Wheelchair accessible? Winnipeg's not quite there yet
Wheelchair accessible? Winnipeg's not quite there yet
Being a new "Power Wheelchair Operator" (PWO sounds more empowering than the label, "disabled") has brought me a tremendous shift towards independence. I am no longer limited in where I go by a proposed destination's distance from the nearest bus stop, nor is my grocery shopping confined to the corner convenience store.
After nearly three years of being restricted to quick errands close to home, I am now able to shop for a week's supply of healthy groceries and cook a full dinner on the same day.
Since receiving my chariot a few weeks ago, I'm also able to work longer hours now and, consequently, I'm better equipped to support myself.
Difficult doors and rough sidewalks
But before this city can consider itself truly wheelchair accessible, quite a few obstacleshave to be dealt with. For example, as I leave my downtown apartment in my power wheelchair, I am already facing a challenge. I live, technically, in an "accessible" suite, but the door to my unit has an automatic door-closer (for fire safety) which makes it quite difficult for me to open inward while in my chair.
After dealing with that obstacle, I can easily leave the building via the automatic doors and wheelchair ramp. Once on the street, however, I tend to pause for a bit and ask myself if I truly want to go to work and put myself through the challenges the next hour will bring.
The sidewalks on the north side of Portage Avenue are in rough shape. That is something I noticed while using a cane, but am not able to ignore now as they are menacingly heaved in many places, and cracked and crumbling in others.
Finally, a few blocks down I reach my intersection. I take another pause and a deep breath, bracing myself to manoeuvre the six curbs that await me in the next block as I head north, before reaching an expanse of patio bricks that then serve as a sidewalk. The bricks look great, but Winnipeg's not-always-accommodating weather has caused the foundation to shift and buckle, leaving the path pitted with many potholes.
Each uneven inch sends me bouncing in my power chair, feeling as if I were traversing a dirt, washboard road after a heavy rain without shocks on the car. The holes jar my fragile spine, dislodging my feet from the leg rests.
By press time, I had been through my first experience of outdoor travel in the bitter-cold winds of early winter. I'm dreading the coming months of painful joints brought on by the cold and winter dampness.
I have a difficult time opening the heavy doors of the city's bus shack doors. The doors are made of glass, so I can't push them open painlessly using my leg rests: I'm five-foot two and my feet are above the kick plates on the doors. So I sit exposed to the elements until an accessible bus on my route has room and I can safely manoeuvre aboard.
(A lady in a second wheelchair came aboard behind me one day. Her chair, coupled with a yellow support pole in the aisle of the bus, blocked my exit. The lady in this chair was going another three stops, but the two of us compromised. We both got off the bus one stop after mine, each of us adding a few blocks' extra distance to our journey. Another time, I watched as a mother with a young baby asleep in her stroller was forced to exit the bus to allow other passengers to debark. In the confusion, the bus pulled away without waiting for the mother to re-board.)
Just before I reach the bus stop closest to Murray Industrial Park where I work, I bundle myself with thick throws and felt wraps. The special platform at the bus door swings upward and lowers outward to the street. I exit aboard my chair.
There is open prairie here and my journey, and challenges, aren't over yet. On the open road the wind-chill is severe. Then there'll be an uneven mud footpath some 100 yards long to travel, and at the end the door of my street-level office to work open.
I pause at the door and struggle to catch my breath. A wheelchair accessible city? I ask myself, with some irony. Not yet.
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