This week’s Angry Cripple column is from a contributor who is ‘mired in the disability muck’.

Last week, I went to enrol my nearly five year old girl into school.
There’s only one state school in my town, and the private boarding school, at $30K/annum is well beyond my budget, so Tamthiliya State School it has to be. The website looked great, and the vision statement said it all “Respect, Tolerance and Learning”. All in all, I was looking forward to her starting at Tamthiliya Primary. I’ve always assumed that schoolkids were well taken care of here, but I guess I was misinformed.
I called up and was surprised to be put on hold for quite a while. It took several calls to get through, but I waited, eventually got there, and made an appointment to visit the principal to find out more. He was booked up for six months, but that’s okay, because Georgie wasn’t quite five yet, and she’s bright little thing. So, after much anticipation, the interview date was upon us. I had so many questions, and was excited to finally get Georgie into a great place.
I guess I put too much faith in that stupid website.
The meeting didn’t go well. I was told that she couldn’t be enrolled.
Actually, that’s not technically true. I could enrol her, but there was no room for her, yet. So, I put her on the waiting list and waited. And waited. And waited.
We waited nine months to get her in, and even then, there wasn’t any room in her grade, so we put her in with the grade four boys’ class.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best we could hope for, so we went with it. Georgie wasn’t really happy, got frustrated trying to do grade four work, and she started acting up a bit, so they put her in the time out room and tied her to a chair. I didn’t find out about that until one of the school assistants whispered it to me, but who could I complain to? The teachers weren’t what I had expected.
Most of them had no training at all, except in risk management! It was almost like they were there just because they couldn’t get another job. Then I found out they were giving her Ritalin every hour to “manage” her behaviour. Why didn’t anyone tell us??
I thought about going to the principal, but then Georgie might have gotten thrown out, and Lord knows there aren’t places at any of the other schools, I’d since discovered. I heard that Mbaya School usually has one or two places open up in the winter, but that’s about two hours’ drive away, and their waiting list is even longer, so as a family, we decided we’d stick with Tamthiliya and hope that things got better.
Nothing got better. We had to wait two years for exercise books, and six months for a pencil (her pencil grant application got lost *three* times).
But, we were one of the lucky ones. At least Georgie got to go to school.
Ridiculous isn’t it? So ridiculous that it’s unbelievable.
That story was not originally written about education. It was originally written like this…
Last week, I went to enrol my nearly thirty year old into supported accommodation. The local government disability service website looked pretty good, I don’t have the $150K per year it would cost to hire her around-the-clock care, and Tamthiliya have plenty of services listed, so state care it will be.
The vision statement said it all: “Respect, Tolerance and Learning”. All in all, I was looking forward to her moving into Tamthiliya House. Alexis is my only child with a disability and I’d always assumed that people with disabilities were well taken care of in our state. But I guess I was misinformed.
I called up and was surprised to be put on hold for quite a while. It took several calls to get through, but I waited, eventually got there, and made an appointment to meet the case worker to find out more.
He was booked up for six months, but that’s okay, because Alexis wasn’t real trouble at home, though my husband and I are getting older and it’s pretty exhausting trying to lift her in and out of her wheelchair. Anyway, after much anticipation, the interview date was upon us. I had so many questions, and was excited to finally get Alexis into a great place.
I guess I put too much faith in that stupid website.
The meeting didn’t go well. I was told that she couldn’t move out of home yet. There was no room for her. So, we put her on the waiting list and waited. And waited. And waited.
We waited 17 years to get her in, and even then, there wasn’t room in a house with people her age, so we put her in with some 30-year-old men. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best we could hope for, apparently, so we went with it. Alexis wasn’t really happy, and she started acting up a bit, so the staff put her in the time out room and tied her to a chair.
I didn’t find out about that until one of the support workers whispered it to me, but who could I complain to? The workers really weren’t what I had expected. Most of them had no training at all, just in risk management! It was almost like they were there just because they couldn’t get another job. Then I found out they were giving her sedatives every hour to “manage” her behaviour.
Why didn’t anyone tell us??
I thought about going to the head of the service, but then Alexis might have gotten thrown out, and Lord knows there aren’t places at any of the other residences, I’d since discovered. I heard that Mbaya House usually has a one or two places open up in the winter when residents are most likely to die from the cold, but that’s about four hours’ drive away, and their waiting list is even longer, so as a family, we decided we’d stick with Tamthiliya and hope that things got better.
Nothing got better. Her toenails are one inch long and curling because the workers aren’t allowed to cut toenails, and she can only see a podiatrist every six months.
I can’t see well enough to cut them anymore, and my hands are shaky these days. We had to wait three years for a wheelchair to replace the one she’d outgrown, and six months for a moulded plastic spoon for her to hold (her spoon grant application got lost *three* times).
But, we were one of the lucky ones. At least Alexis got somewhere to live.
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