Thoughts on the Americans with Disabilities Act

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) is reactive and not proactive, cumbersome and often vague.  If I as a handicapped person feel I have been discriminated against, it is up to me to file a complaint.  How long with his take to be resolved and do I risk alienating another potential employer?  If I won a case and became employed at ABC Co., what would the work environment be like?  Also, would this jeopardize chances for other disabled people who may later apply at the same company?  The law also seems to be vague. For example, what is a reasonable accommodation? Even the term disability means different things to different people.  The criteria seems to be subjective and not objective.  The enforcement of ADA is done by multiple agencies by state and nationally.  Has ADA hurt people with disabilities as much as it has helped them?

            I mentioned earlier in this blog a little about my experience of feeling discriminated against based on my physical disability.  Perhaps I should have pursued some kind of legal action against those companies.  At the time I was simply more interested in finding a job than trying to” fight the system”. For the most part, I would probably do the same thing today unless the discrimination was really blatent. I think there would be many ways a company could defend itself.  They could say we hired who we thought was the best candidate for the job and our decision had nothing to do with Mr. LaVack's physical limitations.  They could also say something as simple as we decided not to fill the position at this time.  I’m not a lawyer but it seems to me either response would be hard to disprove.  Discrimination in general, is hard to prove.  But yet this is what we in the disabled community are given to defend ourselves with.  In my opinion, this does not seem to be a good formula for bringing about true systemic change.  So what is a disabled person who wants to work to do?

We are more than a label...

A real driving lesson!

It was not just my parents that got me to try new things. Like every 14 year old, I was fascinated with driving a car! Sometimes things happen in unexpected ways and places with unexpected people. Uncle Chip always had a great influence on me and he was always a blast to hang out with not to mention a little crazy! 

Nothing like a fishing trip on a late summer afternoon, especially with somebody like Uncle Chip. He was a character. He was a little wiry guy who liked beer and loved to laugh even more. If you were with him you were in for a good time and that’s all there was to it. He loved to fish and sip beer on a lazy summer afternoon and he knew a lot of good places to fish both near and far. There was this small pond out of town that you had to go down several long winding dirt roads to find We would go there occasionally. This one afternoon went even better than I could have imagined before going out.

             At the time he had this beat up old blue early 80's Pontiac sedan with paint slowly peeling off and a perfectly echoed number 43 on the door in support of the most famous NASCAR driver ever, Richard Petty. He called it the Blue Goose. Once you got in the car, there were poles, old beer cans and plenty of live bait in the form of crekets running all over the interior. I can't make this stuff up! Once at the fishing hole, he got out an old lawn chair and he would sit by the pond with a small red cooler just big enough for an iced down six pack. He also had a unique style of fishing; at least I thought so. Instead of one-man one pole, he would cast out five or so lines and lay the poles close to the chair and hold an ice-cold beer instead. We joked and laughed and managed to catch a few fish over a several hours.

I was around 14 and like any one that age all I could think about was driving. So as we put the poles, fish and other things away I asked him kinda jokingly if I could drive back up to the main road leading back into town. Sure! He said. This was my first time behind the wheel and not just steering. I have a knack for looking over a situation and knowing if I can handle it or not. I knew I could do this one. I eased the Blue Goose back up the trail to the dirt road where I stopped. Chip said keep going you’re doing good. I continued on a half a mile or so back up to the main road enjoying every second! It was a fairly busy two-lane country road. I put the car in park thinking it was over. Wrong…

“You are doing really well, keep going. Drive us up to the highway. There’s not much traffic.”

I felt good and nervously pulled out. I still remember the rear view mirror was a little off and it was awkward seeing behind us. Still I tooled on up the road as if I knew what I doing. Something told me Chip would let me drive the rest of the way home but an even a young know it all teen knows his limits. I pulled off the road before reaching the highway feeling a little nervous, scared and very excited all at once. I knew I could drive a car and had done it thanks to crazy Uncle Chip.          

I wanted to drive and knew I could. Dad was not so sure. He knew about the lesson with Uncle Chip but still had some doubt. Still, he helped me get up with a driving instructor to get a second opinion. On the appointed day, I drove the guy around a huge coliseum parking lot and nothing was destroyed or broken! I could tell by Dad’s look he thought the answer was “No”. I knew different. The earlier illegal driving lessons from Uncle Chip had paid off and I was confident! The Instructor told Dad I might be able to get a license but he had no way of knowing for sure. So I pressed on through Driver’s Ed classes and training. I got my learner’s permit and after a lot of going back and fourth between the state and doctors month after month. With time, persistence and hard work I got my license. I have no hard feelings. The state guys and the docs were just doing their jobs. I’ve logged a lot of miles all over this land of ours (from California to North Carolina and many places in between) and know I have many more to go...

