BBC Ouch-disability news

A question every child thinks about when they are about 4 most want to be fire-fighters, racing drivers policemen or woman, doctors, nurses or astronauts. What did I want to be? A motorbike driver AKA a courier!

I seem to remember once sitting in the car with my mum dad and my cousin when I was probably 3 or 4 having the what do you want to be when you are older conversation. I remember very vaguely even though I did not say anything at the time having a niggling doubt in my head whether I would be a motorbike driver.

Even then I knew I was different and there where things I could not do. I just hadn't fully worked out what all those things where yet and the impact they would have on my chosen career.

Looking back now it's quite funny to think of me, unbalanced, uncoordinated and partially sighted me wanting to be a motorbike driver.

I have been VI to varying degrees since birth from the very blind to almost getting enough vision (in perfect lighting conditions) to be able to drive, I think at one point I may have been one eye chart line away from that goal. However if someone where to open a curtain or turn the lights off I was completely scuppered!

So ever being a motorbike driver was completely out of the question, along with brain surgeon, microbiologist and tattooist. As I grew up I knew and accepted this.

Skip forward a few years and I was in my final years of secondary school, like everyone else in my year I was put on a computer programme to try and discover my future career path.

I was hopeful it would give me some ideas of possible careers and all the vital info needed. I was told that by going into a menu and ticking a box to say I was VI it would remove some of the blatantly impossible jobs.

So I filled out all 50 of the questions and waited eagerly for my top ten results and was shocked and disappointed to discover that top of the list was game keeper! Closely followed by paramedic, prison officer and various forms of nursing.

I can safely say that I would love to become a paramedic or a nurse, I spent years dreaming of being a P.E teacher but I also know that the risk assessments for those jobs would be horrific! Know one in there right mind would want me to suture up there lacerated head! I am however, because of my Guiding role and Duke of Edinburgh a fully qualified first aider, but that is most defiantly my limit.

Trying to decide on a career is hard enough for most normal's to cope with but when you have a disability just trying to get decent careers advice can be hard enough.

After the whole computer programme fiasco I refused to try it again and instead opted to have an interview with a careers adviser.

The consultation was disastrous, pretty much as soon as I walked in the door I was asked a question along the lines of 'what cant you do?' and the woman seemed to have the view that I should go down a traditional blindy career such as basket weaving or switch board operation, the whole experience was incredibly negative.

I've now settled on journalism having given up on the P.E teaching, physiotherapy, osteopathy and biology ideas for various reasons.

I can't wait to start my journalism degree course in September and I'm really excited that one day I will be a journalist!

• Visit Diary of a Monkey

Sometimes having a disability means pretending. At least for me it does. I pretend pretty well - I've been in a relationship for almost 40 years, pretending comes naturally after awhile - no, no, of COURSE I don't mind. But this weekend was full of two days of pretending. And after awhile, my pretend muscles got sore.

Here's what happened:

We moved this weekend. From a three bedroom house, with a full basement, to a two bedroom apartment. The ordeal was exactly like you imagined it to be. I knew from the get go that I would not be able to help very much at all. I don't move well or easily. Lifting was out of the question. Carrying was not even considered. So what did I do?

I watched.

I stayed out of the way.

I broke tension with humour, when necessary.

And I pretended.

I pretended that I didn't mind that everyone else was working, sweating, accomplishing and I was not. I don't often feel like my disability is much of a disability. After all, I just get around in a wheelchair. But, this weekend I felt well and truely disabled. Compromised. I made jokes about the two best things about having a disability - parking and not being expected to help with a move.

I didn't say anything. My friends were busy enough carrying my stuff, I didn't want them to stop to care for me. I didn't want to be the pathetic cripple watching others and wishing to participate. OK, that's what I was, but sure as hell no one was going to know it! So I did what I needed to do. I pretended.

Yep, I lied. Told a huge fib. Engaged in a big. taradiddle. It really, really, really bothered me. I felt useless. I felt inadequate to the task of living my own life. I felt needy. I felt insignificant. I felt, at moments, unworthy. I knew these feelings were momentary, based on a sense of guilt that they were working and I was not, I knew that I'd feel better in the morning. But that didn't erase the feelings as I was having them.

