Spoiler alert: Running blades should be covered immediately. So should stiletto-friendly prosthetic feet.
by Diana Theobald
The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) turns 35 this month, which means it’s due for a midlife crisis—one in which it reflects on its life up to now and then makes drastic changes.
As a mid-30s millennial, I, too, have been reflecting on my life and making changes, the largest of which has me starting law school this fall. I’m beginning this new career with unwavering trust in our legal system and a firm commitment to justice. I have nothing but respect for our current statutes, the ADA especially, and I would never seriously advocate for changes without mountains of research and support.
But if I could wave a magic wand and enact as many poorly-thought-out laws as I want, I would have so many suggestions!
Before we dive into those ideas, a major disclaimer: Most of these are not serious. Put only as much stock into them as you would the campaign promises of a third-grader running for class president. Not one of those kids ever delivered on their “Recess All Day” platform, and I won’t actually pursue many of the following proposals for more limb-difference-friendly laws after I get my JD.
But once I get appointed to a judgeship? We’ll talk then.
1. So Every BODY Can Move.
Let’s start with a piece of real legislation that I very much support. If you’re new to the limb-loss community, you may be wondering how to get one of those cool running blades you see in every other commercial during the Olympics and Paralympics. If you’ve been here a minute, you know that health insurers don’t consider running “medically necessary” and therefore don’t cover sports prosthetics. For them, the height of a life well-lived is getting yourself to the bathroom and nothing else.
The So Every BODY Can Move campaign is working to fix that. They’re advocating state by state to require full coverage of recreational prosthetic and orthotic devices by private insurers. They’ve succeeded in eleven states so far, and they might prevail in two more states before this year’s legislative sessions end. Their reasonable goal is to get laws passed in 28 states by the time the 2028 Paralympics begin in Los Angeles. My Bizarroland goal is more aggressive: all 50 states by yesterday. The right to run should be a no-brainer. It’s unconscionable that these devices aren’t as readily available as running shoes. Besides, I’m eager to progress to Phase 2 of this movement, namely:
2. So Everybody Can SLAY.
I love sneakers. If I could wear sneakers everywhere, I would. But I’ve got this mom. She’s old-fashioned. For example, she insisted that I wear dress shoes at my sister’s wedding. Also, I don’t know if you’ve been to court lately (hopefully not), but attorneys are still wearing suits. That Meghan Markle TV show, the one about lawyers? It wasn’t called Business Casual.
Now, I’m aware that flat dress shoes exist for women. “Sensible shoes,” I believe they’re called. But I don’t want to look sensible. I want to look like Meghan Markle. I want the clickety-clack of my stilettos to incite fear in opposing counsel. I want to tower over my predominantly male-identifying peers. I want to wear heels. But are they considered medically necessary? Incredibly, they aren’t. So I can’t wear heels unless I commit to a prosthetic foot that has an adjustable heel, which isn’t practical or healthy for everyday use. I shouldn’t have to choose. I should have as many legs as it takes to let me walk, run, and slay.
Once all 50 states have required insurers to cover devices for running, we need to require them to cover devices for the runway. Everybody deserves to look hot.
3. Prosthetic Aesthetic Omnibus Bill.
Now that we’ve enshrined the legal right of people with limb difference to look good, let’s apply it to the limbs themselves. I appreciate that fake limbs could look much, much worse. Just ask any generative AI platform to create an image of an arm prosthesis. The results aren’t as nightmarish as they were a year ago, but AI is still not nailing it. Thankfully, humans are still in charge of limb fabrication, and they are much better than AI at implementing design notes. This omnibus bill addresses all my own prosthetic pet peeves as a below-knee amputee, but there’s plenty of room for amendments to address your own aggravations. For now, key provisions include:
Increased color options and decreased branding in liners. If I can get a glitter socket with floral appliques, why can’t I get a matching liner? Also, why are the logos on liners so prominent? My thigh is not a billboard.
More diverse skin tones in feet. My foot shell is supposed to replace a treasured body part, yet it only comes in three colors. This bill requires custom paint-matching so the foot reflects the rest of your body.
