Troubling message in Italian ad for Down Syndrome Day

By Louise Kinross

Saatchi & Saatchi New York launched this ad yesterday for Italy's CoorDown, a national organization representing people with Down syndrome.  

The ad features American actress and model Olivia Wilde looking in the mirror while a woman narrates: "This is how I see myself. I see myself as a daughter, a sister and a best friend...as a person you can rely on." We see images of Olivia Wilde living her life, at work and play. "I see myself meeting someone that I can share my life with. I see myself as an ordinary person with an important, meaningful, beautiful life." The camera then pans to reveal the real narrator, a young woman with Down syndrome, who asks: "How do you see me?"

I suppose the objective is to make viewers question their judgments about this woman when they assume she's a conventionally beautiful actress, then compare them with their reaction when they realize she's a woman with Down syndrome.

We know from a 2012 French study that adults who say they accept children with Down Syndrome show, at an unconscious level, a negative bias when shown photos of a child with Down syndrome as opposed to a typical child. These negative stereotypes "are the result of social attitudes and values carried by our cultural environment," said lead investigator Claire Enea-Drapeau. "As long as we don't know about them...we are trapped in automatic attitudes or associations. But when you are aware of it, then you can start to struggle."

I suppose the Saatchi & Saatchi ad may wake viewers up to the negative stereotypes they hold when the young woman with Down syndrome is revealed. But then what? How does it challenge those stereotypes? How does it make the viewer think differently about beauty?

And why is a young woman with Down syndrome being compared to a conventionally beautiful actress and model in the first place? Would any of us want our daughters, or any other young woman, to be measured against a Hollywood beauty? 

The young woman in this ad will continue to face the world with features that don't meet Western standards of beauty, and, which we know through the French study, generate automatic stigma.

As a contrast to this ad, I much prefer this one: "Because who is perfect? Get closer." To honour International Day of Persons with Disabilities in 2014, shop windows in Zurich displayed mannequins with the shapes, curves and height of real people with amputations, short stature and a curved spine (see photo below). Meticulous measurements were taken and drawings made of each model's body and limbs, so that exact replicas could be produced. This campaign communicates the value of real bodies, real people.

Unfortunately, the young woman with Down syndrome in the Saatchi & Saatchi ad is not even named in the AdWeek article. According to a director from Saatchi & Saatchi: "This year we're thrilled to work with world-class artists including director Reed Morano and actress Olivia Wilde."

Wouldn't respect start with including the young woman with Down syndrome in the actual story? Naming her? After all, it's her story, right? Not Olivia Wilde's.

This reader comment on the Youtube video sums up the discomfort I feel watching this ad: "Disabled people shouldn't have to imagine they do not look disabled to be beautiful...Disabled people are beautiful exactly as they are...this is erasure and violence to disabled women."

It sickens me to imagine what on earth the young woman with Down syndrome took away from this experience. How is this ad going to help that woman feel comfortable in her own skin, let alone other people with Down syndrome who watch it?

The ad is being launched for World Down Syndrome Day March 21.

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A researcher copes with the fragility of his daughter's life

By Louise Kinross

Pierre Duez is a computer engineer who works in the Prism Lab at the Bloorview Research Institute. He supports students who are developing algorithms for processing signals that are the basis for switches in access devices. After the student creates the algorithm, Pierre does the programming to turn it into a device “that a child can use as their pathway to engage with the world,” he says. For example, the hummer is a switch developed at Holland Bloorview that detects vocal-chord vibrations when a child makes a sound or hums and turns them into computer functions or voice commands.

Pierre has two daughters—Claire, 4, and Ella, 2 (above with wife Martha). At six months, Ella was diagnosed with a rare genetic condition called Pompe disease. It occurs when there’s too much of a certain type of sugar, called glycogen, in the body’s cells. “She doesn’t produce the enzyme that allows muscles to break down glycogen so the cells burst and die, and this leads to muscle degeneration at a faster pace than they’re reproducing,” Pierre says. “She has a more extreme form.”

