Do It Myself Blog – Glenda Watson Hyatt

The beginning of Grade 4 saw my special ed class at the new school with a new teacher Mrs. Peart. My class, along with a couple of other classes, moved from the annex to the main school a few blocks away.

This move meant we had access to more resources, such as the library. Once a week our class trekked down to the library to learn about the Dewy Decimal System and to check out a book to take home. I felt like a big school kid then.

As I share in my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself:

After a few weeks, the librarian strongly encouraged me to check out the very limited section of books on tape, assuming that usingthe newest technology at the time might be easier for me than holding books and turning pages. Honestly, I felt as though she was more concerned that I might crumple the corners as my cp hands turned the pages.

Being a teacher, Mom knew that listening to stories was not the same as reading books. Limiting her bright child to tapes to avoid crumpled corners was not acceptable. Mom, who firmly believes that one catches more flies with honey than with vinegar, politely mentioned to the librarian that I had owned books since I was young and was very careful with them. As a young child, Mom gave me old Sears catalogs to look at so that I learned how to turn the pages.

I went onto read the entire Little House on the Prairies series, wishing I was Laura Ingalls living in the log house and experiencing exciting adventures. I also read the very few books available at that time about people with disabilities, including Wren, Ice Castles, The Other Side of the Mountain, and Joni (pronounced Johnny).

Back then, I didn’t know any successful people with disabilities who were much older than me, and I don’t recall any people with disabilities in the public eye. These books, particularly the autobiographies, provided me with much needed role models. They showed me what was possible, despite having a disability. It was one thing to have my parents, teachers and therapists tell me to work hard so that I could accomplish anything I wanted. It was another thing to read about adults in wheelchairs who became teachers or got married. I began to realize what was truly possible. Those books planted the seed, when I was about ten, that I would one day write my own story to help others to see what was possible when living with cerebral palsy.

That one day came thirty years later when I finally self-published my autobiography. The journey was long, but one that I am glad I followed it through to the end.

Grade 4 was also the beginning of another journey; the one from special education to regular class. My classmate Peter, my best friend Sandy and I were integrated into the regular classroom long before for integration, mainstream and inclusion became buzzwords. The three of us joined the regular class in the afternoon for the non-core subjects Social Studies, Science and Music.

Looking back, there is one thing that puzzles me. Grade 4 Music meant learning to play the recorder, a flute-like instrument. Coordinating the fingering with both hands, the breathing, the lips and tongue, and the swallowing didn’t work for me. I could barely get any noise out of that thing. Yet, I did continue practising dutifully and trying my best. I did, however, learn the basics of reading sheet music: Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge and Fat Albert Can’t Eat. Like that does me any good now!

What puzzles me is how I was included in Music, which was an exercise in frustration and futility for me, yet, without parent intervention, I would have been excluded from reading library books, which was critical to my academic career. Even though integration was a positive, advancing experience, I wonder if some suitable adaptations or accommodations may have been beneficial. Obviously, listening to books on tapes was not necessary, but playing a more suitable instrument may have made Music class more meaningful and rewarding to me.

With integration, mainstream and inclusion all of the buzz now, hopefully teachers and educators have found the balance between including the child with a disability and making that inclusion meaningful and beneficial to the child.

Previous miniseries post: Excuse Me If I Lay on the Floor When We Meet

Next miniseries post: Coming soon!

After months of anticipation, the details are finally finalized: I am presenting at WordCamp Las Vegas at the BlogWorld & New Media Expo. Yes, the Left Thumb Blogger live in Vegas!

Together with WordPress’ parent company Automattic’s “User Interface Goddess” Jane Wells, who will be appearing via video, and Damien Patton, founder and CEO of FindAnyFloor.com (plus countless other projects on his plate!), we will be presenting the “Three Faces of Blog Accessibility” . We’ll be discussing blog accessibility from three perspectives:

• barriers bloggers with disabilities face and tips for increasing your blog’s accessibility;
• benefits to businesses for implementing the web accessibility guidelines; and
• the blogging platform WordPress’ commitment to accessibility accessibility.

Please join us!

