A Typical Week As A Wheelchair User

You made it! I made it! My first published blog post! Thank you for stopping by! To fit with International Day of Person’s with Disabilities I want to start off our journey on this website by sharing what a typical week has been for me as a young disabled woman and wheelchair user, with the hope of promoting an understand of access issues that otherwise go entirely unnoticed by most. What barriers still exist? Does the world really look much different from my seated perspective? Keep on reading and come along for the ride!

It’s MONDAY and my husband and I are leaving for work. 1 out of 2 elevators in our condo building has been out for over a week. On this morning the second elevator is out too with no notice. My husband carries me down multiple flights of stairs making extra trips for my chair and our bags. I’m late for work which I worry reinforces the opinion that disabled workers are unreliable. I want to explain why I’m late but don’t want to admit it was anything related to disability/access issues because I just convinced them in my interview I could do the job as well as anyone else. 

Later that day I have a doctor’s appointment. My doctor’s office is in an older building but they’ve just recently added an accessible push button to the big heavy doors. There are 3 accessible parking spots out front and one is available, BUT the curb cut is directly in front of the parking spot so once I pull my car in there’s no space for me to get up onto the sidewalk. I leave a couple feet free in front of my vehicle hoping that nobody swipes my back end since I haven’t pulled in all the way. Once inside the office, the receptionist doesn’t see me because the desk is 5 feet high. I launch my health card up in the air over the counter wondering if I’ve hit her on the head. She doesn’t stand up or come around to the front. I have to shout my health concern loudly to be heard. I’m shown back to the exam room which is tiny, with barely enough room to turn my wheelchair. There’s a large chair inside which I kick to the side and is now partially blocking the door. I try to arrange the room quickly before the doctor arrives to make it more comfortable for her, with this awkward feeling that I’m taking up so much space. It’s a feeling I get a lot, that sneaky internalized ableism telling me I take up too much room and always making me hyperaware of my surroundings. I catapault myself onto the exam table which is really much too high but cannot be lowered. As I wait for the doctor I think it’s no wonder that disabled people are at a significant disadvantage accessing healthcare.

On TUESDAY I go to the bank. My husband is with me. There’s one lower counter but it’s stacked with boxes and promotional material. I’m not offered to be served at it. Instead the teller directs all communication through my husband. This reinforces the idea to the teller and anyone observing that disabled people cannot handle their own affairs. 

On WEDNESDAY I go to a baseball game downtown with a friend. I know it will be crowded and parking is a hassle but the subway station near to my house is not accessible. I consider driving part way to another station but previous experience tells me the subway elevators are out 50% of the time anyways so I decide that driving right downtown is still actually the less frustrating option. We get downtown and there’s a bit of cheaper street parking left but it’s too dangerous to load and unload my wheelchair onto the road. We pay premium price to park in a lot underground close to the stadium but the attendant isn’t sure if there are any accessible spots inside. We take our chance. The accessible spots are blocked off for media. There’s no elevator to get back up to the ground. I paid $50 like everyone else in the lot to park except no one else had to scrape their wheelchair getting out of the car and be carried up 30 stairs. My friend was gifted the tickets so they’re not accessible, but she is able to carry me down to the seats. She then spends the entire first inning wheeling my chair half way around the stadium to the only open guest services to keep it stored safely. Part way through the game I need to use the washroom. I feel awful that once again I send her on a marathon around the stadium to retrieve my chair. Once in the washroom, when it’s my turn in line the one and only accessible stall is taken. I let 9 people behind me in line go ahead of me as 9 non accessible stalls open before the one I need. I see a few women duck into stalls and then come out choosing an alternate one because some are pretty dirty. I see some using their shoes to flush the toilet as they swing the door open. When the accessible stall finally opens up, I see it’s one of the nasty ones. I don’t have an alternate choice though, although I do contemplate finding another non accessible stall, shuffling in and peeing with the door open. It most certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Being disabled you kind of get used to giving up some dignity. But, this day I’m prepared. I squeeze on the hand sanitizer I keep with me now everywhere I go and get to work wiping down the toilet with toilet paper. When I’m done I lay my hand right down on that old flusher.

