In Charles Dickens' immortal A Christmas Carol, Tiny Tim—the crutch-using young son of Bob Cratchit—is the epitome of a disability trope.

In Charles Dickens' immortal A Christmas Carol, Tiny Tim—the crutch-using young son of Bob Cratchit—is the epitome of a disability trope.

This summer, at the age of 57, I was finally able to fill out my own census form. In the past, I’ve had to have my wife do it for both of us. Bu

I keep hearing about how disabled people are panicked over COVID-19. As a disabled person, I know this is true. But media reports are missing an impor

Not long ago, I was hired to do a sensitivity reading of a book manuscript, a guide for young adults about how people live with disabilities.

In late summer, two books by disabled women were published with strikingly similar titles: The Pretty One: On Life, Pop Culture, Disability, and Other Reasons to Fall in Love with Me by Keah Brown (Atria Books) and Such a Pretty Girl: A Story of Struggle, Empowerment, and Disability Pride by Nadina LaSpina (New Village Press).

I was born before my disability could be diagnosed.  Now I'm told it can be cured.

Watch the Today Show. Watch Dr. Phil. Read the Chicago Tribune. Go on YouTube. You'll see a new word that's causing a mild uproar.

Editor’s note: Suddenly, a lot of people are asking: “What’s the big deal about straws and disability?”

By Ben Mattlin

In the first few days of this year, I was rushed to the emergency room. "We need help," I'd gasped to my wife before she dialed 911.

For someone like me - born with a progressive neuromuscular condition called spinal muscular atrophy - that feels like a big milestone.