Showing posts with label disabled college student. Show all posts

My parents used to tell me about how when I was an infant they would carry me atop a foam egg crate pad, instead of holding me in their own hands. I guess the dimpled ridges offered just enough support beneath me, and at the same time the foam provided just-soft-enough-padding that prevented sores on my skin. In my head I always picture it like I'm one of those Faberge eggs balanced precariously on top of a velvet cushion. Except, of course, I'm worth a whole lot more... :-P

Those were the days when I could still fit snug against the grooves of an egg crate. Those were the days when despite how terrified my parents were of handling me, their hands were always holding me up beneath the padding. Their fingers never far underneath the layers of casts, cotton stuffing, pads, or ace bandages - their grip that held onto me seemed stronger than gravity itself. Indeed, their pull on me towards them was the first gravity I ever knew. (Isn't that the truth for everyone?) 

Then I got older and a little bit stronger. My parents grew more confident and their knowledge of how to best lift me became second nature to them. I would soon learn how to do my own transfers with and without casts on - most of the time it was against doctor's orders, and all of the time it was through trial and error. Suddenly there came the day when there was no need for that foam egg crate pad anymore. I had outgrown the need for its softness and my parents no longer needed it as a shield. We had all, slowly but surely, become more comfortable with me growing into my own skin and abilities.

Growing out of that egg crate pad wasn't easy though. There were frequently times when I got frustrated because I didn't seem to belong anywhere, couldn't find the groove that I could fit myself into again; at least not in the same care-free, worry-free, judgment-free way that the foam egg crate pad offered me as a baby. Although I never really experienced growing pains, fumbling out of that physical nest certainly had its own internal pains for me - particularly as a teenager. Questions like who am I outside of my disability? How much do my friends judge me for the accommodations I get in school? Can I expect others besides my parents to provide me safety, comfort and support? How do I ask for help in a non-sissy way? Does my tough sarcasm actually make me seem less weak? Oh, the questions filled pages upon pages of journals that ran around in circles in my head or on the side margins of my class notes. They seemed to run on this endless treadmill that I thought would finally stop after I gave up on looking for answers. 

I never did give-up looking for answers though. Eventually I figured out the answers to my questions, and surprisingly many of them I think I knew in my head -- just didn't have the gall to admit it to myself at the time. Most of the time the answers came to me through pure serendipity, on occasions when I wasn't even looking for a solution to anything - I just happened upon them by going through my day-to-day routines and trying things out. Soon these answers came to me enough times that I began to recognize the pattern. It was something like I won't figure out all of these questions right away, but I will figure them out eventually and they don't need to bog my daily life activities down just because I'm uncertain about something. I just have to keep trying and keep stumbling across the right people at the right time, because it seems like that's what everyone else is doing!

At some point that thought process has become my 'egg crate' so to speak. It became my own source of comfort and safety, those are the thoughts that now serve as my gravity to getting myself back to moving forward.

"Sandy did you see what's on the Suggested Items for Your Dorm list?" My mother asked.
"Sheets, laundry hamper, desk lamp, snacks.. the obvious stuff." I mumbled, bored already.
"They also listed a mattress pad. An foam egg crate mattress pad because the dorm mattresses are really hard."
"Oh...so..?" I looked at her dumbly.
"Do you remember when you were a baby.." She began the story again.

For a long time I thought accessibility just meant ramps, elevators, and my ability to access Point A to Point Z while accomplishing tasks L, M, N, O, P in between. My view of accessibility was determined by the people that I was around - and for awhile that meant people who didn't use wheelchairs. In other words, my definition of accessibility was limited to accessing whatever they could access:

"Hey Sandy, want to come with me to run an errand in Boston?" My R.A. asked me one afternoon, it was early on during my first-year of college. Not really having experienced the bubble outside of campus I agreed to go.
During the trek to the station S was incredibly patient in looking for the curb-cuts, and helped me find the easiest point of access to cross the busy four lane streets of Mass Ave; the whole time I made sure to make mental notes of when and where to cross. Finally, we got to the station. The entrance to the Harvard Sq T-stop sat in the middle of what local students called "the Pit." There were two sets of stairs that led down to the the station where the subways were running - no elevator was in sight.
"Hmm.. okay so let's look for the elevator." S went to go inquire and was directed to a decrepit small dome-like structure. The elevator doors rattled open, I looked in horror at the tiny metal cage that awaited my entrance.
"Is this going to fit the both of us? I guess we'll have to try!" I rolled in first and S nestled in beside me. Once inside we gasped simultaneously, the tiny metal cage also had an enormous urine stench. The box rattled down as we held our breath, the second the doors opened I sped out as we both gulped in the air of fresh popcorn and pretzels - subway station food.
Our next stop was Park Street station: where the red line intersects with the green. "THIS IS THE RED LINE TRAIN GOING TO BRAINTREE..." We heard the conductor announce, the rest of what she said quickly became garbled by the rush of passengers in and out of the subway car. The doors slid open on both sides of the subway car, we exited and began looking for the accessible way out. After wandering about like chickens without heads, we came to realize that the elevator was actually on the center platform - we were on the one farthest to the right.
"Well now we know this for next time - we'll have to wait for the next train to come and then we'll just go through it to get to the center platform." After a few more elevators S and I finally reached street-level, we romped around the city for a bit and returned to campus. On our trip back to campus, the route was much more familiar to us - subway elevators, bridge-plates, curb-cuts, and center-platforms became new vocabulary in my ever expanding college student curriculum.  

