My nightmares of approaching potential employers are the disabled equivalent of the "showing up in front of a crowd naked" dream. Inevitably, I sit in an uncomfortable chair and feel my palms sweat as I explain the situation to my boss. "Look," I say, telling myself I must be assertive and confident, "I just can't make it in every day. I have epilepsy, and I've got to sleep like a koala or shake like a leaf. I'm more doped-up than your average teen star. So, do I still have the job?" I feel somewhat ashamed for asking for special treatment, and, of course, the answer from the potential employer is, "No."
In reality, this would lead to a rather sticky legal situation for both parties. The 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act is a tangle of vague language and caveats that for some time has been as much of a hassle for the disabled as a helping hand. Recent discussions on health care reform have complicated the issue further by raising questions of what exactly constitutes a disability and what disability itself entails. Though the White House has undertaken a relatively robust plan to improve conditions for the disabled, very little in the way of across-the-aisle agreement is present.
But the Brandeis office of Disabilities Services and Support is a dreamlike reprieve from the mire of political disability discourse. For the uninitiated, the process goes roughly like this: A student gathers documentation of his disability from his doctor and presents the evidence to Disabilities Services and Support. A startlingly short time later, a meeting is arranged with Beth Rodgers-Kay, the director of the Disabilities Services and Support department, and arrangements for custom accommodations are agreed upon. This culminates in the production of letters that are then given to professors outlining the necessary accommodations.
Here, a word must be shared about Beth Rodgers-Kay, an individual most worthy of expedited canonization. She is one of those people upon whom any decent person would heap praise. One never feels that he is asking for charity when he shares his specific needs with her, but rather that he is receiving his due rights. For the disabled individual who constantly feels the sting of being a burden, that relief is an unimaginable gift. If there is an exemplar of social justice here, the office she runs is it. Though the department of Disabilities Services and Support lists its most frequent accommodations as extended test time, services of a peer note-taker, access to books on CD and use of adaptive technology, Beth gives letters to professors that are far more complicated on a daily basis, much to the benefit of rather complicated students.
This brings us to another dazzlingly progressive aspect of our Disabilities Services and Support department: One never feels like a freak, but rather another person with strengths and needs just a little off the beaten path. The department serves a large portion of the community-8 percent, as stated on the website-making full participation in academia and student life possible for the student with anything from autism to chronic fatigue disorder to epilepsy and beyond. To offer a personal example, I am given a little mercy on participation grades despite my often-empty seat in the classroom. Beth's letters communicate that seizures and issues with medication often keep me in bed, which makes for a much more amicable relationship between professors passionate about attendance and me.
The list of individual accommodations goes on for many Brandeisians. The fact is that Disabilities Services and Support is a pillar of the community, as it provides the University a chance to benefit from the full potential of all sorts of individuals with unique talents. For some, disability is a fact of life that must be adjusted to, and for others it is something that comes and passes-injuries, for example, that may require crutches or wheelchairs. But our tradition of social justice is the soul of the department that enriches the community with the full participation of all of us, regardless of those chronic or momentary challenges. The hidden jewel that is the Disabilities Services and Support department should, therefore, be treasured as one of our greatest points of pride.