Thursday, September 17, 2015

Accessibility isn't just about a designated parking space


What do you think of when you hear the word ‘accessibility’? In today’s parlance, we immediately ascribe the term to  persons with special or particular needs that require  ease of access. Designated parking spaces, barrier free curbs and barrier free business establishments; barrier free public spaces — accessible washrooms!

In recent weeks the big issue on the minds of of individuals with disability, particularly those of voting age is how easily they may exercise their right to vote, to participate in the process that for so many is so easily done; go to the polling station, meet n greet friends and acquaintances, or even a few relatives. 

Sadly, voting turnout is not as large as it should be and that is a real concern particularly in this province where decisions made affect a growing segment of the population  — the aging baby boomers, and the aging baby boomers who happens to live with disability. An even greater problem is that many persons with disability may not vote because the locations are not accessible. All is not lost, though. There are ways around the impediments, the roadblocks. If you have difficulty getting out and about just call your local polling station and they will arrange to have someone go to you, so you may vote in the comfort of your own home. Or, if you are able to move about, but with difficulty, someone will come to your home and drive you to the polling station, assist you to get where you need to be and wait til you’re finished the process to bring you back home again. I’ve experienced and enjoyed the benefits of both processes. They do work!

It’s important for voters with special needs to review the information provided by Elections Canada to determine if your polling station is accessible, not only architecturally from the outside, but on the inside as well; then there’s accessibility issues that may affect those who are deaf or visually impaired. There’s still time to make a few calls to ensure that YOUR vote gets counted. You DO matter. The returning officers are tasked with ensuring that your experience is safe and unencumbered and you are treated in a dignified manner. It is imperative that we all exercise the right to vote. Arm chair criticizing politicians and their platforms is rather pointless if we don’t vote — if we don’t have our say, our opinion expressed as to who is the best to lead us to a stronger and better future. Persons with disability who are legal voting age have that right as well. Equally important is for persons with disability to get out and vote to make a statement. Make a statement to young people, not yet of age, who may live with disability, that THEY matter, too. That when their turn comes, they NEED to contribute their vote to the process that affects them and the community where they live and work. 

We’ve all read and heard the stories about people who had to be carried, wheelchair and all, down and back up flights of stairs in order to join a group of friends for a meal or to go to a particular concert, or to participate in any number of things that the uprightly mobile, or those without significant impediment to freedom of movement don’t have to think about. At least not yet!

Some persons with mobility disorders have even negotiated stairs on the seat of their pants. I know you’ve watched them, though you tried to look away. What was going through your mind as you watched that lady in the blue pant suit being carried in her chair? What did you think when you saw the guy in dress pants and suit jacket, lowering himself to sit on the top step, cane in one hand, so that he could get down the steps the only way that was safe for him? So much of daily living we take for granted. 

To persons with disability, no matter the type and degree, I say  — if you are eligible to vote, DO it! If you need help, ASK! To those who have family members or friends who have difficulty getting about, do YOUR part and help them. Wouldn’t you want the same assistance in the circumstance? Yes, you would!

We’ve all griped about the state of things here in New Brunswick, and across the country. Not lost on us is the turbulence swirling in Ottawa. Now’s our opportunity to make a difference, make a change. Be counted. Now’s our chance to matter!

Don’t let apathy bog you down any longer, Get out there and vote. After all this is YOUR province. YOUR country!

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Doing good medicine


Years ago, I had conversations about medicine, doing goodmedicine, and practicingmedicine with my late father, Dr. James MacInnis who set up shop in Bath, Carleton County in 1950 and provided medical care and compassion to patients for several decades. He was my first contact with a physician who didgood medicine. Dr. John Lockhart was our neighbour, and a surgeon who provided many years of excellent care to patients in the Bath and surrounding areas. Dr. Johntreated me in the early 80s when I tripped over my cat, a creature who had no regard for where he flopped down. I dislocated my left (dominant) elbow and was sidelined for a month from walking with crutches or propelling a wheelchair. It was his son, Dr. Colin Lockhart who travelled to the Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital to break me out. We were homeward bound and the decision was made after a consultation between him and Dad to admit me to hospital for my own safety. Id have been in a fine mess, sporting a half cast on my arm, if Id fallen and gone boom while home alone. I was incarcerated for a month!

