Showing posts with label wheelchair safety. Show all posts

Fire Drills & the Other Secrets I Always Knew

By | Published Monday, October 24, 2011

"Just so everyone knows today we're having a fire drill. Everyone needs to exit the office, we will all meet at the end of the street and do a head-count there" announced a co-worker. She came over to my desk, crouched down and whispered to me,

"Sandy, the fire department has instructed me to let you know that you should just wait by the entrance - at the top of the staircase in the front lobby. Don't use the elevator." 


Fire drills. From Kindergarten till the 12th grade I always knew when they'd happen at least an hour in advance. The protocols varied from exiting the wheelchair-accessible entrance of the school, waiting for the vice principal to carry me down the stairs, to meeting at the nurse's office and exiting the school with her. Regardless of which route I took I was always safe, properly notified and always knew in advance.

"Alright, pop quiz today!" My sixth grade math teacher announced. The class groaned.  
"It might get interrupted because Sandy says we're going to have a fire drill!" Hollered one of my friends from the back of the room. I glared at him, it wasn't something he was supposed to go ahead and share with everyone else. I thought that was un-stated-11-year-old-best-friend policy. From across the classroom my aide looked at me and shook her head disapprovingly, I just shrugged my shoulders. 
But it was true! That morning before I headed to my homeroom the vice principal Mr. V had folded his seemingly 100ft body down to my level and whispered in my ear, "we're going to have a fire drill today." For the rest of the day I was antsy, ready to yank out my hearing-aids at the first blast of the alarm, excited to interrupt the mundane middle school day with at least 10 minutes of time outside to socialize with my friends and the rest of my grade. 
My middle school had multiple floors and elevator access to each one. Administrators had access to my schedule and a part of the fire drill protocol included knowing where I was at that exact moment of the day. If I was on the first floor I would exit with the rest of my class, if I were on any of the other floors my job was to park my wheelchair next to the stairwell and wait for Mr. V. He would come running up, scoop me up with one arm under my legs and the other around my back, and I would then be placed into a manual wheelchair that the school stored in the nurse's office. All of these transitions were always practiced at the start of the school year. The timing, precision, and technique of carrying me (with and without a cast) were run through; usually my physical therapist or my parents were there to supervise the transitions, each year running through the routine to maximize safety and efficiency. 

In high school I didn't have an aide and had a walkie-talkie instead. The walkie-talkie meant that I was literally tuned into many other goings-on around the school; many things that I am not sure I was really supposed to know about, and probably would get into some trouble for if I wrote about them here. Sorry! But each morning I would pick-up my side of the walkie-talkie from the nurse's office, and of course it always helped that the nurse was married to the Captain of the town fire department. She would inform me of the time we would expect to have the drill, and I would let her know what class I had and where it was in the school (though they also had a copy of my schedule as well). Now that I was older though I wouldn't tell my friends about the drill unless we had a test in that class, or if we were expected to present projects in front of the class. In high school, it just wasn't really all that "cool" to be in-the-know of whether or not there was going to be a drill. No teenager likes to wait in the freezing cold at 7:40AM (because our first class began at 7:33AM, god I SO don't miss those days!), but if it was particularly cold I would let my friends know that maybe they should keep their jackets on for a bit... 
One year, I had AP US History and the class was on the second floor in the library wing of the school. This part of the school is tucked in the back and nowhere near the front entrance, it was also nowhere near the nurse's office. To make matters worse I had also forgotten to pick-up my walkie-talkie that morning. My teacher for this class, an engaging and brilliant man in the matters of US History - but not so much in the matters of student-emergencies:

