Other people see you as Oscar Pistorius, the star athlete who has achieved the impossible, whereas I see you as a great athlete, but first and foremost as my brother.
People tend to think your life is all glory and celebrity but I know how hard you train and how much you sacrifice to make your achievements reality. Do you remember the last time, it was 11.15 in the evening and I had just landed after a flight back from Cape Town (there are only two cell phone numbers whose calls I will always pick up – you and Aimée) when you called in a state of anxiety to let off steam as the stress of the training programme, not to mention the awful wait for the court to pronounce its judgement, was taking its toll. I came straight to see you and I will always be there for you in the same way as I know you will be for me.
A couple of days ago I was chatting with a friend. He asked me about you and I told him in no uncertain terms, 'I would give my left nut for my brother.' He laughed and told me that although I probably would it was unlikely that you would do the same for me. Well, I know he was wrong, I know that you would go the extra mile for me, and frankly even if I did not have this certainty it would not alter anything for me. This is not about a quid pro quo. Some relationships in life are based on unconditional love, and ours is one of them.
Carl
Letter Two: Henk
Pistorius to Oscar
Pistorius, Cape
Town, 6 June 2008
Dear Oscar,
My dear boy, recently I have been watching you on the television. You have made me so happy and proud that I can only wish that you too will experience similar joy when the time comes for you to become a father.
As you tell your story in this biography, I am honoured and delighted to be able to participate by sharing my memories, in fact it gives me the opportunity to relive parts of my life.
Before Carl was even born, your mother and I had decided that we would have three children. I had wanted a large family similar to my own, but your mother had laughed me out the room, nervous at the prospect of having to birth and raise a rugby team. Three seemed like a pretty good compromise to us both. If there had been only two of you there would have been no one to break the cycle of bickering, whereas when there are three siblings you can't argue with both simultaneously so you always have an ally and a healthy equilibrium in the family. Had I been able to choose I would have asked for our first child to be a boy and so I was elated when Carl was born. When our turn came to have our second child, Sheila asked the person performing her prenatal ultrasound to tell her the sex of her child so she knew you were on your way. I wanted it to be a surprise and so she kept the information close to her heart. When the time finally came and Sheila went into labour, her obstetrician asked me which sex I would prefer. I replied that the child's sex was unimportant to me; all I wanted was a healthy baby with ten fingers and ten toes. That would be more than enough. How ironic destiny can seem.
When you were born neither the obstetrician nor the midwife noticed that your feet were different. I noticed immediately, as soon as I saw you. I was cradling you in my arms while the obstetrician cut the umbilical cord and I remember clearly telling him that there was something different about your feet. I never said there was something wrong, or abnormal, I clearly remember using the word different. We opened the blanket that you were swaddled in and one of your feet was very narrow, too narrow.
My initial thoughts in those long minutes after your birth are exactly the same as my thoughts today. When something happens, something that differs from your expectation of a situation or an event – I am loath to say something normal or something abnormal as I do not think these are constructive expressions – it is important that you remember that there is always an upside, identify the positive aspects and then concentrate on them.
As you grew, we spent our time going from one specialist to the next, in all we saw eleven doctors. And you forget, there was no internet back then to use as a research tool. We would hear of a doctor in America by word of mouth and then attempt to fax or telephone him, but it was never straightforward as often the numbers were incorrect and then of course the doctors were busy so they did not necessarily get back to us immediately. We were often caught between faxing for a second time at the risk of harassing the doctor or waiting and dealing with our own anxiety and stress levels. When it is your child, you need to get to the bottom of the situation as soon as possible, find out as much as you can, work out what the best options are and what decisions you have to take.
In the end we narrowed down the list to three experts and then engineered a time and a place convenient to all of them so that they could meet up and finally discuss your situation face to face. I am sure each doctor remembers that meeting to this day. As you know, one of the three was Gerry Versveld. Their conclusions were as follows: amputation of your right leg was absolutely necessary as you were missing the necessary bones, the situation for your left leg was more complex and it was probable that reconstructive surgery would be successful. Gerry then told me about a biannual medical convention focusing purely on the science behind bilateral amputations that was about to take place. I phoned the convention organisers and explained to them that I wanted to send our specialist, Gerry Versveld (he was very well known and had previously been invited to that same convention), with all of the relevant photographic and X-ray documentation regarding my son's condition so that his case could be examined by the convention. Fortunately for all of us, they agreed and so it was that Gerry came and delivered his paper on your condition before over three hundred of the world's top specialists and solicited their input. The consensus was unanimous: they recommended a bilateral amputation below the knee. Although it was never easy for us, we were relieved as we felt we had done everything possible to receive the best advice.