On THURSDAY I go to a movie with a friend. We decide we needed to skip dessert at dinner in order show up 30 minutes before everyone else to the movie to be assured we’d get the one accessible spot in the theatre. Previously when I’ve gone to the movies and this spot was taken I was told by management the solution was for me to show up earlier rather than to inconvenience the non disabled person in the spot by asking them to move. My friend probably wishes she had more choice on where to sit, but since she’s with me, she also gets to enjoy my restrictions. I feel a bit bad about that. 

On FRIDAY I’m heading out to a bar with a few friends. The bar has a couple stairs but some of my friends can easily carry me. But when we get our IDs checked I’m told I can’t enter. I tell them it’s no problem, (I mean it is but), my friends will carry me. They tell me no can do, I’m still considered a fire hazard, even though I can guarantee I’d get out faster than the majority of sloshed patrons inside. I’m absolutely refused. My friends aren’t jerk holes so we go somewhere else instead. But I hate that I’ve once again restricted them.

It’s SATURDAY and I’m starting a new class at University. It’s held in a large theatre type classroom. There is one entrance and one exit both at the very back of the class. I can get into the class and move my chair into a small alcove before there are stairs upon stairs throughout the rest of the classroom. Guess I’ll be sitting at the back then, and I’ll use my nonexistent lap as a desk. Oh, but then the professor asks students to move to the front as much as possible. I don’t think she notices me, the room is so large. I probably won’t be meeting any classmates since I can’t exactly choose to sit near any of them. I also miss part of the material cause the sound doesn’t travel super well to the back and I already have a hearing impairment. Hearing experts suggest I put myself at the front and close to the audio source whenever possible. When you also have a physical disability, it’s more often NOT possible. 

Later that night I go clubbing with a girl friend. It’s a club she’s really excited about so I offer to drive. I also know that while the club itself is accessible, the washrooms are not. My friend is tiny so she can’t carry me, especially after a few drinks, so I don’t plan to drink anyways. I love hair and make up so she asks if I’ll do hers. I’m happy to. We’re squished up in the crowd having a good time, enjoying ourselves. A guy approaches my friend and they chat it up. He seems interested in her. I can make out pieces of their conversation. He asks what she does for school/work. She says she’s in school for social service work. He points to me and asks “is that why you bring her with you?” It’s loud, dark and we’re on the move navigating through the crowd to the bar, but what I’d have given in that moment to set the record straight. 

On SUNDAY I go grocery shopping. The few accessible parking spots are taken. I circle around for 10 minutes but nothing frees up. I’m busy and don’t have all day so I decide to double park a ways out. I come back to my car to find a note on my windshield telling me I’m an asshole and I need to learn how to park. Still, I’ll take a note like that over the $300 ticket I found on my windshield the previous week for parking in the accessible parking but failing to realize the very last digit in the expiry date on my parking permit was accidently being covered by my visor band. Even funnier cause my disability is permanent and will not expire. But my parking passes still do. I leave work an hour early the next day to meet with a city clerk to explain my situation and hopefully get my ticket reduced. I’m given a lecture on my responsibility to keep the pass visible at all times. I do get the ticket reduced but still have to pay administration fees. I think about how the only reason we need these stupid permits in the first place is because society can’t just be courteous or honest enough to leave accessible spots for those who need them. Instead we all have to be policed.

I hesitate sharing these frustrations sometimes because I worry I risk sounding like a disgruntled cripple, angry with my life – a stereotype that is already too often applied to disabled people, especially adults, when we don’t appear to fit the opposing, even more prevalent stereotype that views us as always smiling, eternally happy little darlings. But I’ve never wanted to change me at all. I’ve never wanted to wish away my wheels. My disabled life is fantastic and so full of love and purpose. I don’t mind the extra dose of humility that often comes with having a disability and I appreciate seeing a side of the world that not many do. But I can still feel so incredibly frustrated and disheartened by access barriers and lack of common sense or misunderstandings that come with a closed mindset. What really gets me is that so many of these barriers don’t have to be! Government could make accessible transit a priority. Counters could be lowered. People could not abuse accessible parking and accessible washroom stalls. I understand some change, especially the physical structure of buildings, takes time and there is not always a quick, easy fix. But a lot of change really doesn’t have to be hard or expensive. My hope is that the more stories like these are shared, the more people, both disabled and non-disabled will be aware of access issues and ask for change! How can you create a more accessible world?

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