Before October 2018, I had never had a substantial injury. I danced for thirteen years, wore heels that were way too tall for me, and tripped more times than I can count. I got off easy until a few weeks ago when I decided to go to a place that no klutz should ever go to: a trampoline park.
They always look so fun! People jumping in the air, diving into foam pits and laughing carelessly. I naïvely thought I would thrive in that environment, but boy — was I wrong. I was not even on the trampoline for five minutes before I fell and sprained my ankle. At first, I didn’t believe it was a sprain. Like the many times I have tweaked my ankle before, I thought I could walk it off. I could not walk it off. The swelling began and the throbbing ensued, so I decided to head home and ice my ankle for the night. When I went to the clinic the next day, they confirmed that it was indeed a sprain and gave me my very own pair of crutches. There was a time in my life where I thought, “It might be fun to be on crutches. I can get ripped arm muscles and have everyone do things for me.” What was I thinking?
The trampoline incident occurred Saturday night. Luckily, my grandparents live close to Gainesville, so they came on Sunday afternoon to take me home for a few days. I had to rely on them for everything. While I sat on the couch, my grandparents would bring me drinks, food, and belongings that were out of reach. I’ll admit, it was nice the first day — but by the second day, I began to feel frustrated. I couldn’t do anything for myself. I felt like a child. Getting around my grandparents’ house was tough enough, so I dreaded going back to campus.
Before the sprain, I never noticed how inaccessible Gainesville — and nearly any place — can be. I live in a townhouse, so there are three flights of stairs. Even if my room was on the first floor, the path to the front door included one tall step, which inevitably, I fell off of with the crutches. There is no way for someone in a wheelchair to get into my place by themselves. Matters got worse when I was on campus. My grandparents dropped me off as close to Turlington Hall as possible, but because of the campus street restrictions in place during the day, they couldn’t get that close. I had to get myself up a hill with one good leg and two crutches. Luckily, a nice girl carried my backpack for me. I think she could tell I was very much riding the struggle bus. Before my first class even began, I wanted to give up. I was tired, covered in sweat, and just wanted to throw the crutches off the face of the earth. Honestly, I didn’t pay attention to any of my lectures that day. I was over it.
Even though this piece has been one big complaint so far, I realize that I can’t really complain. Even though it’s tough right now, my ankle will eventually heal. The crutches will be put away, the ACE bandage will come off, and I’ll be on my own two feet again.
Unfortunately, though, many students do not have that luxury. There are students in every college and major who deal with mobility limitations. According to the Accessibility at UF mission statement, “UF strives to ensure individuals with disabilities enjoy reasonable access to services and resources required by the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 and other applicable federal and state regulations.”
There are many aspects of campus that are designed for students with disabilities, like ramps, accessible bathrooms, and programs to convert online materials for those with visual and hearing impairments. But even with these services and resources, I can’t imagine that it’s easy for students with disabilities to manage. If your friends are walking one way and there are stairs, you’d have to find another route. If you want to use most of the services designed for you, there’s a slew of forms and applications to complete. For example, I wanted a way to be driven around campus so I wasn’t late for my classes. I looked into Gator Lift, but I would have had to wait until the next day for my requests to be processed, and on top of that, I could not be late for pick-up if I didn’t want to lose my ride. What if my class ran over or I had to talk with my professor afterward?
I understand why there are administrative hoops for students with disabilities to go through. Rules and regulations make it possible for everyone to receive equal treatment. I wish there was a way to make a school where students with disabilities, both physical and mental, did not feel so alienated. Maybe there’s no perfect answer, but I think we should all work towards one. In the 2011-2012 school year, 11.1 percent of undergraduates nationwide had disabilities. That’s not a small number. Students without disabilities can make change even when the administration can’t.
I wish it hadn’t taken a sprained ankle for me to realize this — but this experience has reminded me that we could all stand to be more compassionate, especially to those who need it the most.