Ella spent half of her first year in hospital and has had a few surgeries. At home, night nurses monitor her bipap and oxygen and suction her. She also uses a g-j tube and wheelchair. When she’s well Ella comes to Kindercircle daycare at Holland Bloorview. Every other week she spends a full day at SickKids where she receives a synthetic enzyme to fight her condition, which is life-limiting. Pierre spoke about what it was like to have a child diagnosed with a degenerative condition while working at Canada’s largest children’s rehab hospital.

BLOOM: Did you have experience with disability before you came to Holland Bloorview?

Pierre Duez: I came in completely unexposed to the field of disability, and especially pediatric disability. It’s sort of an elephant in the room for a lot of people who work at Holland Bloorview who don’t come from a background where they’re interacting with disability on a regular basis. There’s fear. I was 31 when I came here and we didn’t have kids yet but were planning on it. I was suddenly more aware of the possibility of not having a typically developing child.

But as I began to work here and engaged with employees and some of the great grad students and as disability became more normalized and just an aspect of life to interact with, I began to realize the other side of the coin. You see the support from staff and you see the families coming to visit and that support doesn’t disappear. Then you hear how families are supported by larger communities. What started out as fear became a realization that it’s different, but it’s not a lesser existence. That support is still there and families are not suddenly stranded.

BLOOM: That’s interesting, because many parents who have no exposure to disability feel alone when they receive a diagnosis.

Pierre Duez: I think I was very fortunate to work here because it helped me come to terms with the ramifications of Ella’s condition much faster. I didn’t have to find Holland Bloorview—like many families do—as a far-away place. I didn’t have to travel here physically or conceptually. Because I worked here, my expectation was that we would have this net of support, and I also had some sense of what services I could leverage.

BLOOM: What’s been the biggest challenge?

Pierre Duez: The fact that Ella’s disease is life-limiting. While Ella was in the hospital in the fall she had two respiratory and cardiac arrests. It’s one thing to have this conceptualization that her decline will be slow, and you have time to get used to it. But we have the possibility that it can strike out of the blue, because her respiration is weak at the best of times.

BLOOM: Those experiences must have been incredibly traumatic. How do you deal with that afterwards? Is there anything you do, like meditation, to help you cope?

Pierre Duez: I’m not nearly organized enough for that. For me, you can’t go into denial about the fragility of life, but you also have to look at the moment as well. When Ella’s doing really well and is really happy, I have to tell myself that I’m not worried about her now, which is really good. When she gets sick, I’m much less cavalier now than I was before the cardiac arrests.

It’s realizing that what will come, will come, regardless of our attitude towards it, so our trick is to make the most of the intervening time. I feel that the best I can do, and this applies to when we got the diagnosis and other setbacks, is to accept what’s there. And if not, to take it in stride, at least to recover in stride.

BLOOM: Acceptance is key, but most parents find it so hard not to fight what is there.

Pierre Duez: Denial and bargaining are unavoidable reactions. Having been in this community and having seen children, current and past research participants, who have died, it’s devastating. But now it’s on my radar. Because it’s already on my mind, it’s something I can accept a little more easily.

I feel I have a head start, which means that I don’t have to get so hung up on future loss and can move past that to what is most important in the short term: what will make Ella happy today, what equipment or services does Ella need, and how to make sure that everything is as good as it can be for her.

BLOOM: Are you able to stay in the moment with her?

Pierre Duez: Yes. She makes it very easy to stay in the moment.

BLOOM: Tell us about her.

Pierre Duez: Ella has opinions. She’s non-verbal, because her development is delayed by her physical limitations, but her receptive language is bang-on. She’s a very clever girl who knows how to communicate and get what she needs through gestures, tone of vocalizations and eye contact. She’s very clear. Even if you don’t know her, you will know if she’s happy, displeased or content.