When: Saturday, October 17th, 2009, at 1pm
Where: Las Vegas Convention Center, towards the back of the Exhibit Hall

I’d like to thank BlogWorld Co-founder and CEO Rick Calvert and BlogWorld’s Social Media Director Jim Turner for including accessibility on the blogging agenda, and john Hawkins for welcoming our panel presentation onto the WordCamp Las Vegas schedule. Having blog accessibility included at such an event is a huge step forward for increasing awareness of this issue.

See you in Vegas!

School mornings began early at 6am to allow enough time for me to feed myself breakfast, typically either oatmeal porridge or two pieces of peanut butter toast, each folded in half to allow for easy grasping; and, for Mom to help me to get dressed, including those long-legged braces that were cold on winter days and sticky hot on summer days. It wasn’t that I couldn’t dress myself; it simply took longer than we had on school mornings. Mom’s help on weekdays was one of those instances when practicality overrode independence.

On weekends, when morning routines weren’t precisely timed, I was left to dress myself and, for the most part, went braceless. The freedom of weekends!

Amidst learning to read, print and do math in class, I also had physio, occupational and speech therapy several times per week. The grandfatherly bus driver Mr. B spent all day shuttling us back and forth to the treatments centre, later called the Child Development Centre, for our therapy sessions.

With cerebral palsy, intensive therapy is necessary at a young age to maximize potential physical development. However, that fact didn’t make therapy any more enjoyable to a young child. Tasks like repeatedly grasping beanbags and putting them in muffin tins, climbing up a few stairs to simply reach a brick wall, and being rolled around on a large, inflated ball or tube were monotonous, boring and seemed pointless to this young redhead, but I was a cheerful, cooperative patient and I complied. Trampoline time was the only fun time.

Speech therapy was the most puzzling. As I share in my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself:

Speech therapy seemed rather bizarre to me. The therapist sat on a floor mat with me lying on my back between her outstretched legs. My legs wrapped around her waist, and her stinky toes were in close proximity to my nose. She then proceeded to stick her fingers in my mouth to wiggle my lips, supposedly to loosen them. She alternated between using her fingers and ice cubes. When the speaking segment of the therapy began, she pushed on my chest in attempts to improve my breathing capacity. After years of this hefty woman pushing down on my chest, I am convinced that was why I was such a late bloomer.

As I laid on my back staring at the ceiling tiles, I was puzzled. What was I supposed to do when I met people in the real world? Lay down on my back, on the floor, before speaking to them? I envisioned myself sprawled out on the ground when meeting a friend at the shopping mall or grocery store. This was not a dignified thought. Not surprisingly, pillow talk is some of my clearest speech!

Photo credit: On Top of the World, National Film Board of Canada

All of this therapy meant much time away from the classroom. One year my physio sessions happened to be scheduled right after recess and I missed most math periods, putting me a grade level behind. I eventually skipped a grade in math, which caught me up with my peers in regular class. In high school, I ended up taking Algebra Honours; obviously, missing a year of math wasn’t detrimental to my learning. I have often wondered what that says about the school curriculum: how much of it is repetitive and, perhaps even, unnecessary?

Once I was integrated into regular class, my therapy sessions were shifted to after school. I then was able to spend my school days completely on academics.

The special ed classroom was where I needed to be during my early school years in order to have the flexibility in my education to maximize my physical development potential.

Previous miniseries post: Special Ed Class Provides Early Training for the Left Thumb Blogger

Next miniseries post: Integration: Balancing Including the Child with Benefiting the Child

I’m taking a brief pause from regularly scheduled blogging to share this story:

On Monday afternoon, Darrell had an appointment with the hospital doctor to check his pneumonia; he is recovering nicely. The appointment was at the Rapid Access Clinic, now located in the Charles Barham Pavilion, which opened in 1970 on the grounds of Surrey Memorial Hospital.

Wheeling up to the main door and entering inside, something felt vaguely familiar; like I had been there before. I heard the nurse mention to another patient that the building had been the extended care facility, which I somehow already knew. But why would I have been in old folks’ home?  When?

Sitting there, waiting to see the doctor, I could feel the history of Surrey within those walls. If only those walls could talk, I bet they would share some amazing stories about the early days of Surrey.

We left that appointment with a new family doctor! One who actually tries to understand me! And, it doesn’t it take half a day on public transit to get there and back. I was ecstatic!

However, I was feeling something more than that, but I couldn’t really explain it. i felt like I was finally putting down roots; like I belong in this corner of Whalley. Whatever it truly was, it felt good and I hung onto the feeling.

