Scene Review: Grey's Anatomy 8x24 "Flight"

225 words

2 minute read

This is one of my favorite moments on Grey's Anatomy, because it so clearly demonstrates adapting and how organically it happens.  

Often, when disabled people encounter different future situations, able bodied people will ask, "How are you going to do that?"  The answer is, honestly, usually, "I'll figure it out."  Because it's hard to foresee just how we will adapt in a new situation until we're in it.

In this scene, several of the doctors have been in a plane crash.  All are injured - some more severely than others.  In this scene, they discover that Dr. Sloan, whom they previously believed to be relatively unhurt has internal bleeding.  As they are all surgeons, they can approximate based on his symptoms, where the bleeding is and try to treat it, using what's there.

The compelling moment in this scene comes at 1:46-1:53 (if you are squeamish and don't wish to see medical procedures performed in the hospital or in the woods, for these few seconds, you'll be safe to watch.)  In this moment, you see Dr. Yang (who has a shoulder injury) and Dr. Derek Shepherd (who has a massive injury to one of his hands) successfully work together with the two hands between the two of them to hold and unscrew a bottle cap:

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Scene Review: Grey's Anatomy 10x11 "Man on the Moon"

337 words

3 minute read

Those of you who know me know I've fallen in love with Grey's Anatomy.  I find it, overall, to be fantastically compelling.  It's hit and miss (in my opinion) with regard to disability representation, at least physical disability representation.  I find a lot of the portrayals of mental illness to be more accurate.

But I wanted to take a look at this scene (through :45), where we have Dr. Arizona Robbins (in the white lab coat) who is, at this point in the show, an amputee.  Her coworker, Dr. April Kepner (in the navy blue scrubs) approaches, and is flanked by her three sisters, who are in town for April's impending bridal shower.  They have never met Arizona before, and their awkwardness here knows no bounds:

The thing is, this is super realistic!  The ableist attitudes we, as disabled people face by complete strangers is just this awkward!  It doesn't matter where I am (home, the store, out of state) I have strangers coming up to me often enough to say things just like this!  I have gotten variations of "You are such a good walker!" and it's so strange.  Too often, I react like Arizona (who can't very well tell off April's ableist sisters in her place of work) just smiling and nodding until they walk away.  I do enjoy April making several attempts to shut them down, though.

If you're disabled, you'll probably totally get this post, and if not, here's a tip:  If you see a disabled person and want to say something about how they physically move through the world but you don't know them?  Keep it to yourself.  We're like Arizona, at work (or at home, or at the store) just living our lives.  We don't like being patronized.  So, if you're in the middle of regaling us with the tale of your three-legged cat and how well he hops along and inspires you?  Listen to April and just "stop talking."

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Movie Review: You're Not You

975 words

8 minute read

I was asked to review You're Not You yesterday by a friend, who said they would "love to have [me] pick it to pieces."  Well, friend, your wish is my command.

This movie had several good things going for it, and I'll start with those.  First, in the credits, there was an ALS consultant listed, which is so great, and is something sorely lacking in a lot of media featuring disabled characters.  Likely because this consultant on set, the movie was able to portray a realistic progression of ALS symptoms in Kate.  It touched on the very real and dangerous subtle ways disabled people can be mistreated by their caregivers (which we see with Kate's husband.)  I liked that Kate spoke for herself and advocated for what she needed, and I liked that the blatantly ableist moments in the film (mostly with the husband taking action concerning Kate without asking her permission) were, for the most part, shown to be wrong.  Even the awkward moment when Bec's father is repeatedly asking Kate for clarification of her speech when Bec is busy.  I could tell by the way it was portrayed that it was meant to be viewed as rude and awkward.  It was awkward, but asking for clarification when you don't understand someone is ultimately a sign of respect.  You're not ignoring us and you're not assuming you know what we're saying.  So, I really liked that scene, too.

