Tag Archives: blindness

Do you See me with Vision?

26 Saturday Mar 2016

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Last week, the below video was shared in honor of World Down Syndrome Day. it is narrated by a young woman named AnnaRose, who has Down Syndrome, and the activities depicted are portrayed by an actress named Olivia Wilde, who does not. Only at the end of the video does one see AnnaRose herself, when she says |This is How I see myself. How do you see me?”

 

 

There seems to be two minds regarding this video, and in my opinion both are right. One is that it is important to look beyond the disability of Down Syndrome and embrace AnnaRose as a sister, daughter, or friend. On the Youtube video page, we learn that AnnaRose is a student, an employee, and an athlete. Her life is ordinary in many ways, so the hope is that you look beyond her disability and view her through the lens of humanity. She sees herself following her dreams, especially if they are impossible. She sees herself living an “important, meaningful, beautiful life”, and after all, isn’t that what we all want for ourselves?

 

The other train of thought is more about the visual depiction of AnnaRose’s life, her dreams and her goals. She says she wants to meet someone to share her life with, to be a sister, daughter, friend, to laugh until she can’t breathe, and to cry sometimes. But the video is acted by an actress who doesn’t live with Down Syndrome. This has left many disability activists with the sinking feeling that AnnaRose’s disability, and therefore a part of her identity, is being erased. In a world where disability is either fodder for inspirational feel-good stories or a means of discriminatory treatment, many people with disabilities want the public to see them openly living lives with Down Syndrome, or using a wheelchair, or accompanied by a service dog. Erasing disability is like erasing a part of one’s identity.

 

I first saw this video a week ago when it was first published, and honestly, it’s left me so conflicted. In my opinion, both schools of thought are absolutely right, and yet…

 

I am a woman with a disability. As such, I face many reactions from the general public. I’ve heard the sickly sweet tones of service staff talking to me like I’m a child. I’ve been told that it’s amazing and courageous that I’ve held over ten years of nearly continuous employment, heard the gasps of concerned protectiveness when I mention I enjoy running with my guide dog, or felt the need to fill the stunned silence when I mention that I have started up my own jewelry design business. Conversely, I’ve been told how sorry people are that I can’t see, that my husband is a good man for “taking care of me“, or that there’s no possible way that I can fit in in an office setting despite my work history proving otherwise. It would be a lie if I said these comments and impressions don’t affect me, because they do, no matter how I try and fight it. Not only do they affect how I see myself, they ultimately affect my livelihood and ability to be autonomous and self-sufficient. So, in a way, I want people to look past my disability, to allow me to make mistakes or succeed on my own merits as a woman, not just settle for “good enough” because of the perception that I can’t do any better because I have a proverbial scarlet D for Disabled tattooed on my forehead.

 

And yet, I have no desire to hide my disability. This is partly because it’s not possible for me, but it’s also because I feel like I need to live the best life I can – a vibrant, complex, nuanced, full life with blindness – in order to be happy and to embrace all of who I am. The comments and questions and seemingly constant advocacy aren’t ever going to go away, so as I see it, I have two choices: I can run and hide and let everyone else fight battles for me, or I can prove again and again that there is nothing shameful about being blind, and in fact it has its own advantages. To ignore my blindness completely is to ignore the one thing in my life that has made me as strong as I am while simultaneously bringing me to my knees. You wouldn’t expect a parent or spouse to hide the existance of their child or partner, and yet parenthood and committed relationships often change the lens in which we view the world. So why should anyone hide their disability just to make you more comfortable?

 

I want you to see more than just my blindness, to view me as a friend, an employee, an athlete, an entrepreneur, a customer… a human being. Talk to me, and anyone with a disability, as though your comments were directed back at yourself; realize that we are more than just people whose eyes don’t work or who don’t hear well or are unable to walk at all or without significant pain. We share your humanity, enjoy some of your hobbies, have opinions about religion or politics, have hopes and dreams and desires for our lives. But you don’t need to tiptoe around us, either. Don’t ignore our disability; it is still a part of who we are. In ignoring it, you are in effect not acknowledging the discrimination that we face and the pain and anger that engenders, and can’t truly get to know the completeness of our lives by truly celebrating our successes or picking us up when we’re feeling down.

 

Do you see me as a woman, with dreams for the future and hopes for tomorrow? A woman who likes watching hockey, loves running, and makes pretty beaded things? A woman who drinks too much coffee, loves the sound of a recent snowfall, and sings at the top of her lungs when no one’s around to hear her? That’s great! You see a big part of who I am. Do you see a woman whose eyes don’t work right, who puts labels on her canned goods in her pantry, who navigates the world with a guide dog by her side? A woman who is happy and content with her life, blindness and all, who wants to kick down doors and break down barriers? That’s another part of who I am. You can’t separate one from the other, and yet in a way I need you to. If all you can see is what doesn’t work (my eyes), then you’re missing out on a wicked Scrabble game, a loyal employee, or someone who will cause you to rethink your view of the world. And if you act like my blindness isn’t there, or is scary and uncomfortable, you’re ignoring a true reality of my existence. Put the pieces together, take them apart. See me completely, because I can’t envision myself as one person without the other keeping me company.

