I’ll begin with an apology. If the subject of challenges for the handicapped bothers you or if you don’t like to talk about bodily functions, just keep scrolling. But if you’re a little brave, bear with me.
When I was a small child in rural Illinois in the early 1950’s, many farm houses did not have bathrooms or toilets. There were outhouses situated at least 20 or 30 meters from the main house, but what happened in the winter or in the middle of the night when nobody wanted to go outside? That’s when chamber pots or “thunder mugs” came into play. Chamber pots were containers large enough for someone to sit on. The old-fashioned ones might be made of china, and there were pieces of furniture called commodes with spaces large enough for the chamber pot. And then there were large tin cans.
My grandparents got an indoor toilet when I was five, but prior to that, Grandma D. would place a large tin can under the bed so that she could pee into it in the middle of the night rather than going downstairs, and trudging outside to the outhouse. As a small child, I never thought anything about this; I just accepted the idea that it was far more practical than the alternative.
Since Archibald the Ankle has become a thing in my life, I have had occasion to remember Grandma’s solution to that problem. As I have observed previously, our house is not handicapped accessible. I am becoming highly proficient at maneuvering my wheelchair around corners in hallways designed only for the fit and mobile. For me to reach the toilet in the middle of the night requires me shifting from the bed to the wheelchair and then carefully backing the wheelchair out of the bedroom, turning it around, and heading for the toilet, not neglecting to lock the wheels when I finally stop. These manipulations are daunting enough in the daytime. I am not about to attempt them in the middle of the night, for not only might they result in disaster but I would also wake up my long-suffering husband who is already doing so much to help me.
Remembering Grandma D., I have achieved a solution: I place a bucket under our bed and slide it out as necessary. Accessing this thing is not simple, for I have to slide off my clothing and balance on my good leg while levering myself down with one hand on the bed and the other on the bookshelves near the bed. I’m afraid to put all my weight on the bucket for fear of it splitting in the middle of the night, dumping the urine and me all over the floor. And as I am achieving this feat of midnight ballet, I remind myself that Archibald will heal in a few weeks, allowing me to be mobile without the wheelchair while millions of people throughout the world face such challenges all their lives.
Several years ago, I injured my left hip and wound up on crutches for nearly 4 months. I rapidly learned that most public toilets in America are barely handicapped-accessible. Steep ramps, slippery floors, poorly-designed stalls with doors swinging the wrong direction, sinks, water, and soap located so high that they are unreachable for someone in a wheelchair-I observed all those things in the U.S. Here in Ghana, the situation is far worse for many designers of public facilities fail to give any thought to those in wheelchairs or on crutches.
By this point, you are either laughing or grossed out. Just remember to look around you-see the curbs that have no ramps for wheelchairs. See the poorly-designed public spaces. See ramps so steep that their pitch could be used to design ski jumps. And then remember that those with mobility challenges can still be productive workers if given the right opportunities. They already have enough problems; don’t make their lives more difficult.
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