When our son Ian was 4, he was using a Rifton
walker. You know, big metal frame, 4
small wheels – one on each corner, two metal rails that came up and bent
towards the center, and a padded leather chest strap. The thing weighed more than he did, but it
gave Ian a way to do what he wanted to do. He wanted to move and be
upright. We did not know if he would
ever walk without assistance, but at least it got him upright and the ability
to move on his own. About the time he
turned 5, he had made progress. In fact,
he had made lot of progress. The Therapist
moved him out of his Rifton and into a much smaller and lighter posterior
walker. It folded up, it was very light,
he could actually run in it, and he did.
Lord, did he run. The denouement
came when I turned around at the base of our driveway and looked up the 30 degree
slope to see Ian pop up and sit on the back of the walker and promptly ride it
straight down the driveway. It reminded
me of those old movies of barrel riders going over Niagara Falls. That was the point that I truly understood
that my mission was changing to one of just trying to catch up to him and keep
him from going over the cliff.
Three years later, at age 7, he walked by himself for the
first time. Seven years after that he
joined the track team at Florida School for the Deaf and the Blind. He was never going to the Olympics, but he
ran. He did what he always wanted to do –
he ran. I can never say enough about the
schools track coaches at the time. Simply
put, they ‘got it’.
So how did he get from the Rifton to running track? Most
of it, honestly, was Ian and his desire to do something. That has been the one constant in his
life. His desire is a steel that exists
in him that you don’t know is there until you really get to know him. But he had a lot of helping hands. One of those things was something that we
stumbled on by chance. We were looking
for something for a 4 year old deaf kid with cerebral palsy to do. There weren’t a lot of options. However, Ian always was (and is) drawn to
animals, especially large animals. One
of Ian’s therapists said we should look at hippotherapy, since Ian likes large
animals. My first question was, “What
exactly is Ian going to be doing with a Hippopotamus?”
It was explained to me that hippotherapy had nothing to
do with hippopotami, but instead was therapy using a horse as the
modality. My response was ‘OH!’ So we figured we would give it a try.
Ian took to it like a duck takes to water. His first lesson, we discovered that some
horses do NOT like sign language. I
signed a little too close to a horse named Touch, who was touchy, and promptly
reared and threw Ian. All the adults
freaked. The horse was moved one
direction, Ian hustled the other. When
Ian was asked if he was ok, he actually became as indignant as a 4 year old can
become, and announced he was fine, he was not finished, and he wanted to get
back on the horse, and why did they move it away, he could control the
horse. If nothing else, Ian had
confidence in his abilities. All of the
adults also quickly understood we had an activity that he could do.
So, every Saturday morning we would wake up early and drive
about an hour and twenty minutes to the stables. Early on, Ian and I went without Momma. When Mom was finally able to join us, Ian and
I had a routine. We were busted big time
when Ian looked at me and signed ‘gas station’ and ‘donuts’. Our ritual included a signed version of ‘men,
men, men, men’ and a stop at a gas station that also had a Dunkin’ Donuts
shop. We would buy donuts – Ian usually
had 2, often Boston Crème or chocolate glazed, with a Mountain Dew. I would have a couple of glazed and a
Coke. Not the best breakfast. My wife was pretty good about it. I got the hairy eyeball, but it was decided
that on these days it was ok, but no more junk for the rest of that day. Then she asked me for a donut with sprinkles
and a large coffee.
Within a month, Ian was helping to groom the horses and
saddle his. He did not use Touch any
longer, but a horse named Skip. Skip
was, for all intents and purposes, a golden retriever in horse clothing. He was the perfect therapy horse. Ian learned a lot. For instance, you do not take your walker and
walk under the horse’s belly, even if it is easier to get the belly strap to
the other side. You have to watch where
you walk. He also learned, besides doing
a great deal of therapy work, how to rein and how to use his legs to turn the
horse, and how to sit up straight.
Along
with doing something he enjoyed, his muscle control and tone improved markedly. His self-confidence also grew. Over the course of about 2 years, his skills
grew. His therapist actually entered Ian
in an inside the ring horse obstacle course competition. Ian was going to ride by himself. No spotters, no guide. He had to go through and around obstacles,
get a letter out of a mailbox, back the horse through an obstacle, and other
things. He did well. By himself.
He was so proud of himself, as were we.
My parents went to see the event.
My mother was on the verge of needing to be tranquilized. Ian was not supposed to be able to do those
things. The best part was when Ian
finished, the therapist told Ian to take the horse to the other side of the
field to the trailer. I thought my mom
would pass out.
Over those 2 years, hippotherapy was a fantastic success
and also turned into a family activity.
After that obstacle course contest, our therapist said that he had maxed
out, and he needed to move to regular riding classes. Ian continued to ride weekly until we moved
to Florida. Then, other things prevented
it from being a regular event. But the
effects on Ian and his movement and skills were obvious. I am not sure he would have walked when he
did if not for that therapy. It isn’t
for every child, but it definitely was for Ian. And all because we were willing to try
therapy involving a ‘hippo’ until we found out that really meant ‘horse’. So, be open to try new things. Some will be successful. Some will fail. But the truth is that you
will not know if an opportunity is an opening your child needs until you
try. Be open to the possibilities.
I have a number of other stories about Ian and
horses. We won’t get into the time as a
teenager that he came flying at a full gallop, on a horse named Tiny, around the barn at a stable where we went riding.
Tiny was a Clydesdale…. My thoughts were ‘dear God, where did they get
an elephant?’ and then ‘We’re all going to die….” But, in the end, we would go living life, and
probably with a smile on our faces.
