Kathleen

Kathleen was born on a farm in the late 1960s. At two, Kathleen was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. The doctor told her parents to put her in an institution and forget about her.

Kathleen’s parents refused to do this, but struggled to find support. It was a two-day journey to a specialist centre in the city for physical therapy.

At five, Kathleen was able to board at the centre.

She slept in a dormitory with five other girls. The nursing sister in charge told her not to cry, be quiet and go to sleep or she would hit her. ‘As a much-loved youngest child of a large family, I had never been hit in my life, so I was quite frightened,’ she told the Royal Commission.

Staff would drag the children out of their beds at 5.30 am. They would place them on the floor beside their clothes and tell them to get dressed, with no support.

If Kathleen felt tired and did not want to walk around, they would put her in a large standing frame made of heavy board and ‘iron things’ with buckles and straps that wrapped around her limbs and restrained her. She had to stand in the positioning device for 30 minutes.

Kathleen said staff forced children to walk in caliper splints and restrained them in standing boxes.

When Kathleen was about seven, one of the male nurses sexually abused her.

The person in charge of the centre allowed the nurse to take Kathleen to his house or his parents’ house for the weekend.

‘I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings. I felt like I had been harmed, but there was no way that I could point to the harm. There was no way that I could name the harm. I actually didn’t even speak about it until I was about 15.’

Kathleen’s schooling was almost non-existent. For the first three years, all she did was sticker books. No-one taught her the curriculum.

In high school she returned home and did distance education. She began to read widely and teach herself. She was in her 20s when she graduated.

‘It wasn’t until I was actually 22 and a bit and finished school that I decided that I wanted to go to university. Everyone thought it was just a bit of an experiment or joke.’

Kathleen’s only support was her mum, who couldn’t leave the farm. Kathleen convinced the Chancellor to allow her to study externally.

‘So, the only time that I actually attended university was to graduate.’

Kathleen excelled. She said university was ‘amazing’ because it was the first time she was able to learn at the same pace as the other students.

‘It felt so good to be treated as an equal in that space, and to be treated as someone who was capable of doing things.’

Now in her early 50s, Kathleen is a successful businessperson.

Recently, she’s become concerned about her health.

Her first breast screen appointment, at a public clinic, wasn’t set up for women with disability. It was ‘awkward’ and they kept telling her it was ‘so difficult’.

Next time, Kathleen went to a private hospital. Someone helped her undress and they adjusted the procedure so she could sit and lie down. It cost $400. She worries this is not affordable for most women.

Recently, she was at a meeting with 20 women with disability. Only two had ever had a pap smear.

Kathleen said preventative health matters because as a person with disability, ‘in a hospital you are likely to die’.

‘You are likely to not get the aggressive antibiotic treatment … You’re likely to not be supported to eat or shower or toilet adequately. It’s not safe … We just are still treating people with disabilities like third-class citizens that are not humans, and that’s appalling.’