Book Review: For the Benefit of Those who See

29 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Book reviews, Nonfiction

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One of my blog’s most consistently viewed posts is this one, regarding the portrayal of blind characters in books. Because of this, I’ve decided to do a monthly book review, alternating between fiction and nonfiction, beginning with this book that created quite a stir in the blind community when it was first released.

 

For the Benefit of Those who See

By: Rosemary Mahoney

I chose to review this book because of this article that made the rounds of social media nearly two years after its publication. I found it well-rounded and compassionate, at great odds with reviews of this book. After mentioning this disparity  to a friend, I realized that I needed to read the book, to form my own opinion. Nearly a month after putting the book down, I still find myself incredibly conflicted by it. How can I be so awed by some beautiful friendships and inspired by the resilience of many of the blind students, yet put off by some of the awkward and inappropriate behavior and the fixation on everyone’s eyes?

 

Some Unnecessary Detours

 

The introduction to this book begins with a rather graphic description of an eye surgery. This is not for the squeamish. Perhaps the author uses this to reminisce about her own temporary blindness, how scared she felt. Then she uses this as a springboard to how she got involved with Braille without Borders. The first couple of chapters tend to jump around unnecessarily; I honestly found myself not caring about Rosemary herself, as her own experience of blindness was temporary and she was able to go back to her sighted life, with a seemingly perpetual fear of blindness itself. Later in the book, she describes the perception of the blind in wider western society, beginning in the eighteenth century and ending midway through the twentieth. The placement of this information was between the two sections of the book (the school in Tibet and that in India), which was quite logical, but the author didn’t cite any historical data from eastern countries, nor did she truly address the strides that have been made in western society in the past sixty years. It appeared that she viewed her ideas through the lens of a contemporary western chronicler, while not really addressing many of the true social realities that have historically been lived in the east. In these ways, the book takes off on tangents that may be informative as their own volume, but were cobbled together as a west-meets-east education model that doesn’t truly convey either particularly well.

 

I Did Find Inspiration Here

 

Unlike many other reviews by blind people, I did find myself truly awed by some of the students and their friendships portrayed in this book. I chuckled at the seriousness of the 12-year-old braille teacher, was touched by the young girl who persistently physically refused to allow a classmate to disengage by constantly praying for a cure, laughed out loud at the friendship of two loud and rather bawdy students at the school in India. Two young girls took Rosemary through a crowded Tibetan square, and showed her how they used their other senses to determine where they were; they were neither self-pitying nor constantly happy, yet they simply gave Rosemary the information they had. I was awed by many of the blind students’ resilience, not because they got up and got out of bed in the morning and did what they had to do with little or no vision, but they did so in a society that truly didn’t know what to do with them, and with little or no governmental or family assistance, sometimes fleeing truly abusive family environments.

 

But… But…

 

Some of the behaviors described in this book were truly cringe-worthy. I would hate to see any other group of people walk around with tea streaming down the backs of their shirts, waving long sticks around, crying out how glad they were to be (insert disability/race/gender here). It baffles my mind that in one breath, the heart-warming friendships and terrific adaptability of the students are wonderfully depicted, then in the next some of these same students are acting with the social grace of a toddler. It surprises me that a confident blind woman who runs the school would not address these behaviors; if she had, perhaps the author could have described the strides the students were making as she did with their computer learning. But as it stands, my western mind just can’t compute the disparity, especially in countries and cultures where cleanliness and propriety are quite important.

 

Educational Advantage

 

Two schools are described in this book. They provide food, shelter, and education for blind students, both children and adults. My opinion on blind schools has been documented here, and yet I applaud the author’s ability to detail the complex nuances and ironies at play for blind students in Tibet and India. In cultures where families run farms, and sighted children work on the farm, their blind child/sibling has an opportunity for an education. It’s one of the few times in which blindness has its own unique advantage.

 

Fixation on Eyes

 

I grew very uncomfortable with the author’s seemingly endless descriptions of people’s eyes. Many blind people wish we could make eye contact, but are uncertain how best to do this appropriately. Some of us are self-conscious about how our eyes appear to others, and based on the never-ending descriptions in this book, we have every right to be. Very few, if any people, were described as having nice eyes, and it appears that those who did have “normal” eyes had their blindness questioned by the author because of their confidence and social normality (see above). If eyes are the window to the soul, I’d hate to think of how soulless we are.

