Paul K. Longmore Institute on Disability - Emily Beitiks

Generational Caregiving

Visitor — Wed, 25 Oct 2017 16:24:35 +0000

The following piece originally aired on KQED Perspectives.

By: Emily Beitiks

Sometimes the end of life resembles its beginning, but in either case we need others to help us through the basics of every day. Emily Beitiks has this Perspective.

Upstairs: Brush teeth, put on pjs, pull over neck carefully so it doesn’t get stuck on ears, remind them to go to the bathroom, into bed, covers just the way they like for a good night’s sleep.

Downstairs: Brush teeth, put on pjs, pull over neck carefully so it doesn’t get stuck on ears, into bed, change diaper, covers just the way she likes for a good night’s sleep.

Upstairs: Good night, love you kiddos.

Downstairs: Good night, I love you mom.

My mother - who has had a disability since before I was born - recently moved in with me and my family. Well, to be fair, she’s moving into her home. After a bad fall broke her hip seven years ago and left her permanently in a wheelchair, the house was too inaccessible and she moved out, so we moved in. Now, with two pressure sore ulcers that refuse to heal, she’s no longer allowed to stay in her assisted living home, so my husband and I assumed her care needs.

And doing so has been intense.

Having two young kids at home under the age of 5 makes it especially challenging.

But also, it makes it easier.

As each caregiving task I do for my kids mirrors those I’m doing for my mom, I’m reminded that my mom once did all this for me...in this same house. She bathed me, changed my diapers, took me to countless doctor’s visits.

I worry: is it infantilizing for my mother to draw this connection to my children? But then I think that this is the problem. We try to hide away from the reality that all bodies need care at different moments, and we draw lines that stigmatize that care when it’s done for adults versus children. In many cultures, senior care is more commonly handled in the home and my conclusions are obvious, but as I’ve shared my life update with friends and colleagues, I’ve been reminded how much rarer it is in the US.

I have to be honest - it’s still hard. So I remind myself that it’s bigger than my mom and me. By caring for the generation past, we’re investing in a better future for us all, one where disability happens.

With a Perspective, I'm Emily Beitiks.

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aging

caregiving

children

disability in the life course

Longmore Institute Seeking Disability Studies WikiPedian

Visitor — Thu, 29 Sep 2016 20:35:55 +0000

This post is cross-posted from the Wiki Education Foundation site; view the original here. By Ryan McGrady on September 29, 2016. Definitions of disability are often cast in medical terms. While important, concentrating on that one aspect of a disability-related topic can mean inadequate coverage of other social, cultural, historical, economic, and political aspects. Writing a high-quality Wikipedia article about the subject thus typically means drawing from research in the sciences, but also in the social sciences and humanities. Getting access to those sources, however, can be a challenge for Wikipedia editors, who may run into barriers like paywalls. When Wikipedians can’t access the necessary materials about a subject, articles and perspectives within articles can be neglected.

For that reason, San Francisco State University (SFSU) is opening access to its library resources for a Wikipedian interested in disability studies.

As with other Visiting Scholars positions, the Wikipedians aren’t required to be physically present at the university. The only expectation is that they bring some of the articles they work on in that subject area to B-class or better over the course of a year. For most Wikipedians who would be applying for such a position, that’s the sort of activity they would be doing anyway, but now with access to high-quality research resources.

The opportunity is supported by SFSU’s Paul K. Longmore Institute on Disability, which works to challenge stereotypes and showcase the strength, ingenuity, and originality of disabled people. For Associate Director Emily Smith Beitiks, the Visiting Scholars program is a way to support the Institute’s mission by helping to improve public knowledge about disability on Wikipedia, using the rich resources collected by SFSU to build well-rounded multidisciplinary articles.

If you’re a passionate Wikipedian with an interest in this field, we’d love to help connect you. You can apply for a Visiting Scholar position here and, if you have questions, drop us a line: visitingscholars@wikiedu.org. For more information about the Visiting Scholars program, see the Visiting Scholars section of our website.

