Things Just Got Complicated.

Relationships are complicated. Relationships while one or both partners are chronically ill or disabled results in an explosion of chaos that equals filling a volcano with Coca-Cola and Mentos mints, and then making it angry by filming it with a phone rather than living (and probably dying) in the moment.

Finding wheelchair-friendly date venues is like looking for a needle in the worlds’ largest haystack while blindfolded, and only being allowed to search with your nose and mouth. Lots of places have steps in the door and the members of staff at such establishments don’t seem to grasp the concept that no, I can’t take a bleeding run up. Sometimes the rarest of all luxuries will be provided in a ramp, or even more special a level entrance. Even then the accessible entrance may require unlocking by a member of staff who is distinctly inside the building, and once inside the tables may be so tightly packed together it’s impossible to get around. I have even known cases where the tables are very tall and I need a periscope to see my drink. Best of all the inaccessibility is usually put down to “well, no one in a wheelchair ever comes in here”, having failed to understand that we can’t get in. So the same few cafes, bars, shops, and the cinema become second, third, fourth, and fifth homes, and I have loyalty cards for every single one. It’s got so bad that the café usually has my order ready for me by the time I get to the counter, and they are on first name terms with me.

Once we’ve embarked on a date the second complication rears it’s rather ugly head. No one thinks it’s a date, probably because going on a date is so damn complicated in the first place. Jarred is mistaken for my carer so frequently I’m considering buying a bell to summon him when I need his assistance. When he puts his arm around my shoulders or pecks me on the cheek, the looks of shock and disapproval he receives is something quite extraordinary. They seem to think that he is taking advantage of an innocent disabled girl to get laid, and that I couldn’t possibly figure this out and defend myself if this was the case. It’s not possible for someone disabled to be in a relationship of their own accord is it? Spoiler alert – it is.

Eventually the relationship progresses to the stage where the two families wish to inspect your partner and their family. Since trains don’t appear to know how wheelchair physics works travelling any sort of distance is difficult, and sometimes the cost of travel or their work and family commitments prevents other family members from travelling up to see us. While to some couples this would be music to their ears because Mother-in-law being an anagram of Woman Hitler wouldn’t be so funny without the Mother-in-law clichés, most members of each respective family are actually nice people. Quite a few of Jarred’s family have managed to travel up to the north of England to see us, and we’ve managed to travel to London for a central meeting point on other occasions. Unfortunately moving closer to them would distance ourselves from my family, and the problem would simply affect different people.

After a while Jarred and I moved in together. The challenge here started when none of the letting agents that weren’t exclusively for student accommodation were accessible, so Jarred ended up doing the leg work there. Then we had to find an accessible home near the city centre within our budget, which was about as likely as an Oompa Loompa being elected for the US presidency. Oh… We found an apartment that was so central to the city that it confused Google Earth, and I could access it by entering the garage and going to the rear of the building. It came within mere pounds of our calculated budget, so I put the deposit down on the flat quicker than Usain Bolt after drinking 10 cans of Red Bull before anyone else tried to steal it, and it is now fully christened with tyre tracks on the floor.

Now I just have to organise an accessible wedding…

Special Edition: The Perfect Surprise.

In one of my early posts I talked about a wrestling company whose shows I frequently attended, and how welcoming and accepting the wrestling fans are (https://diaryofadisabledperson.wordpress.com/2017/02/26/an-unlikely-crowd/). These shows have become a staple of the relationship I have with Jarred and mean a lot to us. We attended one such show on Sunday 4th June 2017 and that evening turned out to be an extremely special one…

It was cloudy but dry when Jarred and myself reached the venue of the wrestling show, and we wandered indoors to the area reserved for wheelchair users. As the crowd gathered around the ring, the music was playing so loudly that I could feel my wheelchair vibrating, but the chatter of the crowd was not drowned out, growing increasingly louder with anticipation as the show approached. Then the music stopped and the commentators introduced the show, before the wrestlers for the first match came striding out to their respective theme songs.

After four matches the interval was announced, which mainly served as an excuse to revisit the bar. I wasn’t drinking that night as I’d had a stomach bug and was still feeling a little rough, and Jarred hadn’t finished his drink so didn’t need to go to the bar. Instead, he came and stood on my right side, took my hand, and removed the ring I received as a gift for my 18th birthday from my godmother. The ring had been selected by my godfather but he passed away when I was 12, giving the ring additional sentimental value that no sum of money could replace.

Once the ring had been slipped off my finger, he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. In the middle of the crowd the proposal was somehow beautifully private, and few people appeared to notice. I nodded before replying “yes” over the music, too stunned to say much more at the time. Jarred then slipped the ring onto my left hand as my engagement ring, kissed me gently on the cheek and we prepared to watch the second half of the show.

At the end of the show we left quite quickly by our usual standards, and meandered home along the pavements. As soon as the door to my flat had closed behind us I rang one of my closest friends. Towards the end of secondary school we had made a semi-serious promise to act as bridesmaids at each other’s weddings. She was the first to hear about the engagement, and was more than happy to fulfil her side of the promise.

The next day was a flurry of phone calls and Facebook posts letting our friends and families know what had happened. The outpouring of well-wishes on social media was almost as overwhelming as the proposal itself, and I knew that this was a moment worth documenting. Although this doesn’t particularly relate to disability, Diary of a Disabled Person seemed the perfect place to write about the perfect surprise.

Engagement

Mr Right for the Wrong Reasons.

Being disabled doesn’t just impact the one with the disability but also those around them. Family, friends, and colleagues have to adapt quickly to accommodate someone’s needs, which can be a daunting and problematic task at the best of times. As a young adult no one has felt the effects more than my other half, Jarred.

I was already disabled when I met Jarred at a bands and beer night hosted by the university. Barely anyone showed up to the event, which started late, and as we were among the first to arrive we got talking. Then I kept bumping into him when eating my evening meal at the refectory, where he appeared every night at 5 pm without fail, which apparently was no coincidence. Over the next few months we got to know each other, usually spending a couple of hours together a day and sometimes heading out to pubs and bars in an evening. Three months into this routine he asked me out and the rest is, as they say, history.

Well over a year later, Jarred confided in me that one of the most irritating things about dating someone who was disabled was the way he was treated because of it. When we are out together people will treat him as if he were God, giving him looks of admiration for daring to defy society by putting up with the disabled girl and making her happy. Truth be told I’m a natural blonde who’s naturally busty, likes rock music, Star Wars, comic book movies, and wrestling, and apparently I have a good personality too. Jarred becomes extremely frustrated that no one seems to understand that he’s not dating me because he feels sorry for me, or because he wants to be politically correct. He’s dating me because he likes me, and the wheelchair doesn’t even come into it.

Not only is this an insult to Jarred, this is insulting to me. It suggests that due to my backside being parked in a wheelchair I can’t have a personality or intelligence, and my boobs instantly become unattractive. It suggests that the only reason someone would ever want to spend time with me is to become credible to others and raise their charitable profile. It suggests that taking me on dates is only done out of political-correctness and sympathy.

Jarred is my “Mr Right” and I have never been so sure of anything in my life. He’s “Mr Right” for the right reasons; he cares about me, he makes me laugh (usually at his expense), he looks out for me, he respects me, he treats me equally and as an intelligent individual, and he has done all of these things from the day we met. We have fun together, and enjoy each other’s company. He’s not “Mr Right” for the wrong reasons, but neither of us seem to be able to escape the concept. Discrimination is not always directed at me, or even intended, but it still exists in the sympathetic and hero-worshiping stares of strangers including those around me right now, as we sit together writing in a coffee shop.Dry Dock.JPG