 

Conclusion

 

There are some nuggets of beauty in this book. Unfortunately, they are dispersed throughout outdated, unnecessary, and demeaning information. Even now, more than a month after concluding this book, I can’t seem to get it out of my head. As someone who lives in the “world of the blind”, I object to the characterization of us – of me – based on what my eyes do or don’t do, and the truly horrid manners exemplified in these pages. And yet, I draw inspiration, perhaps as the author intended, from the depictions of deep friendships, of learning despite the naysaying of family and society, of falling down and getting back up. I am glad I chose not to throw the baby out with the bathwater, but that bathwater is truly quite murky.

 

2.5/5 stars.

 

If you have any book recommendations, or wish me to review books more or less frequently than monthly, please comment below!

On Advocacy: When to Fight Back and when to Let Go

03 Saturday Oct 2015

Posted by in blindness

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This post has been a long time in coming, because I believe it relates to many aspects of life – employment, education, transportation, access to public facilities, and so on.  Many of us, including me, have had to fight to get the services, access, or technology that we need to be productive classmates, employees, or members of society.  This blog post has been inspired by a recent event in my own life, and I am going to be purposefully vague about it; for those who know the whole situation, please keep it to yourselves.

 

Advocacy is essential to people with disabilities being productive members of society.  We may travel differently, use different skills, have cool gadgets that talk or vibrate, but beneath all that, we would like to not only be included but to feel included in academia, athletics, the workplace… even reality TV.  Sometimes we request accommodation that would be required for such inclusion, and it’s provided with little or no fuss.  Sometimes we have to fight harder for such accommodations, because to be without them would mean that we cannot be those included, productive people that we know that we are.

 

And other times, when the accommodation is more of a preference (even a strong preference) than a requirement… what do we do then?  Do we force that reluctant and unwilling university professor to accept us in that class?  Force an employer to provide additional technology above and beyond what they have already agreed to pay for?  Or is the best advocacy to push back by finding our own workarounds, by taking a different course with another professor or finding alternate sources of funding for that technology?  Sometimes, one action is appropriate, and at other times, the other is.  On other occasions, moving on to other pursuits is essential both for logistics and for the mental energy and stress that accompany fighting for access.

 

I know people who believe that fighting for access to anything for everyone is important and essential.  Without people like them, we wouldn’t have made the advances we have to education, public access, and the workplace.  But not everyone has the strength or inclination to advocate in this way; some prefer to advocate by finding ways around the obstacles placed in our path.  Unfortunately, still others take no for an answer and live as though no one will ever accept them.  This fatalistic view bothers me more than anything, because it perpetuates the idea that we will go away if we get turned back.  And while I believe that pushing back and demanding access is important and essential, picking our battles is even more crucial.  What does it benefit anyone if we are granted access to one aspect of life for no other reason than because it’s mandated?  Does it not speak more to our tenacity and courage that we find ways around those roadblocks that get placed in our way?  I’m not talking about making martyrs of ourselves, but finding the way to maintain our dignity while allowing our academic institutions, workplaces, places of leisure and modes of public transportation to realize that we are human first and disabilities second.

 

I don’t have easy answers to any of these questions, as my own choices regarding self-advocacy would be considered too polite by some and too demanding by others.  Some would tell me that finding ways around the word “no” is not my responsibility.  And yet, I find that such times give me an opportunity to prove not only to others but to myself that I am stronger than the word “no”, and that I can be creative when it comes to finding solutions to access concerns.  Sure, I might ask a friend for help in a pinch, or might even have to push back and demand my right to access… but until such point as I am considered a colleague, a shopper, or a student first and a blind person second, I find proving the naysayers wrong incredibly rewarding.

 

For those who DO fight by demands and demonstrations for reasonable access and accommodations, I thank you, because my life would not be as well-rounded without people like you and those who’ve gone before.  For those who request access by proving by getting kicked down and getting back up that classes, job duties, and independent life ARE possible, even essential, I thank you because you give me the courage to go on another day.  For those who decide after weeks or months or years of fighting that it’s no longer worth it, and blaze your own path, you do show remarkable courage yourself by realizing that it just isn’t worth it anymore; you are not a failure, so pick yourself up and blaze a new path for yourself.  But for those of you who just take no for an answer, just because it’s hard, don’t get in my way, because in effect you are part of the problem; obstacles are placed in our path due to the ignorance and unwillingness of a public that think we should be hidden away in institutions or treated like angelic beings for getting out of bed in the morning, and laziness and apathy perpetuate this.

 

Perhaps I’m more of a fighter than I thought…

Not devoted to Blind Devotion

22 Saturday Aug 2015

Posted by in blindness

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I will be the first to admit that portrayals of blind people in books, movies, or articles tend to get my teeth on edge.  Contrary to what many might think I don’t expect a perfect portrayal of who we are, because we are all different, just like sighted people.  But perhaps even with the best of intentions, some of the worst stereotypes about blind people are perpetuated in these books, movies, or articles – that we are angelic inspirational beings for simply living our lives, that we require caretakers for everything from cooking to laundry to shopping, and if we do actually succeed at something it’s viewed as a miraculous feat tantamount to clearing tall buildings in a single bound.  These ideas are frustrating to those of us who live with blindness – and others’ perceptions of it – every day of our lives.