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disability studies

Emily Beitiks

J. Paul Leonard Library

Super Bowl has a Different Tone this Year with Disability Harder to Ignore

Visitor — Fri, 05 Feb 2016 23:08:53 +0000

By: Emily Beitiks

The players in Sunday’s Super Bowl are participating in what is, essentially, a celebration of hyperability. Who can run fastest, throw furthest, and tackle the hardest? Football demands lives devoted to physical achievement and commitment to excellence. We applaud their sacrifice and ability to come back after being knocked down again and again.

But this year, a dark cloud hangs over the celebration: the American public has discovered that a variety of disabilities, physical and mental, develop after thousands of hours being battered in this high-impact sport.

Recent media has made it harder to neglect the ghost of football players’ future. Mostly, this has focused on the NFL league’s active concealment of the impact of repetitive concussions in a legal settlement between the NFL players and the league, a documentary, and Concussion, a major Hollywood film starring Will Smith.

At Sunday’s game, retired football star Joe Montana will lead the coin toss. But in an interview with USA Today, he shared that “It’s one of the things he can do without feeling pain, which is the daily cost of his Hall of Fame football career.” He listed a lengthy array of impairments from nerve damage in one of his eyes to knee pains that remain after countless surgeries, making public the aftermath of the game.

Are the less financially successful retired football players struggling with inadequate access to healthcare and assistive technology that so many disabled people face? Are they experiencing stigma and discrimination for these impairments and struggling to find employment?

With Superbowl 50 in the backyard of the disability rights movement, there’s no better time and place for these questions to emerge. As fans, we need to ensure that there’s more support for football players after the years on the field catch up to them.

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The First Disabled Lego?

Visitor — Fri, 29 Jan 2016 19:27:06 +0000

By: Emily Beitiks

Big news this week, from CNN to the Guardian: Lego has unveiled its first disabled character, a wheelchair rider: Cynically, one might call this "Handicapitalism" by Lego - a commercialization of disability rather than a genuine effort to diversify their characters. But even without questioning intentions (or the value of children who use wheelchairs to be able to play with a Lego with whom they identify), there is a simple factual misrepresentation in this story.

This is NOT the first Lego character with a disability.

There's a hierarchy within disability. Too often, we reduce disability to mean a person in a wheelchair, and we forget the rich array of bodies that are included in disability communities. Also, we fail to see disability when it's associated with a bad-ass hero... instead we expect to see disability in the pitiful and the tragic.

There are at least 5 disabled Lego characters that have been popular for awhile (in addition to the many disabled by mean older siblings or parents who made the painful mistake of stepping on one):

The Pirate

Cathy Kudlick, Director at the Longmore Institute, has long been pointing out to people that we fail to see pirates as the "disability action figures" that they are. With a hook hand, an eye patch, and a peg leg, this guy has a disability trifecta!

2. Luke Skywalker Star Wars fans have long had the option to purchase Luke, pre- and post-amputation. Even with his hand prosthesis, he still is another example of a "disability action figure."

3. Darth Vader Full disclosure: I haven't seen the movies in a long time and my efforts to pin down the exact reason why Darth Vader dies without using his mask to breathe yielded WAY too many results that didn't help. But he counts.

4. Abraham Lincoln While the exact condition is unknown, geneticists and historians believe that Abraham Lincoln had a genetic condition, similar to Marfan syndrome.

5. Daredevil He's blind and uses echolocation to fight bad guys.

And who knows what sort of invisible disabilities these guys might have?

Congrats to Lego for adding a wheelchair riding Lego, even though it is not their first disabled Lego. Now kiddos: build these little fellas some ramps and accessible houses!

*Which Lego characters did I miss? Let me know in the comments section!

