At home in the water

Publication date: July 9, 2009 | Abbotsford News

Header photo: John Van Putten

Author’s note: With the Special Olympics BC Summer Games coming to Abbotsford in 2009, I reached out to the local chapter to connect me with a local athlete who might have an interesting story to tell. Honestly, I’m certain that every Special O athlete would have a compelling story. I ended up meeting Karen Assels and her mother Heather at their family home, and they shared their journey with me over the course of an hour. We also made a stop at Centennial Pool for a photo shoot with John Van Putten. This particular edition of the paper was the first of a new redesign which saw the Abby News convert from a broadsheet to tabloid. In the interest of making a splash with the first edition, I was granted significant space to do this story justice. It ended up winning gold at the 2010 BC/Yukon Community Newspaper Association awards in the sportswriting category.

It’s an overcast Tuesday morning at Centennial Pool, and Karen Assels is utterly in her element.

There’s hardly a wasted motion as the 26-year-old Abbotsford resident drives off the north wall of the pool and cruises southbound. Her mode of transportation, the breaststroke, happens to be one of the most demanding strokes in competitive swimming. 

But to Karen, it's “her stroke.” Her hands and feet trace circles underwater, propelling her forward. Every move is smooth, economical. Later this week, she’ll compete in both the breaststroke and the freestyle at the Special Olympics B.C. Summer Games in Abbotsford.

Leaning up against a brick wall a couple of strides away from poolside, Heather Assels watches her daughter cruise through the water, and it occurs to her that she’s come a long way.

“She’s overcome a lot, I think,” she said. “We all need to feel successful at something – it's human nature – and she’s worked hard to get to where she is.”

* * * * *

From the day they brought their daughter home from the hospital, Les and Heather Assels knew that there was something different about Karen. In every stage of development, she lagged behind the benchmarks established by her brother Graham, four years older.

Graham, for instance, was running when he was nine months old. Karen wasn't even walking until she was two and a half years old. Even after she mastered the skill, Karen wouldn't go walking unless she was clutching an object – a toy, a building block – in each hand for security.

Other new experiences were likewise terrifying to the youngster. When her family headed out for an afternoon hike, Karen would cry the entire way. When she took swimming lessons in Grade 2, putting her face under the water was an epic struggle.

* * * * *

The “classic” autism case, as it might have been diagnosed in the 1940s, was the kid who stood in the corner spinning in endless circles, unwilling to talk or look anyone in the face. 

Karen Assels was not that kid. As a five-year-old, she would read books to her younger relatives at family functions, and all the adults would be suitably impressed. Her parents knew that she wasn’t actually reading – they’d read her the book countless times, and she simply had an amazing memory.

Because Karen was so high-functioning, doctors struggled to supply a diagnosis. Heather took Karen to specialist after specialist, but each time, she was told that her daughter was just “developmentally delayed.”

The medical community now has a better understanding of autism's wide spectrum, and when Karen was 15 years old, she finally got an official diagnosis – high-functioning autism. 

* * * * *

Ask Karen what the toughest aspect of high school was, and she doesn’t hesitate: “Making friends."

Her particular brand of autism is most noticeable in the social sphere. Her mother uses the term “mind-blindness” – an inability to detect what another person is thinking or feeling, apart from being told bluntly. For instance, Karen doesn’t pick up on facial expressions or body language cues, and sarcasm is lost on her.

She’s also hypersensitive – a classmate tapping a pencil on their desk would drive Karen up the wall. 

In school, other kids would call her “penguin," a reference to the fact that Karen walked with her toes pointed outwards. Then she’d react, and earn a ticket to the principal’s office.

On the day that Karen graduated from Mission Secondary in 2002, she cried. 

“I was so happy I got out,” she said. “Some of it was hell, pardon me.”

As much as Karen may not have enjoyed high school, she never once refused to attend. Autistic people tend to view the world in black and white, and skipping school was simply against the rules.

* * * * *

In 1998, one year after her diagnosis, an assistant principal at Mission Secondary told Karen that she’d really enjoy the Special Olympics. 

Not at first, she didn’t. The first time Karen showed up, the newness of the situation overwhelmed her – new authority figures, new peers, new sports – and she didn't want to come back.

But her parents prevailed upon her to give Special O a fair shake, and Karen eventually grew to enjoy it. She had always hated gym class at school, because the sports were taught at a faster pace than she was able to learn. But the Special Olympics coaches offered extreme patience and positive reinforcement.

The social aspect of Special Olympics was perhaps the greatest benefit. Suddenly, Karen had no trouble making friends. In Special O, she says, they accept you for who you are.

In 11 years in Special Olympics, Karen has travelled to all corners of the province, participating in such sports as rhythmic gymnastics, softball, bowling, curling and track.

* * * * * 

Karen has always had one foot in the “special needs” world and one foot in the “typical” world, and these days, she’s thriving. 

She works part-time in the office at Community Living B.C., and she volunteers at The Reach gallery museum, transcribing historical documents.

In her spare time, Karen reads voraciously. She’s a fan of horror author Bentley Little, and she loves reading biographies of 1940s-era movie stars like Lana Turner and Mary Astor. 

Sometime after Christmas, Karen is hoping to move out of her parents’ house and get a place with her best friend Lindsay, a former Special Olympics rhythmic gymnastics teammate. It’s an opportunity for which her parents have been carefully prepping her – she’s been doing her own laundry and grocery shopping for a while now.

* * * * *

As the Special Olympics B.C. Summer Games draw closer, Karen's excitement is soaring. A couple of nights ago, she had a dream that she swam her way to a gold medal. But then she woke up, and realized the Games were still a couple of days away.

"It's hard to wait," she said with a chuckle, noting that patience is a constant struggle for an autistic person.

Karen is pleased the B.C. Games are happening in Abbotsford, because her friends and co-workers can come out and watch her compete. She's planning to carry a towel adorned with a bright red-and-orange sunset, so that her friends in the stands can find her in the crowd of athletes.

* * * * *

A couple of weeks back, Heather Assels decided to join her daughter for a swim.

Heather hadn't gone swimming in years, and it showed. She struggled to co-ordinate her breathing with her arm movement. She struggled with her endurance.

And then, in a fascinating role reversal, Karen became Heather's security blanket, coming alongside to offer instruction on the finer points of swimming. Karen was tickled pink that she could teach something to her mom.

* * * * *

Maybe the school kids who called Karen a penguin were onto something. Like the flightless birds of the south pole, she's not the most graceful on land. But in the water, she’s sleek.

"She's not the most co-ordinated person, but in the water, she's so smooth," her mother marvels as she watches Karen at Centennial Pool. "She's just at home in that water."