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 

Doing good medicine

Years ago, I had conversations about medicine, doing ‘good’ medicine, and ‘practicing’ medicine 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 ‘did’ good 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. John’ treated 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. I’d have been in a fine mess, sporting a half cast on my arm, if I’d fallen and gone boom while home alone. I was incarcerated for a month!

Dad and Dr. John Lockhart are no longer with us, but John’s sons, Colin and Bruce still provide care to the patients in the Bath and surrounding areas. Again, physicians who did and who are ‘doing’ good 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 ‘doing’ good 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 ‘hears’ what 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 ‘did’ good 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 Pat’ Thorpe 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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. She’d 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. I’d 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, I’d see her and ask her when she was due - she wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t She admitted that she was getting me back for the ‘fat’ thing. 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 uncle’s 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 she’d be pleased to know that I’ve ‘arrived’ and 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 friend’s 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 I’m 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 doctor’s 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 couldn’t 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 doctor’s exam. He remembered our last visit and commented that I educated him about how to interact appropriately with someone with ‘special’ needs 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 Tim’s gnarled crutch leaning against the wall. To digress, previous employer endearingly called me Tiny Tim on a few occasions, but that’s 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 - it’s 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, That’s not helpful. 

Asking for help is necessary; it’s part of the human condition, a part of that connection between and amongst people with whom we interact. We who are ‘differently able’ may 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