Schooling for Quinn: Inclusion Matters

Written by Martha Walls, Quinn's Mom (Halifax, NS)

Martha Walls is a dedicated advocate for inclusive education. She and her husband, Corey Slumkoski, are professors of history at Mount Saint Vincent University (MSVU) in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She specializes in the history of Atlantic Canadian First Nations, focusing particularly on the experiences of Mi’kmaq women in the 20th century. Martha and Corey have been focused on ensuring that their 12-year-old daughter Quinn is included in her school and community. It has been challenging! They have also been actively involved in MSVU's MountAbility program, which supports students with disabilities in accessing university courses and campus life.

When our daughter Quinn, who has Down syndrome, came into this world in March 2013, we were filled with optimism, hopeful that our much-loved baby would lead a fulfilling life of opportunity, acceptance, and friendship. Staff at her amazing daycare at Mount Saint Vincent University’s Child Study Centre tirelessly developed strategies to fully include Quinn, demonstrating to us the great possibility of inclusivity. Unfortunately, Quinn’s transition to public school in 2018 was a rougher ride, and ensuring Quinn’s inclusion in her primary class was more difficult than we had anticipated. Still, by the end of her first school year, bugs were worked out, and Quinn was well supported - and she loved school. Like the rest of the world, we could never have imagined the global pandemic that struck midway through first grade.

Because Quinn’s short life had seen her suffer through many traumatic admissions to the pediatric intensive care unit for respiratory viruses, COVID-19 was truly our family’s worst nightmare. It also ushered in a difficult 5-year struggle for Quinn to have access to school in a meaningful way that kept her safe.

Given that Quinn has an intellectual disability that prevents her from masking effectively, and considering her terrible track record with viruses, in the fall of 2020, Quinn’s physicians first recommended that she access school remotely and, later, that masks be worn by staff who worked directly with her.

Unfortunately, our Regional Centre for Education (RCE) in Halifax, Nova Scotia, cited a lack of resources and resisted Quinn’s meaningful accommodation and, on more than one occasion, suggested we homeschool. Throughout Quinn’s grade 2 and 3 years, our persistent advocacy for accommodations resulted in small gains for Quinn: 15 minutes of online academic support eventually increased to 30 minutes a day, plus one weekly virtual Speech Therapy session – online sessions that came nowhere close to what we felt was an appropriate accommodation.

At the start of grade 4, Quinn was dealt a devastating blow when she was denied any online support at all, and when our RCE refused to implement the medical recommendation of Quinn’s physician that masks be worn by school staff who worked all day with her in close physical proximity – helping her with clothing, keeping her in her seat and on task. The one silver lining that year was the social time made possible by an amazing teacher who welcomed Quinn, virtually, into a “circle time” of shared activities and games with her classmates each morning. While it meant the world that Quinn could know and be known by her peers, we very much lamented the absence of academic programming. Exhausted by unending roadblocks and gaslighting, we finished the school year feeling utterly defeated.

This academic year, the start of Quinn’s fifth and final grade of elementary school, we summoned the energy to try one more time. Predictably, the formal medical recommendation for staff who support Quinn to wear masks was rejected, and our RCE reiterated that it had no duty to accommodate Quinn.

Feeling we had exhausted every avenue, we reached out to Inclusion Nova Scotia. It is no exaggeration that the support of Inclusion Nova Scotia’s Manager of Family Leadership, Jana Henderson, is what finally tipped the scale in Quinn’s favour. We are incredibly grateful for the insight and guidance of Jana and her colleagues at Inclusion Nova Scotia,  and for the backing of Inclusion Canada, which soon followed. This network of support allowed us to work with Quinn’s RCE to find a pathway to an accommodated school day.  This route was circuitous, and it took many emails and meetings. But finally, six months into the school year, we had a breakthrough: Quinn’s RCE agreed to hire a support staff member who would mask when working with Quinn. Quinn could return to the classroom for the first time since 2020.

We are elated that Quinn is finally back at school, but our happiness is tainted by frustration. We remain concerned about the limitations to Quinn’s attendance, which are contingent upon the availability of her masked support person. We also grapple with the fact that, despite its policy on inclusive education – and what was ultimately a very simple solution – our RCE relentlessly contested our child’s right to an accommodated education for more than four years. We are also very fearful about the consequences of Quinn’s exclusion – how will it affect her academic, emotional, and social development?

Worse yet, how many families in similar circumstances have given up or bent to the offer of homeschooling? How many other families in our province are mired in these struggles year after year?

Despite our immense worry, we also have hope. This past April, when Quinn’s teacher announced her return, her entire grade 5 class erupted into cheers. This heartwarming response tells us that the very problem of exclusion is no match for the power of inclusion. As we did when we first welcomed our newborn 12 years ago, we remain optimistic that opportunity, acceptance, and friendship will ultimately find our daughter.