People with working bodies, the fit and healthy, that’s you, you, you and you, and then me – four out of five of us – tend generally to be very good eggs. But you do often suffer from one serious failing: a complete deficiency of the imagination about what life is like for us.
Oh, for sure, you will gladly jump up and move your chairs to let us squeeze past in the restaurant, and wonder at the skill of someone signing to the deaf; you will smile at the nobility of a working guide dog, and unfailingly help open heavy doors to let us pass. Just the way I would, before things went tits up.
But most cases, that’s where it ends. Understandably, in many ways. Ablebods simply don’t grasp the realities of full-time disabled existence. Don’t have any awareness of the slow-motion, treacle-filled days: the frustrations, the limitations, the fear of things that were never scary before, the silly amount of energy expended doing ridiculously small tasks. I include some of my friends in this: I’ve been aware of whispering sadly at the wall, as a visitor drives away, “They just don’t get it, do they?” Just as I probably wouldn’t have got it, had the roles been reversed.
And the thing healthy people don’t get, above all else, is access. If our get-up-and-go has got up and gone, it’s probably because we’ve arrived at one too many places where we’ve been unable to find a parking place or an easy entrance or a table to get our wheelchair close to, and the whole thing has turned into an undignified nightmare, being flustered and bundled and manhandled and fussed over, all the while trying to smile graciously because you don’t want to offend anyone.
But sometimes, you know, sometimes I just get bloody sick of saying repeated thank-yous to people when all they’ve done is found me a place to park, not saved my life. Which probably makes me sounds like a bitch, and I’m genuinely not, but it’s why next Saturday, March 12, is hugely important: it’s Disabled Access Day, in its second year, having grown enormously, and it’s when my tribe are urged to flex their spending power and get out there.
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The idea is to visit somewhere you’ve never tried before – gallery, café, shop, museum, beach, hairdresser’s, beauty spot, hotel, whatever – and report back, spreading the word and mapping facilities. Companies and venues are being encouraged to promote their access and grab some of the 80 billion “purple pounds” of disabled business (indeed, a recent government estimate suggested this figure could be as high as £212 billion), because catering for us lot and our families should be seen as a possibility, not an obligation.
Factor in brand loyalty and it’s a no-brainer. Given that going out without fear is one of our biggest dreams, I have developed my own top five stress-free destinations to meet people, and I use them time and again. Something in my new life is at last easy.
The charity Euan’s Guide, the UK’s go-to disabled access review site (euansguide.com), is sponsoring Disabled Access Day. We must send them our feedback from next Saturday.
I feel a peculiar link with the founder, Euan MacDonald, because I interviewed him before I broke my body, and before he lost his voice to motor neurone disease, and before either of us dreamt how much we’d need advice from a damn website before we as much as ventured out for a cup of coffee. And Euan doesn’t know this, but every time I’m feeling sorry for myself, I just think of him and I shut up.
Constantly, people who’ve launched local access websites all over the UK contact me. Millions seek a brief respite from their own personal Guantanamo Bays. Even if we can’t get better, can never regain functional bodies, we can still look at a damn menu. There is a real craving for information. I’ve long wished energy and expertise could be pooled, so I forward the emails to Euan’s Guide – because I want it to co-ordinate the best, most powerful knowledge bank in the world for easy parking, flat entrances, wide doors, wheelchair-friendly tables, latte and a damn good cake, right down everyone’s street.
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All in all, it isn’t such a big ask.
Melanie Reid is tetraplegic after breaking her neck and back in a riding accident in April 2010