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TEN ACCESS BLUNDERS THAT THE NONDISABLED MAKE

Visitor — Mon, 14 Dec 2015 19:08:09 +0000

By: Emily Beitiks

Well, it happened again. Last night, I was hosting an event and even though the topic was access for people with disabilities, I made a big access blunder. The event was running late, and I failed to consider the fact that the ASL interpreters needed to clock out, putting them and the Deaf attendee in a difficult and unfair position.

These sorts of slip-ups are common for all of us who host events, disabled and nondisabled alike. But we don’t share our mistakes often enough. As a nondisabled ally, I think it’s especially important that I cop up to my moments of failure because I owe it to my disabled friends and colleagues who patiently teach me when I drop the ball.

I also know now that access isn’t just about accommodations for people with disabilities. While society may see disability as a burden, I know that disability opens up creativity and innovation. I’ve personally benefited from many access features intended for people with disabilities. I am grateful for open captioning, for example, so that if I lose concentration during the pivotal moment in which a speaker provides the argument of their paper, I can look to the captioner’s screen for what I missed. With a co-sleeping 9 month old baby at home, this feature has been particularly useful lately.

Having worked with people with disabilities for over ten years, I see that bodies and minds are on a wide spectrum; there is no “disability community” but rather “communities.” So working to make our world more accessible to disabled communities is challenging, and sometimes I make mistakes. In hopes that it may help you learn, here are my top ten memories of failure for your enjoyment in no particular order:

1) I’ve failed to introduce myself as nondisabled.

When I speak on behalf of the Paul K. Longmore Institute on Disability, it is important that I disclose my status as a "temporarily able-bodied person.” Failing to do so not only hides the place of privilege from which I speak but also renders people with invisible disabilities on the panel as nondisabled.

2) I’ve booked interpreters for events and forgotten about the importance of schmoozing with other participants before and after the official event.

While calling it “networking” may make some of us cringe, it’s incredibly important to people’s professional and political work. If we want to continue to eliminate the divide that has long existed between people with disabilities and the Deaf community, we need to build in opportunities for conversation over a glass of cheap wine and a cheese cube or two.

3) I put out flowers at an event.

Classic rookie move. We gotta have flowers at the bar to make things pretty, right? Wrong. The flowers make your event dangerous for attendees with multiple chemical sensitivities. So, go with paper decorations or just pass and enjoy that it’s one less thing on the event planning “to do” list – woohoo!

4) I gave a PowerPoint presentation and did not describe my slides.

Okay, before I lose all my street creds here, please note that it was a long time ago when I was an undergrad. But it wasn’t just any presentation. The focus was disability. And my low-vision adviser was in the audience. Huge fail?: yes. Did I learn?: yes. Should you learn from my fail and start giving audio description of your slides?: YES!

5) I planned for wheelchair seating but forgot that wheelchair riders sometimes travel in packs.

Another classic nondisabled rookie move. Yes, of course, I have wheelchair

Two attendees at Superfest 2015.

seating! Oh…you’d all like to sit together? FAIL. At Superfest: International Disability Film Festival, we now have a range of options for wheelchair riders to sit with their other wheelchair rider companions, to be next to non-wheelchair riding friends, or to sit in the multiple chemical sensitivities section. We’ve come a long way baby.

6) I’ve organized events and forgotten to ask if the stage is accessible.

Even if none of the planned presenters uses a wheelchair, you still want to plan for the possibility of a wheelchair rider pulling a Kanye-West-interuption-of-Taylor-Swift move, so the stage must have a ramp or lift. Nondisabled allies should not leave this battle to the wheelchair rider colleagues to fight alone.

7) I’ve pushed handshakes.

Plenty of people in the disability community shake hands, but handshakes need not be the norm. Whether one doesn’t have hands, doesn’t have control of their limb’s movements, or is triggered by the social anxiety of contact, handshakes can cause a lot of unnecessary grief so ask first.

8) I’ve lined up venues without gender-neutral bathrooms.

Hosting events for people with disabilities requires you to think about all the needs of your attendees beyond disability issues.

