Author Archives: blindbeader

Speaking in Tongues: On Language, Learning and Literacy

04 Monday Jan 2016

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I don’t know who comes up with these, but many organizations dedicated to blindness celebrate January as National Braille month. Louis Braille was born on January 4 in 1809 and invented the alphabet that became the basis for the current system of dot combinations that enable blind people all over the world to read. He died tragically young, but his legacy has lived on for all of these years. In addition to Latin languages (English, French, etc.) there are braille systems for Japanese, Chinese, and Korean, as well as many other languages that enable blind children and adults to not only read and write for themselves, but contribute to society at large.

 

I learned how to read braille at the same time my schoolmates were learning to read print – perhaps even earlier. My vision was such that I could read very large print and see pictures in books or on TV, but using it for long periods gave me massive headaches. So at the age of four or five, I started learning braille, which allowed me to continue my schooling uninterrupted when I realized that one of my many eye operations robbed me of most of the sight I had left. I initially learned to write using a Perkins brailler, and then was forced to learn using a slate and stylus – something I hated at the time, but am eternally grateful for now.

 

As a child, I thought every other blind student learned to read and write braille in this way, but I have learned that many are not being taught braille at all, due to the prevalence of screen reading software. Many of those that are taught to read may not be taught to write braille, since typing on a computer is so commonplace. While audio feedback and learning has its place, I believe there is no substitute for learning proper spelling, grammar, and sentence structure, and for those with little or no usable vision, I believe braille is the only way to achieve this. In no way am I saying that everyone needs to be perfect at it (I’m sure Meagan and others can find six mistakes in my first few paragraphs), but even sighted learners using a tablet or a smart phone have a visual concept of spacial relation, grammatical correctness, and even spelling (with or without the aide of a spellchecker). I believe the lack of braille teaching (with hard copy paper or with an electronic braille display) will ultimately put blind children (and later adults) at a disadvantage, because it is extremely hard to learn basic language concepts without being able to “see” them. I should know; I have learned three languages in addition to English, and could never have succeeded as well as I did, particularly with French, had I not been able to “see” proper spelling of words (those silent “e”s would have killed me).

 

Braille has made me the person I am today. I am literate, articulate, and play a mean game of Scrabble. While I do listen to audio books and use a screen reader to access a computer, I am eternally grateful that at eight years old I was all but glued to a chair and forced to learn that slate and stylus; who wants to carry around the braille equivalent of a Smith Corona? From a practical standpoint, having a secondary way of processing information (a braille display) proved incredibly helpful on an occasion where my computer’s sound card was fried and I had no access to my screen reader at all for several days! Buildings with elevators that don’t have braille signage can send me to the wrong floor; now imagine that in every single elevator because no one took the time to teach you how to read numbers? Not everyone will agree with me, but I firmly believe that those little dot combinations are one of the few things that can help level the playing field. Look up “Braille Literacy” and many organizations will correlate braille literacy with academic achievement and employment. So maybe it’s not just me…

2015 – The Top Posts

31 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by in blindness

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I’ve always loved year-end countdowns. When I was growing up, I used to have the radio – that old contraption that made you wait for your favourite song – on every New Year’s Eve (or New Year’s Day for reruns) and listen to the top songs of the year. Sometimes it was great to think about the music that maybe was really popular at the beginning of the year, but forgotten in the ever-present push for new popular songs.

 

In the spirit of such countdowns, and with many new readers to my blog this year, here are the top five posts of 2015 on Life Unscripted:

 

#5: “You’ll burn the House down!”

This one surprised me, especially given my recent injury involving a knife and green peppers and a trip to the emergency room. I still have all ten fingers, my hair is still long, and my house is still standing… so I guess this blind chick is still allowed in the kitchen 🙂

 

#4: I will never Ask to Hold your Baby

By far one of the most emotional blog posts I have ever written. Judging by the comments I have received, I am by no means alone in my hesitance, and yet if I don’t ask I don’t receive…

 

#3: All blind People should Have a Guide Dog

I have no shame in acknowledging that my tongue-in-cheek approach was purposeful… but even I had no idea the reach of this post. I actually expected this post or this one to do just as well… proves what I know!