That having been said, few books, movie portrayals, or articles have concerned me quite as much as this video, largely because it’s been shared around the world as a “sweet tearjerker that shows what true love and “blind devotion” really is.

I’m leaving aside here the main character’s perception of what she can and cannot do as someone losing her vision; the anger and denial process are entirely normal, given a diagnosis like hers.  But the ending of the video infuriated me to no end.  It is viewed as sweet, and beautiful, and yet I find it ugly.  For those of you who cannot see (or just don’t feel like watching the video), this video ends with the husband following his blind wife to work every day without her knowledge.  We’re not talking about driving her to work, waiting in the car and watching her get in to a building before driving away; we are talking about physically following her on her walk to work every morning because (I presume based on the video) he doesn’t think of her as capable enough to do it on her own.  As a blind wife with a sighted husband, to me such behavior borders on stalking, and is not adorable and kind, but such a blatant abuse of trust that my blood is boiling even thinking about it.

Committed relationships (marriage in my case) are beautiful, messy and sweet and heart-breaking and restorative.  Relationships are not perfect, whether or not one partner has a disability.  Even if everyone disagrees on acceptable/unacceptable behaviors in any given relationship, I can think of no one who would disagree that trust is a foundation for any successful relationship.  It is one thing to stumble and fall, or be unintentionally hurtful, but to knowingly use your partner’s blindness or deafness to your own advantage – even while fooling yourself into believing it’s being done for their benefit – can shake a relationship to the core when your disabled partner finds out about it (and trust me, we’re not fools; we WILL find out).  Creating an admittedly fictional video as a feel-good look at what “true devotion” really is makes those of us living with blindness choke on the phony sweetness it’s meant to portray.  I have two questions for those who made, produced, and touted this video as sweet and romantic: How would you feel if your spouse went behind your back and, by their actions, showed the entire world – everyone but you – that they viewed you as incapable?  And what if you found out about it weeks, months, or years after the fact?  It isn’t so adorable and sweet now, is it…

If you Want it Done Right, you Do It Yourself… or Ask Someone Else to…

25 Saturday Jul 2015

Posted by in blindness

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Last week I posted on my facebook status a question about which blog topics friends, family and readers wish me to cover. One topic brought up a HUGE level of discussion from blind and sighted friends alike:
When is it appropriate for a sighted person to say no to a request from a blind family member or friend? When is saying no selfish? When should the blind relative/friend take responsibility for themselves and be as independent as possible?

I took to Twitter and asked the question, and the level of responses was astounding. Ultimately, the answers went something like this (and I am inclined to agree):
1) A blind person should do whatever they can to be independent, but (just like sighted people) may find certain skills hard or challenging. Ultimately, making a concerted effort without resounding success is one thing; not even bothering to try in the first place is another.
2) A sighted relative/friend is within their rights to say no to requests if the requests are too frequent, unreasonable, or for a task that the blind person is clearly able to do for him/herself.
3) It IS selfish to say no if the task cannot reasonably be completed by the blind person. For example, if a blind person tries to get a restaurant’s menu online before going out for dinner and finds it inaccessible (embedded picture menus are very common), leaving them twisting in the wind and asking an overworked waiter to read them the menu while you’re sitting right there is unreasonable.

That having been said, it all depends on the friendship or family dynamic. Many sighted people are too quick to step in and do for us what they THINK we cannot do for ourselves; others have super-independent blind friends or relatives who insist on doing everything even if it’s not expected, reasonable, or even requested. My relationship with my friends and family has generally clear boundaries, not because of my blindness or their vision, but because all relationships are give and take and (I hope) communicative. For example: I fold laundry in my house (whenever I get to it); Ben folds the socks. Ben HATES folding clothes, and I don’t mind putting my mad organizational skills to work figuring out how to squeeze that last T-shirt into the dresser drawer. It takes me FOREVER to fold socks, and even then I can’t be sure they match; what takes me an hour with mixed results takes Ben five minutes. We’ve found it a generally fair tradeoff. When it comes to restaurants, if I can’t get the menu online ahead of time, any sighted companion who is dining with me will read me the headings (soups, sandwiches, pastas, wraps) so I can get an overview of the menu without having the whole thing read to me when all I want is pizza.

At the end of the day, it’s up to me, and others, as blind people to do whatever we can reasonably do for ourselves, and politely advocate when things are unnecessarily being done for us; it’s up to friends or relatives to tell us when our requests for assistance are unreasonable (too frequent, cutting in to personal time, without reciprocity). For every person and relationship, the specifics will be different (I love that my husband can cook, but I do some mean cooking myself; others might find cooking scary, challenging, or incomprehensible, and that’s OK). At the end of the day, communication on both sides of the blind/sighted continuum will make boundaries and expectations perfectly clear. So to my blind readers: do what you can, make an effort, ask for help when needed, but be generous with your thanks and mindful of time commitments. To my sighted readers, love us enough to tell us when we ARE being unreasonably “needy”, ask us what you can assist with or if our struggling with a task is necessary so that we can improve it. To everyone, sighted and blind, be quick to listen and slow to speak harshly, and keep an open mind.

