The Most Dreaded Disease of All

I like my breasts. I truly do.

They’re nothing special -- certainly not Playboy caliber. But they’re mine. And I’d like to keep them healthy.

Which is why I was disturbed the other day when I passed by a pink mobile mammogram RV. It was parked on a public plaza to motivate women to stop by and have breast imaging done.

I’m all for that. Anything that can detect cancer early on is a godsend. But what stuck in my craw were the four steps at the entrance of the RV. I circled the vehicle but saw no ramp.

I guess the message is this: access to medical care doesn’t necessarily include access for folks with disabilities.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’d already had my annual mammogram done at a world-class cancer clinic. But I thought about other women with disabilities in my community who, for whatever reason, may not able to go to a conventional facility for imaging. Shouldn’t they be able to stop in and get services at the mammogram RV, like anyone else?

It got me thinking. I thought back to my mammogram the previous month. Although the machine’s height was adjustable, there was no way I could have contorted myself into position without standing upright. Because even though I use a wheelchair as my primary means of mobility, I can stand and walk a few steps.

What about others – such as women with spinal cord injuries -- who cannot stand up for a few moments to complete the imaging? And why aren’t people designing imaging machines that are accessible to people with disabilities? If such machines exist, why wouldn’t a major cancer clinic with a stellar reputation have one?

Then I remember how, a couple years ago, I needed a breast ultrasound to supplement the mammography. That same clinic’s ultrasound rooms were so small, I had to park my wheelchair in the hallway and walk into the room to have the test done.

This made me angry, which then jogged my mind further. I remembered how I’ve been going to the same rheumatologist – a wonderful doctor whom I adore -- for 13 years. And though his clientele consists primarily of arthritics who have chronic pain and struggle with limited mobility, none of his exam tables have adjustable height. Should he need me to get up on the table, I would have to either pole vault onto it, or be lifted by a couple of his staffers. Both options are unpleasant and quite frankly, should not even have to be considered.

More memories flooded my brain. I recalled my week-long hospitalization after major hip surgery last year. My room was located on the orthopedic unit, yet the bathroom was inaccessible to me. My surgeon allowed me to get out of bed and use the commode -- even encouraged it. But I couldn’t because the hospital could not provide a garden-variety seat riser. I was also denied a shower because the bathroom had a tub shower but no transfer bench.

Access to health care, from financial and even geographical perspectives, is challenging enough as it is. Why should folks with disabilities have additional hurdles that make them struggle for -- or even  forego -- medical care in one of the most prosperous, developed countries in the world?

I ask the question, yet I already know the answer.

Because ableism -- discrimination in favor of able-bodied people -- is as prevalent and destructive as cancer has ever been.