 

#2: I’m a bad ____, but It’s Not because I’m Blind

Of all the blog posts I’ve written this year, the success of this one has surprised me the most. I am not sure why, but it just did.

 

/1: “So, Like, he takes care of you!” or…?

A blog post about relationships seems to always get people talking. Disability and romance is definitely a touchy subject. Whether one or both parties have disabilities, there is a certain otherness that characterizes such relationships. How I wish this wasn’t so…

 

Here are a few honorable mentions – popular posts that didn’t quite make the top five, or a few personal favorites of mine:

 

  • Advocacy is a touchy subject, but it is so important.
  • Another relationship post nearly made the cut.
  • Who knew that such a little hashtag could nearly blow up twitter?
  • Maybe I should have left this topic alone?
  • I loved getting to know these lovely ladies a bit better this year.
  • Not long ago I had a discussion regarding independence; it brought this post to mind.
  • In honour of New Year’s Eve, I will probably be asking more for the drink, not the tool from my human friends…
  • Just for giggles… in the deep of winter, it’s just plain fun to think about camping!

 

None of these posts would be possible without you, my readers. Those I know in person and online, who comment through the blog, facebook, twitter, and email, who give me great ideas for posts… I thank you all! All the best in 2016!

2015 – A Year in Review

30 Wednesday Dec 2015

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I seem to recall a comment I make regularly: a new year does not in and of itself make any changes to one’s life, and waiting to make those changes in the new year sets one up for failure. Officially, I’m eating those words, because I cannot wait for 2015 to be over and for 2016 to begin.

 

This time last year, Ben and I were celebrating New Year’s eve in New York. A wonderful trip that was… and gave us memories that I firmly believe helped carry us through 2015. I feel no shame whatsoever in acknowledging that 2015 has been the hardest year of my life.From losing my job to finding another (and subsequently being laid off from it, from leaving provincial sport to starting up a jewelry design business, I am so very tired. And it isn’t just me. Ben has changed jobs and gone into a completely different field, which provides a whole new set of challenges and opportunities to learn.

 

All of these changes can cause one to dig deeply into oneself and find strength they never knew they had. I have found this true for me. This year has left me bruised due to circumstance, and every bruise leaves a scar. But they won’t hurt forever, and I can already feel myself coming out stronger. One week after cleaning out my desk, I now feel ready to take on 2016, with new prospects for employment, opportunities for jewelry design, the renewal and maintaining of friendships, and all the new things I don’t quite know are waiting for me. Whatever it brings… I’m ready for it, because it’s going to rock!

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

24 Thursday Dec 2015

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Today is December 24. From what I’ve experienced myself, and what I’ve seen on social media and heard around town, it really hasn’t felt like Christmas this year. Maybe it’s the weather – we didn’t get any real snow until a couple of weeks ago – or just the general feeling of the year, but I am definitely not alone in feeling a bit disoriented that tomorrow is December 25.

However you choose to celebrate the holidays – in churches or synagogues, with family and friends, with gifts or parties, or just wanting to avoid them altogether – there is no denying that there are certain seasonal treats to enjoy. From lights in store windows to carols on the radio to all of the food that’s consumed… it all got me to thinking that the holidays are truly a multi-sensory experience for everyone. Bells can be heard everywhere, the scents of great food and hot wintry drinks fill the air, trees big and small are decorated simply or elaborately… and you don’t have to be blind to feel, shake, or otherwise try and guess at what those presents are.

But I also got to thinking… isn’t a blind person’s life always lived this way? Sure, there aren’t bells ringing in May, and no one’s drinking hot apple cider in July (in this part of the world, anyway). But the holiday season (for some reason) seems to be the only time of the year when no one comments how sorry they are because I can’t see. Ask the same person in July, and they’ll tell you that they feel bad that my life is so colourless. But is that really true?

