In discussions about quality of life or eugenics or disability pride, some nondisabled person often asserts that it’s obvious — despite all moral arguments on the value of disabled persons lives — that a body with impairments is just physically less desirable and not something any sane person would choose. Lacking something can’t possibly be better than having it, right? It’s an argument that always fascinates me.<\/p>\n
It fascinates me because it seems like a very specific aspect of physicality to decide unequivocably that there is one obvious answer for when we recognize such biologically-based statements about sex or even body weight are problematic. Being one sex or the other means that each of us physically has some abilities and some lack of abilities that those of the other sex don’t. The ability to bear children versus absolute freedom from the “burden” of bearing children — we recognize the political and subjective aspects of those perspectives.<\/p>\n
Of course<\/span> a body that can do more tricks is physically superior, better, handier to have. And for past generations and people in different locations then and now, a tricksier body has been advantageous to survival. I don’t disagree with that, so far as it goes.<\/p>\n But often the added implication is that there can’t possibly be anything good about a body with impairments, and that isn’t necessarily true. I understand that this is hard for many people to accept. Maybe it helps if I accede that much of what I appreciate about my specific body and it’s abilities\/inabilities is related to the technology that I use.<\/p>\n Individual physical experience is important, so my assertions of enjoyment are limited to my own experiences, which I’ll describe in a minute. But I’m not the only one. Wheelchair Dancer notes<\/a> that her joy of dancing is inextricably linked to how she can make her manual wheelchair move and express what she’s feeling. And she’s certain this cannot be simply and completely mimicked by a nondisabled dancer using a wheelchair:<\/p>\n You can get a sense of how long it takes to turn in a chair, what it feels like to PUSH a chair, how to stroke, wheelie, etc. But you don’t know what it means to actually live in a chair and feel it melded to you as an extension of your body or, especially, what it means to actively use the chair instead of feeling it as a prop. And this means you won’t be able to move in it as we do. You won’t feel comfortable in it in the same way that we do; you don’t even see the texture and surfacing of the floor the same way. Our relationships to the space are different.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n I’d argue that while a nondisabled body can eventually learn the dance moves so that they look the same as when a disabled wheelchair user does them, there is a psychological aspect to exercising the limits of your body’s abilities — regardless of what those limits are — that adds emotionally to the experience. I also believe a quadriplegic can be an athlete if she is pushing the physical limits of her body and experiencing all that goes with that. If individual experience is given value, it doesn’t matter with what body it’s achieved.<\/p>\n Here’s a Spanish ad<\/a> with some dancing to consider. And Aaron Fotheringham’s athleticism seem obvious to me here<\/a>, where his moves are similar to those of skateboarders and bikers. New Disability’s interview with Aaron<\/a> reveals that he’s used a wheelchair virtually his whole life, explaining why he makes it look effortless — it’s a natural way of moving for him (not the flipping, but using a manual chair, generally).<\/p>\n As I said, technology contributes to all this. Even power wheelchairs provide<\/a> unique joys. When I was in college as an undergraduate, my friends and I used to play around in our wheelchairs when the campus was quiet at night. I liked to drive my scooter in tighter and tighter circles until it tilted onto only two wheels. The challenge and thrill was to pull out of the circle just in time before tipping over. Also, many of the same joys people get from driving their cars can be found driving an electric chair. There’s skill to it, enjoyment of speed and mastery of a machine.<\/p>\n On a less athletic level, I used to have a large power chair with a tilt-in-space feature on the chair. It was a special pleasure to park anywhere on the campus quad and recline back, eyes closed to enjoy the morning sun. My portable Barkalounger and the social dispensation to do something strange like park and nap wherever I wanted were a perverse pleasure to me.<\/p>\n Surprisingly, I find moments of enjoyment in my ventilator and feeding tube now that I have both of them. If I exert myself doing something and get short of breath, I can simply lean back in my chair and wait until the ventilator helps me catch my breath. It’s not resting in the same way a nondisabled person does after he’s been working out. You might say it’s lazier than that, an anti-athletic recovery that doesn’t require me to do anything.<\/p>\n Likewise, at night, when my PEG tube is hooked up to a slow drip of liquid nutrition, there’s a physical comfort to knowing my body is getting protein while I sleep. I could get the tube pulled if I wished, now. It’s not absolutely required for my sustenance at this time. But it’s a comforting back-up, that, along with a low cholestoral count and no concern about my gaining too much weight means that I’m curiously free of all concerns about my diet that most other women struggle with daily.<\/p>\n It’d be easy for a nondisabled person to say these little joys I mention are really sour grapes about what my life is missing. Or that I’ve stirred up a bit too much lemonade from my supply of lemons. Fruit metaphors aside, I inherited my optimism and always find that here and there life is sweet. But the point is, there are aspects of this specific, highly-flawed body that are uniquely enjoyable, and I’m not the only disabled person to make that claim.<\/p>\n Crossposted at The Gimp Parade<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In discussions about quality of life or eugenics or disability pride, some nondisabled person often asserts that it’s obvious — despite all moral arguments on the value of disabled persons lives — that a body with impairments is just physically … Continue reading