The thing you need to understand about ambulatory wheelchair users: a wheelchair is not an escape. It does not fix the pain.
We don’t notice how uneven the pavement is, how high curbs are, how narrow so many doorways are, no we really don’t notice half of our surroundings until we try to navigate the world in a wheelchair. We don’t realise that so much of the so-called access we have is not designed by disabled people, but is the bare minimum in imagining what a disabled person might need by able bodied people.
If you have any form of disability, are neurodivergent, or have sensory issues, you will know what a nightmare being in public spaces is, let alone public transport. With this in mind, my mother and I decided to get hospital transport for a hospital appointment in London so that I could lie down. Ambulances, ironically, do not feel safe. In the UK lots of them are converted vans, and they are very painful to travel in as they lack suspension. So, unfortunately that did not solve the issues I face when travelling.
In the hopes of a less stressful journey back, my brother booked us a first class train ticket, only £10 more expensive, but that way I had more hope of being able to lie down and it would be a shorter journey. At the train station we asked the first attendant we saw about a ramp, how to get on board, this is our ticket, she replied with the platform the train would be pulling into and that was it. The second person we spoke to was slightly more helpful, telling us to ask a guard. When we got to the platform and asked the guard, he put down a ramp for us, and the first time the entire trip I felt like something was going right, until we got on board the train and my wheelchair couldn’t fit between the seats to get to the first class compartment where I could lie down. As soon as we asked the guard for help he shrugged and practically ran away whilst saying ‘this is the only compartment I can put the ramp down’. No offer to carry a bag or help carry the wheelchair to the next carriage.
I am an ambulatory wheelchair user, which means I can sometimes walk. At the moment I can only just stand because my pain is so excruciating. Leaning on the seats so that my mother could fold up the wheelchair I was shouting to deal with the pain and frustration. How unfair. How ridiculous. Why isn’t the world built for me?! Why is every minute another challenge in every possible way? Even folded up, the wheelchair was too big to fit through the aisle, so, exhausted, after wandering the station to find help, and travelling across London, as well as a torturous hospital appointment, we had to shove it down the aisle of one carriage, and then another, until we finally ended up in the right carriage. Whilst, yes you could argue that the ‘accessible’ seating where I could have just sat in my wheelchair, and not travelled to the carriage we had paid for, would be the solution, what does that say about our view of disabled people? That they don’t deserve to use first class? That they’re not welcome there?
I had been sitting up all day with awful pain, and the is the thing you need to understand about pain and ambulatory wheelchair users: a wheelchair is not an escape. It does not fix the pain. It does not help enough. It simply means I don’t have to walk as much so I can sometimes prevent more symptoms. I can’t even push myself. Being wheeled over cobblestones and grids and being tilted up curbs? It is just as exhausting as walking. After those two days in an unfamiliar environment with rigorous hospital testing, I needed to lie down.
When we arrived at our stop, the guard came and lifted the wheelchair out whilst Mum helped me, and she said on the way out of the station that he had redeemed himself. Yes, I agreed, and then thought about it. No. No he did not redeem himself by doing the bare minimum. That did not make up for his rudeness or lack of concern. And though he may not be responsible, there is no making up for the fact that public transport excludes 18% of the public’s population.