Free to Beby Amy Scheer

Students with disabilities thrive at Northwestern

DAN ROSS

Doctors told Kory Jensen’s parents when he was two that he would never walk or speak clearly. Now a junior, the elementary education major has been active on stage and behind the scenes in Northwestern’s theatre program.

On June 19, 1989, Kory Jensen was born, and doctors told his parents he wouldn’t live. Two years later, when Jensen was a toddler, he was diagnosed with apraxia, a neurological disorder. The doctor said he’d never walk or speak clearly.

Jensen’s elementary years were rough—kids taunted him as he struggled to communicate or hold a pencil correctly—so when he enrolled at Northwestern in 2007, he avoided drawing attention to himself. Years of speech, eye and physical therapy had resulted in significant improvement, and he knew if he didn’t point it out, few people would realize he has a disability.

“I wanted to be a normal kid and not have people treat me differently,” Jensen says. “I was trying to be independent. I came in and took the first test, and I failed it. I had no idea what to do.”

Tom Truesdell ’01, director of academic support, tutored Jensen and picked up on clues: “I was surprised at how many spelling errors he had, because as I was speaking with him, I saw he was very articulate and bright.”

Jensen eventually disclosed his disability—and his fears. Truesdell reassured him that staff would respect his privacy, and soon Jensen was making regular use of the department’s computers for test-taking. His confidence building, he began to take the initiative to contact professors when needing extra help.

“The students we’re working with are usually very intelligent,” says Truesdell. “They have the skill set to succeed at Northwestern. We provide the accommodations, and they can thrive.”

Transition

This school year, 23 NWC students report some type of disability. Most have learning disabilities, like dyslexia; a few report physical conditions, such as cerebral palsy, narcolepsy and severe allergies; and some students have developmental disorders, such as autism. Many experience related complications—distractibility, test anxiety and disorganization are the most common.

Northwestern’s academic support department offers assistance to all students with documented disabilities. Services include reading tests orally, securing a quiet location for testing, and reviewing papers. The department also offers assistive technology, such as software able to type the spoken word and read scanned books aloud. Accessibility on campus meets legal standards.

As students with documented disabilities move from high school to college, they leave the shelter of Individualized Education Programs (IEPs)—comprehensive plans designed to help them secure accommodations, measure progress and meet goals. Written and implemented by a team of professionals, IEPs protect students and hold them accountable from grade school to graduation.

“At college, they have to become their own best advocate,” says John Menning, Northwestern’s learning disability service provider. “They have to take the reins. I still check up on them, but I don’t tell them that,” he adds with a laugh.

When Menning was five, his brother Paul was born with all his major organs enlarged. His mother, emotionally overwhelmed and caring for a baby who wouldn’t eat, was comforted when little John would come skipping into the room, singing, “He’s got the teeny tiny baby … in his hands.”

Paul died at nine months; Menning, a special education teacher for 32 years, has spent most of his adult life caring for people with disabilities, including a foster son whom he and his wife, NWC English instructor Deborah Menning, have raised for 26 years.

“Knowing we have someone like John on staff reassures parents considerably,” says Truesdell. “They have a point person. They know John is looking out for them.”

Acceptance

DAN ROSS

Junior Laura Denekas says have cerebral palsy has enabled her to have a heart for helping others. A social work major, she has participated in Spring Service Projects in Opelousas, La., and Compton, Calif.

For Laura Denekas ’11, who has cerebral palsy (CP), college life offered new, welcomed opportunities.

“In high school, I was never ostracized because of my disability, but I didn’t feel like I was accepted either. I didn’t feel fully myself, including my desire to fully accept my disability,” she says.

Denekas was born 10 weeks early. At six months she was adopted; at age five, surgeons broke her hips and inserted metal plates. When she was 11, nerves in her spinal cord were cut in a procedure called a rhizotomy, and she stayed at Shriner’s Hospital for Children in Minneapolis for six weeks. Her pelvis was broken in three places and reconstructed at age 14.

She’s in maintenance mode right now, she says, and does not anticipate further surgeries. Staying in shape, visiting physical therapy as much as insurance will allow, using a single-arm crutch and grabbing an arm on an icy winter day keep Denekas right where she needs to be. And where she’s happiest is at Northwestern.