BLOOM: What does she like?

Pierre Duez: People. She’s loves interacting with people. She’s a cuddler. When someone she knows and likes walks into the room, she lights up. She’ll do this big happy dance and reach out her hand and keep it there till the person comes and holds hands with her. She’s big into pretend play. She’ll suction all of her stuffed animals. She’s done music therapy and likes xylophones and cymbals. She loves turning the pages of books. She likes watching Backyardigans on her iPad.

BLOOM: Is Martha at home with Ella?

Pierre Duez: No, Martha and I both work. Ella is at Kindercircle and that has been fantastic, even though it’s not geared toward children with special needs. They have gone so far and above the call of duty, making trips to SickKids to get training on how to suction Ella and how to connect and disconnect her food. I’m on call if they need it, but they’ve learned to be the day-to-day care.

BLOOM: How do you manage both working with all of Ella’s medical visits?

Pierre Duez: We try to line up hospital visits when Ella is at SickKids every other Wednesday, so she sees other specialists that day if she needs to. Her grandmothers are retired and they can spend Wednesday with her at the hospital. Tom Chau has been incredibly supportive in giving me the flexibility I need if there’s a morning visit I need to take Ella to. Martha and I and her nurses overnight have been trained by physiotherapists on how to deliver twice daily 'chest percussion' and 'cough assist.' When Ella is healthy, she’s a good sleeper and doesn’t need a lot of intervention besides suctioning and repositioning.

BLOOM: What impact has Ella’s disease had on your daughter Claire?

Pierre Duez: Claire was 2 1/2 when Ella was born and she just accepted the situation. She had no sense of her ‘normal’ as opposed to everyone else’s ‘normal.’ We’ve always made huge efforts to keep Claire’s life as normal as possible. When Ella is in the hospital, we try to both be home at night and have a family member visit Ella. We put out calls to people, the more visitors the better. Of course we pay in extra guilt the times Ella spends alone at the hospital, and weekends can be very difficult.

BLOOM: Many parents find it hard to ask other people to help out.

Pierre Duez: We are in that camp as well. But our friends and family keep telling us we have to reach out more.

BLOOM: Has anything changed as Claire has gotten older?

Pierre Duez: Ella’s transition from home to hospital and back affects Claire a lot more now. Since last July, Ella has been in the hospital at least once a month and for one two-month period. What will often happen is Ella goes into the hospital during the day, and when we tell Claire that Ella’s back at the hospital, she’s subdued. She usually knows a day or two in advance when Ella will come home and she likes to tell all her teachers and everyone she knows that her sister is coming home.

BLOOM: Have you connected with other families who have children with Pompe disease?

Pierre Duez: We haven’t. Neither of us have really looked at shared stories and experiences as a way of coping. I’m an engineer, so I’m more likely to say ‘let’s find a solution’ rather than ‘let’s share experiences as a form of therapy or catharsis.’

BLOOM: Has anything changed in the way you look at disability or difference since Ella was born?

Pierre Duez: Any of the changes in my views happened in the first five years I was working here. I do empathize a lot more with parents of kids with disabilities and I find myself chocking back tears a bit more when I hear personal stories.

I am blown away by the amount of care Ella is receiving. She gets physiotherapy and occupational therapy through Holland Bloorview, and is seen by seating and the neuromuscular team. Everybody is 100 per cent invested in making sure Ella gets what she needs.

The biggest surprise to us was the cost of all of this equipment. The social workers we’ve been connected with have helped to educate us on third-party funding that’s out there to offset the costs. Even though I worked in pediatric rehab, I was blind to the cost of equipment.

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BLOOM media roundup

By Louise Kinross 

I recently received some amazing photos from the Ravn family and couldn't resist sharing one. Eric, the Bumblebee transformer on the right, was an inpatient here following a stroke several years ago.

