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Crash Course in Disability Issues
Aug. 4th, 2005 10:39 amYikes, I'm a disabled person, navigating the city on crutches! And there's a lot of insight in the process.
The TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) slaps an innocent sign on my bus stop which reads "This stop not in use. Please use stop at Dupont." I have to hobble a block in the heat and I'm drenched in sweat, the crutch bruises under my arms and on my palms aching. I then have to get through the thing that has been scaring me since last night: climbing up the three steps into the bus, thus slowing up the morning commute for all the passengers.
The driver is a sweet Jamaican man who tells me just to flag him down at the regular bus stop tomorrow. I had thought of this but realized, somewhat helplessly, that I could not count on the driver breaking TTC rules to do that, and that if he didn't stop, I would be shit out of luck for 30 minutes. So I hobbled. You can't count on people's goodwill because the consequences of the absence of that goodwll are serious.
Just like the consequences of taking the subway the wrong way for one stop yesterday; that small mistake took a lot of physical energy to correct. I'm getting good at thinking of these things in advance. Before I begin the arduous process of climbing a flight of stairs, I really think about anything else I might need on that floor. Because I can't just run quickly back down for it like I could on Monday.
I'm also learning to ask for things. I asked the driver of the St. Clair bus to make an unscheduled stop in front of my office and he did. I asked a colleague to fill up my water glass for me because without a sealable bottle and something to clip it to, I can't bring water to my desk.
These little insights are shocking but fascinating. Mostly the process of dealing with my injury has been kind of fascinating and I'm in a pretty good mood. But then once or twice I've stopped suddenly and said to myself, "What if it never gets better again? What if I am actually a disabled person now?" And a black pit of terror opens under me.
The TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) slaps an innocent sign on my bus stop which reads "This stop not in use. Please use stop at Dupont." I have to hobble a block in the heat and I'm drenched in sweat, the crutch bruises under my arms and on my palms aching. I then have to get through the thing that has been scaring me since last night: climbing up the three steps into the bus, thus slowing up the morning commute for all the passengers.
The driver is a sweet Jamaican man who tells me just to flag him down at the regular bus stop tomorrow. I had thought of this but realized, somewhat helplessly, that I could not count on the driver breaking TTC rules to do that, and that if he didn't stop, I would be shit out of luck for 30 minutes. So I hobbled. You can't count on people's goodwill because the consequences of the absence of that goodwll are serious.
Just like the consequences of taking the subway the wrong way for one stop yesterday; that small mistake took a lot of physical energy to correct. I'm getting good at thinking of these things in advance. Before I begin the arduous process of climbing a flight of stairs, I really think about anything else I might need on that floor. Because I can't just run quickly back down for it like I could on Monday.
I'm also learning to ask for things. I asked the driver of the St. Clair bus to make an unscheduled stop in front of my office and he did. I asked a colleague to fill up my water glass for me because without a sealable bottle and something to clip it to, I can't bring water to my desk.
These little insights are shocking but fascinating. Mostly the process of dealing with my injury has been kind of fascinating and I'm in a pretty good mood. But then once or twice I've stopped suddenly and said to myself, "What if it never gets better again? What if I am actually a disabled person now?" And a black pit of terror opens under me.
