Maeve: Hi, I’m Maeve Marsden and you’re listening to Queerstories. This week award-winning comedian Madeleine Stewart has performed with the likes of Adam Hills, Rove McManus and Andrew Denton. A hilarious turn on ABC Tonightly with NDIS Fails showcased her ground-breaking exploration of disability and social norms. Practicing what she preaches, Madeleine won the AMP Tomorrowmaker award for her production of inclusive, accessible comedy show Crips & Creeps. With shows at the Sydney Fringe and Sydney Comedy Festival, Madeleine is rising fast, with no sign of slowing down.
Madeleine: Before I start my story, I thought I’d do a little visual description for those of you listening in. I’m a 5’2 petite blonde woman, missing my left forearm from below the elbow. With fabulous legs and tiny tits.
Also before we start, some of you might feel the urge to be inspired by me, because of this bad boy (gestures to stump) – if you could just control that, thank you very much. Just remember, I eat chicken nuggets in bed like everyone else ok?
On with the Story!
Growing up in Campbelltown my nickname was “The One-Armed Bandit”. Looking back I’m not sure if it was a clever play on words having one arm, and my little stump looked like a lever- or because mum and dad hit the Centrelink Jackpot when they had me.
My childhood was much like yours. I had parents, a brother and a dog. I climbed trees, did cartwheels, played with barbies and wanted to be Britney Spears when I grew up. But most of all I wanted to be not disabled.
My mum would always tell me you’re normal, you’re just like everyone else, you can do anything, you aren’t disabled, you’re normal, you’re normal, you’re normal (etc).
Which I guess sounds nice on the surface, doesn’t it? the whole ‘world is your oyster, you can do anything’ idea. But I think my mum took it too far. Not only was I expected to physically do everything a child with two hands could do. Like clap or do the macarena- oh! Like incy-wincy spider, with that hand action, how am I supposed to do that?! (sings and tried to demonstrate)‘Incey wincey spider-FUCK!’
Not only was the pressure on to do everything that other kids could do, but whenever I displayed self conscious behaviour I was chastised.
I would constantly get in trouble for covering up my arm with long sleeves and cardigans even in the peak of summer, or tucking my little stump into my handbag in hope that no one noticed, or clutching my arm trying to hide it.
She would say “Stop making a big deal no one even notices!’ but i would notice people looking or staring, pointing and laughing. I’ve made quite a few toddlers cry in my time – i felt like a monster.
It didn’t help that on Tv, when I saw people like me they were either the inspiration or the monster. Either Forrest Gump or Lt. Dan. I didn’t identify as either of them.
I saw value in being normal- everyone around me was normal, and the only time I saw other kids with disability it was at the Westmead Children’s hospital- I remember my mum walking me through the wards and showing me other disabled children, like some kind of morbid freakshow and saying ‘look at them, at least you’re not like them, you should be thankful’. I was so confused, I looked like some of them, but i wasn’t sick, but i was at the hospital. I will never forget the way that my mum looked at those children that day… it’s not the way you want your mum to look at you. So in desperation, I asked for a Prosthetic arm.
Woah nelly that was an experience!! People with disability know that trying to get funding, services or any sort of assistance from government is an utter shitstorm. First you need to prove to the government that you do indeed have one arm. I actually had to go see my local GP and have him confirm that Yes, I do indeed have one arm- Christ the government’s thick… “are you sure you have one arm? Well have you tried growing another arm? Have you considered being born rich?”
Prosthetic arms are $30,000 and up. In the 90s there was no NDIS so we needed to seek private funding though the hospital. Which in short, meant selling my sob story to golf clubs and rotary clubs in hope that they would take pity on me and pay for my arm. Some might say I really was, the worst kind of arms dealer.
This sob story meant months of writing lists of things that I can’t do, my struggle and really pin pointing how low my quality of life was. And as a child that really did wonders for my self esteem.
So, for a majority of the time i had mum telling me to be normal and no one even notices my disability- then when we go to the hospital telling me to ‘ham it up’ so we can get more money. My sense of identity was all over the shop- how could I be completely normal, and also so ‘handicapped’ at the same time? And all the while feeling so ashamed about the way I looked.
Eventually I received funding and got a prosthetic arm. It looked like a metal claw operated on a pulley system that was strapped to my elbow and shoulder. I know, so natural looking…no one would ever suspect it’s fake! And if you thought the phones were chunky in the 90s- you should have seen the prosthetic arms! It looked like something from Mad Max.
My big brother, Callum, was my greatest ally growing up. He was the polar opposite of mum. He didn’t see disability as something negative. He didn’t see it at all. I was just his sister, and he loved me. No big deal.
As my anxiety over my own body started to escalate, i started to feel really afraid about starting kindergarten. I thought that kids would make fun of me and my prosthetic arm. My brother would comfort me, and one day said: ‘I know what will cheer you up, Star Wars!’ Perfect! See it now- two kids 6 and 10 watching empire strikes back. And Luke gets his arm cut off and has to wear a prosthetic arm. Granted, his arm was much better than mine. It’s just Mark Hamill’s arm with some wires taped to it, but still! Cal looked at me and said “You don’t have to be scared. You’re a Jedi!” That blew my mind! Luke was the Hero, he wasn’t pitied, he didn’t need to go to the hospital- he blew up the death star and saved the galaxy. Fuck being normal, I wanted to be like a Jedi.
I feel like some of you are feeling inspired… am i right? you look a bit inspired. Keep it in ya pants, alright? If you want to be inspired, be inspired by my brother. He taught me that disability is not something to be ashamed of. And he continues to do that to this day. Callum recently got married and his wife is a person with disability. When they started dating my mum sat him down and said “you know, you don’t need to date a disabled girl, you’ve done your time…you know…looking after madeleine.” When Cal told me this, He was like ‘I don’t think Mum understands, you are never a burden. Of course I’m going to look out for you I’m your big brother, that’s what big brothers do”
Aww. he also said ‘I didn’t know spending time with you was charity, I would have had it tax deducted”!
My mum has never come around to my brothers way of thinking. But thank goodness I did and that is what’s important. Parents are sometimes wrong. My brother and I don’t see much of mum now days. We slowly cut ties over the years and now we don’t hear from her at all. This sounds like a sad story but if you look really closely, Callum, his wife and I live happy little lives together.
While I was writing this story, I was asked “How does this end Madeleine?”. The truth is I’m 27 and the stories not complete. I will probably always feel a little bit inadequate. I will probably always feel a little bit of internalised ablism. That’s not going away, that’s a journey within myself that will continue throughout my life. But I’m so glad I learnt really hard lessons early on and now I can continue to live a life that is free.
Thank you so much for listening.
Maeve: Thanks for listening. Please subscribe to our podcast, share your favourite tales on socials and follow Queerstories on Facebook for updates. If you enjoy Queerstories, consider supporting the project on Patreon. Check out the link in the episode description. Finally, for late-night ramblings, gay shit and photos of me trying to garden with a baby on my back, follow Maeve Marsden on Twitter and Instagram.
