Pursue your dreams and be daring in your pursuit to fulfill those dreams. I felt that way when I was offered a second Fulbright lectureship in Russia.

I had developed an innovative proposal to teach techniques for documenting, researching and  preserving Russian oral history. I thought long and hard about whether I should even go this time. By then I had a young family, but I would be gone for ten months. Further, I had multiple sclerosis, a progressive disability. I wondered what it would be like to have a disability in Russia - would I be able to get around, would I be accepted?

Of course, I went, but only after having a sincere talk with my small son, who gave me permission to leave. I picked up my trusty cane and trundled off to the airport, bound not by disability, but bound for adventure in Russia. As a Fulbright lecturer, I was committed to spreading mutual international understanding. I also wanted to know more about Russians who were disabled and to discover for myself the universality of disability issues.

I arrived just in time for the military occupation of the Russian Parliament by anti-Yeltsin forces. Wild political discussions erupted concerning the ethics of this political occupation and the subsequent bloodshed. What a time to be teaching people how to record their history!

I worked in Nizhni Novgorod, formerly the city of Gorky, where the late nuclear physicist and human rights activist, Andrei Sakharov, had been exiled. At the university history department, I immersed myself in teaching young Russians how to retrieve their own histories. We practiced using interview techniques and other methods of oral documentation. At first, my disability seemed to be a barrier for fellow professors and   the students. In time, people got used to it.

People embarking on Fulbright lectureships and other kinds of international educational exchanges often expect that they'll jump right into their work. I encourage people to be realistic in their expectations. It takes time to learn and adapt to an unfamiliar culture. The key ingredients to success are: cultivate patience with yourself, your learning process and the folks who will populate your new life; practice respect; learn how people think and integrate what you have to give with their way of viewing the world. These 'truths' for living apply whether or not one has a disability. People with disabilities participating in exchanges have additional roles: we build bridges (as do all good international delegates) and we break down barriers for others with disabilities.

I believe more people with disabilities need to apply for Fulbright grants. It is important to draw more disabled people into academia to ensure that our perspective is infused into the learning and thinking that continually evolve in institutions of higher education throughout the world. So, I say to you, be daring! If you want to do something, you can!

One of my most rewarding experiences in Russia was regularly visiting Victor, an accomplished archivist and writer who was disabled earlier in his life by symptoms resembling polio. We talked and talked over our cups of tea and Russian chocolates. He provided me with insights into disability and its relationship to international politics and foreign relations. It was endearing: two 'gimps' analyzing the world, while existing in close harmony and feeling the prejudices encountered by living with disabilities.

Victor had not left his apartment in three and a half years, insisting that it was a combination of the difficulty involved in getting about as well as an emotional weariness over the stigma of being disabled. He told me a story about the last time he went out. His friends came by to take him to a New Year's Eve party. They helped him bundle up in warm clothes and pulled him to the party on a sled! Victor, sadly, felt devastated by this and decided it was too much to live life this way. Since that eventful evening, he entertains company in his apartment. He treasures the fellowship and continues to provide consultation to fellow historians from his small living room. I think of him often and still call him occasionally on the telephone.

My encounter with the local chapter of people with disabilities added to my growing understanding of disability issues. Our lively discussions made my head spin. One woman at a meeting reflected on how people with disabilities are viewed in Russia and raised the question of terminology - should they call themselves 'disabled' or 'invalid'? The latter word, which obviously elicited paternalistic pity, was most commonly used by ordinary citizens when referring to people with disabilities. This was a hot issue among disabled people there and it reminded me of the intense discussions that were part of the women's movement in the US. Does government-initiated social change come first? Or does change come about by shifting the way we think and talk about ourselves as people with disabilities? Or, should they be simultaneous?

The discussions touched on inequities within the disability community itself. Some observed that the bureaucrats in the central organization in Moscow gained perks and advantages from Western funding sources, while local grass-roots groups struggled for survival. Also, there was the artificial distinction between veterans with disabilities, who received more money, and individuals with chronic illnesses or congenital disabilities who subsisted on the customary welfare rolls.

Along with these discussions, I experienced first hand the inaccessibility Russians with disabilities face in their environment. I took the trolley bus to the university each day which meant hauling myself up the steps and packing myself in with way-too-many other people. Oh the life of a live sardine! There were no curb cuts, so sometimes when I felt especially tired, I would ask passers-by to help me up and down curbs. I was surprised to find that my cane worked remarkably well in the snow - a revelation to a guy from Los Angeles! Elevators in apartment buildings were often broken. There were zillions of steps at the university, but no elevators. In my frustration, I often felt that if Russian politicians and policy-makers would get into wheelchairs or use crutches to go to work, the overwhelming challenges for people with disabilities would become clear to them. Of course, there is also the reality of a stark lack of resources to make even small changes in their infrastructure.

As time went on, the Russian people were great in accommodating me under the adverse conditions they were living in. They were conscious of my situation and often helped me into buses, trams and trolley cars. One of my biggest concerns was procuring less exhausting, more reliable forms of transportation when I needed to get to a doctor or when I was simply too tired to deal with the daily trolley ride. The Fulbright liaison and my fellow faculty members were very supportive and helpful in this. My transportation concerns were always worked out. Creativity, a willingness to explore all possible resources and the ability to clearly communicate your needs are key. The American embassy and the Fulbright liaison worked with me to find good doctors. Russian medical science is, in my experience, up-to-date. Doctors have the knowledge and understanding they need: it is just a problem, again, of scarce resources.

I appreciate the experience of being in Russia as someone with a disability as it gave me the opportunity to learn about Russians with disabilities. For me, this was a precious learning experience. The academic side of my life in Russia was equally valuable and rewarding, both to me and my new colleagues and students. International educational exchanges of any kind impart mutual understanding and therefore benefit everyone. In a world filled with distrust, we must continue to construct bridges between our different cultures and nations to make a better world for our children. In order to do this, it is necessary to pursue our dreams, whether we have a disability or not.