Those of us who can see some light can use the sight we have to navigate (to whatever degree we can), and definitely use our other senses to explore the world around us. I’ve advised people before in a previous blog post to walk into a bead shop and hold the strands of beads in their hands. How about going to a hockey game and taking note of the scent of the ice? And everyone enjoys good food and good music…

Christmas (if you’re politically incorrect; the holidays if you’re not) is a wonderful time of the year, whether you celebrate it for religious, familial or personal reasons. Even those of my friends who don’t celebrate really enjoy the food and drink you can only seem to get this time of the year. So while you’re sitting down to your holiday dinner, all of those senses that seem to be brought to the forefront this time of year… we use them every day, and perhaps after all there is something magical about that…

“So… what does that do?” – On Assistive Technology

13 Sunday Dec 2015

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For some reason I still don’t understand, a previous blog post generated a really lively discussion at a school for the blind far far away. I appreciate that this blog has readers from many backgrounds, ages and countries, and love that my opinions can open the door to some great conversations. One of the topics of discussion was regarding assistive technology (those braille/talking/large-print things that make many blind peoples’ lives so much easier). Stemming from that, when is it appropriate to be “treated like everyone else” and there by not receive any accommodations), and be protected and coddled so much that we aren’t required to advocate for ourselves at all?

 

Reading about this discussion, I took a trip down memory lane. As with all technology over the past 15-20 years, assistive technology ( braille displays, screen reading software, scanning applications) has grown in leaps and bounds. When I was in school, I used a Perkins brailler (think like a 25-pound braillle typewriter, which was as heavy and noisy as you’d think), a slate and stylus for on-the-fly braille writing, and a specialized notetaker (like a bad version of today’s tablets without a screen) called a Braille ‘n Speak to type out assignments. Computers took up lots of space and had to be pre-loaded with specialized text-to-speech software to run on the limited accessible programs available (my first laptop ran only Word Perfect and a braille transcription software so I could print out assignments). A transcriber had her own office and brailled my worksheets, tests, and books unavailable through provincial/federal resource centers – by hand in the early days, by scanning into a computer and printing them out on a big noisy braille printer when the technology was more readily available. Any assignments I did using braille, she had to write above the braille so my teachers could read them. Needless to say, while my work got done, I was far from being treated “like everyone else”; it took a small army and my own special room to get through elementary and high school. Now that I write this out, I owe a HUGE debt of gratitude for those who tirelessly did this work, so THANK YOU!

 

Over the years, technology has evolved. While specialized equipment such as braille displays, screen reading software, and braille printers are still on the market, many aspects of technology have been made more readily available to the general public. Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software is available inexpensively or free of charge, so scanning documents to read them can be done by almost anyone, sighted or blind. Some screen reading software (which reads the content on a screen in a synthesized voice) is available pre-installed on computers, smartphones and tablets; other options are available for purchase or free of charge, which leaves the market wide open to choose which software works best for a particular individual. High schools and colleges have teachers and professors emailing their assignments to students, and students being able to email them back; if a blind person needs to print out hard copy, printers are readily available at the local Staples for less than the cost of a microwave.

 

We are at a time when technology has opened up many possibilities, and yet it has closed doors in other ways. Even as I have been writing this post, I’ve seen tweets describing an experience buying groceries and having to ask for assistance because the debit pin pad is a touch screen with no spoken menus and no tactile buttons, or a customer wishing to contact a company but being unable to because of those distorted images on the screen that a screen reader cannot read. When is what we are asking for too much? When does requesting accommodations make us “more valued” than anyone else? For me, personally, it comes down to dignity and respect. I want to be able to go about my day as a consumer, an employee, a student, a patron just like everyone else. Yes, I use specific technology to make that happen, but it has come through figuring out what works for me, and has put me on more of an even footing than I have ever been. Technology can be the great equalizer, providing access to information, employment possibilities, education and commerce; making that equalization possible should be the responsibility of all of us – individuals, institutions, businesses and governments. If I ask for accommodations, it is something that will benefit not only me, but other customers in that store, other students at that school (either currently or in future), other employees in that office. Perhaps it looks like purchasing that screen reading software will benefit only that one student in the classroom, but in effect, it benefits everyone by giving that student an opportunity to learn and engage and educate the others.

