Accessibility

You know, before Annie got sick, I never noticed that the door at Sears, which is right next to the handicapped parking, doesn't open automatically. Picture someone in a wheelchair going up to one of those heavy glass doors and trying to open it with one hand while they're sitting in a wheelchair. Yeah, ain't gonna happen.

Or how does one move about in any of the stores at the mall in a wheelchair--between the racks of clothes that are squished together like sardines?

Or how about the restroom at the dentist's that is about as big as a port-a-potty...but I can't leave Annie out in the hallway by herself, so I wheel her in there and pray that she doesn't touch anything that is within reach, which is everything in that cramped little closet.

Then there's our split-level house. The wheelchair doesn't even come out of the van at our house. What's the point? And, as long as Annie is a manageable 42 lbs., we're okay. But somewhere along the line we're going to have to bite the bullet and move to a wheelchair accessible house. And you know how many of those are in Washington state? Not many. Of those that do exist, very few of them have more than three bedrooms. And, although someday our other children will move out, they are mostly still here. It has occurred to me that perhaps we should build our own children's home--with lots of bedrooms, lots of accessible bathrooms, and one big no-step entry.

Accessibility...it's a big deal. And a bigger deal when you don't have it.

Jean