Doing time in Headset Hell...

     Here’s the problem. Unlike my new fellow graduates, I cannot go off to college or move out on my own. By this point I’ve learned how to dress and shower myself but I and no anyone else has figured out a way I can put on my own socks. My feet have poor circulation and although the winters here are not severe it is still too cold for me to go without socks. So for the time being, I’m stuck at home living with Mom and Dad. They never made an issue of it knowing there was not much I could do. But before I could even begin to think about how to move out and be independent, I had to find some type of work I could do using my head.

    Not long after graduating from college, through a friend of a friend, I found this job doing phone surveys. I call this type of work being in head set hell. It was a part time evening gig in a large building housing a small mall and many offices. The training lasted all of one night and one or two did not return after the dinner break. They had seen too much already. We had to call people out of the blue and then find smokers willing to take anywhere from five to fifty minute surveys. It was no easy task, I can tell you. This was long before most work places had no smoking policies. The place was always filled with a carcinogenic bluish fog and smelled of stale tobacco and strong coffee that had been sitting out too long. It was a job designed in some Orwellian hell. The supervisors listened in on many of our calls and got on us if we deviated at all from the given script. The survey I was all about smoking. How much do you smoke? Why do you smoke? What is your income level? What is your education level? The questions would go on and on. Some people loved taking the surveys but many simply hung up around question number three. Leaving each night I would think to myself there had to be something better. Had I really gone to college to be a phone surveyor? But it was nice getting a paycheck I had earned on my own and I hung in there for a few more miserable months. Two of those I called woke me up to what I was really doing and helped pull me out of the smelly bluish fog.

    “This is Paul from Acme Product Survey Company we are doing market research on tobacco users, may I speak to Bill?”

    “Paul, Bill died three days ago from lung cancer.” She was an older woman and deadly serious and not too happy to hear such a request.

I told her I was sorry for her loss and hung up.

    I ran the same line by another person.

    “Paul I am a smoker but in no way want to help in any way the tobacco industry. So I will not take any survey from them.” He was polite but firm.

     Shortly after talking to these two people, I realized I did not want to help big tobacco either gave a two week notice and left. It felt really good leaving that place for the last time. I cannot do work I do not believe in and I hope this never changes no matter how broke I am. But I had to find a new job.                

    I went to my local unemployment office (the same place I work now) and they referred me to another State Agency, Vocational Rehabilitation.  I think it took about a month or two to even get an appointment. First, to determine if I was indeed eligible for services, they had to determine if I was really handicapped. Forget what your lying eyes tell you, this is a task for authorities, medical authorities. A few more months go by and I get signed up. Then, we had to develop a plan for me to find work. I liked Mike, the guy I was working with but each visit was a bit like being in a slow motion Saturday Night live Skit.  He sat by the door next to the reception room where the receptionist greeted patrons with all the warmth of a death camp gas chamber operator. Despite the open door and the twenty feet of separation they would talk on the intercom slowly. I would just sit there taking in the surreal experience. This was my introduction to government in action working for me. Each visit went pretty much the same; Mike slowly reading me paperwork while my eyes tried to glaze over, my repeating that I understood and both of us signing mundane but important looking documents. For them, finding me a job was another tick mark proving they were accomplishing their mission. Getting me a good job was secondary, any job would do for VR.

    Mike sent me to one place that made some kind of household cleaner like stuff. They were known to hire (exploit?) the handicapped. I was less than thrilled but I decided to play along and see where it would lead. It was dark, dingy and smelled like ammonia. The place looked like a cross between a meth lab and a mortuary minus the cadavers. I would be cleaning plastic bottles and filling them. There was no place to sit. You had to stand at a long linoleum table and do this all day. I showed up around lunch time and most of the workers were gone.  Being handicapped has its advantages from time to time. I told the guy I could not stand for long periods of time and politely eased out the door glad to see there was still sunshine. How could I maintain my Buick Grand National as a bottle cleaner? I doubt it would work well in bars looking for possible dates either. I needed something else.    

    We ruled out manufacturing after that. Mike sent me around to various staffing companies. I also found places to apply on my own. Now, I could wow them during a phone interview. Everyone tells me I have a good phone voice. I would get all excited thinking I had a job and go meet the people I had just talked to and as soon as I walked in, the thermostat would drop around thirty degrees. The script varied little from place to place but would go something like this:

     Me: Hi, we talked on the phone about the Administrative Assistant job. 

