Your mobility, your mountain: mobility, access, & inclusion | Lauren Panasewicz | TEDxBreckenridge
URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qY_lofD4my0 Video ID: qY_lofD4my0 ============================================================ [Applause] So when I applied to give a talk on the theme of metamorphosis, I didn't fully realize at the time that I would be a literal walking example of it on stage here tonight. At seven months pregnant, I've gained a new perspective on a lot of things. One thing that has been difficult is the toll that it's taken on my own mobility. Not only have I lost the ability to buckle my ski boots, that is my husband's job now. I've been dealing with crippling sciatica and chronic pain that's kept me from long snowy walks with my dog Pancake. How many of you can relate to this? And I'm not talking about the pregnancy. I'm talking about a loss of mobility. For me, other than this, there's been two times in my life where my mobility has been deeply impacted. The first was about 13 years ago. I shattered my elbow in a traumatic fall. It was off my front porch, but it resulted in emergency surgery, a partial metal elbow joint, nerve damage, chronic pain, and a lifetime of limited mobility. Not only could I not go to work at the time, but everyday tasks like showering, cooking, getting dressed felt impossible. Even worse, I couldn't participate in my favorite things like climbing and skiing. That deeply impacted my identity. The second time I lost my mobility was due to severe depression. As much as I knew that I should get outside and move for my own mental health, I simply could not get out of bed. It is the most disconnected, lonely, and unproductive time of my life. Going to the mailbox felt like Mount Everest. How many of you have been blindsided by an illness or injury that's left you unable to move? Raise your hand even just for a day or two. Yeah, I think that all of us have experienced a loss of mobility at some point. If you're lucky, it was just a day or two. Maybe you had the flu or sprained your ankle. Maybe you tore your ACL and you were mobility was put on pause for months during surgery and recovery. Maybe it was much more permanent than that. Think back on that time. How did losing your physical mobility impact the rest of your life? I've come to understand something fundamental. Mobility is not just about movement. It is tied to everything. It's tied to our physical and mental health, our ability to go to work, our relationships, our sense of purpose, our identity. Mobility is something we all take for granted every day until we lose it. I spent the majority of my career helping people get their mobility back because I believe there is no greater gift. From a very young age, I wanted to help people. I wanted to change the world and I thought the best way to do that was through big infrastructure projects that helped thousands of people at a time. I pursued multiple engineering degrees. But what I realized very quickly was that even with really good intentions and a lot of resources, it didn't necessarily guarantee a positive impact in the world. I spent the majority of my engineering career wondering if I was helping or hurting. But on the weekends, I got to ski with my friend Anna and her family. Anna was part of an adaptive ski program that I initially got involved with for the free season pass, but it soon became much more than that. Do you know what the opposite of a KPI is in a final design report? I'll tell you, it is the smile on Anna's face when we got to take her through the mini terrain park for the first time in her sitki. I think many of you will agree with me that skiing is the best thing ever. And sharing that joy with someone is so special. But sharing it with someone who never thought they would ever be able to ski, that's life-changing. I quit my engineering career and started working in adaptive sports and therapeutic recreation full-time. I saw that one afternoon could completely change someone's p perception of what was possible for them. And I knew that was the impact I wanted to create in the world. As the universe would have it, I found myself working for a nonprofit helping amputees in need access highquality prosthetic limbs and follow-up care in Latin America. I got to see patients like Victor crutch into our clinic on one leg and literally salsa dance out on two. I got to witness shy little William get carried in in his mom's arms. And later that afternoon, he was playing soccer with us and handing out high fives. We're gaining mobility after loss ignites a spark of joy and possibility. For nearly a decade, I spearheaded a campaign based around the message of what's your mountain? where we asked our community to literally climb a mountain in honor of our patients or tackle something challenging to them to raise awareness and funds for our mission of providing prosthetic limbs, vertical feet for prosthetic feet. As part of this campaign, I had the honor of putting together a team of adaptive athletes and disability rights advocates to attempt to climb a 19,000 ft glacier covered volcano in Ecuador to show the