Diary – Diary of a Disabled Person.

Able to Remember.

There are a plethora of reasons some people use as a means to discriminate against others, such as gender, sexuality, religion, race, and of course, disability. Over the past few years it was realised that if each minority facing a particular type discrimination banded together, forming a much larger group tackling all kinds of discrimination, they would have more power and influence due to sheer numbers. As such it is now very common to see people on social media listing all the types of discrimination that they oppose, but almost invariably there is one type of discrimination absent; ableism.

I do not for one second think that ableism is omitted intentionally, simply that it is forgotten or overlooked. Many people assume that the law protects the disabled against discrimination, but the law is all but meaningless when no one bothers to implement it. Others believe that ableism is a relic of the past, or don’t see why the misuse of special facilities or the obstruction of access routes is, in fact, ableism. Others simply forget that ableism exists at all.

With ableism so easily forgotten it is no surprise that issues such as equal access to transport, particularly on trains and aeroplanes, are still such a significant problem in 2018, nor is it surprising that a very large proportion of public spaces and buildings lack wheelchair access completely. Of course, when most courts lack proper wheelchair access including into the witness box, it’s hardly as if suing someone for discrimination is feasible. Therefore the problems go on unchecked and forgotten.

I am convinced that the first stage in the fight against ableism is simply to raise awareness. Over the past few years I have met lots of new people through university and work, and nearly all of them have said that being around me and observing my daily struggles has opened their eyes to the prevalence of ableism in day-to-day life. Many of these same people have told that me that their habits would change; they would be more reluctant to use disabled facilities unless they really had to, and that they would see cars parked on pavements and get angry without me even being there.

Anyone on Twitter may have seen the #JustAskDontGrab campaign led by fellow blogger Dr Amy Kavanagh, raising awareness of how to help disabled people without invading their personal space or inadvertently causing harm. The campaign predominantly focuses on anecdotes and personal experiences to highlight the issue, and uses the Twitter slogan for the benefit of computer algorithms. Seeing the impact Amy has made started me thinking; what if I could do the same to ensure that ableism is included in the fight against discrimination?

The trickiest part for me was coming up with a social media friendly signature, particularly as I didn’t want something that sounded aggressive or accusatory as I firmly support the fight against all types of discrimination too. Indeed when I finally had my eureka moment on my evening commute, I was so engrossed in thought that I almost collided with a lamp post. Thus #AbleToRemember was born. Now all I needed was a launch date, and I could think of no better than Remembrance Sunday itself. While the soldiers who died in the various wars are honoured by this session, those who became disabled in the war are often overlooked, demonstrating my point perfectly.

Whenever I spot ableism being omitted from a list of all other types of discrimination, I will be sharing it alongside #AbleToRemember, and I want others to do the same. I’m not pointing the finger or being antagonistic; I just want to ableism to become as unpalatable as any other type of discrimination.

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Attack of the Brain Fog.

Let’s be honest, we’ve all had plenty of cringe-inducing moments that keep us awake at night when you most need the sleep. Much as I would like to say otherwise I am no different in this respect. However where I differ from the norm is that I can blame these horrendous instances on my disability, or more specifically the so-called “brain fog” that plagues people with various chronic illnesses.

As a member of a small team in the workplace I grew accustomed to the little quirks and idiosyncrasies that would make us the perfect subject for a sitcom, were it not for the fact that this idea has been flogged one too many times. Organising a table tennis tournament for one lunch break has been one of my least serious assignments, but being asked to arrange a “cheese day” takes the biscuit (because nothing goes better with cheese than a nice selection of savoury biscuits). For cheese day we are all required to fetch different cheeses to work, and during the team meeting we’ll all enjoy samples of them all, which for an office is an undeniably weird thing to see displayed on the calendar.

Imagine my embarrassment then, when I realise that I had not sent the email invitation to my colleague, but instead had sent it to someone else of the same name in my address book. Fortunately he had an excellent sense of humour about it and is now considering implementing a cheese day in his own office. So if cheese day goes viral, you know who to blame; parents who give their children common names. Like Emma (thanks mum and dad).

I am particularly afflicted with brain fog first thing in a morning, which makes taking my morning medication rather interesting. The most common problem arises with a tablet I take both in the morning and at night in different doses. If I get them the wrong way around, taking the larger dose in the morning rather than the evening, I will spend the rest of the day in a drowsy stupor. This having occurred on a work morning means that technically I have been to work while high and got away with it, a claim that some would use the term “badass” to describe.

Perhaps more worrying was the occasion when I tried to inhale my nasal spray through my mouth, which was a somewhat interesting experience.