Last week I was part of a research team here at Holland Bloorview that presented our findings on a six-week narrative training group for our inpatient nurses. The group met for 90-minute sessions to read and discuss patient narratives and write and draw about their work here with children and families and their own healthcare experiences. Data from pre- and post-interviews showed an increase in empathy for clients and families, for coworkers on the nursing team, and for individual nurses themselves. 

Here are some recent media stories related to disability, parenting and health. If we missed a good one, please share the link in the comments. Thanks!

York University prof denied permanent residency over son's Down syndrome CBC News

A Costa Rican family is leaving Toronto after three years here because immigration officials say their son's Down syndrome is too much of a burden on taxpayers.

Fiction, like life, tells disabled people their lives have less value The Guardian

In real life, marginalized people are often valued less...For example, it may be legal to pay disabled people below minimum wage, sometimes only pennies an hour. disabled people may even be barred from receiving organ transplants or other life-saving medical care.

In assisted dying, remember this: We are all fragile The Globe and Mail

Jean Vanier: "With...the right to die, we must take care not to obscure or forget the innate dignity of those who are vulnerable or reinforce an ideal that only an independent life has purpose and value."  

When doctors should say I don't know The Atlantic
 
"By the time you get to med school, you're already primed to think that everything is about a right answer. Then what happens when you get into the practice of medicine is, it's a lot of fuzzy variables."

'Imbeciles' and 'illiberal reformers' The New York Times

Forcefully sterilizing young women with disabilities was once considered the progressive thing to do in America. 

Rethinking the rules for police interrogations Undark Magazine

A 2004 review of the literature on false confessions found that youth and those with intellectual disabilities were most susceptible.

A push for less expensive hearing aids The New York Times

The average price of $2,500 for each of two explains why only 20 per cent of those with hearing loss wear hearing aids.

Designing a modern home with accessibility in mind The Globe and Mail

"All of these lessons here, I keep thinking I can design smaller houses that are totally accessible for people who don't want to leave their neighbourhoods." 

Where are the disabled actors? The Independent

Prejudice will not end with a few bit parts in films and soap opera. But film and television can play a role breaking down bigotry, helping to bring a segment of society in from the shadows and giving hope to the next generation.

People with learning disabilities are still not recognized as fully human The Guardian

Sara Ryan: "My son Connor Sparrowhawk's death in a Winterborne View-type unit was preventable. We don't need a commissioner to enforce pledges on better treatment. Just treat everyone as a human being." 

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Part 2 of Global News story on home nursing airs tonight

BLOOM contributor Marcy White was featured in a Global news story last night about her inability to get consistent, competent nurses to care for her son Jacob, who has complex medical problems, at night.

You may recognize the adorable Kian in the picture above. He and his mom Samadhi Mora Severino also participated in the story.

Marcy wrote an earlier piece for BLOOM on the topic: Home nursing is not respite for this mom.

Global plans to air a second piece tonight that includes reaction from Health Minister Eric Hoskins.

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Mailbag: A reader responds to a post on disability, friendship

By Louise Kinross

A couple of weeks ago Meriah Main, a nurse in Vancouver, responded to a piece I wrote on friendship and youth with disabilities in the Huffington Post about four years ago (it generated over 650 comments, but the comments are no longer visible on the website). I wanted to share her response and our correspondence as I think it will interest you. Meriah is pictured above (centre) with her husband Gabe and their roommate Ariel. Thanks for letting us share this Meriah! Louise

Meriah Main, Vancouver:

I’m about to criticize your article. And I’m not a parent who fears your child will “give less” to my child than another typical child. I’m not a parent at all.

I’m a 30-year-old woman, and the only person I know who has true, genuine friendships with individuals my age with cognitive disabilities. And your article irritated me.

For the simple reason that these friendships I mention above, have grated on me and worn me down over the years and I’ve come to the belief that it’s a high expectation to think your child will have friends.