When we went to bed after everything had been moved into the apartment. I felt sore muscles, just like I had lifted a couch. But not, my sore muscles came from carrying guilt and lifting self-pity.

Who knew they weighed so much?

It has been really difficult of late to find the time and energy to write, then when I attempt to I get stuck really quickly or annoyed because the one word that would fit that sentence perfectly I cant spell, and Word doesn't have a clue what I am going on about. In short I have been getting frustrated by my lack of creativity and complete absence of spelling ability, combined with a slightly hectic schedule.

Of course there are further reasons for my absence from the blogsphere I am currently busily training with my first guide dog Gus. All has been going exceedingly well and we qualified a week ago today meaning we have been somewhat let loose on the world. He has also met the Guide unit I help out at and been on the Gosport ferry as well as many other places of course.

Whilst on the subject of my baby Gus I have to say the difference he has made to my life/mobility is HUGE! Last Saturday I went to town and navigated the high street and shops without maiming any small children or walking into something embarrassing. I am already, after just 4 weeks feeling so much more confident when out and about. I have even gone outside my front door without a hat on which is something I have not done for years! The bond between us has developed really strongly and I love and trust my baby boy!

On Monday I had my assessment for disabled students allowance (DSA). despite the paperwork telling me that it was informal and not to worry, anything involving the word "assessment" makes me rather jittery. I have to say though it went really well and I shall be in possession of all the essential blindy kit on my arrival at uni on the 18th of September. (That's if everything runs smoothly which I very much doubt).

So anyway that's what I have been up to and that was me trying to get back into the swing of writing again, this is my third attempt!

• Visit Diary of a Monkey

Yesterday I went to Sight Village. As the name definitely does not suggest, this is an exhibition of products and services aimed at blind and visually impaired people.

It takes place in the Clarendon Suites in Birmingham and is always extremely well attended. Blind people, their canes, dogs, sighted guides or all of the above make their way slowly and deliberately around 90 different stands, picking up leaflets, testing out products, asking advice on anything from employment to independent living, from how to receive audio description at a football match to how to work their new high-tech PDA. I was one of them. My facilitator told me that there was dog hair absolutely everywhere

What really struck me was the price of everything. I came across a talking tape measure for 40 pounds, a simple GPS device for over 400 pounds, and a little plastic brailler for taking short notes which was 125 pounds. Needless to say I bought something. A Victor Stream.

There were a few gadgets that caught my attention though. Cobalt launched something called the ITel, which claims to make any Ipod talk. You jus plug it in to the player, plug your earphones in to the gadget and there you have it, a talking MP3 player. I don't have an Ipod, but would nearly buy an ITel so that I can have a look through the music collections of my friends.

The other thing which grabbed me straight away was called an IPower. This consists of a little camera on a very skinny and portable tripod. You position it over a page, hit one key on the attached laptop, and a picture is taken of the text. The accompanying software processes and reads the printed material aloud almost instantly. You can scan in a whole book with this baby in a matter of minutes. And sure it only costs 16 hundred quid.

So although Sight Village is exhausting, and often a huge drain on your finances, it's more than just an exhibition. The blind world is tiny. There are literally 2 degrees of separation between one VI person and another, which makes it the top event in a blind person's social calendar. As much as it pains me to say it, I'll probably make my way there again next year, leaving the credit card at home.

Summer is here which means either many are out and about, or for some of us in disability land, we are still indoors wondering why the walls seem to be melting (so...the usual!). The internet and the disability world (whether you are a disabled person or a person with a disability) have taught me that not only are the presentations of the "same" disability different, but so are the ways people deal with them.

For me, the constant problem is MEANING. No, I don't mean I need my disability to mean anything; anytime I get that angst riddled I drink something with sugar in it so my attention span wanders. What I do need however, in a city where the terms "accommodation in the workplace" and "part time employment" are both viewed as a precursor to the dread soviet brain washing, is something to DO. And I find this is common with people who spend time at home (whether they want to or not).

