What my time in a Wheelchair Taught Me About Accessibility and Attitude
You might see our Managing Director, Richard, arrive at an appointment by car, on foot, on his bike — or even on a kick scooter. Three mornings a week, you’ll find him swimming at the local pool; twice a week, he’s on the badminton court.
And, as of summer 2019, you might also spot him propelling himself in a wheelchair.
In this blog, Richard shares how not all disabilities are visible, how adaptions can greatly improve quality of life, and what he’s learned from his experiences on four (rickety) wheels.
When My Dream Changed Direction
When I developed compartment syndrome in all four compartments of both calves, my lifelong dream of serving in the army was crushed.
It began while training at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. Because the condition isn’t visible, my instructors initially thought I was malingering — and pushed me harder. That experience trained me to hide signs of pain and discomfort, which is why many people I know have no idea I live with a chronic pain condition.
When the pain is bad, I become quieter and more withdrawn. When it’s really bad, I sometimes compensate by being extra jolly — until I can get home and crash.
Understanding Compartment Syndrome
Compartment syndrome is a hardening of the fascia of the muscles. When blood flows into the muscle during exercise, the muscle can’t expand — pressure builds quickly, often to a barely tolerable level.
Pressure tests showed abnormally high levels, even for those with this condition. While I’m in constant discomfort, just ten minutes of walking, standing, or sitting still can trigger severe pain.
After two failed surgeries that caused nerve damage and scarring, my consultant and I agreed to stop searching for a cure. Instead, we’d focus on long-term pain management.
Surprisingly, that decision brought me peace. Acceptance helped me feel more positive about moving forward. Being officially declared “disabled” prompted my family and me to adapt our lifestyle to better manage my condition.
Adapting to a New Way of Life
We began by making small changes:
Choosing shorter outings with regular breaks
Taking more trips to the sea (cold saltwater helps reduce my pain)
Cutting down on long car journeys
Although running is impossible, sports like badminton remain manageable — the dynamic movement is easier on my legs.
I invested in regular physiotherapy and began carrying a walking stick. It wasn’t for mobility, but as a visible marker of my disability. Without it, people sometimes glare when my wife offers me her seat or when I elevate my legs in public. It can be humiliating — but visibility helps others understand.
How My Disability Inspired Our Business
Managing my pain also influenced the creation of Talbot Jones Ltd.
I wanted the flexibility to attend medical appointments without the awkwardness of explaining time away from work. Casual “banter” from colleagues about being “lazy” when I elevated my legs at my desk could sting deeply.
Even clothing was an issue — nerve damage makes suit fabrics unbearable. I’m far more comfortable, and therefore more professional, in heavyweight jeans or shorts.
Since launching our business, my pain levels have been more manageable, and our family lifestyle has improved significantly.
As an employer, this experience made me think deeply about how we support others in the workplace — not just by meeting legal requirements for reasonable adjustments, but by fostering a culture of understanding and respect.
A Lesson from Paris: My First Time Using a Wheelchair
This summer, we planned a family holiday to Paris. My wife, Clare, wanted to show us the sights. Unfortunately, I can only manage about 20 minutes of walking before the pain sets in — not ideal for sightseeing.
Clare suggested I bring a wheelchair.
At first, I refused. The idea of accepting myself as a “disabled person” was hard. I also worried people would think I didn’t need it. But, keen to explore Paris beyond my walking limit, and comforted by the anonymity of a foreign city, I agreed.
We averaged 11–12 miles a day — walking and wheeling. It was a great workout and allowed me to experience the city with my family in ways that would have been impossible otherwise.
The experience was eye-opening — and taught me a lot about accessibility, inclusion, and respect.
Accessibility Matters
Wheeling around Paris was a huge challenge!
Rough pavements, potholes, raised kerbs, cobbles, sandy patches, and temporary barriers all posed obstacles. Some sites, like Napoleon’s Tomb, had no accessible ramps.
Restaurants and cafés were often packed too tightly for wheelchair access.
Accessibility must be considered at every stage of planning — from infrastructure to business design — if we want to be truly inclusive.
Be Inclusive and Respectful
When people had questions for me, they often addressed Clare instead.
While it may feel natural to talk to someone at your own eye level, it was frustrating. I’ve learned to be more aware of engaging directly with people, rather than unconsciously overlooking them because of a visible or invisible disability.
Give People Space and Time
Wheeling a chair takes effort, focus, and planning. You need room to turn, back up, and sometimes build momentum to mount a kerb.
“Nipping in front” of a wheelchair can be dangerous. A few times, I had to brake sharply — left in the road as traffic approached.
Giving someone space and time allows them to be independent, productive, and safe.
Offer Help — But Ask First
I was grateful for the people who stopped to offer help when I struggled up slopes or across roads.
We sometimes hesitate to help for fear of offending, but a polite offer is almost always welcome. Just don’t grab someone’s wheelchair — always ask first.
Making Reasonable Adjustments
At the airport and tourist sites, staff ushered me past long queues. Initially, I tried to decline, but I soon realised these gestures made a real difference.
Life in a wheelchair is slower, harder, and often more expensive. Elevators have long waits. Many metro stations are inaccessible. Buses don’t always align with ramps.
These extra challenges make reasonable adjustments essential, not preferential.
If your business wants to learn how to be more accessible, contact:
Not All Disabilities Are Visible
For many people, showing vulnerability or asking for help is hard. But understanding, acceptance, and flexibility can make a world of difference.
By sharing my story, I hope to contribute to the ongoing dialogue around diversity, inclusion, and accessibility.
How can we all ensure that people of every ability can fully access, engage in, and contribute to our workplaces and communities? That’s the challenge.
Let’s take action — and make it happen.
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