I wasn’t always so jaded.

Let me tell you who I am and how I came to be me.

I was always fascinated by the kids with disabilities at school: “Why does Jane bite herself?” “How does Billy say Hi?” I came by this never-ending curiosity genuinely.

I had parents approach me in elementary school and say “Thank you for being so-and-so’s friend! She talks about you all the time.” And, sure that was nice…but the true reward for me at that young age was spending time with people who interested me and who I had fun with.

By the time I was 12, I had been connected, by my school, to a magical, wonderful place. It was a project put on by the local park board that aimed to foster relationships between youth with disabilities and youth without disabilities. It was an amazing time.

From the age of 12 until I was 23, I put my heart and soul into this program. The set up was: 10 youth with disabilities, 10 youth without disabilities, three amazing staff. Every day in summer, and every Saturday during the year, we would all get together and do fun stuff.

During the years I was a part of this group, I met many, many great friends.

I made friends with a girl my age there. She is non-verbal and has challenging behaviour and communicates very differently (sitting in the middle of the road and biting herself might be how she would say “I don’t want to leave yet” for example).

I found her adorable and fascinating and funny and I learned not only how to communicate with her, but to read her mind. And she learned the same of me.

Over the years, she and I have spent plenty of unpaid time together. I have also been paid to support her periodically.

In fact today, at age 30, I remain friends with her in addition to many other close friends from that program—some with disabilities, some without.

So what’s my point? This all sounds great to you I suppose. This is what you’re talking about!

This program lived and breathed disability rights, inclusion philosophy, people-first language.

But I must say, I was the only person from the hundreds of typical youth I met there that actually branched out and became friends with any of the youth with disabilities.

Everyone had a good time. But developing friends in the true sense of the word. No. Only myself.

During the 10 years I was involved in that, I also worked in various settings supporting people with disabilities in the community. My job was to “facilitate community inclusion and build relationships.”

It was impossible.

I was their friend more than anyone in the community. Yes I was being paid but the blatant reality was that the support staff were the closest things these people had to friends and creating them in the community was impossible. Believe me, I tried.

In addition to these two endeavours, I also spent time living in an inclusive house hold where myself, two friends and the girl I spoke of above lived together as roommates.

My typical friends tired quickly of her sounds, behaviour, waking up at the crack of dawn excitedly. It was like having a little kid around.

And the truth is. It is.

What I describe above is my life as a friend and advocate of friendship between individuals with disabilities and typical kids/ teens.

It doesn’t really work because as we grow up and become adults, our interests and priorities change.

I’ve let go of friendships with typical people because our life paths began to go in different directions.

I’m married now and I’m much less interested in talking with my 21-year-old co-workers who want to talk dating.

My friends with kids bore me going on and on about their child’s potty training.

And my non-verbal friend who bites herself when she’s upset is draining on me. It feels like baby sitting on top of my already chaotic life

This isn’t to say that I dump friends when they bore me but the reality is friends come and go and people who don’t share anything in common with their peers aren’t likely to offer stimulating friendships.

I have two questions for you.

Do you have friends with cognitive disabilities that you take time out of your week to go spend time with?

Second, do you think you would have friends with cognitive disabilities if you never had a child with a disability yourself?

It was fun for me when I was young and curious and part of an activist group. But when you become a teenager and your world is dating and talking about life, when you become an adult with a million responsibilities, these friendships become irrelevant.

It’s hard work to maintain even my most fruitful friendships in life, let alone ones where conversation isn’t stimulating and we share nothing in common.

I do maintain these friendships, mostly in the form of paid respite (with occasional unpaid stuff), but I do not expect that this should be typical. I’ve never even seen it occur except for with myself and it’s become a lot of work.

And a quick add on, which is in response to something you say in your article: Why, if families of people with cognitive disabilities can have rewarding relationships with these individuals, why can't others?

Simply put. Family is family.