     Cute Recruiter With Too Much Make Up: “Who are you again?”

     Me: I’m Paul LaVack, we just talked on the phone just this morning about me being a good fit for the Administrative Assistant job. You said I sounded like a great match and asked me to come in today at 2pm.”

     Cute Recruiter With Too Much Make Up: “Oh, just leave your resume. I think we filled that job. I’ll check with my manager and get back to you.”       

     Me: “Here is my resume. Thanks!”

     Sure a little better looking but still the warmth of a gas chamber operator. 

     Then no call and I would never hear from them again.

     I don’t know how many times I repeated the same lines almost work for word. But it was way too many. I knew nothing of ADA and discrimination and Mike forgot to tell me. No, I in no way blame him. I should have looked into it. It is my job search and I need to know what the deal is, not a government bureaucrat’s fault. Still, it would be an uphill battle to prove such a thing and what would I get in the end? It would not exactly win me any popularity contests if I was hired by one of these places. Eventually, Mike and I realized I could use my good voice and answer a phone for somebody. 

     With Mike’s help, I eventually found a job back in headset hell headset hell. I went to work for a nationally known retailer who had a call center here. The building looked like an oversized windowless concrete bunker painted a pale blue. The inside was even less exciting. Walking in the front door, to the left and right are small offices for human resources, management and computer people. Go straight and open a door and you would find “the floor.” The floor is a huge windowless room full of round pods of six work stations. Each work station has a keyboard, computer screen and a large rack of catalogs. Inside there is no natural light, just ever present fluorescents. In the days before on line shopping, people ordered merchandise via mail or on the phone by calling an 800 number. I would answer those calls looking at a simple green and black computer screen. The company was not bad and I got along well with my co-workers. I would get one of them to help me with my headset each day and then start taking calls.

     The job was needless to say, boring. The more interesting part was watching and listening to some of my more colorful co-workers. There was the young African American guy who to keep himself entertained he would do his best imitation of a country redneck guy. He would not say anything bad to customers, just use a goofy sounding voice. Then there were the call avoiders, those who would do anything to avoid doing what they were hired to do, answer calls. People can be quite ingenious but it seemed easier to me to just do the time and go home. I never had a problem with a really irate customer but people around me would from time to time. Listening to the conversation could be the most entertaining part of the day.

    People can be so irrational sometimes. When dealing with someone at the other end of a customer service number keep in mind the most likely did not create the problem, losing your cool and yelling like an asshole will make them more interested in getting rid of you than solving the problem. I did not have any major problems. I learned by trial and error how to best resolve customer issues while keeping everybody happy. Man, the job may have been boring but I always gave it 100% effort. I showed up early every day and missed very few days. The best worker in the world is worthless when they are out. I feel this is what I’m supposed to do and to do less is unacceptable to me. I want the company to know they made a good decision in hiring me and I may need them for a reference sometime down the road. It was good to gain the work experience but doing part time phone jobs was doing nothing to help me gain independence. I knew I had to get more education and Mom and Dad agreed. It was not ideal living at home while going to community college and later the local university but it sure saved a lot of money and hassle. 

power and equity

Who gets to decide who is normal and who is handicapped?  Officially, it is those in the medical profession. A doctor slaps the label on us with a diagnosis. In my case it is AMC. Handicapped, disabled physically impaired and I may be missing a few others but they all have negative connotations in out culture. Something is missing, we are some how not a “whole” person, and we cannot do for ourselves. We are often felt sorry for and for too many remain hidden away from mainstream life in institutions. When given such a label, it becomes internalized. We take on the role of someone who wants sympathy, cannot participate in society or even take care of ourselves. It is self fulfilling prophecy at it’s finest. I don’t think such a person could be expected to break out of this situation on their own. How could they if this is all they have ever known? Becoming independent and a fully functioning member of society is dependant on learning. This starts at home. If the family follows the script that goes along with the disabled label assigned by the medical profession and reinforced by the rest of the society, there is no reason the outcome will be good for the individual. I’ve not had that much experience with other so called disabled people. But I’ve noticed those who see themselves as being disabled are ultra self-centered only able to talk about their own problems seeming to forget that all people suffer in one way or another. The only way to break this cycle of learned dependence (can it also be read prisoner?) as I see it is education. We need to be educated on alternative possibilities. Instead of a focus on what we cannot do (I cannot ever be an NFL star, for example), we need to learn things we can do (I can write).  Dependence equals no or at least less freedom.

