Elizabeth is a Paralympian swimmer and medallist. Her parents took on a long, arduous (and successful) fight for her place in mainstream school in 1980s Australia.

She is regularly patronised, spoken slowly to, and underestimated by strangers, and it’s “frustrating as hell, to be honest”, she says. Elizabeth’s mother was repeatedly pressured to abort her during pregnancy.

Elizabeth was born limb different. Her right arm finishes at the elbow and her right leg is severely shortened, meaning she has to wear a prosthetic leg. She has a finger missing on her left hand and two fingers missing on her right.

Don’t sugarcoat the word ‘disabled’

Elizabeth talks about all of these things and more - at conferences, in schools and over coffee. She is open to questions, queries, dilemmas.

“But the word ‘disabled’ is horrible,” I observe, thinking I am being well-informed and sensitive. “It’s the correct term - don’t sugarcoat it,” she replies. 

I ask Elizabeth what her main advice for teachers would be when dealing with students with physical disabilities.

She makes it very clear that she can only talk of her own experiences - she is not cognitively impaired and does not claim to speak for the many other forms of SEND that exist.

Know the SEND child

This issue comes up every time I write about SEND, in any form. In fact, it comes up pretty much every time I write about children. 

It’s a teacher’s job to make sure they read the relevant documentation, consult the parents or carers and speak to colleagues to ensure that they have a full understanding of the physical challenges and support required for a child. 

At the most basic level, this is about health and safety (a child in a wheelchair will need enough space to manoeuvre to their desk and out of the classroom in case of emergency). 

But, more importantly for the child, it’s about striking the crucial balance between letting a child have a go at a task and leaving them helpless and potentially frustrated because they simply can’t.

Think about how you offer help

Physically disabled people are well used to letting people know when they need help. 

Elizabeth talks about how she loathes cobbles and, in Edinburgh, once politely asked a man if she could borrow his shoulder to get down the hill from the castle. At the bottom, she thanked him and they both went on their way. No big deal. 

Elizabeth also tells the excruciating story of a friend pushing herself up a hill in her wheelchair. Without asking, a well-meaning stranger started pushing her, nearly breaking her fingers in the process. 

So it’s about thinking how you offer help. Best not just to grab…

Let your students get on with it

When I ask Elizabeth about her own schooling, she recalls an incident that she clearly still feels strongly about. The class was introduced to a weaving activity with coloured yarn. The teacher quietly deposited in front of Elizabeth a colouring sheet and some pencils.

This was repeated, lesson after lesson, while Elizabeth’s frustration at not being able to join in grew and grew. 

Parental intervention eventually resolved this one. Elizabeth is also pretty sure that - while she was unaware of it at the time - it was a parent-teacher team effort that ensured she went on tour with the school choir and tried out for the netball team. 

“I can’t sing,” says Elizabeth. “And, frankly, I wouldn’t be able to play netball if I had two arms and two legs.” 

Did either of those things matter? Not a bit of it. What mattered was being able to get on with it. To know the help was there if she needed to ask for it, then to be treated just like everybody else.

Is it going to be a bit scary for the child, their teacher and their parents at times? Of course. Do most children take risks and get hurt at some point? Of course they do. If you’re worried…you guessed it: ask.

Does a pupil need support?

Most of us have been there. The student whose learning difficulty means (they state loudly and indignantly) that they can’t possibly embark on the analytical paragraph about Shakespeare, while they can happily work on a creative-writing exercise for hours. 

Children are very clever, Elizabeth acknowledges this. You have to know them really well - and choose your battles. 

Like most things in teaching, it’s all about picking up on the patterns and really knowing your students - and making a judgement call. And, if it’s not quite right, then the world almost certainly won’t end.

Pity is insulting

Loads of emphasis is put on empathy in schools, and understandably so. Most of us know what it’s like to feel silly, picked on or small. 

What a lot of teachers tend to do, when considering a child with cerebral palsy or one in a wheelchair, is to catastrophise. As Elizabeth puts it: “You place yourself in their position and you think, ‘Oh my goodness, I could never do that.’”

In fact, pity and sympathy and overcompensation are, at best, patronising and self-indulgent (on the part of the pitier) and, at worst, deeply insulting.

Again, Elizabeth claims she can’t speak for others, though she knows plenty of people who feel the same. “Being disabled isn’t miserable. I’m happy. I’m thriving. A lot of disabled people are happy and thriving,” she says.

Elizabeth is very clear about the fact that there’s lots of work to do - ableism is still a huge issue, but the situation is far from hopeless. She writes here about practical things that can be done to prevent everyday ableism.

Role models

Elizabeth recalls a little boy pointing at her in the street and loudly comparing her to the CBeebies presenter with one arm. She loves these moments - and told his mother so. Just imagine if she’d been able to see that presenter when she herself was a child.

Dr Emma Kell is a secondary teacher in north-east London and author of How to Survive in Teaching. She tweets at @thosethatcan