Can I just drink my Coffee? – on Education and Ambassadorship

22 Friday May 2015

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Over the years I have heard now and again that I need to be the best blind person I can be, if for no other reason than I may be the first (if not only) blind person your average Joe or Jane might encounter.  Some might say that it is my job to educate others about blindness, humanity, and living life by answering questions or providing demonstrations of my skills or assistive technology on the fly, no matter what kind of day I’ve had or what my plans are.  While I do agree that politeness and courtesy go a long way, I personally think I should have the right to enjoy a cup of coffee without being approached and asked a thousand questions about how blind people cope with life, for two very important reasons:

1) I am NOT all blind people. My marital status, education, employment, life circumstances, hopes, dreams, and fears are entirely my own. Just because I have an overwhelming fear of ladders doesn’t mean the next blind chick shares that fear; just because my blind friend that I am hoping to meet for coffee attends university doesn’t mean that further schooling is my goal.

2) You wouldn’t routinely approach an able-bodied stranger at a Tim Hortons and start asking questions, would you?  If so, then we’ll talk…

 

Last year, I contributed to my friend Meagan’s blog post on this very topic, waxing partially eloquent about how that ambassadorship role is just too unrealistic and heavy.  Expecting me to be an ambassador for the blind is like expecting one woman to represent them all, or one police officer, doctor, or parent.  We all know where that gets us: nowhere!

 

Sure, I’ve asked REALLY stupid questions of friends who use wheelchairs, are deaf, or live with chronic debilitating medical conditions.  These are people I have met either online or in person, and we’ve struck up a conversation, generally about normal everyday things (politics, sports, work), and not random strangers who cross my path.  I DO find the random approaches at bus stops or in coffee shops quite disconcerting, because it seems that all person X is interested in is the fact that my eyes don’t work.  After whatever conversation we have, right or wrong, that person will take away what blind people are “really” like.

 

Perhaps the perception of me as a blind woman being an ambassador comes because I, with my cute black lab guide dog, am much more visible than a woman of similar age fitting my general physical discription.  A “normal” Millennial having a rough day in a shopping mall doesn’t generally get six offers of assistance in as many paces, but I do, simply because the perception is that because I am blind, I require assistance.  I can politely decline said offers of assistance and still be viewed as stubborn and ungrateful; I can be forceful about declining such offers and still be considered stubborn and ungrateful; or I can accept the assistance (whether I need it or not) and feed into a perception that blind people are helpless and always need sighted help.  What is the common denominator? Someone else’s perception.  People will view me however they choose to.  No matter what I do, someone somewhere will form an opinion of me, right or wrong.  A comparable sighted millennial will be perceived by the public for having tangled messy hair or ill-fitting jeans, but no one bats an eye at those perceptions either.  Why should we as blind people be immune from perception? It’s just human nature; we aren’t so special to avoid it. All I can do is live my life the best way I know how, accept or decline a myriad of offers of assistance as needed and smile and nod about people who only view me as non-working eyeballs with a cute dog.

Guide Dogs really DO teach you about Life

27 Friday Feb 2015

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So, for something a little bit different for this blog, you get two bloggers for the price of one!  We happened to be thinking about the same sort of thing
at the same time, and agreed to collaborate!  Since we are posting this entry simultaneously on each of our blogs, I figure an introduction is an order:

 

Blindbeader (real name relatively unknown): working her first guide dog, Jenny.  Somewhat of a perfectionist, loves the challenges of life but would sometimes
like the world to slow down a bit.  Eats too much chocolate, drinks far too much coffee, and yet somehow manages to stay employed, athletic, and reasonably
sane.

 

Jenny hates boats, and yet she and I are awaiting one in NYC

Jenny hates boats, and yet she and I are awaiting one in NYC

 

Francesca (Twitter handle @poetprodigy7): Working with her second guide dog, Zeus, AKA espresso on four legs. Writer, teacher, self-deprecatingly funny,
sometimes refers to herself as the blind Bridget Jones. Addicted to coffee, chocolate, Colin Firth, and the Big Bang theory (not necessarily in that order).

 

This is SO the life! Zeus is sleeping by the pool with a wine glass right beside him

This is SO the life! Zeus is sleeping by the pool with a wine glass right beside him

 

Guide Dogs – Living in the Real World

 

Francesca:
Several weeks ago, on a cold, gray, misty Monday, I dutifully donned my raincoat and ventured into the downpour to take my guide dog for his evening constitutional.
Under normal circumstances, he would, Labrador that he is, have raised no objections to getting wet; this day, however, he was recovering from a mysterious
episode of stomach upset, and I might have foregone the walk until the rain subsided, but for the fact that I was endeavoring to avoid an unmitigated disaster
of the nature that would require a professional carpet cleaner.