Dad and Dr. John Lockhart are no longer with us, but Johns sons, Colin and Bruce still provide care to the patients in the Bath and surrounding areas. Again, physicians who did and who are doinggood medicine. 

My exposure to physicians who did good medicine started with my Dad, and within within my first year, 1954-1955, I experienced the fine care of  Dr. Barbara Robinson, paediatrician and Dr. Alexander (Sandy) Torrie at the then Polio Clinic attached to the Victoria Public Hospital. It was Dr. Robinson who diagnosed the cerebral palsy, with the classification, spastic diplegia; only my legs were compromised, but the spine and trunk were weakened. Years of therapy would ensure and enhance quality of life. Physicians doinggood medicine and following me and my progress made the difference. Such is the case with all patients who are fortunate enough to have a doctor who listens and who hears! A doctor who hearswhat is not said is rare. 

Dr. Torrie was an orthopaedic surgeon who trained in Scotland and who would follow my case/progress for the next 26 years. He and his motley crew, two Scotsmen, John Ross and Pat Greechan, matter of fact physiotherapists were part of my paediatric care team. All put me through my paces, no holds barred. They didgood medicine and good/effective therapy. Those were the days when doctors asked questions beyond the medical ones, to get a sense of what was really going in the life of their patient. The unseen is just as important as what they are able to observe, allowing for a fuller diagnosis of a problem.

Another physician who did good medicine was Dr. Barbara Patricia Thorpe.  Doctor PatThorpe passed away on 1 September. She was my doctor after I left university, recommended by Campus physician, Dr. Robert Tingley, and she was also highly recommended by my Dad, who shared a story about treating her in the Bath hospital years ago; she had been in an auto accident. He didnt share particulars, though suffice to say he was impressed with her. All those many years later when I had my first meeting/interview with her, I was equally impressed. She asked all the right questions and didnt miss a beat. A copious note taker, she wanted to make sure all the boxes were ticked.

Blood pressure, pulse and temp taken. Heart and lung listen. Then the weigh-in. Shed wait til I positioned myself on the scale and relieve me of my crutches. At one stage while I was under her care, I revisited the wearing of  below the knee AFOs (ankle-foot orthotics), with one being a plastic slip in the shoe variety and the other a metal brace that clipped into the heel of the shoe reminiscent of the heavy metal braces I wore as a child, only those were waist high. Id ask Dr. Thorpe to ball-park the weight of the braces and deduct. Vanity prevails! She had the soul of a comedian. On a number of occasions, Id see her and ask her when she was due - she wasnt pregnant. Oops! She always said she had trouble controlling her weight. On one particular weigh-in she got me back; she stood behind me, adjusting the slide at the top of the scale. What I didnt know was that  she had her toe on the back of the scale, creating enough difference for me to question why I gained weight when I knew I hadnt She admitted that she was getting me back for the fatthing. Uh huh! 

Back to business after the laugh. She asked how life was going, was always very interested in my writing - at that point, I was contributing to Letters to the Editor. She said I should write a book; she was familiar with my late uncles book, The Aging Game, based on his syndicated medical column, Senior Clinic and was convinced that I had a volume or two in me.

I think shed be pleased to know that Ive arrivedand now share with readers of this paper what I live and learn as I age with disability. Who knows? Maybe she got to read a few that made her smile. I raise a glass to you, Dr Pat. Rest In Peace, dear and glorious physician.


