ADOPTING A HANDICAP

My church recently staged a “Sensitivity Sunday” to make our congregation more aware of the problems faced by people with physical disabilities. We were asked to “adopt a disability” for several hours one Sunday morning. Some members, like me, chose to use weelchairs. Others wore sound-blocking earplugs, hobbled aroud on crutches, or wore blindflods.

Just sitting in the weelchair was instructive. I had never considered before how awkward it would be to use one. As soon as I sat down, my weight made the chair begin to roll. Its wheels were not locked, and I fumbled clumsily to correct that. Another awkward moment occurred when I realized I had no place to put my feet. I flumbed some more to turn the metal footrest into place. I felt pychologically awkward as well, as I took my first uneasy look at what was to be my only means of transportation for several hours. I realized that for many people, “adopting a weelchair” is not a temporary experiment. That was a sobering thought as I sank back into my seat.

Once I sat down, I had to learn how to cope with the wheelchair. I shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position. I thought it might be restful, even kind of nice, to be pushed around for a while. I glanced around to see who would be pushing me and then realized I would have to navigate the contraption by myself! My palms reddened and my wrist and forearm muscles started to ache as I trugged at the heavy metal wheels. I realized, as I veered  this way and that, that steering and turning were not going to be easy tasks. Trying to make right-angle turn from one aisle to another, I steered straight into a pew. I felt as tough everyone was staring at me and commenting on my clumsiness.

When the service started, other problems cropped up to frustrate me further. Every time the congregration stood up, my view was blocked. I could not see the minister, the choir, or the altar. Also, as the church’s aisles were narrow, I seemed to be in the way no matter where I parked myself. For instance, the ushers had to squeeze by me to pass the collection plate. This made me feel like a nuisance. Thanks to a new building program., however our church will soon have the wide aisles and well-spaced pews that will make life easier for disabled. After the service ended, when people stopped to talk to me, I had to strain my neck and look up them. This made me feel like a little child being talked down to and added to my sense of powerlessness. My weelchair experiment was soon over. It’s true that it made an impression on me. I no longer resent large tax expenditures for ramp-equipped buses, and I wouldn’t dream of parking my car in a space marked “Handicapped Only”. But I also realize how little I know about the daily life of a truly disable person”. A few hours of voluntary “disability” gave me only a hint of the challenges, both physical and emotional, that people with handicaps must overcome.