Teachers Must Ensure Equity and Inclusion for Their Students with Disabilities
Students in wheelchairs
“Hi, I’m Kelly, the district physical therapist,” I say as I walk into the classroom. “I emailed a couple of days ago, but I’m sure you’re absolutely swamped with email right now.” “I’m here because you have Aiden* in your class this year. He has some mobility issues, and I’m here to see if we can get things set up for him before the first day of school.”
“Oh, yes,” says the worried-looking woman in front of me. She stands and gestures around the class. It is filled with happy cardboard cutouts of bees and butterflies and at least four more desks than the room held five years ago. “I heard Aiden was coming and…” she looks progressively more uncomfortable, choosing her words carefully. “I heard he uses a wheelchair. And I’m just not sure, well, how that’s going to work here. I mean, we have a classroom set up for that kind of thing.”
She gestures hopefully toward a classroom down the hall. I am quite familiar with it, and I spend most of my limited time in this building in that classroom.
“Yes,” I say, nodding my head. “Mr. Barker is so amazing. His classroom is great. But Aiden doesn’t have any cognitive issues. So your class is really his least restrictive environment.”
“Um.” My teacher looks unconvinced. The lifeline she has been hoping for has just been pulled away. I get this reaction a lot; and from excellent teachers. They are not trying to avoid hard work. (They wouldn’t be a teacher if that was the case). They are just out of their comfort zone. They want to provide the best education for every child in their class, and they are not sure how to do that when kids have physical disabilities.
A thousand questions swirl around in their heads. They want to ask the right questions, to provide the right support. They don’t want to offend. And in the back, secret compartment of their mind, they are hoping for the magical potion that could put them back in their comfort zone. A different placement. In “that other classroom.” With people who know what they’re doing.
“So,” I say, launching right into things to get past this awkward moment and on to problem-solving. Teachers are quite proficient at problem-solving. I take out my tape measure and measure the desk and the aisle between the desks. “We might need to make this one aisle a little wider. And we need to raise this desk a couple of inches for his chair to fit. Is there someone I should talk to about that?”
“I can bump that first line of desks out a little to widen the aisle. And our custodian, Emma, can raise the desk. I can ask her. I see her all the time.” My teacher is already happier. She has doable, concrete actions that she can take.
“Great, thanks!” I look at the front of the room, clearly set up for circle time, with colorful ABCs to sit on. “Does your class spend a lot of time on the floor? I may want to bring in a little floor chair to give Aiden some support.”
“Can he, um, get down on the floor?”
“Yes, I’ve spoken to his mom on the phone. He should be comfortable if we provide a floor chair. He will need some help with transfers, though. I’m hoping to arrange a walk-through in the next couple of days before school starts. I know you’re swamped. But do you have an hour or so to do some transfer training? His mom is willing to bring him in if we give them time. We can do toilet transfer training at that time, too.”
A series of emotions cross my teacher’s face. Meeting the student and learning how to help with transfers are good. However, toilet transfers bring on a new round of fear.
“Of course,” she says. “I have time tomorrow from 9:00 to 10:00 or any time after 3:00 the next day. But toilet transfers? I heard he uses, um, a pull-up?”
“Yes,” I explain. “He doesn’t have full sensation of his bowel and bladder. He will need a couple of changes each day, more if unexpected accidents happen. We are having a high-low table sent to the larger bathroom at the end of the hall sometime today.”
“A couple of changes per day? I barely have time to use the bathroom myself!” She looks a little embarrassed about this last statement, but I know it’s true. Teachers are booked down to the minute.
“Yes, I spoke to the principal, and he is working on identifying a few staff members to be trained. There’s one person from Mr. Barker’s class who is available, and another staff member is also willing to help. But I want to train as many people as possible, including you. We don’t want to be dependent on only one person. What would Aiden do if they were absent?”
“Yes, OK.” She is starting to look less worried. Someone is going to walk her through this. The student is coming early with his mom, and we are going to work out how to do things. We are going to be able to meet his needs.
And I think that is the crux of this whole article, really. Students in wheelchairs (or other physical ability differences) come with help. Maybe not a 1:1 aide, but help. PT to help with positioning and transfer problems. OT to help with fine motor needs. Assistive tech to help set up text-to-speech or whatever else might be needed. Maybe even an adaptive PE specialist. Consultation is available whether a student is served with an IEP or has a 504 plan. If a pushy PT doesn’t stop by your classroom, feel free to reach out to the admin to see how you can contact these team members in your district.
We are clearly not going to tell you how to teach this child because no one knows that better than you. You are the teacher. This child has been placed in your classroom because they belong there. The student is capable of the work. They just need some logistical problem-solving to make it possible.
In the past, school districts have sometimes played it safe by placing students with physical challenges in settings where they can get more physical assistance. However, if the academic level is below what the child is capable of understanding, then we are doing the child a significant disservice. They deserve the opportunity to learn what you are teaching their peers and to socialize with those same peers.
Students at this level of need may need help with mobility, self-care, and showing us that they understand the material. But as challenging as this sounds, you are not expected to do this problem-solving by yourself. You should have a support team. And for the sake of the student, you must utilize it.
Specialists understand that teachers are working flat-out. They are already at their max. We know that asking them to take on students with needs that are not in their area of expertise can feel like an insurmountable task. But it isn’t. You’ve got this. And you are not on your own.
Two years later, I get an email from this same teacher.
“Hey, Kelly, we’re going to need that high/low table back. Can you arrange that for us before the start of the year? I have a student with spina-bifida; she uses a wheelchair. Alice and Marcia are willing to do transfer training. Just let us know when you want to schedule it. Hope you have a great year!”
Clearly, this situation is now firmly within her comfort zone. The kid in the wheelchairs no longer scares her.
*Any students, teachers, or situations mentioned in this piece are an amalgamation of experiences and not meant to represent any specific person.
Kelly Schneiderhan has been a practicing physical therapist since 1988 and an education specialist for the past 16 years. As a school system PT, she worked in both special and general education settings, k-21. Recently retired, she is now concentrating on hiking, cooking, writing, attempting to knit with the help of YouTube, and traveling. She is blessed with a husband, two grown sons, a daughter-in-law, and two cats.
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