Given that both of us were wet, tired, and anxious, it should come as no surprise that Zeus’s distraction resulted in us becoming slightly (or completely)
disoriented. How was it that the dog who keeps me from falling down stairs and has been known to plant his paws between me and oncoming vehicles couldn’t
even locate our front door? Too wet to ponder the incongruity of it all, when we finally found our way back home, I promptly sat down on the couch and
cried for about fifteen minutes.

Anyone who has ever been the two-legged part of a guide dog team knows this story all-too well, and yet as many of us will attest, even on the worst days—when
your dog has barked in harness, or nicked a bite of your co-worker’s peanut butter sandwich—we’d far rather walk on the wild side of life with our crazy
companions than take that journey alone. Between two dogs, I have a combined total of nearly eleven years of experience as a guide dog handler, and I use
the term experience euphemistically here to mean: “I’m still alive, and not in a full body cast, so I must be doing something right.” When I experience
moments of self-doubt, I sometimes force myself to step back and think about just how much my dogs have taught me about friendship, bravery, and blind
faith. At the risk of sounding like the amazing guide dog whisperer, then, being a guide dog handler has taught me several lessons about life.

Blindbeader:
18 months ago, when I started training with my first guide dog, Jenny, I felt incredibly overwhelmed by the entire process.  I had practical questions
that had been asked and answered, but I wanted to know more about that emotional – almost mystical – bond between guide dog and handler.  The problem was, I didn’t even know what questions to ask, much less the answers I needed to hear.

Lately, I have come across many people who have just started training or just come home with new guides, as well as those that are in the application process
or waiting for class dates.  Here are many pointers that I wish someone had told me before I first opened my door – and my heart – to the most stubborn dog in the world.

Francesca:
A bad day is just that: one day out of the hopefully innumerable ones I will live. When I have a bad day at work, I drown my sorrows in tears and vodka.
When Zeus has a bad day at work, he wags his tail, licks my hand, and shrugs it off. Whether this is because he believes in a better tomorrow or because
Labradors have notoriously short-term memories, his approach seems far more emotionally balanced.

Blindbeader:
Your dog will test you, period!  It varies in scope, intensity, duration, and activity, but almost all new dogs WILL push the boundaries.  This does NOT
mean that there is anything inherently wrong with handler or dog.
I’ve been there, though, at a time when all of my guide dog handler friends told me that their dog NEVER did activity X or didn’t have bad habit Y.  Thankfully,
we worked through it with a lot of hard work, some frustration, and huge parties on street corners when Jenny took me to the lightpole without grabbing
the garbage at the bottom of it.
If the dog is being unsafe, however, or there hasn’t been improvement (And I mean, even a LITTLE), guide dog schools generally have followup services either on request or on a regular basis; use them!  Or ask questions of other guide dog handlers, who have been in the trenches and can offer a variety of suggestions.  I just have to remember that many first-time long-time handlers can have selective amnesia.  If I ever get that way, knock me upside the head!

Francesca:
Sometimes, work can wait. Even when my dog isn’t in harness, rarely is he off-duty. Even when we’re taking a leisurely stroll to nowhere in particular,
he is always multitasking, concentrating half on the business of fertilizing the neighborhood grass and half on the business of ensuring that I don’t sprain
my ankle falling over a tree root. Whenever he tosses his favorite toy into my lap or wedges his nose between my hand and the laptop keyboard, he reminds
me to check the proverbial warning light on my brain’s battery and occasionally power down and recharge.

Blindbeader:
I so second this one!  If a guide dog has time to be a DOG, to bond with his/her handler, it does make him or her a better guide in the long run.  It took
me about six months to realize when Jenny was exhibiting more frequent distracted behaviors, then it was time for a good long run, or a seriously wicked
game of tug.  That done, she would be able to focus on her work, and everyone was happier.

Francesca:
Learn to let it go. One day, my dog stopped me from falling off a drop in the sidewalk because I was far too intent on a conversation with my friend to notice the change in elevation. The moment we got home, he immediately rewarded himself by, for reasons which remain clear only to him, stealing a pair of my
underwear from the laundry basket. While I naturally corrected him for this, I didn’t dwell on the mishap with my usual scab-picking intensity, because
I was still grateful for the fact that I wasn’t doing the bunny hop on a broken leg. Case in point: things could always be worse. Appreciate it when they’re not.

