Katy Kelly

On balancing a family with work

The alarm on my mobile sounds like a machine gun. It’s 6.15 on Monday morning and my first thoughts are not ‘Oh joy, it’s work today’ but ‘Why on earth am I doing this?’ ‘This’ is a lecturer’s post at Cardiff Dental School in the Orthodontic  department, so if I’m late, there will be lots of grumpy students and worried patients. Probably no one will complain because, hey, I’m in a wheelchair and allowances have to be made. Dispelling that idea is one of the reasons I have returned to work.

So, this is a brief and I hope, honest, account of how and why I eventually got myself back into the workforce despite being adamant, immediately post injury, that it was the last thing I was going to do, ever. Fortunately a few months prior to the pile-up on my horse, which left me a T12 complete, I had taken out an income  protection policy. So, although I was a single parent, I was financially secure while my daughters grew up. I returned home from rehab in December 2001 determined to be a stay-at-home Mum. I’d see the girls through their teenage and college years, cook delicious suppers and have freshly baked cakes for their tea when they came home from school then settle down to help with homework.

After a few months, I discovered my most interesting topic of conversation was whether or not I should buy a car or go down the Motability route. The glazed expression on friends’ faces told me it was time to move on.

The problem was what to do? I didn’t want to go back to my original work as an Orthodontist. I’d been in dentistry for over twenty years and that was quite enough time looking at peoples’ mouths for any one lifetime. A friend suggested medical ethics and medico-legal work. There was a course at a local university, only an hour away, and they still had a few places left for September 2002. It sounded like a great idea. I applied online and two weeks later I was on the course.

There were some obvious mistakes in this plan.

1) It still took me half the morning to get out of bed and get dressed.
2) I hadn’t checked out the access. It turned out there was no disabled parking. Trying to get the car close enough to the pavement so my casters didn’t tip me out onto the tarmac tested my reversing ability to its limit. I would count the number of offers of help from the stream of passing students as a gauge of my competence. Less than five was a good day. I did appreciate it, of course, but I wanted to be invisible, not some hot-and-bothered middle-aged woman they were worried about.
3) Worse, the pedestrian crossing I had to negotiate had a very steep camber. On one occasion I was so preoccupied with staying in my chair and not dropping all my books I managed to lose both shoes.
4) There were three sets of fire doors to negotiate and the lift to the first floor was unreliable, very, very small and quite scary.
5) There wasn’t an accessible loo.

By the time I had driven there, got myself out of the car, assembled the chair, crossed the road, braved the lift, struggled through the fire doors and apologised for being late, I was ready for a nap.

It was just all too much. I lasted a term.

A year later I had sorted out my home life and my wheelchair skills had improved and I could negotiate kerbs more confidently. Moral: get comfortable in the wheelchair before you launch yourself back into the non-disabled world.

I decided to have another go. This time it was easier. I applied to read English Literature at Oxford in 2003 on their Continuing Education programme. There were still the inevitable glitches, such as an inaccessible computer room, but I had discovered ‘Student Support’ and learnt how to ask for help. That course led onto an MA in Creative Writing at Bath and that to a book about the joys of rehab, which is sitting on the dining room table waiting for a final edit.

It also led to the realisation that I might have been a little hasty in turning my back on my original profession. Writing, however enjoyable, was unlikely to make me a living and my insurance, unlike the demands of my family, would eventually run out. In September 2007 I decided to re-register as an Orthodontist and attended a series of lectures at a nearby dental school to get up to scratch again.

Now, I’m back at work, part-time, and apart from the early morning starts I appreciate the benefits. There are still the practical problems and I’m in a long running battle with the company that runs the car parking. They stick a daily ticket on my windscreen; I peel it off, add to the pile in my handbag and send them another email about lack of access. I can’t get to the staff canteen because of the steps and we still have to crack simple stuff like foot-operated bins in the clinic and what happens if there’s a fire.

So why go back to work? Apart from the obvious reasons of money, social contact and self respect, there are more profound ones. It’s too easy to become isolated in a secure wheelchairs only environment. Unless we come alongside the non-disabled and try to dispel their prejudices how will they ever see beyond our impairments? Most of them will carry on in a happy, politically-correct bubble, never having to confront what they really think. I know. I was one of them. It’s too easy to say ‘access for all’ and ignore the implications. I chose to go back into teaching because I enjoy working with young people. When my legs go into spasm I tell them I need a coffee and they just laugh. If a disabled patient comes into their surgeries or clinics when they are qualified I hope they will remember that slightly batty orthodontist who couldn’t work the IT system but did have time for them and oh yes, she was in a wheelchair. When the people around you forget you are in a wheelchair or have a disability, then I promise, you will too. Disabled people will never change the perceptions of the non-disabled world unless they are in it. It won’t be easy, but if you can work, in whatever capacity, you will be repaid by the bucketful and you will make it easier for future generations of disabled workers.

Katy Kelly