One of my favorite positive aspects from the movie was the allusion to the title.  At first, I was put off by it.  I read it as some dehumanizing take on what disability or terminal illness does to a person - making them less themselves.  But I was happy to be wrong.  I loved the scene where the reason for the title was made clear, when Bec (the new caregiver) is interpreting for Kate, and begins taking her own liberties with what she does or does not interpret.  Kate interjects and says, "You're not you.  You're me," which really emphasizes the importance of interpreting correctly, as well as the importance of not speaking for a disabled person, but letting us speak for ourselves.  That scene really gave a needed window into what Kate was thinking and feeling and what the process of living with ALS was like for her.  The final aspect I really enjoyed (while not disability related) was the strong female friendship between Kate and Bec (and also Kate and Marilyn) that was displayed on screen.  It's rare that we see those in media of any sort, and I appreciated seeing those aspects.

As far as the negative aspects, there were many, unfortunately.  First and foremost, the character of Kate is portrayed by an able-bodied actor (Hilary Swank).  The movie was also, clearly from the perspective of Bec, the new caregiver, and not Kate herself.  This has the instant effect of "othering" Kate.  There were a couple of moments when Bec pushed Kate's chair when Kate clearly said not to, and in those moments, I believe it's shown to be a good thing.  As if, in these moments, Bec knows better than Kate what she needs.  In fact, Kate's word should have been honored.  Even the moment of positively framing the adaptive equipment comes from Bec driving the electric wheelchair (which is actually super hard to do, I've heard) seamlessly up to Kate and telling her how good it is for her.

The movie perpetuated some really damaging beliefs/storylines/stereotypes.  The scene on the stairs was horrifying, as was the reveal that it was not accidental.  Kate was so wracked with guilt over what her disability was doing to her husband that she felt taking a header down the stairs was a suitable answer?  We don't need anymore "I'd rather be dead than be disabled"/"No one can love me because I'm disabled" nonsense going on.  It is so damaging.  Yes, there are some people who believe this, even some disabled people.  However, when these aspects are the only ones you see, you think that is the entire picture.  Really, it's one small piece.  There are disabled people (myself included) who are super glad to be alive, who know we are worthy of love and respect.  The movie did show a good portion of Kate's day to day life, but it was all leading up to the moment of her death.  I want to see a movie about disabled people living that does not end with them dying to teach an able bodied person a lesson.

I don't count the death itself as a negative, but the way it's framed almost feels to me like another version of the "better off" stereotype, wherein Kate's legacy is shown to have more value than her actual life does.  And again, it was all depicted as a positive thing because we are seeing it through Bec's lens.  Kate's death gives Bec the push she needs to write music and sing on stage, which is exactly what inspiration porn is.  We, disabled people, are shown to only have a surface value - not as our own human selves, but as how we effect and/or "inspire" able bodied people  It's a way to objectify us, and reduce us.  Our lives do not have value because seeing us makes you feel better about yourself.  Our lives have value because they're our lives.

The book (which the movie is based on) does seem more comprehensive than the movie, and the author, Michelle Wildgen, seems to have a basic grasp of some of the harmful beliefs surrounding disabled people and the way we're portrayed in media, which is encouraging.  I haven't read the book (beyond skimming the first chapter online) so this commentary is about the movie only, which I did see in its entirety.

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Interviews

156 words

1 minute read

Interview with Tonia Christle: Growing Up With a Disability - (February, 2016) - After my guest blog series on growing up with a disability was published on her site, Ellen Stumbo interviewed me on what it was like to grow up with a disability.  (59:28, video)

Nothing About Us Without Us - (June, 2016)  - The Accessible Church podcast discusses Nothing About Us Without Us and what that means.  I pop in as a guest, briefly. (17 mins, audio only)

How and When to Talk to Your Kids About Their Disability - (December, 2016) - Tara and I were guests for the first time on The Unexceptional Moms podcast, discussing how and when to talk to your kids about their disability.  (56:46, video)

What You Need to Know About Cerebral Palsy From People With CP - (March, 2017) - Tara and I appear for the second time on The Unexceptional Moms podcast, where we discuss CP during Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month. (59:37, video)

#GeekDis Interview with Tonia of Tonia Says - (September, 2021) I was interviewed by Heather from Just Geeking By about disability representation in the media.