Blindbeader:
Be prepared for your dog to occasionally make you look really really REALLY dumb.  I was in a familiar area while training with Jenny one day, and I told
her to move forward.  She stopped, I corrected her, and told her to move forward.  She eventually did… and led me straight into a gravel pit.  Oops!  The first thing they drill into your head at guide dog school is “Trust your Dog!” and this has served me well more often than not.  Sometimes I get to know why my dog did what she did; other times I just shake my head and just wonder why she chose to quite determinedly run me through that parking lot, but the dog has two working eyeballs, and I certainly do not!  Then again, there are times Jenny IS doing something she shouldn’t, making me look silly; in two minutes the dog will forget about it, and you should too!

Francesca:

It takes more strength to hold a grudge than to let go of one. Have you ever tried to stay angry at a Labrador? It works about as well as defying the laws
of gravity. No matter how frustrated I sometimes find myself with my dog, he always manages to win me over with his puppy dog penitence, and this reminder
to forgive and forget has served me well in the relationships I cultivate with others. Perhaps Woodrow Wilson said it best: “if a dog will not come to
you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience.”

Blindbeader:
Pick your battles!  There are some things guide dogs should NOT do:
scavenge, chase after other dogs, get up and wander around on their own.  That being said, all dogs have quirks; some can be trained out of them, others
are just interesting little fringe benefits.  Jenny does not like guiding me through puddles (or getting her feet wet at all); however, she will do it
if she has to.  I can decide that, well, she is the dog and I am the human, so by God, she will guide me through that puddle!  Or I can just be thankful
that my shoes stay dry and I don’t have to worry so much about the ice hiding underneath all that water.  Guess what I picked (Hint: my shoes tend to stay dry…)

Francesca:
You can, contrary to popular belief, perform essential functions without the benefit of caffeine. At least once a week, I am heard to declare that the
fact that I feed and walk my dog every morning before I’ve had my first cup of coffee testifies to my undying appreciation for the sacrifices he makes
daily to keep me safe. (Including making sure that I don’t mortally wound myself when I attempt to move without first fueling myself with caffeine). There’s
a reason I refer to my overly frisky, furry eyeballs as espresso on four legs. One shot of him propels me pretty efficiently through the first fifteen
minutes of my day.

Blindbeader:
(On a totally different note) Guide dog school has good suggestions, maybe even great ones, but much of what you learn is done after formal training is over.
This is OK, and, in fact, necessary.  You will laugh when your dog shows you – in that cute way he has – that your safety is in his paws, and by the way
you should trust him because he has two fully functioning eyeballs *you do not) and is walking you calmly around that open car door… you will cry with
frustration on a day when it all just goes to hell and there’s no rhyme or reason why.  You will sing for joy on the first day you just “click.”  And you
have good days and bad days, sometimes feeling like you have the most intelligent creature on the planet and other times wondering why this little demon
from hell is taking up space in your apartment.

I don’t mean to sound like having a guide dog is this painful drudgery; trust me, it isn’t!  But I have seen so many guide dog handlers get discouraged
that things aren’t going well and it isn’t working like it shows on TV or did in class.  I LOVE having a guide dog.  I love putting in the work to shape
her behavior that will make her a better guide and us a better team.  When a concept we’ve been working on for months clicks in her head, I almost don’t
have to praise her because her head is up and her tail is wagging happily; I praise her to the skies anyway.  The day during training when she pulled me
out of the path of a bus, I had no idea how many other close calls we would dodge over the next 18 months.  If I get to stay safe, trusting my life to
her two working eyeballs and four stinky paws, I’d gladly take the occasional cracker away from her…

Getting sappy: A very special day!

03 Friday Oct 2014

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365 days ago, almost to the minute, I found myself walking into a Smitty’s restaurant in Westmount mall in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada with my guide dog, Jenny.  My heart was pounding and I remember steadying my breathing as not to give away my nervousness.  We got to the Smitty’s, and I sat down at a table with my husband and two other people…

 

This sounds innocuous, this walking into a restaurant with your guide dog to meet family and friends for breakfast… but it was graduation day!  On October 3, 2013, a BC/Alberta Guide Dogs trainer did one last supervised walk several hundred yards behind me, and, after terrific coffee and a yummy breakfast, Jenny’s harness was officially put in my hand for unsupervised guiding!

 

This all came on the heels of the most exhausting four weeks of my life.  I had quit my job the previous December, and it took me five long months to find employment at a call centre for a chain of pizza restaurants.  Most days after training with Jenny, we went straight to work, where Jenny conked out on a bed under my desk, and I used my cane while she heeled at my left side, wearing her stylish blue “In Training” jacket.  I learned how Jenny moves when she is happy, focused, distracted, had to use the bathroom, and wanted to get my attention; she learned how I wanted her to pace herself, give me clearance around objects beside or above me, and what behaviors were permissible and which were not.  We had good days – like the day of our first busy street-crossing when she pulled me out of the path of an oncoming bus – and bad days – like the first time she took the LRT and whined and shook the whole trip and tried to bolt off the train at every stop – and everything in between.  Even when she was off-duty and I was using my cane, she would still find me doors to the 7-Eleven or bus stop poles, sit quietly on the bus, and behaved herself impeccably while I was at work.  The last day of training ended at 2:30PM, and I remember being so drained that I sprawled out on the couch at 4:00 PM, and blearily got up long enough to go to the bathroom and climb the stairs to my bedroom where I slept until 5:00 the next morning.