That was then. And since the days of my naive freshman year, I've come to memorize which stations are accessible, and the general location of where elevators are in each station. But then I began this blog, became acquainted with wheelchair users, and my world of access in terms of public transportation was thrown for another loop:

"Okay so this elevator can fit two chairs and a walker.." D rattled off. There were five other wheelchairs in our group, and it was my first time out with other chair users - to say I was a bit stunned by the procession would be an understatement.
"So you've memorized how many people fit into each elevator? That's just.. weird and incredible." I told her when we rolled inside.
But as I thought about it during the 10 second ride down, I suppose it made sense. D had gone to a high school that was a boarding school for other disabled students; many of her friends had varying disabilities and it seemed, in an odd way, a social-world somewhat different from the one I knew. It didn't take me long to realize that her scope and understanding of accessibility was far more expansive than mine; it didn't just mean getting from Point A to Point B. D's view of accessibility included other wheelchair users as well, it meant more than just getting there - it required getting there efficiently while together, regardless of whether you were in a manual wheelchair, power chair, standing, using a walker, or had a vision impairment.
"Then we're going to cross over from Downtown Crossing, and that elevator can only fit two wheelchairs.." D sped off and the group of other chairs rolled behind us. When we got to the platform I parked at the one closest to the entrance, but D kept going down the length of the platform - farther away from me. I gunned my wheelchair after her and asked,
"What? What are you doing? Why are you going all the way down here?"
"Because the elevator at Back Bay station is down on this end, so when we get out it's just easier to be on this end of the train."
"..Oh.." I responded. Her knowledge of what accessibility meant on the subway station continued to blow my mind all the way back to our friend's apartment. In my mind I hadn't realized that just because we require things to be accessible doesn't mean we can't also make things efficient. When 'normal' folks use public transportation, they walk up and down entrances or exits without a second thought. There is an ease to which public transportation users are able to navigate the system; with the added layer of accessibility it means we should expect the same user-friendly ease, but as I have learned it requires some  amount of memorization.

The truth is I probably won't ever memorize where to wait on the platform so that I am lined up perfectly with the elevator at the next stop. I definitely won't remember how many wheelchairs and walkers can fit into the Park Street elevator. And I probably won't ever remember about the double elevators that you need to take for the Inbound Red line station from South Station. However I have come to realize that accessibility is about far more than just getting there. When we think about accessibility as a way of life vs accessibility as a way of access, the approaches are completely different. And I'm slowly beginning to realize that one adds far more quality to my day-to-day routines than the other.

Around this time of the year many high school seniors are trying to decide who they are, what they want, who they want to become, and where they will go. As if these questions were not already overwhelming for anyone to answer, navigating college selections can be a convoluted process. Whether you are deciding on your major, clubs, food, scholarships, or accessibility - the questions that you are weighing can probably be divided into those questions that impact you as a student, and those that affect you as a person.

When I was choosing colleges I remember feeling incredibly frustrated because the adults in my life seemed more concerned with The Person, than the student. In other words, I think my going away to college and experiencing independence for the first time terrified my parents. They were concerned with making sure that I stayed within the state, they wanted me no farther than an hour's drive away from my orthopedic doctor, they wanted to be sure that the school would be able to handle me if I fractured, they even wanted to know if they could have access into my dorm room! The barrage of questions and concerns drove me nuts.
At that point in my life my fractures had begun to dwindle, and I was firmly entrenched in a stubborn-adolescent-independent mindset. The "I know everything and your opinion doesn't matter" attitude was my response to every question asked of me. But of course I didn't know everything and I mistook my parents' concern for my well being to be a source of annoyance and overbearing.

With that said, my piece of advice for any seniors in high school applying to college is to listen to what those around you are saying. The more information you have the better informed your eventual decision will be, and finally, realize that this is not supposed to be an easy decision. It is supposed to be a hassle, frustrating, and at times may make you feel like you're hitting your head against the wall over and over! But once you've gotten this first step into independence out of the way, just think about how easy it will be to take the next step and all the other ones to follow!
The process of choosing a school is an investment in yourself in the present and in the future. It will come with its difficulties and uncertainties that might not all be figured out until you are actually on campus. I'd definitely encourage visiting campuses as much as possible and meeting with as many college staff or current students as possible; go straight to the source with your questions and trust that thousands of students before you have made the same trek and done it successfully - soon, you'll be among them.