 

So, while technology grows at a rapid rate, ask the questions, request what you need. If it can improve your access to information, employment, education or commerce, ask the tough questions. Ironically, what can be viewed as “special treatment” may be the only thing that will allow you to be treated equally. If we all stay silent and hope someone will come along and make our lives better, we’d wind up with such advanced technology as this… I think we’re a bit past that, no?

I will Never Ask to Hold your Baby

03 Thursday Dec 2015

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***Blogger’s note: It was kindly pointed out to me that a previous edit of this post identified certain individuals and situations. This was not and never has been my intent, so I have removed any identifying information. Thank you for reading and commenting.

 

One day last week, all conversation stopped when an infant was brought into the room. Four women cooed, passed around and fussed over the baby. I was about to open my mouth and ask if I could hold her when I was asked, “Would you like to touch the baby while someone else holds her?” My heart sank. I wanted more than anything to ask if I could hold the baby, but words just wouldn’t come out. Even thinking about it now, nearly a week later, I regret not asking the question, even as I realize that a large piece of me feared that the answer would be no.

 

I have friends with children, some of whom I have known since they were infants and who are now approaching double digits in age. Looking back, I doubt I have ever initiated a baby-holding experience; I would be asked if I wanted to hold the baby or, in one memorable instance, had a baby unceremoniously plunked in my lap. I don’t have an exact reason why this is, but I know a piece of me feels like the world would end if I were to ask to hold a baby and was told no, that’s OK, or – perhaps even worse – miss the horrified or awkward or mistrustful glance that would accompany a hesitant, “OK.”

 

And yet, one day, I wish to be a mother. It’s been my dream for as long as I could remember. Several jobs ago, I thought I would stay at that job until I became pregnant and went on maternity leave, but life had other plans. Over the past few months, through all the changes that have gone on in my life, I have thought more about motherhood. What about being pregnant? Would I have to respond graciously to such insensitive questions like “Where’s the father in all this?” or “Are you allowed to have a baby?” or “Are you going to keep it?” And that’s BEFORE giving birth! My biggest fear is having social workers involved in my parenting because of a perception that a disabled parent can’t take care of an infant (think that won’t happen? Think again).

 

Even a basic call-out to blind friends has produced heartbreaking fear and misconception of childcare capabilities expressed by family members, friends of friends, and strangers. More than one blind father has had store employees thank their 4-year-old for “taking Daddy to the store”. One friend (the go-to “Cool” babysitter of the neighborhood) had one family refuse to have her look after their children unless a sighted (read: capable) person was with her. Another was told that his child was invited to a birthday party… only if a sighted parent brought them. And those were just the stories I heard in the span of about thirty minutes, with more comments of “Don’t get me started; I’m talked to like I can’t POSSIBLY take care of myself, much less a child.” My heart grieves for a world where this is so.

 

So for those who have children, I don’t wish to come across awkward and uncertain, but in fact I really am. My arms ache to hold that newborn, and I’d LOVE to get down on the floor and play dolls with your six-year-old. But I want to respect your autonomy as a parent to decide who watches, cuddles and holds your wonderful bundle of joy. but every piece of me is screaming that it’s something I would love. But I can not ask. I don’t think I could handle even a hesitant yes, and I know I couldn’t handle a no. So please, ask me, because right now I’m not strong enough to take those first toddling steps myself.

#TheAbleistScript: A Poetic Response

27 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by in blindness

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About three weeks ago, a twitter hashtag known as #TheAbleistScript started making the rounds on twitter. It seems to be the most comprehensive, robust, and long-lasting hashtag (though certainly not the first) detailing the comments, ideas and experiences  of people with a wide variety of disabilities – blindness, deafness, autism, chronic pain, depression, and so on (the original tweets that inspired it can be found here). Despite myself, I found myself sharing my own experiences and those of others, and even found myself confronting some of my own attitudes that can be unintentionally hurtful to those who share my disability or who face different challenges entirely. It’s not always a pretty picture, but I found a companion hashtag (#TheAcceptingScript) that showed that being willing to listen and learn is the key to avoid portraying myself as ableist or, perhaps even worse, heartless and cruel).