 

It was an amazing rush, that morning of October 3, 2013.  It had signified that I had done it – I had survived the rigeur of training with a new young dog, and I had many of the tools I would need over the next 8 years.  It was also nerve-wracking; I couldn’t sit down with our trainer every morning and tell her the good, the bad and the ugly of the previous day.  I couldn’t always ask why Jenny did XYZ; I was, more or less, completely on my own..  I remember picking up that harness on October 3, 2013, and having no idea what to expect, not really.  I was full of knowledge from training, confidence in my dog, and thrilled for the journey to come.

 

The previous 365 days have not all come up roses.  I have made big mistakes; Jenny has made big mistakes.  Thankfully we have more good days than bad lately; I have been both encouraged by and encouraging to others who are in the complicated and wonderful trenches of guide dog travel.  Even on a bad day (like, er, yesterday) I would not trade the past year for anything.  I have been stretched, stressed, and blown away by the complicated canine that is Jenny.  She has nailed complicated tasks and completely flubbed basic ones; kept calm in an endless parking lot when we were unintentionally lost, but once got us lost in our own neighborhood; laid calmly for hours on her bed while I’m working and yet been unable to stay still while I am working out at the gym for an hour.

 

Unbeknownst to me, October 3, 2013 was just the beginning of a journey; it’s been well worth the work, the tears, and the moments of wonder.  As of this moment, Jenny is no longer a rookie guide dog!

 

Here’s to you, Jenny Pen, and to many more October 3s!

Did you hear that?

18 Thursday Sep 2014

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One of the most common comments or questions I get is whether or not my hearing is more “in tune” than those who can see.  While science does indicate that the brain does compensate for lack of sight, I personally believe I hear as well as I do because I am more used to using my ears to hear the world around me.

 

The one main downside to this, as opposed to being able to see, is that there are only a handful of things that can obstruct one’s vision, but many many things that can change what one hears and how one relates to the world.

 

SNOW

Alberta (particularly southern Alberta) experienced snow in September last week.  Thankfully, the snow didn’t stick here, so I was in good shape to travel.  But after a big dump of snow like that, it makes travel much more challenging (ever hear of the saying “blind man’s fog”?)  It is very easy to get yourself turned around when there’s 3 inches of snow on the ground, unshoveled, and snow keeps flying; thankfully my guide dog is an old pro at navigating through such a quiet, occasionally slushy mess.  My friend Meagan wrote a very descriptive blog post that describes the challenges of navigating the snow; I will not belabor it.

 

RAIN

I grew up near Vancouver, affectionately dubbed the “wet coast”, so you’d think I would be completely familiar with changing my spacial relation when we get a big rainfall or a bunch of puddles on the roads.  Nope!  More than once I have waited more than one light-change cycle because cars driving through puddles sound like they might be in the turning lanes.  This isn’t a problem once that rain as stopped, but I don’t like the rain, refuse to carry an umbrella, and have a dog that hates to get rained on so much that I bought her a rain poncho; if it’s raining hard outside at the immediate moment, I am unable to multitask or think much about anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other and hope I don’t get splashed by vehicles speeding through the puddles.

 

HEAD COLDS

Thankfully for me, this is quite rare, but I am currently recovering from a pretty intense head cold.  Just before the worst of it hit, I came across a situation that I didn’t expect.  My ears were slightly plugged, and my nose was stuffed up beyond belief.  I took Jenny for a walk around the block, and at one point she slowed down.  Usually when she does this it means she’s found something yummy on the ground that she’s debating about picking up.  I waved her forward, and she took a right-hand turn nearly at a run.  For about two seconds, I thought “What in the world are you doing?”  And then I heard the car zooming past my left shoulder.  If we’d gone forward, we would have crossed a busy street with no crosswalk against the light into traffic.  Yikes!  I’ve since become much more cautious when I have a head cold.

 

CROWDS

Crowded buildings have a sound all their own.  Get a hundred people together in a room, particularly one with echo, and it’s anyone’s guess where anyone or anything is!  Even if it’s a familiar place, like a mall, sounds of laughter, footsteps, and screaming children bouncing off walls can make it a veritable “maze of mirrors” for the ears.

 

These are just a few things that continually change the dynamic of my auditory world.  We are more used to interpreting our world through sound, largely through necessity rather than desire, but it all does work more often than not.  We are continually forced to adapt, and for the most part, at least to me, it’s second nature.  Thankfully, today is sunny, my cold is nearly gone, and I am not going to be trapped in a crowded echo chamber anytime soon.