March 16 - Change

This past week I was invited to be the guest speaker at a support group meeting for people with low vision. I often speak at these kinds of meetings and I enjoy the experience.  Preparing for these occasions gives me pause for reflection and I always appreciate the opportunity to listen to the stories that other people tell of their journey with vision loss.

The meeting last week was no exception. The beginning of my presentation focused on the idea of change and how vision loss can disrupt and change the normality of our lives. I found myself remembering some of my own feelings when overnight my sight altered from 20/20 sight to being legally blind. The change was fairly traumatic to say the least. Truly I couldn’t believe that this had happened to me. There followed the usual journey with optometrists and ophthalmologists and along the channel of grieving – denial, sadness, anger, frustration and confusion.

All this was many years ago, and now those raw emotions have been mellowed by time. I have found my own way to acceptance but I need to remind myself that we are all at different stages in the journey. Speaking with individuals at support group meetings helps me relive my own memories and gives me more empathy with others. Coping with change ends up being a personal decision but the adjustment is easier with support from friends and family.

Lyle snapped the following picture as I was giving my talk. I am holding one of my books – Out of Sight. 

Sue at support group

March 6 - Walking the Line

Did you know that it is very difficult for people who are blind to walk in a straight line? Because someone without sight can’t see objects on either side, his/her sense of balance is skewed. It is different if the person can use a cane to trace along the side of a building or perhaps the edge of grass beside the pavement, but without some sort of peripheral reference  point, a person without sight will often veer off to one side or another. A guide dog is trained to lead its user in a straight line, but that is another story.

When I can’t see any indicators on my sides, I find that I tend to veer to my right. This was very obvious the other day when I walked down the hallway of our local hospital. I had been visiting a friend. Lyle was my guide when we made our way to the room and he left me there to chat. I didn’t have my white cane with me. When it came time to leave, I was fairly sure that I could make my way back along the straight line to the main door where Lyle was waiting for me. However, the lighting was dim and the corridor was wide enough that I couldn’t see the walls on either side. Still, I felt confident and strode forward. I should have known better!

About halfway along, I came to an abrupt stop about an arm’s length from two women standing with their backs pressed against the wall and holding cups of coffee in their hands. Obviously I had veered away from a central path towards my right. I couldn’t see the faces of these women but I’m sure it was one of startled surprise as I walked directly towards them.

“We saw you coming,” said one woman. “We tried to get out of your way but you just kept coming towards us.”

Two things might have been helpful in avoiding this near collision. First, of course I should have been using my white cane. Secondly, instead of cringing against the wall, it might have been helpful had the women spoken to alert me of their presence.

Even though the floor surface is flat, hospital hallways present many hazards. There are wheelchairs, patients pushing IV poles, unattended cleaning carts, poles with hand sanitizers, yellow cones to alert sighted people to wet floors, and other visitors. I would likely be less of a hazard myself if I took my own advice and used my cane on future visits.