Since my condition makes me so heat intolerant that I go into heat stroke at room temperature, summer is stay inside time. Add some fatigue, a bit of brain fog, and I have a craving need for some way to know that I exist. Plus, while I can do endnotes in the Harvard OR Cambridge style, I can't knit; I can't sew, and I can't play the bagpipes.

So I write and I send postcards. People like RachelCreative takes photos, Lene Anderson writes, many people like Fridawrites do parenting (I have heard once babies come OUT, it is harder to put them away again). Some people take degrees or courses like Gaina, and yes, some knit (what does it say about Canada that Yarnharlot won overall Canadian blog of the year?). One person I know plays the organ, but no bagpipes as yet.

So what do you do; what gives that juice of meaning to your life? I am honestly curious because I am pleasantly surprised at the diversity from wheelchair dancing to dog training, from blogging to scrapbooking. And I am always up for a new idea.

For me, my thing right now is to send out 997 postcards (address' collected for postcard use only!), which I have given the grand title of The Postcard Project. It basically means you email me, and I send you a postcard. You can click the link above or the link to my blog Screw Bronze and then click the link down on the right to find out more. I am up past 200 postcards now, and it seems to be keeping me out of police stations (an actual problem I was having before with too much....mental time on my hands). Postcards are an attainable goal, I use a special pen and my shoulder to write and I get to wheel to the post box. Remember that feeling as kids looking into the dark of the postbox and wondering where it goes? I get that now. And the neighbors like it a WHOLE lot more than the bagpipes.

So that is what I do. What is it that you do? Believe me, after post cards, anything sounds pretty grand. So what is it that gives the little joy to get through those periods when everyone else seems busy or away?

• Visit Screw Bronze!

Haddon Street is a soap produced by and featuring actors with learning disabilities. You can catch the trailer, which is great on their Myspage page and also download the whole show from their website. They're also looking for people to get involved, so if you live around Milton Keynes and want-in drop them an email!

I liked this headline courtesy of Independent Catholic News who exculsively reveal that 'Catholics are not immune from mental illness' . Whod'a thunk it? I am delighted that this group can join the ranks of potential Ouch readers.
To be fair, the story makes a serious point, but not really in the most subtle way!

For those of you not in the know, there is a blind housemate in this year's Big Brother reality show on Channel 4. It's awesome. No, really and truly it's utterly unmissable stuff if you haven't yet caught up with it. Hats off to Channel 4 and as they used to say on Tiswas, "This is what they want".

But many are now commenting on how 33 year old Ayrshire lad Michael 'Mikey' Hughes is being smothered by one housemate in particular: Mario, who has taken it upon himself to help Mikey as much as possible, keeps mentioning that he is disabled and is really quite patronising.

It's rubbing some people up the wrong way and many feel bad for our blind scot. Lets have a look at the last few days:

Tuesday

10:00pm (Ch4) Big Brother -- We see housemate Luke in the diary room talking about Mario and how patronising he is towards Mikey.

Wednesday

7:30pm (E4) Big Brother's Little Brother - The sister show to BB. We see 'it girl' Tara Palmer-Tomkinson loosing off at Mario for smothering and patronising Mikey. She also suggests it'd be good to be in a relationship with a blind man because he wouldn't be able to see what she looks like first thing in the morning.

11:05pm (E4) Big Brother's Big Mouth -- The late night studio chat show about the big big reality show. Guest hosts 'Queens of Noise' remark on how patronising Mario is to Mikey.

So, readers of this blog, the only person who appears not to complain about being patronised is ... Mikey himself! What's going on???

It's fascinating to watch but Mikey, stand up for yourself! You're a bright fella, you absolutely shine in the Diary Room but when you get out into the wider house you just let Mario sit on you! Come on man, when are you going to say something?

I beg you as a fellow blind person. On the other hand, it's beautiful to watch it happen from afar, rather than just have it happen to me as per ordinary everyday life. Maybe I don't want it to stop at all. It's art! Pure art.

I've had a few complaints over the last week or so about my 'attitude' towards my disability. Apparently I'm 'too cheery' and 'not angry enough'. My blog posts and my writing is too 'sunny' and 'upbeat' ... they didn't say 'inspirational' because I think they knew I'd kill them. I take criticism well, which is to say I get angry and fume for several hours then calm down and think about what was said. It is true I am an optimist by nature. I think it's that optimism that has allowed me to survive the childhood I had, has allowed me to take on challenges once though impossible and to keep going ... And yes, it has served me well in my transition to life in a wheelchair.