Asking for help


All of us, at certain moments of our lives, need to take advice and to receive help from other people. [Alexis Carrel]


The above quote appears on my Facebook wall’; as is my daily habit with regard to Facebook use, I post a quote the day, source of quote of the day, and a song of the day that fits with the quote. 

The day before, I was in Fredericton with a friend, first to get an eye exam then to have a meal because I missed breakfast and was starving. Those who know me are fully aware that I have the appetite of three men and a boy. After fuelling our bodies, we were off to get more food, with a trip to Walmart and then to Sobeys. The latter trip was because my friends cats have need and my dogs have a passion for all natural biscuits.

That day I used my crutches a few times. In both instances, I preceded my friend and braced, with my right crutch, the open door of buildings we entered until I was assured that she had her hands on it. Caught unawares by someone coming up behind me to hold the door could cause me to fall. That has happened a time or two with someone coming up the rear, opening the door just as Im about to move the crutch prop forward, then BAM! Down I go!

My friend and I have had  conversations about helping when to help, how to ask if another needs help, and when not to help. Where better to share my thoughts than here. Make no mistake, I am not alone in appreciating help with tasks that are sometimes daunting, but for people in my position, there are times when help can be a problem; a risk to our upright mobility.  Were I in my wheelchair, my safety would not be an issue.  People are generally well-meaning but a gentle word of advice - observe the situation to determine if your intervention is necessary or a good idea. Watch how she who lives with disability does it her way.  If it is clear assistance IS required, gently step in. The bull in the China shop thing, rushing in to save the day has potential to be off-putting. I admit to having gotten testy a time or two when well-meaning individuals step in to assist. To them, I apologize.

At the eye doctors office, before the  exam,  I had a few preliminary tests while seated in a chair without arms; armless chairs are not my first choice of seating due to balance issues. I advised the technician not to assist me as I had to establish my own plan for getting from standing to sitting without falling over. Once on the chair, I passed her my crutches which she propped against a wall. Because I couldnt pull myself forward in front of the machine which was required to do the tests, I asked for help. She pushed the chair from behind so that I was aligned with the machine; 2 more times she assisted me, moving the seated me from one machine to another. Once the testing was concluded she passed me my crutches and I stood up.

Then on to the doctors exam. He remembered our last visit and commented that I educated him about how to interact appropriately with someone with specialneeds without being condescending or over helpful. I appreciated his willingness to allow me to lead. As before, negotiating the path from standing to sitting required concentration, and just as with the tech, I passed my crutches to the doctor and he stood them in the corner.  Rather like that scene from A Christmas Carol, with  Tiny Tims gnarled crutch leaning against the wall. To digress, previous employer endearingly called me Tiny Tim on a few occasions, but thats another story! The eye exam went off without a hitch and I needed no updated prescription.  A helpful bonus to my pocketbook! 

We arrived at the chosen eatery and again, I used crutches to get from car to building. I propped the door until my friend positioned herself behind me to hold it further open so I could negotiate a slight step up, checking the position of feet and crutches - its a process, you see. A gentleman was behind us observing the scene. Whether he realized it or not he was getting an education. He then relieved my friend of the door once I was inside, holding it open for  her. Thanks! 

Once inside and seated at the table, the owner attended to us, making eye contact with both me and my friend. Sometimes, when dining out, I feel  almost invisible as wait staff seem to have difficulty making eye contact, Thats not helpful. 

Asking for help is necessary; its part of the human condition, a part of that connection between and amongst people with whom we interact. We who are differently ablemay not always need your kind assistance, but please feel free to ask us if we do, and allow us to ask you for your help if needed. Most of us will admit to the occasional defeat, but we will never surrender!

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Bend me, shape me




  “Form follows function- many of us are familiar with this quote by American architect, Louis Sullivan. We might ask  — ‘what does it mean? 

In simple terms, its the principle that the shape of a building or object should be based upon its intended use. As form and function relate to the human body and what it does or has potential to do, I am reminded of the of a 60ssong, Bend Me, Shape Me. 