 

I have faced many instances of ableism myself over the years, some much more hurtful and demeaning than others. I don’t get hung up on language and such unless someone is just getting weird about it, but treating me like a child or someone who can’t perform basic tasks without even asking is definitely not okay.  From being the only student in a post-secondary program forced to find a practicum before being accepted, to being turned down for jobs because of my perceived abilities, to being talked over at medical appointments, you think I would be used to it. In fact, I think the opposite is true. Since there’s only so much I can fit into a 140-character tweet, I figured I would post this as a poem, of sorts; perhaps those who experience pain and anger they can’t express may find some comfort, and I hope that this can show (in an unthreatening way) what it feels like to me to face comments, silence, and awkward interactions every day.

 

I had a job interview today.

Got myself all dressed up, with a perfect resume.

The longer the interview goes, the more comfortable I feel.

I was born for this job.

But I am told there’s no way I can perform all job duties; I know this is untrue.

Thanks for my time.

Should I thank them for theirs?

 

I’m standing at a bus stop, waiting.

It’s been a long day.

My eyes are burning and I am exhausted.

I am approached and told how cute my dog is.

I say thank you.

I am asked more questions about my guide dog, but none about myself.

I feel like I can’t redirect the conversation.

Am I invisible?

 

I decide to pick up some groceries;

I will need some assistance.

My arm is grabbed without warning

And I am expected to be polite

Because they were only trying to help.

But why not just ask first?

 

I am told I am pretty

For someone with a disability.

This has never made sense to me.

Would I be more attractive if my eyes worked?

Or if they did, would I just be average looking?

Why not just tell me I have nice hair or colouring or am wearing a nice shirt?

 

I’m on the bus home now,

My few groceries on my lap.

I am asked why there is no one out there taking care of me,

Shouldn’t someone be picking up my milk and eggs and apples for me?

I say that I can do this myself, especially since I am making dinner tonight.

I can hear the concern; I could get hurt cutting those apples.

I need to be protected from sharp objects.

But I have tools and ways of cooking safely,

But it’s easier to assume and attempt to protect me.

Why am I not asked HOW I stay safe?

 

I have been told that I am lucky that my husband can see,

That He is a good man for taking care of me.

He is a good man, for simply being my husband.

I take care of him, too.

Is that so hard to understand?

 

I am told that I am brave and inspirational

For being blind out in public.

Not locked away somewhere

Like my blindness is something to be ashamed of.

Do they hear what they’re saying?

Really hear it?

Am I the only one?

 

X marks the Spot: On Voting, Dignity, And Putting Things Away

14 Saturday Nov 2015

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Nearly four weeks ago, Canadians elected a new Prime Minister. Citizens came out in droves to polling stations all across the country – so many, in fact, that at least one polling station in Alberta ran out of ballots.  But what often went unmentioned, except by those who experienced it firsthand, is an inconsistent process for voters with disabilities or mobility challenges.  For those with disabilities, who face discrimination and incomprehension on a regular basis, an overwhelming sentiment was felt that on October 19- a day when all Canadians were to be treated equally by casting their ballot – inequality still very much exists.

 

A Human Rights complaint was filed after a 2011 Federal election, after a voter who used a walker for mobility was forced to enter a polling station by going down a flight of stairs on his behind. A short time later, that same polling station was still in use, with the same barriers to access with walker or wheelchair. The Canadian government implemented changes for voters with disabilities, theoretically upholding the dignity of all Canadians. Four years later, progress had been made, but – as you will soon see – we still have a long way to go. Even though Elections Canada has made policies to accommodate voters with disabilities, many of these require advanced notice – whether it’s booking an ASL interpreter (if you are not able to bring one yourself) or having an Elections Canada volunteer come to your home so you can cast your ballot prior to Election Day. For Election day itself, independently accessing a voting booth is far from a simple or consistent process. From polling stations lacking clear signage for easy visibility, to inoperable or non-existent elevators, to volunteers not knowing about options for voters with visual impairments, it’s clear that voting is not as smooth for everyone as it could be.