           

Powerlessness is learned. Along with having no power, less freedom is also learned. One cannot imagine venturing beyond the confines of an intuition or the home.  Where is the freedom in having all the big decisions made by caregivers for the individual? In the extreme even something as simple as when to go to the bathroom is decided by others for the disabled person. Sadly, society seems to think this is okay and how things are supposed to be. How many FDRs and Stephen Hawkings hove been over looked or never encouraged to use their God given talents? Even just one is too many. If they are never taught there is another way, then dependence and ignorance may be all they ever know and it all starts with the family.

The family of a handicapped child has to encourage her to be as independent as possible. Even if she can do nothing for herself physically, she can still think interdependently. she need to be able to make decisions about not only her care but also how she wishes to spend her life. I think it is important, even for those who are mentally handicapped to have as much say as possible about what they want to do and be cared for. Every person, handicapped or not needs to know how to advocate for themselves. Knowledge starting right at home is the key.           

Try to be what you want from others…

Be what you want from others…

In my experience dealing with people, what I put out is what I get back. If I’m kind and easy going, that’s what I get in return 99% of the time. It is good to be positive but it has to be more than a shallow slogan. I like Michael Jordan’s approach. It goes something like this; when I meet someone, it may be the only time I ever see them. I hope to make it a good memory for that person. So I always try to look my best and be a polite as possible. I want them to feel good after our meeting. I think this applies to not just the people Mr. Jordan “meets” like fans, ill children or business people but everyone. I cannot speak for him but this is how I feel anyway. I strive to be polite to everyone I meet and leave them with the best impression I can. Think about it, when has being an ass to someone ever helped improve a situation or solved a problem? It may make you feel better for a moment or two but does little in the long run! Maybe not be possible to be polite and positive 100% of the time to everyone so I have room for improvement! If the other person is having a bad day and is sour with me, I cannot meet their negativity with my own. That will only make it worse. Keep it on the sunny side as the old song says. We are all better off for it.

Being polite and positive I think makes other people more willing to help out when I have a problem, helps everyone to feel good and lightens the day. This does not mean being phony. If I’m having a bad day or my back is hurting, these are not reasons to bring others down by complaining or being rude. In the last two years, I’ve been to the hospital twice. It turned out to be nothing major fortunately. But this is a great setting to see how staying positive and polite is helpful. I never had a problem with any staff and I feel I got very good service. I always used sir and ma’m and please and than you, even with the blood ladies who showed up at 2am! Who wants to help a wine bag or constant complainer? If I maintain a good attitude the resulting interactions with others will often make me feel better or maybe even bring a bad day around. There is no need for me to make my problems your problems. This applies everywhere, even when traveling.  

I try to practice this approach with people all the time but especially when I’m traveling.  When I’m in another country, it is like being a guest at someone else’s house. They have different rules, customs and attitudes. I need to be respectful and hopefully I can also learn a thing or two. When going overseas, I not only represent myself but the good ole USA and even North Carolina. I know on occasion I’ve on occasion been the only American some people ever met or spent any time with. I want them to feel good about me as well as the rest of us here. They don’t have to like or agree with our government but seeing us as a good people goes a long way. I think this is one reason why I’ve always had no problems when traveling. In 2007,  I almost missed my connecting flight to Vietnam from Korea. The flight from Atlanta was delayed 3 hours. I resigned myself to being a guest in Korea for the night. Got to be flexible on the fly. No reason to get upset. When The Korean Airline people realized my plight, they held a small conference around me. I told them I could be flexible and made no complaints. There were about five or so people (two with walkie talkies) all speaking Korean and I awaited my fate. For all I knew, they could have been discussing how best to get me in a stew pot. That turned out not to be the case at all! The next thing I know a little Korean guy is pushing me in a low rider wheel chair through this vast airport running as fast as he could. I’m having to hold my legs up because the chair is so low. With this guy running at full speed it still took almost ten minutes to get to the next plane! I thought I was gonna die from holding my legs up but we made it! I don’t know for sure but I think they held the plane for me. It felt like they did anyway! I thanked the guy who got me there and he would take no tip money. I will always remember what he did for me. Despite my coach ticket, I found myself in an extra wide first class seat sipping wine for my last leg to Vietnam! Had I played plan B, the role of whiny American, I could have been spending a long night in the terminal. Plan A worked out better for sure!

                 

“My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.” --- The Dali Lama

Intro...

Hello All! 

So why should I write a book if I’m like everybody else? I’m not exactly. Being put together a little different can be a great teacher and it has for me. It all starts from with in. What we make our world mentally it will be. Sure I get down from time to time but life is too short to stay down for long. Remember the two-year rule, if something has upset or offended you, will you even remember it in two years? If not, let it roll off and get on with life. Now just because I’m writing a book does not mean I take myself too seriously. I can laugh at myself also. I know I do not have all of the answers but perhaps a few. Please take a little time, kick back, relax and let us share a few thoughts, laughs and lessons about the world we all live in. I hope to help inspire other to reach their full potential, inform people and demonstrate how far we can all go with a positive out look and a little humor despite any challenges we face.