"Oh no, Sandy!! What should I do? Should I carry you down the stairs? You can't use the elevator right?" Mr. B proclaimed. I was parked at the top of the stair case at the library - totally cool, calm and collected. But the second the alarm had gone off I had cursed myself for forgetting to pick-up the walkie-talkie.
"It's fine. I'll be fine Mr. B. It's okay, you can go down with the rest of the class --" by then the rest of the class had already trooped down stairs and was outside. I felt a little guilty that I was the only one in the library with my teacher. 
"Are you sure? Maybe I should wait with you. Who are we waiting for exactly?" He asked.
"The nurse. She knows where I am because she has my schedule. She'll be coming soon, I'm sure." I responded as calmly as possible. It occurred to me that Mr. B was one of those teachers who fed off of his students' energy and nervousness, particularly in unfamiliar territory. 
"Okay, well, I'm going to phone down to the main office just to be sure.." Mr. B called down and was reassured that the nurse was indeed on her way, that this was not in fact a real fire, and he could leave to join the rest of the 18 other students outside. 
Soon enough the nurse did come up the staircase, chastised me for not picking up the walkie-talkie and then sent me back inside the still-empty classroom to read. 


All in all my experiences with fire drills in the world of k-12 were relatively calm and no-fuss. The protocol for drill procedures were always practiced and always recorded somewhere in my files (IEP or 504 plan). I was never worried about school officials dropping me or any other dangers. It seemed to me that because teachers and administrators always included me in the development of these routines I was always okay with them. In high school my access to the walkie-talkie tuned me into other emergencies like someone's dumb idea of a bomb scare, who had put ex-lax in a history teacher's water bottle, why classrooms were suddenly re-located. 
When I went to college my fire drill procedures were flexed out a bit; since I could be anywhere on campus, in any of the hundreds of elevators available to me, or I could NOT be anywhere (what if I decided to skip lecture the day there was a drill??)... how did the authorities keep track of me? Easy. I had a walkie-talkie that was connected with campus security. Not only did I know when there would be a fire drill that day, but I also knew if someone was getting arrested, if someone was going to the hospital, or if a student had locked herself out .. again. And to be honest, I got so comfortable that I rarely ever carried the walkie-talkie with me - most of the time it was just left sitting in my dorm room, on top of a bookshelf in its charging dock. 

But it's always good to be prepared, right? 

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Listen to the Ones who are Helping Us

By | Published Wednesday, October 19, 2011

*The name of the door-to-door van service has been changed for legal reasons.


As usual The Van was late. I'm certain that if I totaled the number of hours I have spent waiting for The Van I could lap the world in that time. The Van is a paratransit door-to-door service that provides communal transportation for the city's elderly and disabled. I'm sure that many other cities across the country have a similar transportation service; it's the kind that requires a medical form to be filled out then at the end a flourishing signature by your healthcare provider. And with that you're in the system. 
I've been in the system since the late 90's and I've become almost too comfortable inside it. First the driver will put on the neon orange velcro strap, then the four wheelchair tie-downs, then the driver will ask me to lock in my tires, next comes the other seat belt - when all is said and done I am going nowhere fast. Every now and then I may exchange a few hello's with other passengers (usually old Jewish grandmothers), or sometimes I will chat with the drivers. But most of the time I board The Van with my iPod and ear buds in, I don't become unplugged unless the driver took a wrong turn or until we've pulled into the driveway. In other words 90% of the time my commute in The Van is dead silent. 

One time though, for whatever reason, it was anything but silent: 