My annoyance came from the idea that there is a 'way' to be disabled. There was a mood, a posture, a viewpoint that I'm supposed to espouse.

And I was worried that I was failing at being crippled - how bad is that? I mean the bar isn't high.

So I reviewed. I came to a sunny view of the world long ago. I saw and experienced abuse. I saw and experienced prejudice. I saw and experienced disenfranchisement. But it never occurred to me to let what others did define who I was and determine how I would react to the world. Those who had power over me as a child, those who misused that power didn't need me handing them more - giving the ability to destroy my adulthood. I refused then, refuse now.

I choose to live a happy life.

Yeah it sucks that I can't get onto transit, can't get into a variety of places, can't be accepted as an equal. It really sucks. I work against those barriers and prejudices. I fight my own fight in my own way. I see the oppressor and I act when I believe action is necessary. But I don't let inaccessibility in the outside world make happiness and joy inaccessible in my mind and heart. I don't want to be 'the friend that is so much work to be around because he's angry, bitter and depressed all the time' ... I have those friends. Not that I want to be happy for them ... I want to be happy for me. This is my one kick at the can.

So I can't kick the can, I can sure as hell knock it over.

Just days after Laurence Clark's Spastic Fantastic article, Jenny Capp emailed to tell us about 4 blogs which have been commissioned by the Spastic Centre in Australia. They cover everything from the web, life with CP, the view of a father who's son has CP and a magazine type one with info about all the CP related happenings around Australia. There are only 3 posts on each so far, but they are actually really good and interesting, and not a mention of the S word in sight.

I believe the Aussie term is Spazzo by the way. Found out while researching the Australia related Podcast back in March.

We had an empassioned email through today about the awkward situation in the Big Brother house from Lizzy, a student at Durham University.

we've been following BB9 here in the Ouch office and noted that Mario has become Mikey's self appointed guide dog. He appears to be smothering the poor blind fella to the point where it's seemingly difficult for him to strike out on his own, be independent and make solid bonds with the other housemates. I'd have said somethign by now had it been me but our man is staying remarkably quiet.

Anyhoo, here's the email. Thanks for mailing us Lizzy.

There's a man on it, Mikey, who is blind. Then there is Mario, who is, as far as I'm aware, fully able bodied and likes to inform everyone of his incredible
managerial skills. Anyway, Mario seems to think that Mikey is not just blind but is infact incapable of anything at all. It would appear that Mario does
not have malicious intentions, he is just ignorant and thinks that Mikey does in fact need a babysitter. However his protective behaviour is getting increasingly
more suffocating.

In a recent episode, the housemates were required to play a musical instrument. Mario decided that Mikey should play the triangle or the drums, because
he was blind and this made him incapable of playing anything else. This is ignoring the fact that for some of the instruments, such as the flute, you cannot
really see the keys when playing them. Perhaps it was reading the music that Mario was concerned about, but presumably Big Brother had taken this into
account - they wouldn't want to be accused of being inaccessible to the disabled.

The really annoying part of this is that as far as I'm aware, Mikey produces music for a living. I should think that someone who produces music is perfectly
capable of playing various instruments. Similarly, Mikey in fact helped one of the abled bodied housemates to play an instrument because she was struggling.
He later told Big Brother how keen he'd been to try out that instrument, calling it by its name (which I don't know, it's quite obscure), hardly the actions
of someone who cannot manage anything other than the triangle.

Normally Mikey seems to take Mario's behaviour in his stride, but this time he did point it out, informing Big Brother that he'd had to play the triangle
because apparently blind people can't play instruments. It was difficult to watch a man of notable musical talent having to play a triangle as a result
of misconceptions based upon his disability.
The number of times Mario has informed everyone that Mikey is blind is impressive. It seems that Mario needs to refer to it at regular intervals, perhaps
he's worried that Mikey has forgotten he's blind and has to be reminded of it. Mikey is a pretty outgoing person and does not appear to have any quarms
about asking for help if he requires it. He doesn't need someone to look after him, if he needed that, Big Brother would have provided it.