I was born with, will grow old with and will die having lived a life with since-birth  disability; one among several, so my form, my body and function was largely dependent upon what was done TO legs and feet when I was an infant, toddler, (though I didnt toddle), up to and including my 13th year to ensure that it was able to function in a way that was compatible with independent movement and independent living. I was, in effect, shaped with  daily therapy so that my legs would mimic the process of crawling, standing, stepping, walking; repetition of the steps, also known as patterning  allowed me to more fully experience my world as I grew taller and gained better balance. 

Parents of children with mobility disorders are very hands on with regard to what they DO to their childs form to improve function, but how much time they spend with their child depends on so many external forces that impinge upon the daily allotment available in their jam-packed day. For me, as I grew up in the 50s and 60s, that wasnt an issue given my mother was a stay-at-home Mom who also had 7 other children to nurture, to raise. I was fortunate that my father, a doctor in the small village of Bath, New Brunswick, had access to specialists who got involved very early in my development. If parents just dont have the time to do what they know they should be doing or could be doing and are feeling guilty about it, I have a suggestion. Consult with your childs therapist, as age dictates, and look into swimming lessons. Ballet classes and horseback riding would be ideally suited to the child with minimal to moderate deficits to ambulation. Perhaps a blend of the 3 therapiesmight be something to look at.  A huge benefit is that the child would no doubt be in a group with other children with similar needs. Thats something I didnt have. I had at home-therapy mostly with Mom, hospital polio clinictherapy and Rehabilitation Centre therapy. My first therapists were Scotsmen and they were right to the point, making it clear that my match-stick legs were going to do what they were supposed to do, even if it was movement that didnt remotely resemble that of other children. Id get where I needed to go with their help. And I did! And Im still going!

I have memories of my elder sister workingmy legs, and another sister giving me pointers on riding a two-wheeler. Legs were encased in heavy braces and my steps guided with  wooden forearm crutches, all so that the form of me would function without risk of injury as I moved about in the house or outside. On free days, without the leg braces and boots, I would shuffle in socked feet, but still be reminded to heel-toe as I moved. Today, I remind myself to do that all these years later. At 61, Im still patterning.

With all the press about fitness, health and wellness, nutrition, obesity, to diet or not to diet, internal cleansing, diet supplements and energy drinks, I just have to shake my head. Quite frankly, it annoys the crap out of me that people take their gifts of health and mobility so much for granted. And theyDO! When things fall apart, off to the doctor they go, bemoaning their sorry condition. Theres not a lot of discussion about how they got there; instead, lots of tests, lots of advice,  and in some cases, far too much dependence on pharmacology. Were a society of the over-medicated and very often the real diagnosis is too difficult to accept  — ‘you are killing yourself with your diet and your lack of exercise, and theres not a pill in the world I could prescribe that will cure that!Doctors shouldnt fear dispensing a healthy dose of get real.  It might save a life.

What YOU do to your body each and every day affects the quality of care that people in MY situation get. If doctors across the province were polled and asked what percentage of their caseload is comprised of men, women and children whose situation is self-induced, the numbers would be staggering. Clinicians spend more time trying fix what you broke than they should, and folks like me, aging with since birth disabilities over which we had no control, may need more time and we dont always get it. 

Remember this excessive after hours snackingas I call it potentially puts you one cardiac event or stroke away from walking like me. But first, you may have to learn how its done and that could take years! Thats how long it took me.

Parents raising children with impediment to mobility, such as cerebral palsy is, are often impatient to see anticipated/hoped for positive results of various hospital treatments, surgical interventions, therapies like physical, occupational, speech, behaviour modification, and so on. Unfortunately, Mom and Dad don’t always get what they want; that’s how life is --  and how it must be.  Part of being a parent of a ‘special needs’ child is the need to hold on to the belief that ‘someday’ their child will do this or do that. Unfortunately, some parents never do get what they want. What they have to learn, with time, is that they didn’t fail their child; no one did.  What will be learned is that they will teach their child, just as their child will teach them.