Visiting a Doctor's Office…

            Healthcare is obviously a deeply personal issue for all of us at some time or another. Any of us can be either the patient or have a friend or family member who is a patient. We each invest a lot of emotion in our own care and the care received by a loved one. In the role of the patient, each of us places our health and our lives in the care of people we do not personally know. We tell the same people things we may not even share with our spouse! Here, the word doctor carries a tremendous amount of weight, giving the holder of this title a huge amount of credibility. I can speak from the patient point of view and from concern for a loved one. The doctor patient relationship is almost something sacred and when trust is lost for whatever reason, it is difficult but not impossible to regain.  

I only know the healthcare field from the patient point of view and what I have learned studying conflict in healthcare. I feel doctor's can gain their patient’s trust easily with their credentials and even more importantly, using active listening skills. I’ve learned doctors see a huge number of patients each day and as a result cannot have more than a few minutes for each person. If the doctor uses just a few concepts of active listening such as repeating back what is being said and asking for clarification, it makes me, the patient feel so much better about what was going on. I have a lot more trust in that individual than someone who walks into the room and treats me as an afterthought. The doctor has been told well before he or she enters the room why I am there. I feel they often know what they want to do as far as a treatment before they even speak with me. Given their workload, it is understandable. But the doctor should remember I am a person who may be in pain, afraid and worried. I can only speak for myself and for me a big part of healing is psychological. If I have trust and confidence in my doctor, that alone will help me start to feel better. I don't think I necessarily need a lot of extra time with the doctor to build this trust and confidence.  Let me share a great example from a personal experience. Less then a year ago, it was discovered I had an abnormal EKG. Needless to say, I was given test after test. On a follow-up visit for a stress test, my doctor told me what was going on and took the time to answer a few questions for me. I'm handicapped and have difficulty dressing myself. At the end of the visit, I asked the doctor if he could send in someone to help me with my shirt. Rather than do that, he helped me himself. It was a small gesture that took little time but made a world of difference to me. He thought of me not only as a patient but a fellow human being. The doctor cannot do it alone, the patient also has responsibilities.

            I, being the patient, need to do my part in taking responsibility for my own health. Many men do not like to admit they are having some kind of health problem and need help. By the time they get around to going seek medical care, they had often inadvertently made problem much worse. My Uncle Chip who passed away many years ago fell into this trap. He had a small growth under the skin on the side of his neck. With no insurance, he was reluctant to go to a doctor. The mass grew in grew along his neck. By the time he sought professional medical care, cancer had spread throughout his body and there was little they could do. He passed away in a matter of a few months. I was not with Chip when he died but somehow I felt it. He was far from perfect but he had a heart of gold and was a great friend! I still think of him almost every day. How he died is very sad. Perhaps had he gone earlier, the outcome would have been the same but we will never know. I think what kept Chip away from the doctor was a combination of understandable fear and no insurance. Reflecting on memories from 20 plus years ago, I may be forgetting some things and over simplfying what happened but I don't think so. I love life and the people around me and I want to be there for them. So even if I had no insurance and feel something may be terribly wrong I hope I can overcome my legitimate fears and worries and seek professional medical care. This may be the most important lesson I learned from Chip. Medicine has come a long way but even the best medicine the world cannot save us from ourselves. We have to be active participants in taking care of our health. 

            I like to think I can give my trust easily, especially to a doctor or other healthcare professional. I'm lucky to say I've got good care or most of my life and despite its problems and flaws, still have faith healthcare. That said, once my trust is lost it is very difficult to regain. I doubt I'm alone in feeling this way. As someone who has studied conflict the last three years, I see restoration of trust as a key issue; especially in healthcare where so much is at stake. The key, I believe, is active listening from both the patient and the provider. Even when trust breaks down, it is not always impossible to restore. As always, I invite you to share thoughts.

Look for another discussion next week. 

Welcome...

Hi All I'm Paul LaVack and I'm writing a book on how to live successfully with physical disability. Success I know is subjective. Am I a medal winner, a millionaire, a dot com Mogul? None of the above. I'm just a schmo who was born handicapped and I'm okay with just being me. I measure success in family, good friends and miles traveled. It may be different for you. Being handicapped does not mean one cannot have a full, fun productive and happy life. That's the point of this blog and with your input, a book.

Thanks for reading.