Family is a different relationship than friendship. And to some extent family carries obligation that friendship does not.

Louise Kinross, Toronto:

I really appreciate your writing.

I think your first question is a good one—do I have significant friends with cognitive disabilities?

I work in a children's rehab hospital, so I have acquaintances with many people with physical and developmental disabilities. My closest friends are parents who have children with disabilities. Because of my role here, some adults with cognitive disabilities have “friended” me on Facebook. I have gone with my son to a L'Arche arts program for adults with intellectual disabilities and participated. I do not have a “best friend” with a cognitive disability. During my school years (because I'm an ancient 52) children with disabilities were not in our schools, they were segregated.

I think that first question is a fair and good one. And I don't know if it will change in the future. At some point I hope my son—now 21—will move into some kind of independent, supported living and I would imagine that will be with roommates with disabilities, so perhaps I will have the opportunity to get to know adults with intellectual disabilities more deeply. My son was mainstreamed for most of his high school years.

Your second question—would I have had friends with cognitive disabilities if I didn't have my son with disability?—I think is irrelevant in the sense that I want to live in a world where we are always making more people who are marginalized—for any reason—feel included and part of the mainstream. Just because I didn't have exposure until my son was born to people with disabilities doesn't mean that I want that to be the status quo in the future for people growing up.

I do accept that because of the degree of a person's disability—especially if they can't speak like my son, and use sign language which is not generally understood—that there are massive obstacles to having what would be considered true friendships.

I accept that but I don't just stop there and say it's impossible. And given what you've written to me, even though at some points you say “it's impossible,” you are also telling me that you continue in some ways to have relationships with people with disabilities.

I will keep in touch and I do value you writing to me, and your honesty, very much.

Meriah Main, Vancouver:

Thanks for your response. I was honest with you because we don't know one another. It was easier to say to you, than parents I know. I responded with frustration because it's something I've heard from parents over and over.

Additionally, “facilitating friendships” is a goal of the community inclusion movement and through my experiences, I’ve become frustrated with this philosophy and I've come to believe that the focus must be shifted in order to achieve this.

I believe the shift must be in two essential areas: creating opportunities for friendship and redefining friendship.

If more inclusive and communal space is created, I believe these communities can provide friendship for individuals with disabilities. Even then, I don't think friendship will look exactly the same as it does between two people without disabilities, but I don't think that matters.

“At some point I hope my son—now 21—will move into some kind of independent living and I would imagine that will be with roommates with disabilities, so perhaps I will have the opportunity to get to know adults with intellectual disabilities more deeply. My son was mainstreamed for most of his high school years.”

This point supports my message which is essentially that, unless people enter our lives on a natural basis AND it becomes somewhat “easy” to be in touch on a regular and ongoing basis, a friendship is unlikely.

Creating more stimulating inclusive spaces (youth groups, places adults can go during the week and communal living like L'Arche communities) is the true answer I think.

My husband has a physical disability. We rent our upstairs to Ariel, an individual with a cognitive disability. As both my husband and Ariel need support, they share some of support, which saves both parties money and makes for a great, mutually beneficial friendship.

"Your second question—would I have had friends with cognitive disabilities if I didn't have my son with disability I think is irrelevant in the sense that I want to live in a world where we are always making more people who are marginalized—for any reason—feel included and part of the mainstream. Just because I didn't have exposure until my son was born to people with cognitive disabilities doesn't mean that I want that to be the status quo in the future for people growing up."

I share your perspective. I don't think we should all just settle with the current state of things. Pushing for change is how the world becomes a more aware and accepting place. The reason I asked that question was to say: How can we expect people who have not been touched by cognitive disability to care or to try to make friendships?

Again, I think the answer is creating more inclusive situations...And ones that are mutually beneficial. This way, people gain exposure.

“I accept that but I don't just stop there and say it's impossible. And given what you've written to me, even though at some points you say ‘it's impossible,’ you are also telling me that you continue in some ways to have relationships with people with disabilities.”