While living in halls of residence at university the fire alarm being set off at unthinkable hours by drunk people trying to use toasters was a very regular occurrence. When the fire alarm exploded into life at 2 am in my first week away from my parents I wondered why my dad hadn’t switched the burglar alarm off, which would occasionally go off at night when a spider crawled across the sensor (and never when someone was trying to break in). This is despite the fact that the fire alarm sounded completely different, was much louder, and included a red flashing light on the ceiling for those who couldn’t hear the alarm. Needless to say I was one of the last to arrive at the convening point as we were evacuated.

There is also the story of how this photo came to exist:

Discussing brain fog with a few online friends an accidental misreading lead to brain fog being substituted with brain frog in all of our messages. Given that for some strange reason I have a plushie toy frog (I still have the inventively named Croaky) it didn’t take long before dad took this photo for me. Selfies were harder back then.

By the way, if this becomes a meme the extra publicity is much appreciated.

The Virtual Cure.

Like most introverted geeks I’m a big fan of video games, and spend so much time playing them that I’m considering replacing my wheelchair control panel with a game controller. While I’m fond of some role-playing games my favourites tend to focus on either driving skills or combat, perhaps because I’m a weird kind of adrenaline junky who doesn’t like rollercoasters but still wants thrills.

There was a time when I wasn’t as comfortable playing video games as I am now, partly because of the stigma against female gamers that was prominent until relatively recently. It is only in the past year or so that I have come to describe myself as an avid, if casual, gamer. However in that time I have developed a deep love of video games that I refuse to be ashamed of, either for being a woman or being disabled. Nor do I take my gaming habits too seriously; they are what I do when I want a break and maybe a little stress relief, and are particularly fun when paired with a glass of wine (as is the case with a great many things).

A good video game is as immersive as an Agatha Christie novel and triggers genuine emotions as the story unfolds. Admittedly the emotions from Doom tend to be more of the “DIE YOU —— ——-“ type, but Horizon: Zero Dawn is a little more nuanced in between beating up giant robots with a spear. A game that can invest you in the setting, characters, and stories so beautifully feels real as you play. It doesn’t feel like I’m pressing buttons to move a digital image; it feels like I’m there reacting to the situation as it all happens. This is undeniably exhilarating for anyone, but for me it means I can experience the thrills of vigorous activity while only getting a cramp in my thumb. If a game is good enough it feels as if I can run and jump and do crazy somersaults that I couldn’t even manage pre-disability, let alone now. Besides, everyone deserves a little fun now and then.

At this point I probably sound like some over-invested nerd and perhaps to some extent I am, but I’m not exaggerating when I say that for a few all-too-short hours I am virtually cured. If for the rest of my life this is my only taste of having a fully-functional and not-painful body then I can live with that. I’m not about to start a gaming channel on YouTube, partly because I would only embarrass myself with my rather comical ability to fall off a cliff at the worst possible time, every single time.

Everybody has their favourite recreational pass-time and I am no different, disabled or otherwise. Sometimes we have a tendency to overlook the importance of recreation and how it can benefit us in unexpected ways. Now if you’ll excuse me, the PlayStation calls…

Time for a Change.

Accessible public toilets are the bane of my existence and the same sentiment is felt among others with disabilities too. Considering that it is a basic human right to have access to a toilet, the difficulty many disabled people have in accessing a disabled toilet is abysmal.

In some places the disabled toilet, if they even have one, is little more than an enlarged cubicle with unsteady grab rails and a broken emergency cord. Sometimes these cubicles are nothing short of filthy, and sometimes they’re being used as storage cupboards. Sometimes they double up as baby-changing facilities creating a problem for both parents and the disabled, and on more than one occasion I have left a cubicle to be berated by an angry parent with a screaming baby for daring to use the toilet. Often enough the baby-changing facilities are not packed away properly after they have been used making it nigh-on impossible for a wheelchair user to enter the stall, and quite often soiled nappies will simply be left on the side instead of disposed of.

In most places there is also usually just one disabled toilet and should someone decide to use the disabled cubicle because it is nearer, or because they want to take a dump in peace (I’m serious, that happens a lot), that delays the person with a genuine disability from accessing the facilities they need. Sometimes people have invisible disabilities meaning that they can’t walk as far as the other toilets or they may have medical waste bags hidden beneath their clothes, so tackling people about misusing these facilities becomes a mine-field.

To combat the situation pro-actively, some establishments have taken to locking the disabled toilet and only giving the key to those who ask for it. However, as I’m sure you can imagine, trying to attract the attention of a member of staff in a busy venue is difficult and rather embarrassing. In the UK there is a scheme with a special key to unlock disabled toilets, providing they have the specific lock available. As I understand it having this lock fitted can be very expensive, so only the big businesses tend to have them.