 

I chose not to vote in this election, for a variety of personal and political reasons. But based on what several visually impaired friends have told me, the process was far from smooth or consistent. At best, one friend was guided from the front door, to filling out paperwork, to casting his ballot, and back out again. Some polling stations had large print lists of candidates with corresponding numbers, some had braille ones, some had neither. A template with braille numbers representing the candidates beside holes to mark your X could be used to hold a ballot, but there was nothing to hold the ballot in place – a potential for spoiling a ballot or voting for an unintended candidate. Many friends expressed concern over a lack of privacy, because an Elections Canada volunteer would have to place the ballot in the holder, then make sure the ballot didn’t slip. One friend of mine expressed shock that her ballot was taken from her and put in the ballot box on her behalf. Another was dismayed that she was grabbed and nearly dragged to the booth by an Elections Canada worker. Yet another had the misfortune of walking into the polling station and hearing (loudly) “Oh, here’s our first one!” and then having this same person direct all questions to her mother, who was there to cast her vote as well. Meagan even describes a completely bizarre requirement of having to write down the full name of the desired candidate – something that seemed unique to that polling station.

 

Voting is a right in this country. Perhaps because I chose not to vote, I have no right to describe or disparage the voting process. But the voters have spoken, and unfortunately, for many of the most misunderstood population, it was yet another way to be told that we aren’t quite equal, after all. I hope more steps can be taken in this country for equality for people with disabilities, whether it’s finding a job, raising a family, or voting in an election. But governments can only do so much; if attitudes don’t change, then I fear we’re just spitting into the wind.

Putting down my Sword: Why Not Everything is a Fight

05 Thursday Nov 2015

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Very recently, someone told me  in a roundabout way that I have a chip on my shoulder regarding requiring assistance from others.  After being shocked and slightly mortified by this thought, I started to think this might in fact be true.  What I decide to do about that chip, whether to ditch it all together or only use it as a fashion accessory when strictly necessary, will only come with time.

 

Everyone needs help with some things sometimes, but as it comes to needing something specifically because of my blindness, I hate being at the mercy of someone else.  Whether it’s reading a restaurant menu, filling out a medical form, using the convenience of a car rather than a long complicated bus route, or voting (hopefully next week’s blog post).  Requesting assistance with this feels so much like I am less complete, less whole of a person, that I find myself instantly on the defensive when I am required to ask for help for things like a computer not working properly, for directions to the bank, or other things that everyone needs help with sometimes.  My default mode has been “FIGHT!” for so long – fighting for education, employment, and (thankfully rarely) access challenges with my guide dog, that perhaps I don’t know how to simply just… well, to just be.  But I don’t want to go so far the other way, to expect people to do things for me that I am more than capable of doing for myself.  I fight that stereotype all the time, too, that I am not capable because I cannot see.

 

Some of these fights are external and necessary; they make us stronger, and (hopefully) educate a public who doesn’t know what to do with us, and help pave the way for those who come behind us.  Some of these fights are internal and necessary; am I, as a woman, doing all I can to be happy, healthy, productive, learning new skills and enjoying my life?  But a constant defensiveness doesn’t help anyone either; in fact, it alienates the very people we are trying to reach.  Asking for help is not, in and of itself, a sign of weakness… And yet… I still feel this way, and probably a little piece of me always will.  But my sword is being shelved for a while, because fighting myself under the guise of fighting against others is probably more exhausting than just being me.  To those I have hurt in this way, please let me know; we may not agree, and that’s OK, but I want to be viewed as a woman (not a blind woman); I crave acceptance alongside my autonomy, and may need your help to get there.  Perhaps I should take my own advice in a previous post: be quick to listen, slow to speak harshly, and keep an open mind.