9) I’ve pressured people to commit to full-day events.

This is a common conference strategy: you pressure your attendees to stay together for a whole day, three days, whatever so that the group may adequately bond. Or you push for an early start and urge people to “power through” with short breaks. However, this is an ableist model. It doesn’t account for the needs of people who require a long time to get ready, long bathroom breaks, or people with chronic fatigue.

10) I’ve hogged the microphone.

Full disclosure: I’m still working on this one. I like to talk. And oh do I love a good Q&A. But if I’m on a panel with people with disabilities, I need to constantly remind myself that my voice must often come second. My confidence with public speaking is inseparable from the privileges I have as a nondisabled, white, heterosexual person.

So… what did I miss? Jump on the comments section and share please. There’s no comprehensive guidebook for this stuff (and if there was, the first item would be that guidebooks aren’t going to prepare you for everything). A reminder in closing, it is better to have tried and blundered than never to have tried at all. Getting to work with disability communities is worth it. *Special thanks to Corbett O'Toole for her patient guidance on my access blunders as well as this post.

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Oral Histories

Visitor — Tue, 17 Nov 2015 18:05:47 +0000

By: Catherine Kudlick

From the beginning, the plan for oral history videos, embedded in the exhibit, excited us, and sometimes carried us through when other parts of “Patient No More” seemed stalled. When we met people like Dennis Billups who had held his story for years wondering if anyone would care about what a black blind man - “504’s chief morale officer” - had contributed, it sunk in that we had not only pushed open a door but also helped to heal a wound. Soon everything rushed in. We laughed, we cried, we wondered in the most visceral way what it meant to write history and how many other stories might never be told. We felt a sense of urgency, not just because we had a deadline, but also because we knew that some of the occupiers were in fragile health.

Getting San Francisco State students in Journalism and History involved added another layer, especially when they made connections with the occupiers, many of them the same age in 1977 as the students interviewing them in 2014. Justin Steinberg, a history student with a vision impairment and a musician, was thrilled to interview performer Jeff Moyer on Skype.

The first challenge was finding as many people as we could. Some were easy: organizers Judy Heumann and Kitty Cone had extensive interviews in the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley. We also had high profile people like Congressman George Miller and Elaine Brown, leader of the Black Panther Party at the time.

Others required real detective work, following leads, deciding which rumors were outrageous vs which were true. We cheered when we found Ron Washington, a gay black man who we’d seen in lots of 504 photos but who seemed to have vanished. Apparently our postings on every discussion list we could think of, to people to spread the word among friends, outreach to local churches and various Independent Living Centers paid off. Once we'd even heard confident pronouncements that someone had died only to receive a call from that person the very next day.

We have an incomplete roster, a snapshot really. Not everyone we *did* find wanted to talk. Some said they had nothing to say, others claimed they’d already said it all. And even now we meet people who say they were there but we reached them too late to include.

We hoped to get at the nitty-gritty of daily life occupying a government building for 26 days. After initial claims of remembering nothing and having little to add, most interviewees relished the chance to talk on camera. We discovered how Bonnie Regina used an orange juice can to bathe and organizer Judy Heumann’s cherished moments of quiet in an unused elevator. The more than fifty hours of interviews reveal everything from mind-numbing boredom to profound personal transformation.

But we also wanted the 504 participants to engage today’s students, both those who would be interviewing them, and those who would watch/listen. We asked everyone what they wanted future disability rights activists to know, what work they felt still needed to be done.

Once the interviews were complete, we had students transcribe them, then curator Fran Osborn, Associate Director Emily Beitiks, Grad Assistants Renee Starowicz and Katie Murphy, and Director (Me) read through to code them, looking for the juiciest quotes and how they intersected with the emerging themes for the “Patient No More” exhibit stations. Emily then wove the best of the best together into stories that SFSU Journalism graduate Mike Cheng edited into videos.