Leave a comment or email us directly ouch@bbc.co.uk - unless you're trying to sel us bodily enhancement patches or tablets.

I have a confession to make - and it's that secretly, just between you and me, I rather enjoy my occasional visits to the prosthetic limb clinic to get Lurch, my trusty metal and polypropylene leg, repaired and polished and generally made almost as good as new.

Last Friday evening I had an unfortunate leg-breaking incident. It occurred as I was leaving the office, and resulted in me coming into close personal contact with the hard stone floor of the reception area here at palatial BBC Towers, So come Monday morning, I headed off to Roehampton to see my prosthetist. He and I chatted for a while about music and the bands we'd recently seen, as we always do on these occasions - before he took Lurch off to the workshop to administer some tender loving care by attacking him with a spanner and various other complicated tools.

Meanwhile, I was left one-legged in the waiting room, trying to stop my jeans from falling down over my suddenly shortened right leg, and browsing the same selection of glossy motoring magazines that I reckon they had there last time. (No, I do not want to read about the new limited edition Porsche, thank you.)

The clinic is based in a hospital, of course. Now I hate hospitals with a passion, but going there is more like popping off to the local garage on a Saturday afternoon to get your car fixed 'while u wait'. Because men and women are obviously seen in separate rooms, I can only speak for the blokes, but it seems that they really do sit around eyeing up each others' latest models and discussing in geezer-ish tones what went wrong with their limb.

"Yeah, my socket's giving me some right aggro, I'll 'ave you know. I'm in bleedin' agony 'ere!"

"One minute I was walking along, happy as Larry - the next minute THWACK! on the ground. Me knee had blimmin' well gone, hadn't it?"

"Loose foot, me old mate. Third time I've been in 'ere this year. I hope they can get it fixed up right this time. I'm supposed to be doing competitive tango with the missus on Friday night."

And so on and so forth. I might have rather exaggerated these tales for comic effect, but I'm sure you get the picture.

But here's what I'm wondering. Firstly, female prosthetic limb users - what do you discuss whilst going in for a quick repair job? Is comparing the battle scars on your false leg or arm merely a male preserve? Do the simple stories of your falls and breakages become tales of daring and adventure, like I always seem to hear in the male waiting room?

And secondly: this surely isn't just the case with prosthetic limb users, is it? What's the experience like when you go and get your mobility aid an MOT and a bit of spit and polish? Satisfy my curiosity in the comments ...

We all love and remember Esther Rantzen's late 80s BBC1 show Hearts of Gold. Or do we love to hate it? It rewarded acts of kindness, be they in life or through random acts of generosity in the street. Not so bad you might think? Quite good, in fact? Many disabled people, however, felt it had that Telethon touch of pity about it and would rather those lovely stories about the lady who always makes a point of saying hello to her arthritic neighbour weren't rewarded with mass TV coverage. It went down badly in 'the community'.

So, you'll be pleased to hear then, that Sky One are planning something that sounds rather similar. Noel's HQ - a live show, perhaps reminiscent of Esther's old fave and perhaps a teeny bit reminiscent of his former BBC1 Christmas Day present giving show.

Sky One controller Richard Woolfe said: ""This show will be the antidote to broken Britain," a reference to Conservative leader David Cameron's new slogan.

A good deed should be rewarded, yes? And who better to take on this show than Noel, the author of Positively Happy: Cosmic Ways to Change Your Life.

First off ouchers I must explain my recent absence from posting, my computer has been and still is feeling very poorly! I'm hoping that this will work, there are absolutely no guarantees; he is feeling VERY ill. (Any large computer companies that would like to make a donation to me are welcome to do so!)

Anyhow back to what I actually wanted to blog about, I'm packing for an adventure!

I'm disappearing off on Monday to train with my first guide dog, which is of course incredibly exciting! His name is Gus and he is a 2 year old black Labrador Retriever cross.

So I will be going away to train for 2 weeks and I'm having a few issues.