"Hay!? Sandeee?" He flicked his eyes up at the rear view mirror, then reached up to adjust the angle, turning it upwards a bit so that we could both see our faces in the reflection. I could see that his mouth had moved but hadn't really heard what he said, only that he'd said my name. I tugged at one side of my earbuds and it fell out.
"Yes?" I responded. 
"Joo leestening to mewseek?" Like most of the other drivers I have had, this driver also had an accent.
"Um yeah, sorry." I responded afraid that I had missed an important question he'd asked me a few minutes earlier.
"Eeet's okay. Umm kan I ask joo a qweshun?" 
"Yeah sure." Actually, that day, I didn't really want to answer any questions. It had been a long day and I wanted to just go home and pass out. Classes had fried my brains and I was mentally kicking myself for over-involving myself in too many activities once again. 
"Doo joo know thee rrresume? Whaat joo put on thee rresume?" His question came at me like a melody. I was so fascinated by his accent and admired how one could possibly cram an entire octave of notes into two questions. I became distracted by the pure sounds of the words that were coming out that I barely remembered to realize that he was actually asking me a question.
"Uhh on a resume? You mean the structure of one?"
"Yes yes. What joo usually put on eet? Opjecteeve of job first?"
"Uhh well you can put the objective I guess, I usually don't do that anymore. But first you have your name, address, email and other contact info -"
"Riiiight riight, okay. Soo okay, first is nem, eeemail, aadress, then what?" He listed the things off on his fingers, one hand on the steering wheel the other keeping track of what I was saying.
"Then I usually have my education information, and then my most current place of employment, then I go backwards in history."
"Okay, okay. So next after personal informayshun ees ejuhcayshun, then work experiunce." Two more of his fingers ticked off the next two items. 
"Then at the bottom, ummm.." I looked up at him making sure that he knew I wasn't trying to offend him and that I was only trying to help,
"-umm you can put down other languages that you might speak, or other skills." 
"Ohhh okay okay I see, I see. So the last part is skeels." 
"Yep. So that's basically it, at least that's all I have on my resume." I picked up the other ear bud and was getting ready to put it back in my ear when he asked,
"Soo, Sandeey? Ees rreleejohn on there too?" 
"Religion? No, no generally it's not on there." 
"Okay, okay. So rreview. Personal eenformayshun, then work experiunce, then skeels?" His eyes flicked back and forth between the rear view mirror and the road.
"Yep, you have it!" I paused my iPod and pulled out the other ear bud and put the gadget away in my back pack.  

By the time we pulled into my driveway the driver had told me all about how he was Muslim, and I asked him many questions about the hijab, and what it meant for Turkey to be a secular country. We sat in the driveway (I was his last drop-off for the day) and he told me about his incredible journey to the U.S., what his family had gone through during 9/11 and how he fears for the future of America - not in terms of the politics and economy but "for the cheeldren, for my cheeldren." He divulged to me that though he enjoyed meeting the passengers he drove around he was actually interested in becoming a Muslim after-school program teacher. This man's passion was clearly in working with youth and in education; since so many of my friends from college were educators I offered him a few websites to check out for jobs and wished him well. As the lift unfolded and I touched ground, he said 
"Sandeey? Thank joo verry much for answering my qwestshuns. You are my first passendjuh all day to leesen to me." 

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Wrap-Up

By | Published Friday, July 29, 2011

I don't know about you but this week just seemed to drag on forever for me! In between work and getting ready for the upcoming fall I managed to squeeze in a Red Sox game and saw the movie Friends with Benefits; then my younger bro turned 18 and I attended an event that honored the 21st Anniversary of the ADA.

  • Tuesday: In this entry I wrote about my most traumatic fracture to date. After a fall from my manual wheelchair: two fractured femurs, a pool of blood, and an ambulance ride later I learned what to do in the event of a '911 fracture' incident. 
  • Fracture Free Friday: What's the point of having a rod surgery if you can't walk 'normally' afterwards? I talk about some of the pros & cons of rod operations in today's Fracture Free Friday post over at Unbreakable Journey! 

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Urban Rolling: The Ground Never Looked So Interestingly Dangerous

By | Published Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Boston, where I grew up, is one of the oldest cities in the country. The city's historical cobble stoned sidewalks combined with its College Town reputation makes for an interesting dynamic. Beantown's subway system (metro) is the oldest in the country, but even without it you could easily stroll from one end of the city to the other. Each of the different neighborhoods of Boston has its own flavoring, own historical distinctions, and most prevalent are its own college students. It seems that wherever you are in town you're never far from stepping onto a college campus!