Forty interviews and almost forty years later, we have a sense of an occupation where few could agree on who actually took part or how long they stayed. There’s something freeing, even nostalgic about this fluidity at a time with informal record- keeping and a certain innocence, at least as far as disability activism was concerned. It was a rare moment when politicians, activists, and even workers in the federal building (including guards!) seemed to have all the time in the world to work together to make the world a better place.

To watch the videos, check out the virtual exhibit at PatientNoMore.org

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The "Patient No More" Mural

Visitor — Mon, 19 Oct 2015 23:07:37 +0000

By: Catherine Kudlick

A large mural features 504 protestors and celebrates the spirit of "Patient No More." Click here to see an expanded photo of the mural.

What might appear to the public as the anchor and one of the most striking features of “Patient No More” was far from certain; in fact, just a week before the exhibit launch, we debated whether it was the right use of our resources.

Still, our team of three - Curator/Graphic Designer Fran Osborne, Longmore Institute Associate Director Emily Beitiks, and Director (Me) - had been planning for something in that great rotunda wall all along. It offered a daunting blank canvas, so central, so white, so easy to make a giant mistake, yet so full of potential. And the ramp wall was red. Very red.

At the beginning we tossed around a number of ideas, from a detailed timeline to a large simple rendering of the iconic “Sign 504 Now!” yellow button or a large “Patient No More” banner.

I can’t remember when we first came upon the idea for the dramatic seventy-foot photomural above the ramp. But it had something to do with the generous photo donations from HolLynn D’Lil, Anthony Tusler, and the Bancroft Library. For the exhibit stations we had sifted through scores of them, nearly all of them black and white. We had to make tough choices about what to include, while having to leave others out. Each time, we came back to the intense, joyful, determined faces of the participants.

For the first couple of years we approached it as a memorial to commemorate the lives of occupiers who had passed away. Naïvely maybe, we believed we could identify and account for everyone in all the photos. But the deeper we got into the project, the more we realized this would be impossible: too many people came and went, too many had disappeared into history.

And there were practical concerns. We dreaded the prospect of someone very much alive arriving at the exhibit only to find themselves up on the wall. And what would we do if someone died once the mural had been put up?

Ultimately, we decided to celebrate the people with disabilities associated with the occupation. We tried to create a mosaic of individuals who made up a vibrant group whose coming together transformed the struggle for disability rights.

If this wasn’t a memorial, we needed to decide on the story we did want to tell, assuming it was possible to tell one at all. If a picture is worth a thousand words, imagine putting 27 of them in conversation! Who looked at whom across the rounded wall all day and night?

Curator Fran Osborne spent countless hours sifting through photos with students, coming up with templates, sending us different examples, trying to get the balance. Did someone appear too often? Who was missing? Which pictures deserved to be larger? And which ones could actually be blown up to such a large size without being distorted?

We knew so much depended on a viewer’s location while looking at it: from the rotunda, from the ramp itself, going up, going down . . . . Like life itself, things completely changed with perspective.

And how to convey something so striking, so important, so visual to people who couldn’t see it? How to be true to our mission to incorporate access to everything in our exhibit, though not necessarily in the same way for everyone? Our solution: commission poets Eli Clare and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, each who identify as people with disabilities to respond creatively with sound poems (check them out below).

It’s hard to describe my first impression of the mural in all its glory. It sits somewhere between hearing those sound pieces read by the poets and walking into the Ed Roberts Campus rotunda just two days before our launch and seeing it on the wall. It was maybe the closest I came to understanding a sense of victory and permanence after working so hard on something that I sensed deep down would make a difference.

Two mural moments confirmed this was true. The first was the day of our launch when 504 participant Michael Williams posed in front of his photo from 38 years before: wearing the same button, same smile, same sense of defiant pride. Many other occupiers, their friends, their families have found people they knew up on that giant canvas.