Packing is proving to be a tricky thing to sort out, I have never been away from home this long before. Attempting to pack 2 weeks worth of cloths is interesting. The problem I have is that I am the clumsiest person in the world ever, I posses absolutely no co-ordination or spatial awareness.

How does this relate to packing?

Well I need a lot of cloths to survive 2 weeks. I am the messiest person ever and regularly have to get changed during the day because I have spilt something on me. So to be safe I need to take plenty of spare T-shirts (I find these tend to get the worst damage) say 20.

That number is a lot to try and put in a suitcase, mine is huge but still with trousers and shorts and underwear and meds and everything else under the sun that has to come with me there is not going to be enough space.

The other option is I pack soap powder, but then I have the hassle of trying to dry whatever it is I have hand washed, it could go very badly.

The final and probably most realistic option is that my mum and dad come to visit me, collect my dirty washing, take it home, wash it and then bring it back to me at the hotel. I like this plan a lot as it does not involve me washing stuff!

It got me thinking even with a relatively straight forward disability so much extra planning and work has to go in to going away, whether that be for work or pleasure. (It's also making me wonder how Liz Carr does it.)

Then it got down to packing all the other stuff and it soon became apparent that I didn't have enough trousers to survive the training. Cue impromptu shopping trip!

This is my next rant!

I don't have a 'normal' body shape, my feet being the worst effected part of me on that score, buying shoes is near impossible but never before have I had so much of a problem trying to buy trousers!

I think I tried on every pair of ladies trousers in town and still there was nothing that fitted properly, there where all kinds of hip related fitting issues or they fitted ok but where then too short.

Eventually I came home with a pair of men's camouflage trousers that fitted perfectly; I really don't understand how woman's trousers that are the same size somehow don't fit my freakish figure!

So anyway I'm nearly packed and ready to go. I'm borrowing my dad's laptop (which brings with it all kinds of accessibility issues!) so I can hopefully blog whilst I am away training, I may even be able to sneak some cute pictures of Gus on to the blog!

• Visit Diary of a Monkey

I have a disability. This means I have a shortened lifespan, and if you have a disability, you probably will have one too. I also have days that suck. I felt the need to state that because this year from the able body world rises an old idea with the stench of rotten fish. The idea is that there are no disability/impairments, but rather just lapses in time between one able bodied state and another. And that there is no disability/impairment itself but rather a state of learning/joy/euphoria/wisdom/amazement which even when paralyzed does not involved itself with piss or shit or frustration.

What frustrates me the most about this 'stench of a disinterred corpse' idea is that they are once again raping the experiences, memoirs and memories of US, the PWD's. Because we do not happen to see ourselves and our lives as a series of silent dots between able bodied states to make this fantasy dance and lurch for their mental comfort. The film The Diving Bell and the Butterfly has, so far, won nine awards, and I am sure it will win many more. It happens to have the same title as a memoir written by Bauby about his experience with ALIS (Locked In Syndrome). Except, that in this film, Bauby and family live the life which is palatable to the able bodied, not the one he actually wrote about: his feeding tube beeping while his catheter has fallen out covering him with piss, ignored for 30 minutes, while the tape loose on his eye tickles his lashes.

In the book he is taken by his family on Father's Day to the beach. There are many onlookers, and in his essay of it called "Through a Glass Darkly" he says, "I have become something of a zombie father." (you can see this section as film HERE) Talking of his children, "I will never tire of seeing them walk alongside me, just walking, their confident expressions masking the unease weighing on their small shoulders." Of his son, "Theophile dabs with a Kleenex at the thread of saliva escaping my closed lips. (this is word for word in the film, at which point the film stops Bauby's words while the real person and author Bauby continues) His movements are tentative, at once tender and fearful, as if he were dealing with an unpredictable animal." We are given the son in the film dabbing with kleenex then a cut to hugs and dancing, the family ALONE on the beach. Gone is the fear, the uncertainly that people have with severely disabled, with members of humanity or family they can't understand.

But these real emotions, all erased, to create a scene society desires: a happy family dancing on an empty beach. This 'fantasy' of disability ends with his wife, saying "You are the most amazing man I have ever met." In his essay, Bauby writes, "The children run to stretch their legs on the beach once more before leaving, and Sylvie and I remain alone and silent, her hand squeezing my inert fingers. Behind dark glasses that reflect a flawless sky, she softly weeps over our shattered lives."