However, if I have a tough time accessing a toilet in public, then for those who need full changing facilities it must be virtually impossible. I can count on one hand the number of places I know that have full changing facilities, and all of them are large shopping centres stocking exactly the same stock as every shopping centre in the country. The competition for a normal disabled toilet is definitely a problem, making full changing facilities little more than a myth. This forces many people to change on the floor of the stall, which as aforementioned can be cramped and dirty, making it down-right dangerous.

I admit that I can understand the concerns some venues express when talking about full changing facilities; not only do they take up a large space and need high maintenance, but they are very expensive, time-consuming, and disruptive to fit in the first place. They are also still subject to all of the issues disabled people who don’t need full changing facilities face. However, when you consider that access to a toilet is a human right, these arguments fade into futility. Western civilisation has worked so hard to provide the lesser developed countries with essential resources like proper sanitation and yet a whole portion of the population right here face a situation equally as grim.

If you don’t need to use a disabled toilet, unless perhaps all the other toilets nearby are in use, then don’t use it. If you need to use the cubicle to change a baby’s nappy, be considerate of other users including other parents. If you have an invisible disability, don’t be afraid or ashamed to stick up for yourself if you have to. And if, like me, you don’t need access to full changing facilities, try to use a disabled toilet without them if there is one available.

Diary of a Disabled Person Needs YOU.

It’s that time of year again; the run-up to Christmas and New Year is picking up the pace. As such, it’s time for me to plan and write Christmas and New Year Specials, and while I’ve already got a plan for the New Year Special, I’m struggling to differentiate this year’s Christmas edition from last years. That is where YOU come in.

I want to know what Christmas-themed topics you want to read about. All suggestions are welcome provided they relate to the festive season and in some way relate to disability. Short story ideas are equally welcome. It doesn’t matter how vague or tenuous the suggestion is; all ideas will be considered! If your idea serves as the inspiration for the Christmas post, I will give you a shout-out both on here and on social media if you would like that.

Let me know what you think in the comments section, or alternatively you can send me an email via the contact tab on the main menu. Monetary bribes are 100% accepted on the donate tab, also on the main menu.

I’m genuinely interested to see what you all come up with!

Accessible Ethics.

It takes a special kind of idiocy to deny that being accessible is right, but WHY is it right? I could never explain this eloquently so I’ve roped in a little assistance from my fiance, who just so happens to have a philosophy degree.
PS: These should be useful for shutting people up who hinder accessibility and then defend their actions.

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Andre the Advocate.

André René Roussimoff was more commonly known as André the Giant for a reason; standing at around 7 feet tall and weighing over 500 lbs as a result of his gigantism, he truly was gigantic. He is perhaps most famous for his role in the film The Princess Bride but was also a highly successful wrestler for the company we now call WWE. Due to his fame and successful career it is often forgotten altogether that gigantism is actually a disability.

The most obvious disadvantage of gigantism is the fact that the world is suited to smaller humans. Doorways, ceilings, beds, mirrors, and showerheads will all have posed problems due to his height, and utensils such as cutlery, glasses, and various buttons on pieces of technology will have been too small and delicate for his over-sized hands. Finding clothes that fitted must have been virtually impossible short of having everything tailor-made. For André, these were just the general inconveniences of everyday life.

André didn’t just have to contend with a world built for people smaller than him; his gigantism resulted from the excessive production of a growth hormone during childhood and later resulted in the development of acromegaly, continued growth despite the closure of his growth plates, which contributed towards his death from congestive heart failure. As you can imagine this excessive growth left him in almost constant pain and even required surgery to mend worn-down joints, and he took to heavy alcohol consumption to alleviate the symptoms.

While many people would undoubtedly have stayed behind closed doors in such a situation, hiding from the prying eyes and incessant curiosity of everybody else, André turned his gigantism to his advantage. He used his size to become one of the most beloved wrestlers in history, infamous for his ability to flatten his opponents in the ring, and also to land the roles of gigantic men in films. He managed to get paid for people gawping at him, something which they would have done regardless.

Not for one minute do I think André set out to become an advocate for disabled rights. Indeed, he is remembered primarily for his acting and wrestling careers, as he should be. However it is impossible to deny that in entering civilisation and paving his way to success, he proved that disability is not something to be frightened or ashamed of. He proved that people with disabilities are human beings with human rights. It’s quite possible that he inadvertently triggered some enormous changes concerning the perception of disability, particularly in the workplace. So while I think of him as a wrestler and actor, I also think of him as André the Advocate.

Andre