About Me

778 words

6 minute read

I was born in 1981, the second-born in a set of identical twins.  We were born nine weeks premature at two pounds a piece.  I had heart surgery at five days old, as well as a feeding tube.  When I was four months old, my family took me home, but two weeks later, I was rushed back to the hospital when my airway started to close.  I had a two stage throat surgery to remove a mass that developed there due to intubation at birth, and to put in my trach, which helped me breathe.  I was finally released from the hospital at eleven months old.

[Image:  Tonia as a toddler, smiling in a blue robe, brushing her teeth]

At eighteen months old, I was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy, which, for me, was the result of oxygen deprivation before or during birth.  My CP affects the muscles in my legs, as well as my right arm and hand, making the muscles in them tight.  It also affects my balance, posture and coordination.  Growing up, I achieved most of the milestones other kids did, but I achieved them at a slower rate, and had five or six more surgeries by the time I was eleven years old.

I used several different mobility aids.  When I first started walking at age four, through about age nine, I used a reverse posture walker:

[Tara, left and Tonia, right.  Age 6.  Tonia is using her walker.]

At age 6, I started learning how to use crutches.  It was scary, and I was often afraid of falling, but I always had people spotting me in those early days, to make sure I didn't fall.  (Thanks, Grandma!)

Despite being a really outgoing kid, I had a lot of internalized ableism.  I grew up thinking that being able meant you were also "better" and so, being disabled made me "worse."  I often asked for my picture to be taken like this because that's how everyone else had theirs taken, and I wanted nothing more than to fit in, even if it meant clutching an unsteady object nearby and being terrified I'd fall.

[Image: Tonia around age 6, posed by a wall holding onto an unsteady object in cowboy boots, shorts and a tee shirt]

In fact, I have very few full body pictures, where my walker, crutches or wheelchair were visible.  Lots of them are close up, portrait style.  By the time I was ten or eleven years old, I was dealing with anxiety, depression and self harm (which, I have read, is common among people who have experienced multiple surgeries, and therefore, feel a lack of control over their own body.)  This picture was a rare exception, where both my crutches and my wheelchair were pictured, about six months after my most major surgery, with one more on the horizon.

[Tonia, age 10, petting a goat.  Seated in her first blue wheelchair.  Her crutches are hooked on the back.]

I hadn't realized just how few pictures of myself also pictured what I used to get around, until I went looking for them for this post.  Needless to say, it's time for that to change:

[Tonia in 2015, seated in Greenie, wearing an orange top and black pants, smiling]

This is me and my wheelchair, Greenie.  I use Greenie a lot of the time, because I live in accessible housing, and it's a lot easier to get places and also have my hands free to carry things.  Greenie is super reliable and very comfortable.  His special talents include killing bugs.  He also gives me a ridiculously smooth ride, a lovely seat cushion and supportive back rest.  His best feature is his candy apple green color.

[Tonia, in 2015, standing with her crutches]

And this is me with my crutches.  I use them anywhere I can't take Greenie (anywhere with stairs, that is otherwise inaccessible.)  Their best feature is their slip proof tips, which I find and buy on Amazon every year or so.

It has taken many years for me to come to terms with my status as a disabled person.  I still rarely wear shorts, because I don't like my surgical scars being visible (though the one from my trach usually is.)  And I rarely if ever discuss my history with anxiety, depression and self harm.  These days, my anxiety is mostly under control, depression thankfully has not been an issue since college, and I am twelve years strong in recovery from self harm.

This is me, and I am not ashamed:

[Image: A close up on Tonia's face.  2015]

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Book Review: Why Is Dad So Mad?

144 words

1 minute read

It's rare that I go out of my way to buy a children's book (being that I have no children and that those I do have contact with are growing up super fast.)  But when I saw this book recently, ordering it was a priority.

Written by Seth Kastle, Why Is Dad So Mad? is (as the subtitle clarifies) a book about PTSD and military families.  It is simple, straightforward, and very clear, so that even the youngest children of service members with PTSD can understand it.  Most importantly, it's written by a retired military veteran with PTSD.  He wrote the book to try to explain the changes in him to his young daughters.

Definitely recommend this, and I'm about to add it to Tonia's Big List of Resources for Learning About Disabilities.

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