped open. “One? You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, sir. That’s all we feel we can spare.” He spread his arms, lifted his hands palms up, and shrugged his shoulders. “Is there a problem?”
“Do you not realize these eight men and women,” the coach gestured in our direction, “are unable to stand on their own?”
“Let me check again,” the airport employee said.
“You do that.”
The airline did allow us to borrow more chairs, but there weren’t enough for all of us.
When we arrived at the hotel, the coach told us to wait where we were. He would go in and check on the accommodations. He was back in less than 10 minutes. He was shaking his head and mumbling all the way back to van.
“You are not going to believe this.”
“Just tell us what’s going on.”
“They gave our rooms away and had no rooms available—none.”
“Then what are we going to do? Spend the night at the airport?”
