Larry Ways' Story
Larry Way was four years old in 1952 when he contracted polio, and that was the beginning of a new journey. On his first night in the hospital, his parents were told he might not make it. He did, but the disease would change the course of his life forever. Over seventy years later, Larry still deals with the residual effects of polio. But his is not a story of defeat or regret; it is a story of adaptation, family, faith, and an enduring appreciation of life.
Larry’s story, in his own words, follows.
I was only four years old when polio changed my life. It was 1952. I was too young to understand what was happening fully, and my memories of those early days are not clear. Much of what I know about that time came from conversations with my parents years later. They told me I had developed a high fever and suddenly couldn’t walk. I remember being taken by ambulance to a local hospital and then transferred to another hospital with a specialized ward for polio patients. I didn’t know then that this hospital would become my home for the next year. Years later, my parents told me that during my very first night in the hospital, they received an urgent call asking them to come immediately because the doctors didn’t expect me to survive the night. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for Mom and Dad. Their four-year-old son was seriously ill, and they were facing the possibility of losing him. But I survived that night, and my life became a journey of learning, adjusting, and finding new ways to move forward.
Once my condition stabilized, the long process of treatment and rehabilitation began. Treatments for polio in the early 1950s differed greatly from what we might expect today. I received warm baths and therapy in a swimming pool, and the therapy I found most difficult was called hot packs. The therapists applied hot, wet woolen blankets on my legs, sometimes making the treatments quite painful. At the time, they believed the heat would relieve muscle spasms, improve circulation, and help prepare weakened muscles for movement and rehabilitation. The goal was to help us regain as much muscle function as possible by stimulating nerves and muscle activity. I can tell you that the experience was neither pleasant nor comfortable. In fact, looking back, I sometimes think the nurses and therapists applying those hot packs may have found the experience almost as painful as I did! Fortunately, not everything about my treatment was unpleasant. One therapy involved swimming, and it turned out to be one of the best things from my time in the hospital. I developed a love for swimming that has stayed with me throughout my life. What began as therapy for a four-year-old boy became a source of exercise and enjoyment that I continue to appreciate over seventy years later. I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to contract polio, but swimming became one of the unexpected gifts of that experience.
Finally, after about a year in the hospital, I could go home and live with my family. But life would not be quite the same. I now wore long-leg braces on both legs and needed crutches to walk. Fortunately, I had two people in my corner who were determined to give me every opportunity possible: my parents, Townsend and Elsie Way. Mom was particularly engaged in my post-release physical therapy. She encouraged me to do my daily exercises, and after my three orthopedic surgeries (fusions of each ankle and stabilization of one knee), she kept me focused on doing the recommended exercises designed to hasten my recovery and regain some functionality in my legs. The lessons I learned from these experiences included patience, perseverance, and the rewards of hard work. The value of slow and steady work toward a goal served me well not only in my physical recovery but also later in school and in work. Dad was more involved with taking me to the orthopedist to get the appropriate braces and crutches. My parents also understood something that would have a tremendous influence on my future. They knew that my physical limitations would likely prevent me from pursuing work that required standing for long periods or performing physically demanding tasks. But they also knew that an education could open doors that my legs might not. They worked to have me admitted to our local public school rather than a specialized school for children with disabilities. During my school years, using the braces and walking with a limp made me feel self-conscious. I felt awkward and “different from” my classmates. These feelings were most pronounced during my high school and college years. I became quite introverted and sought solace in books. Looking back, I wish I had understood something then that I understand much better today. Being different doesn’t mean being less. My encouragement to someone struggling with those same feelings: don’t let what makes you different convince you that you are worth less than anyone else. You have just as much to offer, just as much reason to be proud of who you are, and just as much right to enjoy everything life offers.
Over time, my physical condition improved enough for me to stop wearing the brace on my stronger leg and eventually replace two crutches with a cane. Swimming remained my main form of exercise, and with my family’s support, I continued my education through college. I became a certified public accountant, and my 34-year career included working as an accountant with an industrial manufacturing company. I also took on increasingly challenging assignments, expanding my experience in finance and eventually assuming general management responsibilities as the company’s CEO. I had an exciting and successful career, and I am grateful for those opportunities, but my greatest blessings have little to do with professional success. I married the woman (Peggy) of my dreams, and together we raised two loving sons and became grandparents to three grandchildren. We met in a hospital medical lab, where she was a medical technologist, and I worked during summer breaks from college. After I met Peggy, I felt less separate from the able-bodied world. As I focused on being a good husband and father of our sons, I thought less about myself and gradually felt more comfortable with who I was. I feel truly blessed to have such a wonderful family. When I think back to that little boy whom the doctors didn’t expect to survive his first night in the hospital, and all the years and experiences that have followed, I can’t help but feel grateful. Life is good indeed!
For many years, I learned to live with the physical limitations polio had left behind. I had adapted; I had built a career, raised a family, and remained active. But about twenty years ago, my polio story changed again. Like many people who survived polio, I began experiencing the effects of a condition known as post-polio syndrome, or PPS. PPS isn’t a recurrence of the polio virus, and it isn’t contagious. It is a condition that can develop decades after the original illness, bringing a gradual weakening and loss of the motor neuron muscle connections that formed decades earlier, usually resulting from overuse of what muscles remained after the initial infection. For me, those difficulties have included a gradual loss of balance, an increased risk of falling, sensitivity to cold in my affected limbs, fatigue, and pain. Abilities I had relied upon for years required more effort. I have had to adapt as my PPS has progressed. The single cane that had served me so well was no longer enough. I returned to using two crutches to walk. Even with that additional support, walking has become more difficult and labored. Today, I also use a powered wheelchair when I become too fatigued to walk safely or comfortably. And I’ve learned that an afternoon nap is often a necessity rather than a luxury to address fatigue. PPS has required me to adjust, which I hadn’t anticipated. But then again, adapting to change is something I’ve been doing for most of my life.
One thing I haven’t given up is my commitment to staying active. I continue to maintain my exercise routine with my swimming program and adaptive cycling. With both activities, I am not as strong or as fast as I used to be, but I am moving my body and doing it some good.
Author’s Reflection—The Story of Larry Way
I met Larry for the first time on a group ride with ASAP. From the beginning of our friendship, he has always smiled, always accepted challenges, accepted those he is around, and encouraged others. He is a survivor and has lived his life as a survivor and not as a victim. His challenges never defined who he was, nor do they define who he is today or diminish the life he continues to enjoy. I hope his story will touch you and help you move through your journey. His story reminded me that moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting what we’ve been through. It means accepting where we are today.