Adjustable heel heights of at least three inches. So far, 2.7 inches (seven centimeters) seems to be the highest elevation available in adjustable feet. Memo to men: That’s not a high heel. It’s technically a “kitten heel,” which is currently in style, but who knows how long that’ll stick. Most pairs of heels that are truly high remain inaccessible to lower-limb amputees. I’d be less irked by this limitation if the advertising for adjustable-heel feet didn’t promise that I can “wear any shoe.” True freedom does not mean excluding every cute shoe that exceeds my leg’s 2.7-inch maximum.
Regulate foot-shell hygiene. I used to think belly-button lint was the height of gross, but then I started wearing prosthetic feet. The inside of my foot shell repels everyone but the most intrepid explorer, i.e. my prosthetist. I only occasionally interact with what falls in there, and only by accident. Like if I go to the beach, I can count on getting a face full of Coppertone-scented sand during my next several yoga inversions. But prosthetists journey into these pits of putrescence almost daily, and we aren’t doing enough to address the PTSD this is no doubt causing them. My prosthetist told me he finds the strangest stuff inside of foot shells. Dead cockroaches. Drugs. Confetti. OK, the confetti was mine, left over from a Bruno Mars concert I attended in Vegas on New Year’s Eve 2023. I was still walking around with those remnants inside my foot a year and a half later. But at least there were no drugs in there.
4. National Disability Education Act (NDEA).
Enough about the limbs and the prosthetics. Let’s address the culture around limb loss and limb difference. NDEA might sound awfully similar to IDEA, aka the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (which is currently under duress because of DOGE). However, there is one crucial difference: IDEA addresses education for people with disabilities, while NDEA will educate people without disabilities who are clueless about disability.
I don’t want to be overly prescriptive about what this curriculum should entail, but it should equip people without disabilities—hereinafter referred to as “ableds”—to understand all types of disabilities, not just limb loss. However, a few amputation-specific learning objectives will be written into the bill:
The “Stump” Clause: Ableds are instructed not to say “stump” when referring to the limb-different appendage. That’s our word. Ableds may opt in, but the cost is an arm and/or a leg. People in possession of all their biological joints will be taught to use “residual limb” instead.
Empty Apology Ban: Ableds are also advised to avoid reflexively saying they are “sorry” upon learning of someone’s limb difference. Adapting to limb difference is a show of strength, not a cause for sorrow. Don’t bring down my job interview with uninvited pity.
Ear Training: Maybe I need to enunciate better, but I think it’s more likely that we need to acclimatize the general population to the word “prosthetist.” Too many people I know think I’m making routine visits to my prostitute—and most of them just nod politely and then change the subject.
5. HR 1000, aka “The Cuthbert Bill.”
Part of educating the general population means amplifying limb-different American heroes and turning them into household names. I’m partial to Virginia Hall, a World War II spy who happened to be an amputee. Nicknamed “The Limping Lady” on Germany’s Most Wanted List, she operated a spy ring out of France and fed crucial intel to the Allies. Some of her agents were captured and killed; she escaped to Spain by hiking over the Pyrenees in a blizzard on her wooden prosthesis.
And how should we honor her? I say we put our money where our mouths are and put her face on our money. Instead of displacing some dead president from a bill that’s currently in circulation, HR 1000 will bring back the $1000 bill. It hasn’t been printed since 1969, when denominations above $100 were discontinued due to lack of use (although if this inflation keeps up, we’re going to be using the $1000 for laundry soon). Hall’s face would occupy center stage, but if you hold the bill up to the light, her trusty wooden leg “Cuthbert” would become visible.
If we can’t round up enough votes to pass HR 1000, I would settle for making Hall’s birthday a national holiday. It’s April 6, conveniently during Limb Loss and Limb Difference Awareness Month. Oh, and speaking of special months:
6. Joint Resolution to Officially Establish July as Disability Heritage Month.
Give disability a month, already! We’re already well settled on July as Disability Pride Month, but that’s not a federally recognized designation. Time to make it official so we can throw some accessible parades. This bill should not be construed as a replacement for the federally recognized National Disability Employment Awareness Month (NDEAM) in October. We get to keep both.
7. Expand Disabled Parking Access to Include People with Upper Limb Difference.
Not that I’m looking for more competition for the few disabled parking spots available, but it seems unfair that the lucky fins have to park farther away. Their biomechanics are affected by their limb differences, too. Let’s invite them to the placard party. Better yet, let’s throw in a few more disabled parking spots in every parking lot. If you think two spots outside Chipotle are plenty, try taking your entire wheelchair basketball team to lunch.