Then one day around closing time at the Ed Roberts Campus, I came upon an older gentleman slowly making his way up the ramp where he wanted to get close to the mural. “I always wondered what this place was for!” he exclaimed as he turned to me. “I rush through here every day to catch BART, and for some reason today I looked up. My god, I had no idea! I’ve seen some of these people all over Berkeley!” When I introduced myself as being associated with the mural, he smiled and said, “Wow, this is history!”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7U616jiE5M http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpF85SfwxIo

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Dos and Don'ts for a Freaky (But Disability Positive) Halloween

Visitor — Mon, 12 Oct 2015 17:51:08 +0000

By: Emily Beitiks

Halloween is just around the corner...time to bust out that polyester costume you bought in college and ask yourself: can I pull this off for one more year? We can't help you answer that, but follow this list of "dos and "don'ts" to ensure that all your Halloween fun doesn't come at the cost of disability justice...

DON'T: Watch horror films that equate being disabled or disfigured with being evil or menacing. Of, if a friend drags you along to one, try to voice a subversive question loudly before the film starts, like "You know what's really scary? The amount of discrimination people with physical anomalous conditions face?"

DO: Dress up as a pirate or mermaid and celebrate the fact that you're also a disability action hero! Read more here.

DON'T: Visit an asylum-themed haunted house! Join the many disability advocates who have boycotted these attractions that neglect the real history: asylums for people with mental illnesses and institutions for the developmentally disabled were horrific places where disabled people were abused and neglected. Read more about one especially controversial Pennsylvania-based attraction here.

DO: Point out to nondisabled children and adults dressed in awkward-to-walk-in costumes that every time they manage to fit through a wide door frame, they owe thanks to the disability rights movement.

DON'T: Dress up in a costume that mocks people with disabilities, such as a mental patient. And while we're at it, don't wear costumes that appropriate the history of people of color either...

DO: Celebrate difference and use your disability as a resource for especially creative Halloween costumes. Or...go as whatever you want! HAPPY HALLOWEEN! We hope it's an especially freaky one!

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Planning Accessible Events

Visitor — Wed, 15 May 2013 20:54:05 +0000

By: Emily Smith Beitiks

The Longmore Institute recently hosted a panel and reception honoring the work of Paul K. Longmore (in case you missed it, you can watch the captioned video here). Leading up to the event, my mind was rushing with all the things to keep track of: adequate space for wheelchair riders that doesn't block the path but also doesn't quarantine them to one section of the room; tracking down the comments from all the speakers to give to the captioners; directions and signage that clearly lead attendees to the event, preventing attendees from accidentally ending up in the Westfield mall, the Bermuda triangle of consumerism. Now that we've planned a few events that strive for maximum accessibility, we like to think we're getting the hang of it, but the concern is still always lurking: if we can't put on an accessible event, what right do we have to ask it of other events and organizations?

Much to our delight, nearly eighty people of all shapes and sizes quickly filled the room. In fact, it was so packed that we rushed to put out additional chairs [an accommodation for the leg users who did not bring their own], spilling into the open space we had reserved for the reception.

The panel was deeply emotional, filled with both laughter and sorrow as close friends and colleagues shared their memories of Paul Longmore. While the panelists were speaking, Longmore Institute friend and supporter Corbett O'Toole passed me a note. Since she has already saved us from many unanticipated pitfalls of inaccessibility, I immediately unfolded the note with a sense of foreboding. The note read: "I'm concerned about these chairs in the back. You don't want anything in the way of a crip and their food and wine." Grateful, we whisked away the chairs the moment the panel ended, and whew, our refreshments were accessible for all.

I offer these behind-the-scenes moments for they illustrate an important lesson that often gets neglected when we talk about access for people with disabilities: thinking about access only gets you half way there. To go the rest of the way, you must also think about culture. Many have argued that disabled people have a culture, just like other minority groups (the institute's founder Paul Longmore liked to say that this culture even involves a cuisine: fast food!). Corbett's friendly reminder - this crowd will not be shy about grabbing those hors d’oeurves you're offering, so plan accordingly! - provided yet another example to back this up.