Totally—we should never stop fighting and hoping for a better future.

And, yes I have these friendships—but I don't find them inherently mutually beneficial in the same contexts I do my typical friends.

This is why I think that deciding to redefine our, frankly, ableist idea of friendship will, in turn, create more friendship for people with disabilities.

Ableist because the friendships I hear people wanting for their children, and the friendships it was my job to form—were friendships that look just like the ones you and I may have.

The redefinition in my mind means both seeing the interactions that happen within structured communities (schools, day programs, group homes) and embracing that many friendships come in the form of paid staff.

If we can accept these two things, we can create more inclusive spaces and celebrate and support the true friendships that exist between paid staff and the people they support.

And you're right. Not impossible.

After I sent the email I remembered two other people I know (both people who are paid support for individuals I know who take significant unpaid time out to maintain friendships with the people they support).

Paid support people are actually some of the truest forms of friendship I've seen. My husband just made a fantastic point and said “Who cares if they're paid? They aren't paid to be friends.” They are paid support and within this natural, mutually beneficial situation, a relationship is often formed. This doesn't mean that every support staff is a friend, but I think that if a relationship is formed, it shouldn't be undermined. I believe it is just as valuable.

Even if they disappear after they quit.

Friendships come and go for everyone. I think that because individuals with cognitive disabilities live in different circumstances, their friendships exist within different circumstances.

Anyway, thanks for listening. This is stuff I have thought long and hard about.

At one point in my life it was my goal to create inclusive spaces like I describe above but life has gotten busy. It's still something I certainly hope for in the future.

I would love my friends with cognitive disabilities to have more enriching daily lives and bigger social circles into their adulthood. This said, I do think parents (and others with the passion and energy) must put their energy into community.

Louise Kinross, Toronto:

Thanks so much for your detailed response. I’m particularly interested in your thoughts re paid staff. Right now my son is doing a planning process through our government, and I know that one of their goals is that over time the person have more interaction with people who are not “paid.”

Perhaps this is a misguided approach.

Meriah Main, Vancouver:

We can chat about the paid friend thing anytime.

As you said—it’s not impossible but I think it's a set up for disappointment for families to set out in the community looking for meaningful unpaid relationships in the contexts we're looking in.

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Cats, cats, cats!

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What's new?

By Louise Kinross

This is a photo of my son with "Betty" at a volunteer job he does at an adoption centre for cats. He loves it! He has a whole bunch of tasks that he works through. Cleaning cages, sweeping, feeding, brushing, socializing. He's waiting to handle his first "adoption."

What's new with you?

Here are some stories you may be interested in.

When doctors should say I don't know The Atlantic
Fascinating interview with author Steve Hatch on his new book Snowball In A Blizzard: A Physician's Notes on Uncertainty in Medicine: "By the time you get to med school, you're already primed to think that everything is about a right answer. Then what happens when you get into the practice of medicine is, it's a lot of fuzzy variables.

Where are the disabled actors? The Independent
Hollywood could play a role breaking down bigotry against disabled people, but for now "diversity" is just an act. 

World's first armless pilot, BBC World Service
In case you missed it, this is a fabulous interview with Jessica Cox, a 33-year-old Arizona woman whose life changed the first day of Grade 8, when she decided to leave her prosthetic arms at home. Now she's the first pilot to fly with her feet. 

People with learning disabilities are still not recognized as fully human being The Guardian 
Excellent piece by Sara Ryan on the preventable death of her 18-year-old son with autism and epilepsy who drowned in a bath in NHS care in Britain.

Judge calls sex assault a 'gross breach of trust' The Toronto Star
This is a terrifying story about how an overnight care worker at a group home in Toronto was convicted of sexually assaulting a woman with a developmental disability in a group home. Thankfully the woman could speak. It's chilling to think of what would have happened otherwise.

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