8. The Social Life Security Act of 2025.
Speaking of parking: If I can’t attend an event because the event is inaccessible to me, then I should receive benefits to compensate for the hit to my social life. Benefits from where, you ask? This act establishes the Social Life Security Trust Fund, which is paid into by every company that’s “technically” ADA-compliant, but not accessible in any actual sense.
The fund will also provide federal grants to nonprofits that enhance social opportunities for people with disabilities. This fund will be untouchable by politics, protected by the same security mechanism as Thor’s hammer—only those who are pure of heart will be able to access it. Finally, the trust fund will cover Postmates and a movie rental for the nights when my leg is killing me and I just don’t feel like leaving the house.
9. Security Checkpoint Tax Credit.
Here’s a fun addition to Form 1040: I get a $20 tax credit every time a security guard doesn’t notice my metal leg, waves me through a metal detector, then panics when the metal detector goes off. I receive an additional $50 tax credit if the guard hears the alarm but shrugs it off by saying “It’s probably your belt,” without confirming that I’m actually wearing a belt.
10. The Socks Act.
Not to be confused with the SOX Act (which guards against financial fraud), the Socks Act requires clothing manufacturers to sell socks and mittens in singles as well as in pairs. As much as I love the two-for-one of the current sales framework, it’s not a bargain to pay for a left- or right-sided garment to fit a nonexistent limb. I would only like to pay for the side I need. Added plus: Scores of lonely socks will find new mates in laundry rooms everywhere. Isn’t that a lovely thought?
11. TEDTalk Reduction Act.
Listen, we don’t all have to be motivational speakers. It feels like the amputee community has TedTalks really well covered. This act is intended to develop creative outlets for new amputees that don’t involve “telling your story” to a room full of ableds. It’s the act I needed when I first lost my leg and was immediately struck by the overwhelming desire to write a memoir.
Future amendments to this act will work to normalize adult recreational leagues for people with disabilities who have no hope of competing at a Paralympic level but still want to throw a ball around after work.
12. The Affordable Limb Care Act (ALCA).
This will be our most sweeping legislation yet. Under this groundbreaking new law, assistive devices are provided for free to anyone who asks. Canes? Free. Crutches? Free. Any kind of leg, in any quantity? Free. High-quality lightweight titanium wheelchairs? Free—even if you only use a wheelchair to visit theme parks or drag-race down your driveway.
This act will also cover cross-country travel for visits to prosthetic clinics. Every so often, I hear about people who board a four-hour flight (or make a 16-hour drive) every time they need a new alignment. More power to them, but who can afford that? Under the ALCA, we’ll all be able to. The law will guarantee you the extra days of PTO and cover the cost of the flight, hotel, meals, rental car—even the pack of gum at the airport.
Of course, everyone—even ableds—has limbs that need care. Therefore the ALCA would eliminate the Medicare age requirement and make health care available to everyone for free. Free, I say! Freeeeeeeeee!!!
Hmm? What’s that? I just bankrupted the country? Caused an international titanium shortage? Inadvertently triggered the WALL-E future, where humanity settles into hover recliners that were originally intended for people with disabilities, and have our every need catered to by happy robots until we lose both the desire and ability to stand?
I maintain that WALL-E offered a positive depiction of a fully accessible society, not the apocalyptic nightmare Pixar implied it to be. But I’ll admit some of these bills might go a bit too far. That’s still better than our current legal code, which doesn’t go far enough to support people with disabilities. That’s why I’m getting a law degree in the first place. The ADA was a landmark, but it’s almost over the hill. It’s old enough to run for president. It’s got crow’s feet, liver spots, and one long chin hair that it’s constantly plucking (I am definitely still talking about the ADA, not myself).
So EveryBODY Can Move is an encouraging start on the kinds of changes we need to make. They’ll reach their 28 x 28 goal at about the time I complete my law degree, which will be a perfect time to introduce the high-heeled-feet initiative. Some of these other ideas are only for fun, but I’m dead serious about that one. I plan on being a lawyer who walks, runs, and slays.
Diana Theobald is a freelance writer and entertainment industry consultant. She has held roles at Warner Bros. Discovery, Marvel, DreamWorks Animation, and NBCUniversal.
