Hello, happy Tuesday,
As you read this, I am sequestered in the Shropshire countryside on an Arvon writing retreat, hopefully getting some words on the page. So, I’ll respond to any comments, questions, bad jokes etc when I’m back on Monday. Have a lovely week.
Last week saw International Wheelchair Day. A lot of these ‘international days’ are essentially meaningless, but actually it was really nice, among the week’s relentless doom and gloom, to see all the social media posts celebrating something. And, brilliantly, celebrating wheelchairs.
As a society, we think we know what using a wheelchair means. In the popular imagination, wheelchairs are synonymous with failure. Disabled people with chronic or progressive conditions are enjoined not to ‘give in’ to using a wheelchair, but to struggle on, exhausted and in pain, because that is preferable to… sitting down. Wander down the street on wheels and people look away - the sight of a young person (gasp!) using a wheelchair is too awful to contemplate - or cock their heads in pity. You poor thing, they seem to say, what a wasted life.
Well, I’m here to tell to tell you such thoughts are a big old ableist load of crap.
Wheelchairs are great.
Let’s just think for a second about what wheelchairs actually are. When you strip away all the ableist notions we apply to them, wheelchairs are tools. They get you from A to B. They’re a bit like shoes - I have an indoor manual chair, the equivalent of slippers, and an outdoor powerchair, the equivalent of hiking boots - if shoes also gave you the actual ability to move your legs. We don’t judge a hiker for changing their work shoes for grippy boots, but we are more than happy to condemn a disabled person for swapping crutches for a chair.
So, wheelchairs - or any other mobility aids - are just a way of getting about, of leaving the house or getting to the loo, and it’s frankly bizarre that we interpret them as disabling when in fact they are one of the surest ways to enable someone.
This becomes even more bleedingly obvious if you consider the alternative. Again, the popular imagination, in which the alternative to using a wheelchair is walking, has it completely wrong. In reality, for many the alternative to using a wheelchair is at the very least increased pain, fatigue and damage to your body or, at my end of the spectrum, never getting out of bed. By contrast, my wheelchairs allow me to access my own home, enjoy a busy work and social life, and see the world.
It is no exaggeration to say my wheelchairs are my freedom.
Here’s some other reasons I love my chairs:
I’ve had my manual chair for 12 years. It is like a trusty and unflappable friend - it has never, ever let me down
I know exactly how it moves, how it turns on the spot, how it holds me. On my smooth tiled floor - if I remember to pump up the tyres! - I can glide down the corridor in a matter of seconds, and just about feel the air whoosh past as I go
It’s also light enough that two strapping lads can lift me in it which is a lot of fun and makes me feel like the queen (applications to be said lads most welcome)
It has cool blue wheels that I still think are cool despite no longer being 15
My powerchair can go pretty damn fast. Most of the time, I slow it down to walk alongside people, but when I’m on my own I crank it up to its top speed and enjoy sailing past startled pedestrians
It feels like armour. I am a small, young disabled woman, so being in a crowd can be a little overwhelming. But my powerchair is like protection - and its bulk means people are pretty quick to get out my way
I can lift it up to eye height, allowing me to see in a crowd or, most importantly, have much easier, more meaningful conversations (and hugs)
Little kids think I have my own personal Transformer. You should see their faces when I offer them a ride
I only use it when strictly necessary, obviously, but I enjoy having the option to run over the toes of creepy men with 150kg of machine
Of course, a lot of problems come with using a wheelchair. It would be daft to pretend otherwise. The absolute disaster zone that is accessibility creates faff and frustration at every turn. And that’s before you factor in the constant, grinding slog of dealing with ableist attitudes, which seem to get even worse in the face of a powerchair. But neither of those problems are caused by my need for a wheelchair. They’re caused by society; my wheels have nowt to do with it.
There’s also the shocking state of wheelchair provision. Up and down the country, disabled people have to fight for the vital equipment they need. And even when they succeed, they are often given chairs that do not meet those needs (a manual instead of an electric, for example) or that don’t even fit - often leading to more pain etc. I often think that this reluctance to supply the right wheelchair at the right times comes back to that core belief that wheelchairs are disabling. If we really valued their potential to enable, we’d be handing them out like hotcakes.
So yes, I love my wheelchairs. I also know how lucky I am to have multiple chairs that fit my needs. But I shouldn’t feel lucky, and I also shouldn’t face pity and atrocious access wherever I go. Society needs to recognise wheelchairs for what they are: fabulous tools of freedom.
Are you a wheelchair user? Let me know in the comments what your wheels mean to you.
See you next week,
Lucy
Links of the week
What’s it like to be a disabled person in Ukraine right now? My former BBC colleague Ellis Palmer spoke to people who are struggling to leave
You can donate money to help disabled Ukrainians here
On a more positive note, I’m talking at News UK’s Disability and Journalism Forum on 23 March. If you’re an editor, journalist or advocate, come along. The more the merrier