“At Northwestern, I felt accepted right away. Disability or not—that doesn’t matter here,” says Denekas, who has studied in India and spent spring breaks serving in Louisiana and California. “I’ve found who I am, and I’m confident with who I am. My friendships are stronger here; the disability thing is never an issue.”

Effort

DAN ROSS

Senior Kyle Sauter credits the self-discipline he developed coping with his learning disability for helping him to be a good motivator as a captain of the Red Raider track team.

As regional manager at Snap Fitness in Sioux Center, Kyle Sauter ’10 supervises a staff and leads group exercise. He’s good at motivating people, he says, both at Snap and on Northwestern’s track team, where he’s a captain. He credits this skill to his learning disability in reading, which has taught him a fair amount of discipline.

Sauter spends an excessive number of hours in memorization—a simple sentence means nothing to him if one unfamiliar word is present. During his three semesters of Spanish, for example, he put in two hours a day with a tutor and approximately four hours of studying for every 20-word vocabulary list.

Soon he will have his degree in physical education as well as a personal trainer certification. The road to these honors—and a good career—is paved with thousands of note cards listing out the Latin names of bones and the metabolic processes of the body. At his job, it took Sauter extra time to learn his duties at first, and his employer knows he’d rather communicate by phone than e-mail.

“I try to show them that, hey, I’m a hard worker—it takes me longer at first, but as time goes by, I know it like the back of my hand,” Sauter says.

Jensen, too, found that discipline was key to managing his apraxia; he worked diligently and graduated third in his high school class even though he considers himself “not really that smart.” At Northwestern, he’s an elementary education major who hopes to teach kids with disabilities. His professors like to point out his willingness to ask for help as a sign he’ll do well in his chosen profession.

Part of Menning’s job is coaching students toward suitable fields of study and workforce options. He practices tough love with the steady stream of regulars in his office, stressing the skills necessary for moving on: “If you’re going to e-mail professors, check your spelling. Be professional.” And, “You have your first job. You think your employer will let you come late [because of your disability]? You’ll be fired after the first week.”

Many people with disabilities are underemployed as adults, studies show. Denekas finds herself wondering if her great experience at college will be shattered by workforce discrimination. Not everyone recognizes what she likes to point out: “We’re all human beings with beating hearts. Inside, we’re all the same.”

Purpose

In a cartoon by Australian Cathy Wilcox, a journalist approaches a man in a wheelchair and asks, “When did you first realise [sic] you were—um—incomplete?” The man replies, “It took someone of your sensitivity to point it out.”

In the Christian community, the subject of disability can be complicated, if discussed at all. (Denekas suggests that themes such as racial reconciliation dominate, though she considers herself a minority as well.) Difficult questions abound: Is disability a result of humankind’s fall from grace? Why did Jesus talk about forgiveness while healing the paralytic?

“God’s going to work through me in this,” says Denekas. Sauter agrees: “God gave me this for a reason.” “Praise God for all the things he gave me,” echoes Jensen. Theological debates do not appear to trouble these Northwestern students; however, don’t turn them into heroes. People with disabilities are often portrayed as inspirational for their triumph over adversity, and just barely human.

“I can’t picture myself without CP. I wouldn’t be me,” says Denekas. “Yeah, sometimes I wish things were easier and I didn’t have these limitations. In high school, I didn’t like having to be that inspiration for people because I’m just living my life. Why do I have to be inspiring? Going to Northwestern, I realized this is who God has me be on this earth. I want to honor him with this.”

On a Navajo reservation last summer, Jensen shared that sentiment. The young man who doctors said would never walk spent his daytime hours painting houses for disadvantaged families. In the evenings, Jensen, who was told he’d never speak clearly, preached a message to the 110 kids who gathered. The camp’s theme was “Free,” based on Galatians 5:13 (“You … were called to be free”).

“You’re free to be yourself,” he told them. “Love who you are. All the things the doctor said I’d never do, I did. God has a purpose for me on earth, or none of this would have happened.”