30 Days of Thanks Day 16: Backup Personal Assistants

It is 9:37 PM right now as I sit writing this post on my phone. I am in the foyer of a local banquet hall, waiting for my paratransit bus. I requested a 9 PM pick up and it was scheduled for 9:25.

Here’s the thing with paratransit. I can only be 5 minutes late. But they can be up to 25 minutes late and still be considered “on time.”

At 8:27 PM, as I was eating dessert at the event, my Personal Assistant sent me a text asking if I could find someone to cover her 10 PM shift. She isn’t feeling well.

Thankfully, one of my other Personal Assistants lives just five minutes from my house and is willing to meet me when I get home so I can pee and go to bed.

The bus just pulled up at 9:43 and with any luck I’ll be home by 10:20. I can hear my bed calling me.

Tonight I am grateful for backup Personal Assistants who come in on short notice so I can pee and go to bed.

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30 Days of Thanks Day 14: My Peers

I spent today at a meeting of the New York State Independent Living Council (NYSILC). This council is a non-governmental nonprofit comprised of 25 appointees from around the state. As a council, we are responsible for developing, monitoring, and evaluating the Statewide Plan for Independent Living. We also conduct surveys and develop reports about issues impacting New Yorkers with disabilities. You can learn more by watching this video:

After the meeting, my friend Blaise and I spoke about disability and independent living to a class of local community college students. We have done this once a semester for almost three years now. Tonight’s students were engaged and asked GREAT questions about disability policy, etiquette, personal assistance and language.

Today I am grateful for the relationships I have with my peers. I am fortunate to have this strong network of other disabled advocates. I learn from them every day, and grow through our interactions. When I have questions, they are quick to offer answers and insights. If I am struggling, they offer suggestions and advice.

 

The words 'Disability Rights are Civil Rights" appear in red, white and blue lettering on a black background.

What the ADA Means to Me

When I was a participant in the 2002 Ms. Wheelchair America Pageant, I was selected as one of the five finalists. As a finalist, I had to answer two extemporaneous questions on stage during the crowning ceremony for the final judging session – a serious question and a light-hearted question. Like most of my peers, I chose to answer the serious question first.

In one single sentence, explain what the American with Disabilities Act (ADA) means to you.

I don’t remember my exact answer. I do remember thinking, “One sentence?! Do they know me?! How am I supposed to answer this in one sentence?!” I could hear my sister Sandy laughing in the audience, and knew she was probably thinking the same thing.

I said something about the ADA being crucial civil rights legislation which gives protection and access to millions of Americans with disabilities. I kept it to one single sentence as requested, at least I think I did.

Today is the 27th anniversary of the signing of the ADA. As I write a draft of this post while riding the paratransit bus to work, I am thinking of the many ways this civil rights law has changed my life and the lives of those around me.

This bus, every public bus that is accessible – all thanks to the ADA and the ADAPT activists who literally put their bodies on the street to force change.

I am going to work today, along with my good friend Bill who happens to be on the same bus this morning. Bill acquired his disability just a few years ago, but thanks to the ADA has been able to remain employed with reasonable accommodations from his employer.

I got out of bed this morning, went to the bathroom, took a shower, got dressed and styled my hair with the help of the Personal Assistant who came to work for me today. My personal care needs can be met in the community rather than an institution because of the ADA (and because I live in a state like New York which offers a Medicaid Buy-In Program for Working People with Disabilities.)

Think the ADA only helps those with disabilities? There are many examples of how ADA regulations have helped more than the disabled population, but here is one that is prevalent. Have you ever pushed a baby stroller down the street and used the curb cut to gain access to the crosswalk? What legislation do you think required those curb cuts? On behalf of all disabled people who fought for access, you’re welcome.

The ADA is about more than just physical access though. For me, the ADA creates a sense of entitlement because it tells me I am worthy of equality. Because of the ADA, it is illegal to discriminate against me and other disabled people. I have expectations of access now that I did not have twenty five years ago. When I travel in the United States, I expect to find curb cuts, accessible toilets, wider doors in hotel rooms, accessible public transportation, and accessible parking.

Does that mean I always find these things? Of course not. But thanks to the ADA, I have the ability to pursue legal action if I feel I am being discriminated against because of my disability.