After I mentioned the film in passing on my blog I was sent an anonymous email saying that while the person "loved" the film they would RATHER see a film about Dr Jill Bolte Taylor. Because HER stoke story has a "happy ending" (she doesn't die and she returns to complete and full able bodied function) and directed me to a 20 minute presentation on TEDTalk. Dr. Taylor was a brain scientist and while she talked for twenty minutes, the time between her stroke and when she was able to take the stage, with full body function again was eight years. The time discussing those eight years is four seconds; literally, "It was eight years until I regained full function." The talk presents the stroke as an enlightenment, an great insight which opened her up to right versus left brain thinking. Because I have had many small and a few larger strokes, I was interested in her experiences, then repelled, by this woman who turned the 40 minutes of her struggling to call for help while part of her brain died, into a series of jokes for the audience. The theme was, "I was an able bodied scientist and now I am an able bodied and ENLIGHTENED scientist." About the eight years, the frustrations, the loss of memory, loss of function, of swearing, of crying, all gone in a four second line between jokes and statements about choosing the "we instead of the me." Her book, My Stroke of Insight, is a bestseller, a "powerful voice" on stroke recovery.

In case this is news to people on OUCH: Shit happens. You probably did not plan on dealing with a disability/impairment or the way society treats those who have one. You probably have gone through a lot of emotions and struggles regarding how you view yourself, your own worth, and what you consider accomplishments and achievements, separate from able bodied society's values. I have. I have good days and bad, and I do not like that the collective populous want to think my life is about people dancing around me while I am told I was/am the greatest lesbian and lover who ever lived. Nor do I wish them to think of my days, or the destruction of my brain as an 'inspirational' coda between being an able bodied member of society and my return to it. I live; I live in a day, the same number of seconds as those in the able bodied world. Perhaps they don't take as many opiates as I do; or need as much assistance but even that, having a stranger shampoo your hair, is living. It is not always insightful or inspirational, and my eventual death does not negate the meaning or experience of my life, nor conclude that it isn't a "happy ending." It is a universal ending. No one has gotten out of life alive yet and by eliminating those eight years or silencing the real voice of a person adjusting to disability/impairment, society has written us out of the collective human condition. And while I may have to take that news sitting down, I don't have to be silent and accept it.

A US survey has revealed disabled people can't get enough of casual video games!
Compared to the casual gamer population as a whole... those with
disabilities play more frequently, for more hours per week, and for longer periods of time

Is that really surprising? It's not like we've got anything else to do ;-)

Alledgedly:
More Than 10% Have Had Casual Games Prescribed or Recommended By A Doctor

Behold; the power of video games which apparantly provide:
distraction from infirmities, as well as a sense of accomplishment or
belonging

Even so, if the NHS were to take this up, I'm not sure the market could withstand casual games at £7.10 a pop from your local pharmacy.

Now excuse me whilst I take my daily prescription of Tetris...

I've been avidly watching Big Brother. Blind housemate Michael and Darnell, who has albinism, are incredibly fascinatingly watchable.

Why? Possibly because I'm blind and rarely see visually impaired people portrayed on TV beyond those blind weirdoes who like to get publicity for driving fast cars or flying a plane. This isn't impressive, it's not real life, and it doesn't prove they're brave or even that they'd be able to hold down a job with any degree of competence.

Big Brother, however, streamed 24/7 on the net and E4 with little interference from producers, shows more blind reality than has ever been experienced on television.

Read my article about why I like the blind reality on the BBC News website.

It's got me thinking about it all a little too much. When I was in the kitchen here at work earlier, I found myself wondering if others making coffee alongside me were thinking it was a bit like Big Brother having me there.

If you can't get enough of this month's Podcast host Kiruna Stamell, you can still catch her turn on Eastenders playing 'Sandra the SENCO'.

Some on our forum have already discussed her performance.

But for those who haven't been following...