Actual sign at a Boston station!
As a wheelchair user in my home city I know how long to hold my breath as the elevator to the Park Street station opens to avoid breathing in a urine drenched stench. I also know which bus lines will allow me to ride for free, and most importantly how to get to Fenway Park when the 'normal' station everyone else uses (Kenmore) is non-accessible. I have an internal clock that lets me know how many seconds I have in order to look for where the train is leveled with the platform before doors slide shut. And when the elevator buttons have the letters M, UP, and P on them - I know that those stand for Mezzanine Level, Under Pass, and Platform respectively. It certainly took me several years to get the hang of it and sometimes I still get a little confused as to where elevators are, but public transportation is definitely my preferred method of getting around town. I don't want to spend too long talking about public transportation systems since my readers hail from all over the country (and world!) so the various train systems will differ widely, but I will encourage you to at least try it out! 

The patchwork of different textured cement, brick, stone, and pavement is something that I find weirdly fascinating; especially in a city like Boston where renovations and construction projects are never-ending as it tries its hardest to hold firm to historical roots. One second I will find myself cruising smoothly along freshly laid granite when suddenly my wheels will hit cobble stones, and I'll feel like a bobble head doll! This might just be me but on routes that I have traveled many times I have memorized not just mentally but physically what to expect. Depending on the material the sidewalk is made out of my body automatically positions itself in preparation. If it's brick I straighten my back a bit more and tighten my stomach; if it's cobble stone I am barely breathing and only trying to not go too fast; and if it's pavement that's been all cracked up I am much more relaxed and going over the crevices slowly but steadily.
Maybe it's because I grew up in Boston or because I have had so much experience wheeling through cities but so much of my travel instincts come naturally to me. I innately know that although that sidewalk crack may not look big, it actually will send quite the thud through my entire wheelchair and body as I cross it. And what about that brick path that goes on for about five feet? I know that I need to be careful of their corners and edges that jut out awkwardly from the surface. I also know that when curb cuts aren't around in a residential area I quickly borrow someone's driveway to cross to the other side. My eyes have become superb at guesstimating the height of a bump, will my wheelchair be able to handle that? Will I need to stiffen my body in anticipation of the thud as the chair returns to even ground? Scanning the sidewalk for a small enough place to drop down or climb over has become second nature, I guess it's kinda like when an experienced tailor eyes a suit. 

Taking caution while traveling in the city is especially necessary if I am wheeling about with a fracture. Even the most natural looking sidewalk crack that doesn't have a single blade of grass growing between it can send reverberations through a broken limb that will have me slow my wheelchair down to a crawl; I have been known to hold my breath as I tap the joystick of my wheelchair ever so slightly to nudge my wheels over a bump. I remember when I was younger if I had a broken leg my parents would put me in the stroller but I would plead with them to take their time going down the sidewalk. They would usually respond with something like, "Doesn't the cast hold it still? Why does your leg still hurt? There are no big bumps on this sidewalk, you will be fine." But they never understood why the neatly squared and separated pieces of sidewalk would make the fractured area feel so sore. 
A couple times when I have NOT been as careful as I should have been I have hit bumps or hopped off curbs that were a little too high; with a sharp breath I'll breathe in and for a split second I wonder if I have broken any ribs, my back or maybe my tailbone. Fractures that happened like this have only ever happened a handful of times but each time I am logging it into my mind: What landmark is the bump nearby? What street is it on? Where should I have steered instead? All of this ends up adding some more topographical detailing to my mental maps, for the maps of my wheels. 

A favorite place for a stroll
I realize that all of this might seem like I am staring at the ground a lot when I am traveling. But I promise I'm not. I don't travel with a magnifying glass as I roll through the city, like some old fashioned sleuth - I'm not that awkward. Growing up on the East coast means that I am also an old hand when it comes to traveling in eight or more inches of unforgiving snow, ice, and slush. THAT stuff makes it impossible to know what lies beneath their crude snowy surfaces, so really I can't always be looking on the ground - it doesn't always do me any good. (By the way, traveling in snow & winter will be for a completely separate future post. But it's the middle of July and I don't want to be depressed just yet...) If you were to ever see me cruising around the city it's kind of a mix of looking ahead, around, above, and below. Simply put it all of this forces me to be more aware; I've learned that there are far more than just roses waiting to be smelled along the way. 