Why Green Peppers are evil: Doctors, Drama and Disability

28 Wednesday Oct 2015

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Several years ago, I decided to donate blood.  A friend had done this several times, and had said she would go with me and donate blood at the same time I did.  At the best of times, I’ll acknowledge that I’m not comfortable with needles (even a flu shot creeps me out), but I thought that donating blood was such a worthy cause, and my friend would be with me… so we filled out the paperwork, and got prepared for the donation.  I distinctly remember sitting in the chair and the needle going in to the crook of my arm… and a boiling hot sensation traveling the whole length of my arm from elbow to wrist.  I yelled for them to remove the needle – I think the words were “Get it out!” – and several workers told me that it was OK, it would only hurt for a second.  Some of the longest five seconds of my life passed before me, arm still feeling like someone had scalded the inside with hot water, still screaming for the needle to be removed, before my wish was granted.  I was shaking and crying, and the next ten minutes, over the post-donation juice and cookies, several well-meaning workers came by and told me that it was OK, that lots of people couldn’t handle needles.  Humiliated, my friend and I left the blood donation clinic, and I’ve never been able to muster the courage to try again – not because of fear, but because my cries of pain were treated as a simple discomfort with the needle.

 

Would this perception have been the same had I been sighted?  I can’t say for sure.  But over the years I have found myself in situations where medical professionals either “get it” and treat me like an adult… or they don’t.  Many people I know have more experience than I in this regard, and I am more than willing to be called out as a medical-professional novice.  Thankfully, the majority of my experiences with the medical profession have been positive.  The one glaring exception was an orthodontist I saw when I was in my mid-teens, who constantly spoke to my mother and not to me during the entire 1.5 hour preliminary consultation.  Even though my teeth were the ones to be worked on, and I was the one answering questions, in his eyes I was a child – a blind child at that – and thus not worthy of the courtesy of being addressed directly.  The whole experience soured me on orthodontists for several years, until I knew I could not wait much longer.  Fortunately, my dentist referred me to a terrific orthodontist who allowed 22-year-old me to be responsible for the care I received.  He offered his opinions, I accepted some, chose alternatives for others, but I had the facts in hand and made informed choices about my own dental care.  Maybe it’s because I came to my appointments alone for the first few months, but I was viewed as an autonomous adult, with preferences as to how I wanted my orthodontic treatment to go.  It didn’t all go as planned, but I felt like I was a member of my own orthodontic team.

 

Over the years, I have accompanied friends, family, or my husband to medical appointments or emergency rooms, and have witnessed first-hand how the blind can be treated differently from the sighted.  It can sometimes be demoralizing and frustrating – having doctors or nurses speak to one’s spouse/friend/parent and not to the one person whose body is being examined – and any time I need to go to a new medical professional, a little piece of me worries in the back of my mind about whether I will be spoken to, about, or over by front-line staff or – worse – by the doctor/dentist/physiotherapist themselves.  So this afternoon, when I sliced my finger while cutting a green pepper, not only did I worry about the possibility of stitches (FYI, I get the creeps just writing this) but whether at the hospital I would be treated like a child or the adult that I am.

 

I was cooking chicken alfredo.  The pasta was cooking, I’d sliced broccoli and mushrooms, and was about halfway through slicing the green pepper when the knife slipped and cut my left index finger.  It started bleeding like crazy, but didn’t hurt much yet.  I ran it under cold water and waited to feel… something.  My husband grabbed Jenny’s emergency kit, used half a roll of gauze, wrapped my finger and bandaged it.  We were out the door so fast that we left Jenny at home alone without dinner.

 

At the hospital, we were directed to the triage area.  The greeter at the front door directed most of her comments over the next little while to my husband, and I had a little bit of a sinking feeling in my stomach, like I was invisible, even though I was the one who was injured.  Thankfully, from the nurse who took my blood pressure and temperature (and removed Ben’s bandage masterpiece), to the one who took my personal information, to the doctor who gave me a band-aid and sent me home, I was addressed directly for all medical and personal information.  Sadly, this is not always the case.  Sometimes the person who accompanies a blind person to an appointment for moral support is addressed as though they are our carers; sometimes our choices or preferences regarding our own health care are swept under the rug because we are simply not medical professionals.  And sometimes, like today, a blind woman with a bandaged finger is treated like a woman with a bandaged finger; it’s sad to say that such treatment tends to be so rare that I have a new spring in my step this evening.

 

And just in case anyone was wondering, Jenny did get her supper… and green peppers are evil!