I was in a jet ski accident in August of 2005, leaving me with a spinal cord injury and paralysis that requires a wheelchair to get around. I was only 14 when I was hurt, but I lived enough to be able to recall my pre-accident ignorance – “oblivion,” to use a kinder word – to people with disabilities and their needs. I didn’t have a reason to be aware of those issues, so I wasn’t. We can call that privilege, or “living in a bubble.”
When I was hit by that jet ski, I was smacked with the reality of not only a loss of function of my lower body, but also the barrage of challenges that came with. Those are the things that knock me in the face every day, even 19 years later. A lot of my difficulties are par for the course of a neurological disorder, while others are attributed to a lack of awareness and/or empathy from others toward the disabled community.
My lack of bladder control, for example, is in the nature of my disability. The overwhelming lack of accessible bathrooms in public spaces, however, is an unnecessary and heartbreaking reality. Imagine having a bladder at its full capacity, then being physically unable to relieve it. What do you do? “Pee on yourself” is the answer, but nobody chooses that.
In the same vein, the challenge of getting around in public – especially facilities with a “historical” standing. That exclusion is something I’ve just had to accept. Simple accommodations (a ramp, lift, or bigger opening) for people who use assistive devices are an easy way to be inclusive to all people, not to mention making the space more welcoming to people like me. The same applies to digital accessibility for those with visual, hearing, or learning disabilities – accommodations like captions, screen reader compatibility, contrast adjustments, etc.
Every month or so, my frustration is re-ignited by the high price of medical supplies. These are things I don’t have a choice but to spend money on and it seems companies know that, reflected in the high expense. The cost of basic necessities (and the lack of insurance coverage) for someone in my position is frustrating, and it’s not justifiable.
Just recently, I applied for and was promptly denied life insurance due to my disability and related issues – all factors out of my control. Where’s the equity in that?
I can’t help that I’m disabled, so why should I have to keep paying the consequences? These are a few examples off a much longer list of woes. Please note how “I can’t walk!” or “I can’t feel my legs!” isn’t on it; the most transparent components of my disability don’t even make the list. Instead, it’s defined by the way people interact with, acknowledge, and accommodate disability.
If people could wrap their heads around people who look, think, and live differently than them, we could take a step toward a world that’s more inclusive to everyone, regardless of their ability. That would mean everyone could show up as they are (physically, mentally, economically), and be accepted. Or, at least, accommodated.
I wonder if we’ll ever get there.
It would only take some awareness and consideration. And it starts with you, my friend. I’m not asking you to care about me, my circumstances, what I’m able to do – or not - because of my disability. Rather, I’m opening a door to my variation, and hoping you’ll look over the threshold. If we work together, we can build a more inclusive and honest world for everyone.