Communicating Quadriplegia: An Autoethnography of Disability Perceptions.

Disability As Taboo: Difficult Conversations In Restaurants

Mobility is something that we may take for granted. For example, I can recall a time when I arrived at the parking lot of a local restaurant in my red Toyota, handicap-accessible, minivan. My dad had freshly painted the wheels black for my 25^th birthday. My girlfriend is driving as I ride in the passenger seat; however, onlookers may notice that my chair looks slightly different from the others. My chair is the wheelchair that I use every day to go everywhere. It is not only the place where I sit and rest, it is also my only source of mobility—a way for me to move around independently despite my paralysis. I am labeled a person with quadriplegia—the loss of nerve function in all four limbs—due to a cervical fracture in the fourth vertebra in my next resulting in permanent spinal cord injury. For me, mobility is a challenge that I must confront directly. In the pages that follow are stories about my disability. This autoethnography will introduce readers to the influential role that communication plays in mollifying taboos related to recovery and rehabilitee for those with spinal cord injuries and other disabilities. Through my experience, I will explicate communication strategies to overcome taboos related to disability and disability studies.

To continue the story, my girlfriend parks the vehicle and deploys the ramp that allows me to drive my chair out of the van. The process is clangorous, causing those walking in and out of the restaurant to turn their attention to us. Sometimes people stare; but other times, they scurry past while avoiding eye contact. I smile as they walk past and, if the person is friendly enough to look at me, I might say hello. Occasionally, young children will look in awe because my minivan just might be the closest thing to a real-life Transformer that they’ve ever seen (see Figure 1). If their parents see them staring, they will quickly tug their child by the arm, all the while averting their eyes in hopes their little one doesn’t say or do anything “offensive.” My presence is taboo. However, children can be naïve to social filters that my appearance unspeakable, and in my personal experience, they often ask the best questions about my disability. I finish rolling my chair down the ramp toward the front door of the restaurant. My girlfriend holds the door open for me, and I move through to greet the hostess.

I understand that not many people look like me. Oftentimes, I will see a person pause to readjust or give me an inquisitive face upon my arrival. The nonverbals speak just as loudly as what is said. As humans, we communicate through a vast linguistic system developed long over the evolution of our species, an innovation that is unique to the human species alone (Fisher & Marcus, 2006). This communication also involves universal facial expressions, which are reflective of the endless stream of perceptions, feelings, and thoughts at both the conscious and the unconscious levels (Mlodinow, 2012). If a person has never seen an individual with a high spinal cord injury, they are often unable to hide the implicit expression of confusion. Nonverbal signaling and reading facial signals are automatic and performed outside the conscious awareness and control (Mlodinow, 2012). Our nonverbal cues unconsciously communicate information about ourselves and our state of mind. The gestures people make, the position in which they hold their body gate, the expressions they wear on their faces, and the nonverbal qualities of their speech all contribute to our perception of others.