Today, I was flipping through a copy of my autobiography, trying to get back into the mindset for writing the next “From Special Ed Classroom to University Graduate” miniseries post, which I began writing on Monday, but then had computer issue for two days; the power supply chose to stop powering!

On the bottom of page 36, I read:

Somehow we joined the choir that practiced during lunch. Considering my speech, it is a funny memory, but it was something David and I could do together during lunch hour. I enjoyed it, although I simply mouthed the words most of the time. The choir performed at the nearby old folks’ home and shopping mall…

That’s it! I had been there before! As a young girl with the school choir. No doubt we performed a Christmas concert for Surrey’s elders. My vague feeling of familiarity now makes sense!

Isn’t it strange how one brief event many, many years ago can still be in one’s memory? I wonder what else is buried my mind’s archives. A whole other book?

Growing up with cerebral palsy, my school years began in a special education class annex several blocks the main school. Now that is segregation!

But, at age five, I didn’t know the difference. I was excited to be starting Grade 1 with my friend Marika from Kindergarten and soon became friends with my four or five other classmates.

Our teacher Mrs. Rutherford was somewhat apprehensive having me in her classroom. As I share in my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself:

Being non-verbal, my teacher Mrs. Rutherford was concerned that she wouldn’t hear me when I needed help, so she gave me two small brass bells – her mom’s dinner bells – to ring to get her attention. It was soon discovered that the bells weren’t necessary as I was verbal enough to catch her attention when needed.

The bells were soon buried in my desk drawer and Mrs. Rutherford was well on her way to mastering Glenda-ish. The learning for both the student and the teacher continued…

Because getting to the chalkboard was difficult for most of us once we were placed in our seats, we each had an 18-inch square piece of chalkboard at our desks for practicing our printing. It was also easier to work on a horizontal surface rather than a vertical one. Initially, my printing was wobbly scribbles. With practice and extreme concentration, I controlled my jerky movements enough to make my letters almost legible more of the time. I also kept a chalk eraser handy, though inadvertently an uncontrollable movement erased a good letter. In frustration, I did the letter again.

Although learning to print, and then to write, were important steps in learning to read, it was evident that printing would not be efficient. It took too much energy and was too time-consuming to keep up with my work, and that would only worsen through the grades. Learning to use a typewriter was a necessity.

An electric Smith Corona typewriter was placed at the back of the room, which a few of us shared. When it was time to do typewriter work, Mrs. Rutherford dragged me in my desk chair over to the typewriter table and then dragged me back to my desk when I was done. Then it was the next student’s turn. A while later, perhaps once funding became available, we each had a typewriter at a second desk beside us. We simply dragged the typewriter back and forth as we needed it. It was much easier, especially on Mrs. Rutherford’s back.

As I have only one somewhat functioning hand, I only typed with one hand, my left hand. While typing, I steadied my hand on the typewriter hood to give myself some control over the spastic movements and used my thumb to hit the keys, causing my wrist to be in a dropped-wrist position. This concerned the adults, particularly the physio and occupational therapist. Although this was decades before repetitive strain injury and carpal tunnel syndrome had been invented, they were concerned that the dropped-wrist position would cause damage over the long-term.

They decided a splint with a stick to hit the keys was needed to keep my wrist in a good position. With this contraption snuggly Velcro strapped to my arm, I was expected to have enough arm control to steady my hand mid-air, without resting it on anything, and to accurately hit the keys. And this was less frustrating than printing with a pencil? After a few days, the splint ended up in the back of my desk drawer, and I resumed typing with my left thumb, my hand in its compromising position. I type the same way today, as nothing else feels as natural. For a non-verbal individual who relies on written communication, my left thumb is my most valued body part.

A Smith Corona electric typewriter with a keyguard still occupies desk space. This how I fill out cheques, forms and other such tasks that cannot be completed on the computer.

The typewriter in this photo is my second. The motor on my first, an even earlier Smith Corona model, eventually blew up!

Who knew the learning to type at the age of five would eventually lead me to becoming known as the Left Thumb Blogger!

Previous miniseries post: Catching the Back to School Fever: Launching a Mini Series on My Years from Special Ed Class to University

Next miniseries post: Excuse Me If I Lay on the Floor When We Meet