Going with the flow: Whitewater Kayaking as an Amputee

The analogies are endless: life brings us ups and downs, ebbs and flows, currents and eddies. We need to stay balanced, take things as they come, and not get too far ahead (or behind) the situation in the journey. We need to be flexible—both literally and figuratively—in order to achieve the best outcome. Set-backs are inevitable, and our reaction to these situations are what will help determine our success. Yes, kayaking is very much a metaphor for life.

I recently returned from a phenomenal week of kayaking with other young adult cancer survivors (for those of you unfamiliar with the term "survivor", this includes anyone from the day of diagnosis, to the day they leave this earth—whether this is the result of cancer or not). The camp I attended was funded and run by a wonderful organization called First Descents. In the kayaking world, a first descent is one where the kayaker is the trailblazer for a river that has previously not been kayaked. The campers were not blazing any new trails, but in our worlds, these were all first descents in their own ways.

Along with 16 other campers ages 20-39, I arrived to the tiny airport in Kalispell, Montana on Sunday. I met a few of the other campers at the airport, then others at our campground (6 cabins with a main cabin with bathrooms and a kitchen). When I replied, “Abbey” to the question, “What’s your name?” I was immediately told, “We’ll work on your nickname.” By that evening I was Popcorn--my favorite food.

On Monday we headed into the park to a small lake. The scenery was a gorgeous as could be, but with all the nerves and emotions, it was hard to fully appreciate it at that point. We were taught how to get into our dry-suits, PFDs, helmets, and into our boats. Before we even learned about paddling, we were shown, and then required to demonstrate, the “wet exit”. Remembering that we were in glacial water, I wasn’t thrilled, but knew it had to be done. They taught us in a systematic 4-step approach, and shortly after I was upside down in the water, I was out of my boat, and once again breathing fresh air. Knowing I could do this maneuver really helped calm my nerves. The heightened emotion at this point was now almost all excitement.

After a while of being on the lake, we headed for a pretty calm river. The calmness of it didn’t prevent all the campers from flipping over, but I found myself to be one of the lucky ones who did not. I was able to make it in and out of the eddies without too much of a problem. I felt I was ready for the next step by the second day.
The whole week we were watched after very closely. Safety really was the first priority, but this never got in the way of fun. The volunteer counselors were so friendly, and constantly were checking to see if they could do anything to make our experience a better one.

Most of the week I didn’t have any complaints, but as the week wore on, I couldn’t help but notice something that bothered me. I was the only amputee present at camp, and one of two people with a disability. The other camper had experienced a traumatic brain injury nearly 10 years prior that left him with a shaky/weak left side, slowed speech, and short term memory loss. He wasn’t as determined to kayak independently, as he seemed more concerned with just staying up-right. I certainly did not want to flip over, but by the last day, I realized that I had not flipped over other than the wet exit. I figured part of this is due to my light-weight body (I’m just over 85 lbs currently--that's what missing a hip and entire leg will do). I likened it to a rubber ducky floating on top of the waves and being able to keep his head up between his shoulders. There were times that I had to shift my weight to stay balanced, but I was able to do so before I flipped.

The other reason I stayed dry (besides the waves) was because I had a one-on-one counselor paddling with me. I knew it was not my counselor’s fault for sticking to me like glue, but by the last day I had had enough. I am sorry I let it get to its boiling point, but my pot was sure bubbling. In exasperation I lamented to another counselor, “Everyone else is being given the chance to do it on their own if they want to. I am not. I want to have the chance to prove that I can do it or not do it—but I need to be given the chance!” The message was relayed, and it was a success. I kayaked on my own for all but two of the rapids, and I still made it in one piece. I was able to feel proud of myself, knowing that I did it on my own—and still never flipped. It wasn’t a perfect run (on one rapid I ended up with my back facing downstream), but I was happy to know it was all mine.

The experiences I had, the skills I learned, and especially the friends I made are all irreplaceable. I would do it all over again in an instant if given the chance. Now, it’s time for my plug: www.firstdescents.org. Visit the site, check it out, and please make a donation if you feel inclined. This opportunity is worth so much more than the monetary value that it takes to send the camper. I can’t say it enough, “This camp rocks!!”