world the power of [Applause] mobility. Thank you. Some of these climbers were patients of ours, and watching them progress from parallel bars to mountaintops is truly a testament to the human spirit. Organizing and being present for this climb team every year was the highlight of my year, and it is still to this day the thing I am most proud of in my entire career. I made lifelong friendships in one week. There is something to be said about suffering on the side of a mountain that brings you close to people very quickly. But it was so much more than that. We were part of something so much bigger than ourselves. This trip changed so many lives every year, ours included. And summit or not, I got to see every climber grow, push themselves, and redefine their own limitations. Let me tell you, the first time I climbed Kodapaci at 19,347 feet, it was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Imagine waking up before midnight, leaving the warmth of your sleeping bag and the refuge to go out into the bitter cold, tied to your rope team like little sleepy ants crawling up a glacier. For 8 to 12 hours, you're climbing up so steep that every step requires a full stop and a full breath. Your lungs are stinging from the cold air. Your muscles are burning, your head is pounding, and your body is screaming for oxygen. And just as you reach the coldest and darkest point of the night, and your tank is completely empty, and you're questioning every decision you've ever made that got you to that point. You have no other choice but to find the strength to move forward. Here's the thing. There is nothing that better prepares us for the mountain we're facing than the mountains we've already climbed. Because, and I said this to the climb team every year, as hard as this mountain is, what they have overcome just to get to that trail head is far more difficult than any volcano. Maybe your mountain was on that screen. Maybe your mountain is a 19,000 ft peak. Maybe your mountain is buckling your ski boots or playing soccer again. Maybe your mountain is checking the mail in the deepest depression of your life. It's about honoring where everyone is at in their journey. What's your mountain? One of you here might be celebrating getting to the mailbox. I know I did. And some of you here might be training for the Grand Traverse and putting in dozens of miles and thousands of vertical feet every week. I use these examples to emphasize that our mobility potential is not only unique to us but unique to this moment in our life because it can change drastically at any time. The reality is that most of us will face short-term or long-term disability at some point in our lifetime. Disability is the only minority group that anyone can join at any time. I'm going to say that again. Disability is the only minority group that anyone can join at any time. It does not care how old you are, where you go to work, what color your skin is, what gender you identify with. Disability does not discriminate. It is universal. Yet, even in a world with smartphones and electric cars and space travel, the World Health Organization estimates that 90% of people who need assistive technologies cannot access them. This includes things like hearing aids, eyeglasses, wheelchairs, and you guessed it, prosthetic limbs. The fact that these solutions exist in the world and we cannot access them tells me that our bodies are not broken, our systems are. As you leave here tonight, I hope you can be more aware and more grateful for your own mobility, but also think about how you can help others. We can do small things to create a more just and inclusive world that we will all likely benefit from someday. This is a huge ask, so I'll break it down into four things to think about. Number one, advocate for accessibility in your workplace and community. For example, are your sidewalks and ramps shoveled in the winter? Do you know what your accommodations are for people with disabilities? These are great places to start. Number two, support organizations working with the disability community and helping people access assisted technologies. Donate, support, volunteer, engage in their trainings. the disability community is inclusive and welcoming. Number three, push for policies that prioritize inclusion. This one's a mouthful, but it's important. Make sure the people that are being impacted by these policies are part of the decision-making process. If they can't access the table, their voices will not be heard. And true inclusion does not exist without disabled voices. And number four, exercise and celebrate your mobility wherever you are at in your journey. Do not be afraid to advocate for your own access needs. Maybe you need trekking poles or a knee brace to go a little further on your hike. I know it's a silly example, but my husband buckling my ski boots means I can still shred. What do you need to reach your mobility potential? Because we all deserve the chance to climb our mountains and reach our personal summits. Our bodies may be fragile, but the human spirit is so resilient. And isn't it a beautiful thing to be alive and to be climbing? Thank you.