Ricky and Bianca's son Liam has been having trouble at school. Meanwhile, Ricky has been wondering if he can do anything to help as he "always struggled at maths." So they visit Sandra the SENCO (Kiruna) to find out whether Liam is Dyslexic, whilst Ricky takes the test too, to answer his own doubts.

If you're in the UK you can watch the: episode on iPlayer until Friday

Kiruna's scene is at 14:36.

And buy yourself a nice, nice, new wheelchair. The Telegraph reports that you can flog your badge for approx 5,000 GBP on EBay. Yeah. That'll getcha a chair, or a holiday, or perhaps even a car? (dunno how much cars cost in the UK) -- and you can always apply for a new badge, presumably.

Seriously, though. The whole crip tag thing is out of control. If all the cops are going to do is clamp and/or tow the car of someone who is misusing disabled parking tags, that's just not enough to deter people from doing it. I somewhat prefer the thought that motivates this new law in Chicago: 500 USD for your first offense, 750 for the second, 1,000 and a one year suspension for the third. And possible revocation of your licence. Interestingly, this interpretation also seems to promise revocation of your disabled placard if you are responsible for allowing a non-disabled person to use it. It's the same thing for misusing your tag in California: here, though, the fine is around 3,500 USD.

I am a little offended that the fine is worse for the disabled person who "allows" someone to misuse a tag than for the abuser (150, if they get caught). It's part of that idea that really, secretly, there's a scam here. We're just in it for the parking. And who knows? I could be running a parking permit lease business. Yeah, all the way to the bank.

That said, nothing has any teeth unless people are willing to enforce it. And social pressure is not enough. In the US, I was pleased to hear that San Francisco police would lie in wait for hours sometimes to catch offenders, but I wonder how often they actually do it. I mean, San Francisco is a big city with a lot going on and although they found the energy to tow my car (parked in a commute zone), I doubt that the cops have much time to spare on a regular basis. It's a funny image, though: two cops, deep undercover, coffee, donuts, and an abused crip tag.

I've only been stopped once, but, obviously, all was well. I just wish that public transport was good enough that fewer people -- including me -- drove overall, that public transport was accessible enough that I didn't have to drive, and, finally, that the paratrans services were more available and more reliable.

There's probably nothing we can do about placard proliferation, however. And there are almost always more tags than spaces (and more are issued every year). I don't see a way out of the problem except more vigorous enforcement. And even then ...

Visit the legally parked on the web at least Wheelchair Dancer

As the new boy working on Ouch, I was looking forward to my first Podcast.
Safely back in the office I can now reveal some of the gruesome innards which go into its making.

I was tasked with grabbing some pretty pictures and videos for you people to greedily consume. Perhaps, more importantly I had to provide for every which and whim of our lovely presenters this month, Mat and Kiruna.

We descended to the deep dark chasm of Brodcasting House, floor -7.

The session begun with a pre-production meeting, during which my notebook was filled with the Ouch team's requests for soy-mocha-skinny lattes (no sugar,) and sandwiches; vegetarian, spicy but not too spicy (or something to that effect.)

Then came the ordeal of confusingly repeating this order to the Broadcasting House café guy. Meanwhile, an increasingly long and angry queue formed behind, no doubt wondering how anybody could be so confused about what they wanted.

Back in the production meeting, the aforementioned beverages were duly consumed providing the pre-requisite supply of caffeine for the mammoth recording session to come.

Matt and Kiruna duly began their repartee, even before the recording began.

As the tape rolled, the standout moments came as both Matt and Kiruna attempted to complete a DLA form.

Podcast listeners, get ready to discover whether Matt and Kiruna can:
"Plan or prepare a freshly cooked main meal on a traditional cooker"
And even if they make use of a:
"Hoist, monkey pole or bed-raiser"
Trust me, it's really as good, quite possibly even better, than that sounds.

My role in all this was stealth camera operator, which as someone with Cerebral Palsy (who generally noisily stomps around the place,) did not come naturally; I took to the art of chair swivelling to grab shots, as a pose to foot stomping.

With the recording safely in the can, (or rather a USB stick). It was time for post-recording banter and hula-hoops.

Finally, the reward of emerging from the studio vault, for some well deserved fresh air.

Bring on the next podcast...