Rice needs to better support students with disabilities

By Charlie Cruz     10/22/24 10:58pm

Editor’s Note: This is a guest opinion that has been submitted by a member of the Rice community. The views expressed in this opinion are those of the author and do not necessarily represent or reflect the views of the Thresher or its editorial board. All guest opinions are fact-checked to the best of our ability and edited for clarity and conciseness by Thresher editors. 

As I sit in my room, struggling to muster the energy to get out of bed, I can’t help but wonder how many others are silently fighting the same battle. It’s been almost two months since I lost access to my medication, and the toll is undeniable. Since 2022, a medication shortage has left thousands without life-saving treatment, forcing them to manage their symptoms alone. I don’t drink, smoke or vape — yet here I am, trapped in a haze of withdrawal. The most infuriating part? I can’t fix this alone. So, I turned to my accommodations — the lifeline that should have supported me.

For the first month, I was too embarrassed to mention my withdrawal symptoms. I’d have to disclose intimate details about my medication to professors. I called every pharmacy in Houston, and the medication was always out of stock. I didn’t want to be seen as a “druggie,” yet I couldn’t access my accommodations without explaining why. That’s the problem. It wasn’t until my symptoms became unbearable that I emailed my professors. But how many others are silently suffering, too ashamed or too afraid to ask for help because they don’t want to be judged?

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Unfortunately, even with accommodations, the fight is far from over. Using them often becomes a battle. I’ve had professors demand personal details about why I needed an extension, completely unaware of how invasive that question can be. 

Others have treated accommodation requests as one-time fixes, showing a glaring lack of understanding about how disabilities actually work. I’ve heard from peers in the disability group who were forced to drop their majors because the support they needed simply wasn’t there. Instead of real help, we’re left to navigate a bureaucratic system, often on our own.

Accommodations aren’t a luxury; they’re a necessity. They ensure we have a fair shot at success. When they fail, it’s not just inconvenient — it’s a matter of survival. You wouldn’t blame a diabetic for struggling without insulin. I’m not asking for special treatment — just equal opportunities and the support I need to succeed

I’m not afraid to admit I need accommodations; I’m not afraid to ask for help. What I fear is asking for help and being met with pity or judgment. I know the work I put in, but every time I seek the bare minimum of support, I can’t help but feel like I’m being judged. 

Rice may claim they want to support us, but we’re left to fend for ourselves when it matters most. The only support I received from the Rice Disability Resources Center was a simple letter of accommodations at the start of the semester that I had to hand to my professors myself. I remember going to the DRC and asking if they could write me a letter to explain missing work for a class, only for them to say: "We don't really do that." I don’t want to be a burden — but I also refuse to be left behind. I’m not sure Rice fully understands that.

I’m tired of pretending the bare minimum is enough. Is a letter of accommodations really all Rice can offer? Shouldn’t they help with communicating with professors? Students still have to prove their disabilities repeatedly, even to the Disability Center. Despite being required to help, they don’t fight for us. I’ve lost count of how many broken or missing braille signs I’ve seen. I laugh every time I see the ramp at Anderson Hall — a temporary fix that’s anything but stable. These issues send a clear message — one that says our needs aren’t a priority. We don’t need quick patches or band-aid solutions. We need real, lasting change.

I also want the Rice community to understand that scooters, mobility aids and other accommodations aren’t luxuries — they’re necessities for some of us to navigate campus and manage fatigue or mobility issues. Providing them isn’t enough; acceptance and respect must follow without stigma or judgment. We shouldn’t have to apologize for taking up space.

More importantly, Rice must advocate for us. Why should I have to convince professors that my unseen disability is real? We need more than the bare minimum — we need real, sustained support. Rice must create a campus where disabled students don’t have to prove their struggles repeatedly.

We deserve more than accommodation. We deserve to thrive. It’s time for Rice to show it values us by fighting for us, not against us. This is about dignity and equity, not just compliance.

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