Life has a certain rhythm that must be respected; that of a child with challenges has a totally different cadence to which parents must become attuned. It takes time for the child to grow and for the fruits of his labour to be realized; labour in the form of pressing on, often with adults in his life doing painful things to his body. For what? For a few years of crawling, stepping, standing, walking? In some cases, sadly, there will be no labour, as the child may be too neurologically involved/insulted to actively participate in any form of therapy. The labour will come, however, from parents; Mom and Dad, caregivers, or others within the family dynamic, as they meet the needs of the child – feeding, bathing, exercising, lifting, carrying, stimulating. It’s done willingly as that’s what parents do, but ultimately they pay in ways they never imagined. Stresses to the physical body; chronic back pain, sore arms, neck pain, lack of sleep, depression. Also suffering are their interpersonal relationships – loss of the companionship of  friends with whom they previously had frequent interactions. Some friends simply drift away – fear pushes them away, when they should be drawing closer to share and to learn about that which they’re afraid of. Other friends may feel embarrassed because they have strong, healthy children. Those attitudes are harmful to both the new parent of a child with disabilities and also to the entire circle of friends and family that surround them. With regard to Mom and Dad, their care giving to the one also impinges upon the health and wellness of others – to each other, to sons and to daughters; impinges upon the totality of the family dynamic. Caring for the one takes time away from the very necessary nurturing of the spousal or partner relationship; takes time away from exploring relaxation pursuits for oneself, even with something as simple as going for a walk, or strolling around the mall window shopping. Often the mother of a neurologically compromised child is tethers herself to him, not so much because she has to be but because she often convinces herself that she’s the only one who can take ‘the best’ care of him Such an attitude is often to her detriment, and to the detriment of  the rest of the family that needs and wants her time and attention.

  Sometimes, a neurologically insulted child may live for a year, for two years, for 10, for 20. Other times, the child grows into adulthood, living to 30, to 40, to 50, hopefully still having parents, or a parent, siblings, or a sibling – or some trusted friend to share the load; to provide assistance with daily tasks when they are no longer able to ‘keep up’. With advances in modern medicine, and to large extent the type of cerebral palsy involved, an individual with challenges to mobility can exceed expectations with regard to longevity, living to 60, to 70 – even to 100 years of age! Yes, 100 years old!

From his earliest weeks and months, a child with disorders to mobility needs constant monitoring, regular hands-on involvement, provided by parents and others in the family. Sometimes, outside interventions are called upon in the form of consultations with various clinicians in several disciplines, and it’s always helpful if they work together,so that, all in good time, the child will be better equipped to meet certain age-appropriate milestones, even if reached a few months or a year or two later than peers. Not all children will develop at the same pace nor with the same vigor to push on, push through the pain of having all that stretching and pulling of limbs and countless hours of speech therapy – oooooooooooo’ing and aaaaaaaaaaaaaah’ing and occupational therapy, learning how to hold a crayon and color within the lines, learning how to hold a spoon, bringing it from bowl to mouth in a fluid motion. All in good time, things start falling into place. I was fortunate in that my limitations, such as they were and are, were confined only to my legs and to the mechanisms involved in walking; stepping, putting one foot in front of the other in a well-orchestrated rhythm that ensured I would get from Point A to Point B without landing flat on my face. I didn’t require speech therapy, or chewing/swallowing/feeding therapy. To say that I was an am fortunate is an understatement when I see so many around me who didn’t fare as well as I. 

All in good time, parents, just as mine did, develop a routine that includes all family members, as they are able to participate. Key in formulating a routine that works for the family is not to turn siblings into mini adults, essentially thrusting them into roles for which they are ill-equipped. Siblings must be just that – brothers and sisters. As such, in their intended roles, they learn what their sibling with a disabling condition is capable of doing and not capable of doing. Their involvements and interactions don’t have to be constantly policed by parents – over-protection stifles all. I have fond recollections of the inclusiveness I experienced with my own brothers and sisters and I got to experience a range of activities that were fun, but sometimes scary; I can look back and remember and appreciate that at least I got to try new things, if sometimes only once.