Equality – that’s what the ADA is all about to me. It is not a guarantee I will succeed, but it is an important guarantee that at least I will be afforded the same opportunity for success as my nondisabled peers.

Of course that is not the way it really works. For many reasons, disabled people still face significant barriers to education, employment, housing and transportation. And of course, like the rest of the United States, we are waiting to see what our legislators will do to healthcare and Medicaid. For many, today is not a day of celebration, but a day of anxiety and fear.

That may sound extreme for those of you who do not rely on Medicaid for your daily needs. I have had friends tell me, “Oh, don’t worry. They won’t take away your personal care.”

Here’s the thing – we don’t know what will happen. And it is far too easy for someone who is able to get out of bed, pee, poop, shower, eat and live without the assistance of another person to dismiss our concerns.

My needs are not “special.” They are the same basic needs every human has. I have the right to expect that I can meet my needs in my community, just like everyone else. The ADA guarantees me that right, and when you need that level of assistance (if you live long enough, you will!) hopefully you will have that right too.

Freedom. Life. Liberty. The pursuit of my career, hobbies and other things that bring me happiness.

That’s what the ADA means to me.

Wheelchair access symbol: white line drawing of a figure wheeling himself in a wheelchair on a blue background.

Things People Say and Do

Every so often, I’ll see a post with the title of “Things Not To Say to a Wheelchair User,” or something like that. I’ve even written a post along those lines. You can read it here if you missed it.

I don’t know why, but lately I have been on the receiving end of many comments I am sick and tired of hearing. When I share stories of these interactions with friends, they often express disbelief and wonder that I regularly have these interactions. But, apparently there are people who haven’t read the memo. This list of 5 pet peeves of mine is for all of those who STILL aren’t clear about what to say or do around wheelchair users.

1. NO SPEEDING JOKES!

We get it. Our chairs are cool, and they go fast. You might see us go whizzing by and think you’ll try to make a clever joke about us breaking a speed limit. DON’T make whatever comment you are about to make. Just don’t. It’s not original. It’s not funny. I spent the first 29 years of my life being the slow one. You bet your ass I’m going to speed and go fast now that I have the ability to do so!

2. We’re not going to run you over!

How many times have you walked down a hallway and encountered a wheelchair user approaching you from the opposite direction? Do you just keep walking or do you flatten yourself against the wall in fear the wheelchair user will run you over? When I used to work in an office building, this would happen to me at least once a week. I would be rolling down the hall towards my office, see a person walking towards me and get ready to smile. I stopped counting how many people literally stopped walking and put their back against the wall after it happened for the tenth time. It wasn’t a narrow hallway. At least four people could walk comfortably side by side down this hallway. Yet, strangers would cower in fear whenever I approached. One man even jumped into the stairway to avoid me – while I was still 20 feet away! He stood there until I went by before coming back into the hallway and resuming his walk to the cafeteria.

Here’s the thing – I have control over my chair. When I am going from place to place, I am constantly aware of what is around me and make minor adjustments to my pace and direction accordingly. Just like most people who walk, I am usually able to avoid potential barriers that might be in my intended path. I am not going to run you over unless you come to a sudden and unexpected stop directly in front of me without warning. Or unless you try to make a stupid speeding joke. If you do that, you deserve to have your toes run over. Twice.

3. I don’t care about your relative or friend who also uses a wheelchair, and

4. I don’t dream about a wheelchair that can climb stairs.

Sometimes, people will try to build a connection by telling me right away about someone else they know who also uses a wheelchair. Usually, the conversation goes like this:

Stranger: Hey, nice wheels. My neighbor just got a new chair like that.

Me: Thanks.

Stranger: Her chair can tilt and recline so she can take a nap in it. Does yours do that?

Me: No.

Stranger: Yeah, it’s amazing what wheelchairs can do. Have you seen that YouTube video of the chair with treads climbing stairs? I bet you want one of those!

Me: No, I’m good with mine thanks. (End Scene)

I’m not impressed by the fact that a person knows another wheelchair user. In fact, I’m more surprised when people tell me they don’t know a disabled person. Since approximately 20% of the population lives with a disability, chances are good that everyone knows at least one disabled person. So, telling me you know another wheelchair user as a means to form a connection really doesn’t help me feel more inclined to open up.