Rolling with it in the City:
  • As with anyone else, the longer you live in a place the better you'll know it. Finding the best routes for your chair to go will take experience and time - allow both of those to grow! 
  • Go with your gut feeling. If you think that you probably shouldn't try to fly over that curb cut or over the pot hole... DON'T! Try to see if there is a way around it - this might even take some back tracking and finding an exit that you may have already gone by
  • Wheelchair routes may not always be visibly obvious. Don't hesitate to ask someone which path would be best for your chair to travel
  • If you're adventurous and willing, try exploring your city's public transportation options for the day. Many cities have discounted fares for the disabled and other companion benefits
  • If possible, I would recommend traveling in an area when it is daylight out before you go through it at night for the first time (for safety and visibility purposes)
  • When crossing the street, make sure you are comfortable with the curb cut at the crosswalk (that you have found a place that is not too high) before crossing. It won't be the end of the world if you need to wait for the walk signal to tick off again while you find a safe place. The worse nightmare would be if you were awkwardly stuck on a curb cut as cars are whizzing by! (Yes, I am speaking from experience). 

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Fragile Clubbing

By | Published Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Every time I first head inside I get nervous. My eyes adjust from the dark evening outside to the dimly lit blacker interior. For the first few minutes I am taking advantage of the random flashes of light from cameras, the fluorescent glow from the bar, and spastic dazzle of lights above the dance floor. These are one of the few occasions when my friends have to plow a way through for me, because it's safer. After we all find a table to sit down the rest of me relaxes; at this point my heart has surrendered regulating a beat to the pounding bass the DJ is spinning. Yep, my friends have talked me into another night at a dance club.. 


I must admit that I am not a club person. I don't dance, don't listen to the latest tunes to know all the latest lyrics, don't actually like the taste of alcohol, and I'm rather gun-shy (contrary to popular opinion). All of that added to a crowd of squirming, grinding, jumping, pop lock'n'dropping five feet plus strangers probably leaves you wondering Sandy, why do you even bother going to these places? And how could I forget? Throw into the mix the brittle bones and I am sure that is all grounds for the FDA to make a Warning Label. And yet a few times a month I find myself returning.  Maybe it's out of my own ignorance? Idiocy? Because I enjoy flirting with risks? The only reason I know for sure is that each and every single time I go, I end up having a ridonkulously stupendous time!
Club Safely:
  • I have only ever gone with my closest group of friends. These are the people who know my comfort level the best and some of the people in my life I feel safest with! I believe that comfort level and safety are two of the most important things when venturing out into any totally uncertain environment that someone with O.I. should consider
  • It is these same friends who I credit with the fact that I have never fractured or had any other injury while out painting the town red!
  • This law is old but never falters: Drink Responsibly! Alcohol intake for someone with O.I. has a lot of different factors that 21+ individuals should be aware of (even if you don't choose to heed all of them). Just as with anyone else, know your body's limit, do your best to make safe judgment calls, and be sure to stay within a group of friends that you trust and know well
  • If possible, get a table or booth - ask someone who works at the club if this could possibly be arranged. This is helpful when you need a place to retreat back to and it makes socializing with others who may be much taller than you easier 
  • Make sure that the accessible bathroom at the club is in working order!
  • When others approach you about dancing with you or on you, just go with your gut instinct 

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Xtreme Wheelchair Diving: In & Out of Crowds

By | Published Wednesday, June 15, 2011

My friend from college describes it perfectly: "It's like Moses parting the Red Sea." For those of us who use wheelchairs we appreciate the automatic path that opens up before us. It's a bubble of space that opens up for us, out of fear? Out of politeness? For the sake of saving their own toes? Whatever the reason may be, as someone with brittle bones, I like it. A lot.