Of course, the hardest part was still to come.
Gerry advised us to amputate as soon as possible, but crucially before you learnt to walk. He explained to us that if you never learnt to walk on your own feet you would never experience the trauma of no longer having feet to walk on and so you would also learn to walk with the prosthetic limbs with ease. Gerry explained to us that he would amputate at the ankle joint and then transplant the skin from your heels onto the end of your stumps so as to make them stronger and more resistant and capable of bearing your body weight as well as the friction that would occur with future prostheses. We had pressed Gerry to explain the operation in detail to us, but let me tell you my boy, it did not make for easy listening. The reality of the operation was terrible for us. As a baby your feet were so delicate and ticklish, we spent a lot of time with you lying next to us as we cuddled you and tickled your feet while you giggled adorably. The thought of the doctors cutting off your feet and throwing them in the rubbish bin was almost too much to bear. Something I would not even wish on my worst enemy.
Thank God, the operation went well and your recovery was exceptional. Your first prosthetic limbs were without moulded feet on the end: you looked like a little pirate with them on and once you got the hang of it there was no holding you back, you were incapable of sitting still, and the house echoed with the clippety clap tapping noise that your prostheses made as you raced around.
You were a confident, strong and happy child. Sheila – like any other mother – instinctively tried to help you and be there for you whenever you found yourself in difficulty. I tried to discourage this because I felt that by helping you she would be doing you more harm than good. I was much harder on you (sometimes even cruel) because I knew that you needed to be self-sufficient always. I was more exacting of you than I have been with Carl but it was because I knew that you would encounter more obstacles in your life: children are not always nice to one another and far more often than we like to admit bully those that are different from them. That is just how life is and I wanted to make sure that if you were ever in difficulty and I was not there to help you, you would be capable of sorting it out for yourself.
When you were small,
I made a point of not interfering, I just watched over you from the sidelines. You always knew that at home you would be able to discuss whatever had taken place. Often we talked about people's reactions to you and explained that they did not understand, that they were ignorant and that it was your responsibility to explain things to them. I think these experiences are at the heart of you being such a good communicator and a people person.
Your mother became pregnant again not long after your operation and I remember you and Carl buzzing around her like two little bees always eager to put your hands on her stomach to feel the baby move.
Then when Aimée was born, I will never forget your amazement as you said: 'Look, she has feet!' We never paid much attention to your behaviour but whenever you could, once your mother had placed Aimée back in her cradle, fast asleep, you would come along, greet her with the nickname you invented for her, Gugu, and then remove her blanket and kiss her little feet. You drove your mother nuts as you inevitably woke Aimée and then she had to start the laborious process of getting her back to sleep all over again. You have always been a spontaneous person, as soon as you feel something in your heart you act on it and there is a lot that is endearing in your behaviour. We knew also that your curiosity was natural and so we left you to your discovery. We often discussed your behaviour; we called it the 'Oscar Pistorius Model'. You were meant to be just as you were and are and we were determined to accept you without trying to hide you or change you and I think this made all the difference for each of us.
There were support groups for children and parents who had also experienced similar amputations but quickly Sheila and I realised that although we would be able to help many of the parents present, few if any there were going to be of help to us. The issue is all about attitude and most often it is the parent's attitude to the child, and not the child him or herself, that causes problems.
I remember one particular meeting of the support group in Johannesburg. A woman with her daughter was walking just in front of me. The daughter was a beautiful blonde child with a lovely smile but without any arms. I knew of course that we were headed towards the same meeting, when suddenly the woman told her child to come this way as on that side there were too many people that were sure to stare at her. I was horrified: how can a mother say such a thing to her child? It is the mother who is the problem, not the child. I was profoundly upset by what I heard and so when the meeting began I stood up and told everyone present that this was my last meeting because I was convinced that the majority of the adults in the room, there supposedly to learn and give support to amputees, were actually part of the problem. It was their attitudes that created such difficulty in the lives of their children.
Thank God you have never had this problem. You have always been at ease with yourself and proud of who you are. Everything has come naturally to you. Even when you first wore your prosthetic limbs, they were brand new but within a day they looked like you had had them for months. They were scratched and chipped because you were always running around, climbing and colliding with objects, you were fearless, then you would come back to me with that mischievous smile of yours and say, 'Look, Dad, I have a bruise!'
Your smile is unchanged, my dear son, as is your strength of character and happy-go-lucky approach to life. My wish for your future is that your smile remains as light and pure as it is today and that you continue to see new challenges after each marvellous achievement.
Your Dad
Blade Runner Page 13