As for wheelchairs that can climb stairs – well, if we simply built or modified our environments so people of all abilities could participate in equality, we wouldn’t need to waste money on resources to eliminate barriers. I don’t need a wheelchair that can climb stairs. I just need architects and planners to consider that not everyone has the ability to climb stairs, and then develop inclusive plans and designs. I am more disabled by a society that does not consider and plan for my access needs than I am because I have a wheelchair that doesn’t climb stairs.

5. Just because we’re disabled doesn’t mean we know all the other disabled people!

Let’s go back to the scenario of a stranger telling me they know another wheelchair user. At least 50% of the time, once the stranger tells me they know another wheelchair user they then ask me if I know that person. Here’s the thing – I don’t know every other wheelchair user! Sure, I know LOTS of people. I have a large circle of support and am connected to others in the disability community. But, despite what my friends and coworkers may tell you, I don’t know everyone.

I could easily continue with this list, and maybe some of my readers will share there own experiences in the comments. For now, I’ll close with this advice.

Everyone wants and deserves to be treated with respect. While I do my best to assume good intent in the actions and words of others, the little digs add up over time and become tiresome. Next time you are uncertain of what to say or do, try a simple smile and “hello.” That always seems to work for me.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Friday night was special. I spent the evening with family celebrating my great niece’s seventh birthday. Seven is a fun age, and her party was packed with things a seven year old girl would enjoy – pizza, new clothes for her doll, and a three layer cake covered with pink frosting and chocolate chips.

One of the reasons I enjoy family events is because of the laughter and love we share whenever we are together. Emily, the birthday girl, and her younger brother Evan who is four years old, kept us smiling all night. But it was an exchange that happened early in the party that continues to play in my head.

I was sitting with my sister Sandy when Evan approached us. Like most children, Evan is intrigued by my wheelchair. When he was younger, he was content to simply ride on my lap. Now he is determined to figure out how the controls regulate the various aspects of my chair, such as speed and seat elevation. Standing next to my chair, he displayed remarkable restraint keeping his hands at his side rather than reaching for my joystick. Suddenly, he turned his quizzical gaze to Sandy and this delightful interchange took place.

Evan: Aunt Sandy, where’s your wheelchair?

Sandy: I don’t have one.

Evan: Why not?

Sandy: Because I don’t need one yet. Maybe someday I’ll have one.

Evan: (looking delighted and excited, and clapping his hands) Then you’ll be twins!

The three of us laughed as Sandy picked up Evan for a hug. The party continued, with pizza, presents and cake. But Evan’s comments stuck with me and caused me to reflect as I boarded the bus to go home.

At four years of age, Evan already knows that a wheelchair is a cool piece of equipment. He does not view me with pity. He does not perceive a wheelchair or a disability as being a Bad Thing, with a capital b and capital t as said by the late, great Stella Young. Of course, he doesn’t understand all the intricacies of life with a disability because he is just four years old. But he understands critical information other nondisabled adults seem slow to grasp, such as:

  1. I am my own person.
  2. My wheelchair is not the worst thing in the world, or a reason to shy away from me.
  3. I do not have a poor quality of life.
  4. I am capable and competent.

Evan is not unique in his abilities. All of my nieces and nephews, and now their children, have been exposed to my wheelchair and my disability their entire lives. They have all developed a level of disability cultural competency through their interactions with me, a disabled family member. This has created a level of comfort with disability at a young age in many of them which their peers may not have developed.

When I am with my young family members, I don’t hear negative comments about disability. I don’t hear pity. I don’t hear insensitve or ableist comments like the ones I hear from strangers on a regular basis, such as:

You manage that thing pretty well!

Slow down – you’ll get a speeding ticket!

You got snow tires for that thing?

You’re so pretty for someone who uses a wheelchair.

Oh, you work?!

And my personal ‘favorite’…

I don’t know how you manage. If I had to use a wheelchair, I’d kill myself.

My young family members who have been exposed to my reality as a disabled woman say different things. They say things like:

That man has a red chair like Aunt Denise’s!

Maybe you could drive us to skating when you get your new van Aunt Denise.

Will you read to me Aunt Denise?

We put the ramp down for you Aunt Denise!

And my personal favorite…

I love you, Aunt Denise.

If my young nieces and nephews can understand disability is not the worst thing, why can’t more adults figure it out?