As we continue to push our events to make each one more accessible than the last, may they also be supportive of and contributing to disability culture.

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Organization of American Historians

Paul K. Longmore

Paul Longmore

Uncategorized

A Thank You Note to the Disability Rights Movement

Visitor — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 20:27:02 +0000

By: Emily Beitiks

As a non-disabled person, I am often asked by other able-bodied folks what motivates my disability justice work. I explain my story: that my mother has been disabled since before I was born, that the experiences I had growing up made me realize the importance of eliminating barriers for people with disabilities, both physical and cultural. But often, I still get a response that makes my skin crawl with deep awareness of my able-bodied privileges: "That’s so good of you to help the disabled people!" I have long tried to develop a snappy response that articulates how completely off the mark this is. I am not a do-gooder, I'm selfish! However, I've previously struggled to come up concrete examples that make my case.

On November 15, I had my first child, a son named Carver. Like everyone says, it has been the most amazing experience of my life to date. After having now survived 9 months of pregnancy and the first three months with my newborn, I realize that motherhood has given me numerous illustrative examples of how the work of disability scholars and activists has benefits for us all, to which I for one would like to express my gratitude. Below is my thank you note. I encourage others to write their own!

Dear disability rights movement,

I apologize that this thank you note is so belated. You've been helping me out for a long time now - curb cuts when I travel with luggage, elevators at the end of a long day - but recently, I have really reaped the benefits of your efforts in ways that deserve acknowledgement.

Thank you so much for the accommodations you've fought hard for and won. While pregnant at San Francisco State University, my protruding belly made it hard to fit into the smaller bathroom stalls, but fortunately, there were accessible ones in every building. I took advantage of the disabled seating at the front of the bus. And in those final weeks of pregnancy, I could not have been more appreciative of elevators! Thank you!!!

I’d also like to thank you for teaching me that bodies can best function in many different ways and that I should throw "normal" out the door. During my first days home with my son, it seemed that I had permanently surrendered one of my arms to cradling my newborn, and the hourly task of breastfeeding required the use of my second arm as well. Like the folks I’ve met over the years without the use of their arms, I quickly embraced using other parts of my body in place of arms. That burp cloth that was just out of reach could be pulled closer with toes. An email-checking addiction could be appeased with a nose on the iPad in place of fingers.

When I returned to work, I found that I needed to be more public about my body’s different needs. I often had to use a breast pump machine without privacy, once in the middle of a restaurant during a lunch meeting, another time in a busy hallway. Without my background in disability studies, I might not have had the guts to be so public about my leaking appendages, but thanks to you, I quickly learned to stop caring about the oddness of it all and instead prioritize the needs of my body.

And if that wasn’t enough already, I have one more thing for which to give thanks: thank you for helping me realize that interdependence is a beautiful thing. While pregnant, I required help getting out of bed to go to the bathroom multiple times a night. I thought that this was what it meant to depend on my husband, but nothing compared to the hours of labor where he attended to my every need (which primarily consisted of holding my barf bag through each contraction) and the days of recovery that followed. Sometimes indepedence is just too exhausting to pursue, and my understanding of a disability rights perspective helped me quickly admit this to myself with immediate benefits.

I realize that there are undeniable differences between these experiences. Namely, pregnancy is a temporary condition, making it much easier to embrace my heightened needs knowing that they would soon pass. Additionally, pregnancy and childbirth are praised in our society so I did not face the stigma that disabled people encounter. My dependence on my husband would never be named a “burden,” and though public breastfeeding might be slightly awkward, I was never likely to hear someone say, “If I was like you, I’d never leave the house!” Together, we have more work to do, challenging what society values and why, but in the meanwhile, thank you, thank you, thank you for the gains I can already enjoy today.

Wishing you the best,
Emily

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