Since each person's college search is unique to their needs and each school has different resources, it's difficult to list specific advice to help with the process. I'd be more than happy to try and help answer more specific questions via email: oi.perfect@yahoo.com

You can also check out this article that I wrote to learn more about my first foray in independence in college: A Protective Bubble of My Own 

The winter of 2009 was an exciting time for me. It was senior year of college. More specifically the LAST semester of college! I couldn't wait to graduate, to get started on "real life", to take advantage of the opportunities that were waiting for me, to finally.. START!

Please submit a one-page personal statement with your application.
How would you describe yourself as a human being? 
You have just completed your 300-page autobiography, please submit page 227.
Tell us about a challenge you have faced in your life and how you have overcome it. 

'Make yourself stand out!'
'Show the Admissions Officers something they can't otherwise get from the rest of your application!'
'Show them what makes you, you!'
'Show them your drive and where your motivation comes from!'

College Application Season.

In my opinion college applications is the intersection of an uncertain future and 17 or 18 years of a person's past. It's the cross-roads of a student's identity: who they were, who they are, and who they wish to become. And then somehow where all of that meets-up needs to be elegantly, coherently, and intelligently expressed on paper -- on about a thousand forms, typed up into 500-character essays, verbally expressed in interviews.... Needless to say that similarly to my other friends, as a senior in high school, I was incredibly overwhelmed by this entire process.
Did I want to put down on a million forms that I was a student with a physical disability? Did I want that to be the focus of all of my essays? Would it hurt my chances of getting admitted if I revealed I had a strange and injury-prone condition? Would schools hesitate to accept me because they feared liability? (Oh sure, I know what THEY say and what the laws say...but it's what they DON'T say...) Was I somehow 'copping out' because I didn't have to think too hard to "make myself stand out?" These and other questions careened through my head day in and day out. It seemed like everyday my parents and guidance counselor gave me a new pro or con to add to the already growing list of reasons:

• First off - whether I wanted to admit it or not as a 17 year-old, my disability was a part of my identity. Even if it was a part of my identity I wanted and tried so hard to deny at the time. My strategy for 'attacking' the stack of college essays was to start with the broader essay questions first, the generic ones that were not about "the meaning of silence" or did not ask me to "share your thoughts on the generational gap.." And once I started on the more general essay questions about myself I began to see how my disability influenced the way I was raised, my perception of the world, my ability to self-motivate, and my stamina. After I came to this conclusion it occurred to me that leaving out this part of me (even if I didn't fully understand it yet..) would not be giving college admissions an honest and full representation of who I was as a student. 

• Second - I understood that I did not need to feel 'guilty' for being able to write about something I was born with. It is something every college applicant does, or hopefully, realizes that s/he can do. At the risk of sounding like a broken record: we each have some 'obvious' trait (that we were born with or inherited) or experience that has somehow made its mark on us. The point isn't so much WHAT that 'thing' is so much as it is HOW you write about it and what it says about you. How can you connect this to your future interests? How has it affected your ability to learn or take on new challenges? In what ways has this changed your perception? How will this part of you add to a college community? 

• Third - Continuing off of this second point, it also means that I realized writing about my disability does NOT have to be the sole focus of the essay. College Admissions officers are not interested in hearing about every medication you've ever needed to take, or all the different lab tests you've undergone, and every operation you've been through. It takes a lot of patience and honest-self-talk to plumb through what you want an admissions officer to learn from what you are sharing. It helps to choose one aspect of yourself and finding 2-3 areas of your future interests or your education to connect it to. Don't try to over-do it because you don't want it to sound forced or 'fake.'

• Fourth - As odd and cliche as it may sound, this is your chance to turn something that may otherwise seem 'negative' and show how you have endured and persevered. This might be an 'old and re-used' route by many with a disability but you can't ever deny the value that there is in this message! So long as the essay doesn't completely 'milk' the situation and is well-balanced with other aspects of the student, this route can work when done well! 

The choice to share your disability with others is always up to you! So in the end you (and the help of your family, teachers, guidance counselors) should make the decision. I understand that not everyone is comfortable doing so or feels self-conscious about revealing something that might otherwise make them feel vulnerable. Whichever route you choose be sure that it's something you believe fully represents you and what you bring to the table! Other things to help the decision process: research what the school has in terms of disability resources, see if you can find out what accommodations would be available, and if it helps you can even go visit the school before writing the essay for them.

Everyone knew she was brilliant, everyone knew she was a difficult professor, everyone knew she had all the 'right' and prestigious degrees after her name, and everyone was a little intimidated by her. While other professors on the small college campus were okay with students calling them by their first names, it was always Dr. E---- with her. No one ever asked if it would be okay to call her by her first name, like an unwritten law that's just the way it was. Not only was she the Chair of the Humanities department, head of the Honors Program, my Honors English Comp professor, and my academic adviser. But on top of all of that the first thing everyone saw was that she used a power wheelchair and also walked with crutches.