When I am in my manual wheelchair my reflexes need to be cat-like. One hand needs to be ready to push forward on one wheel and then pull back on the other wheel for a quick dodge. Or if someone gets too close I might rear back on my hind wheels like a surprised horse (also known as popping a wheelie!) The whole time I'm navigating I am also spotting - psshh yeah right, not spotting for toes that get in my way, actually I am spotting for pockets of air, for open scenery, for an open space! And when I see one I will dart to it while glancing around to make sure no one else has spotted that space, and then the crowd will converge again and the process repeats itself. By now the motions are as familiar to me as untangling headphone wires. I know just how much to push or pull and where and when to be able to settle for two seconds of peaceful space. These moments of quick activity are one of the few times I actually,  I dare say, feel graceful and elegant with my disability.
Kids and adults with O.I have grown used to being automatically protective of themselves. It has become more than just instinct for me. When someone becomes too close too quickly I have already seen the part of me that they will collide with, what bone will break, and even a slight hint of what it might feel like. I imagine it's kind of like if anyone else were to remember that horrible taste in their mouth after that particular something they ate years ago. It's in part because of how protective my parents were of me as a young child, but it's also in part out of my own fear. We just don't want to get hurt again!

Then when I turned 10 and was in the 5th grade I got my first electric wheelchair. That was the moment everything began, that was when the gun for the race between Sandy and The Rest of The World went off. Diving in and out of crowds in my power wheelchair is A BLAST. Ask anyone who knows me or has seen me, it's like I am playing a game of Nintendo Wii every time I am in a crowd. I am grinning as I spot an open space and when I glance out from the corner of my eye I see someone quickly approaching, I press forward on the joystick a bit more and challenge myself to time it right: for me to get to that open space first. When I am leaving Fenway Park or any other event, friends I am with always follow behind me. "Sandy will clear the way.." is the usual agreement and I just, literally, plow ahead. It's fun, it's dangerous, and if my parents could ever know what I was up to...(well, we won't go there).
My skills at xtreme wheelchair crowd diving began in middle school. Then I perfected it during the four years of high school everyday during the 3 min of passing time between classes. There is nothing like dodging mountainous backpacks mounted on the shoulders of giant 14 to 17 year olds. It's not just the wheelchair that needs to move, but my shoulders, neck, and head need to dodge on time as well. Then in college the challenge was raised when I would head to clubs packed with people twisting their bodies to the music, the lights dimmed or in some cases completely off.

I say it's an xtreme sport because I'm never satisfied with that same bubble of open space for long. Sometimes the crowd will head towards my direction and it's time for another dart elsewhere, but most times it's because I have spotted another open space and enjoy the challenge of racing ahead to it. The unknown repetition of this motion keeps my days of sitting at right angles for 7+ hours interesting and even fun.

Xtreme Crowd Diving:

  • I am not saying that everyone with O.I should necessarily pursue this "sport" but please know that if you DO decide to try this, practice at a mall or a place with large open areas and ALWAYS be sure to be seat belted in!
  • If you accidentally run over someone's shoe or toe, please own up to it. Say "sorry" or make sure that the person is okay. You would want the same thing for you if you got hurt. 
  • When in a crowd and NO space is opening up, I have tapped people on their backs to and they have always moved aside. Most times no one hears when I say "Excuse me"
  • Use your best judgment, be safe first
  • I rarely, in fact I never pursue crowds alone. I am either with family or friends - this has helped on many occasions especially if I am accidentally bumped into or injured.  
  • When someone steps aside for you be sure to say "thanks!" If a person brusquely walks ahead of you/pushes you aside it can be interpreted as a rude gesture. Try not to be rude and always nod in acknowledgement or say thanks when someone has allowed you more space

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