Accessibility frustrates veteran in need of water

I was so disheartened and then inspired by what I saw on a recent evening, I felt compelled to write about it. Please take away from this a message of perseverance and an ambition to change the way we design infrastructure for our customers, keeping in mind the needs of all users.

It was the first time it actually felt like summer was here. Bright and sunny, I was glad to drive with the window down.

Everybody is in a hurry to get home from work and play outside. There are leaves to rake, gardens to plant, dogs to exercise. The evening is full of delightful possibilities. But here at this intersection, someone among us is fighting a battle against the impossible.

A man with sandy blond hair, high and tight, is trying to cross the street. He looks to be in his early 30s. He is sweating in his gray T-shirt. Perhaps from the sun, but also from the chaos of navigating this traffic.

He is in a wheelchair.

He fought for our freedom and yet no one will yield for him. He is so small next to the cars and trucks with steel frames and noisy engines.

Finally, two observant drivers stop for him and he crosses halfway. But now he is even more vulnerable with his chair parked in front of the turning lane, waiting for traffic to stop from the other direction.

He doesn’t have to wait long this time before both lanes come to a halt, allowing him to finish crossing the road. He hurries over to the ramp, but the lip is too steep. He is flustered. He is really sweating now, feeling the impatience of traffic, of dozens of eyes upon him.

He backs up a bit to get a run at this obstacle. He hits it again, but this transition is too high. He tries to muscle his way through it — tough, like a soldier. In slow motion, his chair starts to tip. He is tucking his chin to his chest now, trying to regain his balance. The curb was too steep.

He falls backward and his head slams into the asphalt. He rolls onto his side and tries to get up, perhaps forgetting for a second that he is paralyzed from the waist down. Sand and gravel stick to his sweating arms. He is crying.

Instantly, half a dozen men jump out of their vehicles and run to him. They hoist him back into his chair and try to help him up the sidewalk and into the parking lot.

He is frustrated with himself and this whole situation and tries to wave them off. He slumps forward to cover his face and there is blood dripping down the back of his head. One man refuses to leave him to his lonesome and he pushes the wheelchair all the way into the gas station to get a bottle of water.

This simple need, to quench a thirst in the hot afternoon sun, was so unattainable for a person with a disability. My heart hurts for his lost pride and independence. I am using my freedom of expression to tell his story. He fought for my rights, after all.

Hillary Palmer is a geologist for the Army Corps of Engineers and a new mother.