Brothers and sisters, whether younger or older, develop an awareness that includes protective mechanisms; they’d not knowingly engage their sibling in an activity that would pose risk. In large measure, their desire is to make their sibling with limitations feel a part of the play; to experience what they experience. If it’s not meant to work out, it won’t. They’ll simply move on to something else. Parents must not interfere too much with those developing relationships, as those connections will often outlive parents, which is part of the cycle of life. Depending upon the overall health of the neurologically impacted child, it can be expected that quality of life will be maintained and enhanced with good nutrition and a well rounded social connection outside the home. To be confined within 4 walls, whether they be the home or a classroom is a very narrow life, to say the least, and physical health is very often impacted by social isolation or lack of connection. The more the life affirming and life challenging experiences, the better.

All in good time, as the youngster grows into a teenager, then into adulthood, hopefully gainfully employed and independent, a host of experiences will be realized. Life experiences and life lessons need not be rushed;  there is no race to a finish line. Parents, who from the outset were anxious to see the benefits of therapies that would ensure their child could live in the world with a certain degree of freedom and access are often wishing they could turn back the clock. That’s the same sentiment shared by parents of able-bodied children. What a gift it is to have the experience, as parents, of guiding a child with limitations to participation along with a child with no such deficiencies.  It allows parents to see first hand just what is possible and what they as Moms and Dads are made of as human beings, and what all their children are made of and what they have potential to become.

All in good time, I have learned to do a great many things that did not involve walking or moving. I suppose at the stage when I am no longer walking a lot, or at all, activities and hobbies learned in childhood will be what sustains me during those periods when I don’t have the energy or the inclination to be around a lot of people. Sometimes, more as I age, I find the busy-ness of people exhausting. I suspect that as I get older, paying attention to auditory and visual cues as I move about will become more tedious as age diminishes and degrades those two faculties. For safety I may find the use of a wheelchair necessary. Time will tell.

Ultimately, we realize that we aren’t so different from each other after all and whether we have more or less really doesn’t matter. What does matter, regardless of limitations to full participation, is that we use those skills and talents that we do possess to their fullest, for to waste them does a disservice to everyone around us, most especially to ourselves. In the final analysis, to coin an oft-used phrase, who and what we will become will reveal itself – all in good time!


Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Exceptional parenting




Parents raising a child, or even several children with disability are living almost every day with very little help or times of rest, and they’re not often admired or honoured, let alone acknowledged for what they are doing. Sadly, they are sometimes criticized for not having aborted their child or for not having him institutionalized, Regardless of any choice they make, they are going to be criticized, going to be trapped. Very often, the trap is of their own design, built out of frustration and a sense of failure. They rise to exceptional when they accept that theirs is a journey of self-discovery and an awareness of what life really means. In discovering and getting to know their inner self that steps up and bucks up for battle, they allow those around them to pause and take stock of their own lives and what they are ‘doing’ with them. 

Those who make the choice to care for children in institutional or group home settings are lauded for their efforts, held up as ‘saints’, being wonderful and generous; they have ready access to help and encouragement from professionals and clergy on a consistent basis; they have days off – they have salaries! They are viewed as selfless, having ‘a calling’; a ‘gift’. 
Is the same not true of the biological parents of such children, who live with them and care for them, day after day, year after year, decade after decade, while also trying to parent their non-disabled child or children, in a home with mother, father, sometimes a grandparent or two as they grow old.  Are they not equally generous and wonderful? In addition to the challenges of parenting, these men and women also must carry the financial burden, sometimes for  their entire lives,  and make no mistake it IS expensive to raise a child with disability. Where is the praise for them? Where is the extra help for them? Where are their days off? Where is their salary for going well above and beyond, with little or no regard for what toll all that effort is taking on their physical body, let alone their emotional and spiritual bodies?

