web analytics

Sandra Jean-Pierre | Digital Artist & Writer of Words.

Tag: disabled

Disabled Chronicles, No.2

The amount of advocating I’ve had to do for myself (and with some help) this past week has been astronomical. This has been on top of the normal fuckery people bring on the daily. It’s also made me weary. The landscape of my main condition has been shifting… for some time, if I’m honest. This past week was the reckoning. I advocated for new equipment, new services and other things besides. These recent days behind me, have been my main

Disabled Chronicles, No.7

The Set Up I’ve been putting off getting a new electric power wheelchair for well over a year. Okay, so it’s closer to 2/3-ish years.   I know, you’re thinking, ‘But isn’t your chair like, important?’ Extremely. My wheelchair operates like my legs. If I need to get something from the store, I use my wheelchair. When I need to go to the doctors office, I use my wheelchair. Gotta roll to the bathroom and brush my teeth? You got

Body Conditions: I Take Time

She barely whispers “Good Morning” when she comes into my room.  She thinks I may be asleep.  Most times though, as soon as her key slips through the deadbolt, I am instantly awake.  My hearing that acute, my alertness that intense.  I let her think she has woken me up, using those few sweet minutes to ready my mind because I know that I take time. She always asks how I spent the night.  I actually stop and think about

Disabled Chronicles, No. 911

    That one day, you head to your electrologist appointment and what is normally a very painful but necessary part of your life to keep you from looking like a mama bear, has you sitting there asking her if the machine is turned on cause you’re not feeling any of the customary bee sting-like pin pricks that you’ve come to expect.   Two machines and three needles later, she has confirmed that indeed the machine(s) are on and working,

Fight In The Belly

I don’t remember what her face looks like. I remember that she had brown skin like mine, that she was wiry, where my own Mom had not been and that she had this boundless energy that I could not for the life of my five year old self, understand. What her sole mission seemed to be though, was to make me walk from one end of the hallway to the next, despite myself.  At first it seemed simple enough: she

""