People who have chosen to share their time and talents in communities such as L’Arche, founded in 1964 by the world-renowned lay theologian and philosopher, Jean Vanier,  learn more about themselves in a year or two than they ever thought they would, and perhaps more than they’ll learn in a full, lengthy life of many years.  Often they undergo a period of training or have backgrounds in psychology, social work, nursing, or any other such field that supports work in the health/wellness/disability arenas. They are trained, in effect, to become parents of the parentless.

It’s not unusual for some university students after that first summer internship in a group home setting to appreciate that they have a ‘calling’ to live and work amongst those with disabilities, whether a disability to the physical body or to the intellect or both. What is beautiful is that quite a few students make it their life’s work to improve the quality of life for those who will never possess the tools to do it on their own. They are then able to see what parents who care for children at home are up against and it gives them an appreciation for caring for a child with disability can bring to, yet at the same time take away from the family dynamic.

For those who become parents of disabled children, there is no handbook; no courses to be taken, no degree that is presented upon the delivery of the child because there’s no real graduation. These parents are thrown head first into the deep end of the pool, to become the  preservers of that life that is about to go under; that life is their child, forever a part of them, for however long they are graced with the presence of their newest teacher. For every exceptional parent, the new student,  there is an exceptional teacher, the child. In a typical classroom, there is a consistency, a routine that flows day after day with new skills to learn added and a group with a singular purpose learning in unison.

The learning of the parent and that of the child with disability often changes from one moment to the next, and is sometimes beset with crisis. The first lessons are learned often while mother and child are still in hospital. A spiked temperature, a feeding tube dislodged, a rash that won’t resolve, fitful sleep patterns or no sleep for either child or mother. Imagine years of that scenario playing out, with stressors changing at random. How do parents do it? I, for one, am at a loss to even begin to imagine how life must be for families raising a child or children with any sort of disabling condition. Though I was a child with disability and now an adult living with disability,  I had no clue what my parents went through but that is not to say I don’t know what those like me are going through. I have to say my own parents were exceptional, raising me along with 7 other siblings at a time when mothers stayed at home while fathers worked to earn the daily bread, or our in case, several slices per day.

Exceptional parenting is about learning all the medical procedures that may be required on a daily basis to manage care of the child with disability, particularly a condition like cerebral palsy. It takes a fortitude of spirit to withstand the strain of the panic-fueled races to the hospital in the middle of the night, traveling in the back of an ambulance as EMT’s work on a child who has coded. That trip plays over and over again, for a year, 5 years, 10 years, 20 years. Yet, there they are — the parents. Ever present! Ever vigilant! Staying the course! 

Exceptional parenting is being willing to get pushy and even loud on behalf of the child who cannot push or who has no voice. Infant and child care programs have, over the years, become more inclusive, so that children who are differently able may be monitored and cared for in a safe environment, even if only in a limited way. Their inclusion in some measure gives Mom and even Dad, if he’s fully hands-on, a break from the rigours of daily care. Respite is absolutely critical for parental and family survival and it’s equally critical is that the community at large fully understand this need and make themselves more available on a consistent basis. It  really does take a village to raise a child, and in many cases, it seems to take a village and a half to raise a child with special needs. Emotionally raising up the parents so that they can press on must be ongoing so that they will never feel that they are alone, stuck in ‘it’ by themselves. 

Being an exceptional parent also involves being an exceptional friend. If you have a spare hour or two that you can give a parent or parents of  child with disability, with an offer to sit with their child while they refresh and reinvigorate themselves, then you have given them a huge gift. Multiply that gift by networking with several friends offering your time and energies to those who are maxed out and exceptional parenting becomes a community affair.

I feel a song coming on — ‘We are Family!’

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 





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