......because

It all began when a person in a wheelchair boarded my bus and the driver made the person with the cart move to a seat where the cart would obstruct the aisle. I was not asked to move, but after the bus got underway again, I turned to the cart's owner and suggested I relocate so she could have a seat where the cart would fit. In the process, I bumped my head. ......because I tried to help. Next stop my psychiatrist's office. Typically, his patients flip a switch to indicate their arrival. I cannot do this since there are no accessible labels and I cannot seem to retain the switch location in my head. It has never been an issue in the two years I've been seeing him -- he's always come out into the waiting room to retrieve me. This time around, when I had waited ten minutes past my allotted time and could hear him speaking back in his office, I called leaving a message on his voicemail indicating my presence. Another patient eventually arrived, flipped the switch and my doctor materialized, seeming surprised at my presence. When I said, "Um, I don't know which switch to flip and this has never been a problem before," his reply blew my mind. "I just thought you weren't coming. I never thought about the switch." ......because I'm so unreliable. Next was the man by the elevator. He clearly wanted to be helpful, did not know how and used hovering as a means to deal with his internal conflict. He kept telling me things I already knew or was working on figuring out and then continued WATCHING me. He did alert me to the goo stuck to Camille's leg, becoming flustered when his phone rang while he was trying to pull it off. I waved him away, determined removal by pulling wasn't going to work and took off. While waiting for the bus, I used the handy scissors on my pocket knife to remove the goo-matted fur from Camille's leg. ......because boy scouts have nothing on me. Once again on the bus, I was sharing a three-person seat with a man, who moved when an elderly woman joined us. The woman made loud, critical declarations about his behavior and I think I offered something like, "Maybe he thought three people and a dog was too much on one seat and decided to give us some space." Then the woman began to tell me about her blind neighbor. This *never* turns out well. Ever. Her neighbor was "so amazing" for doing everything on her own, even shopping. She could cook, too. It was all just so amazing that she thought the woman couldn't possibly be blind and had an argument with another neighbor about it. I suggested maybe she could change her definition of what a blind person could do. I was then told about how this blind woman assembled her nephew's birthday present on her own, using screwdrivers and everything. "Amazing" was repeated a few more times. I said I liked to assemble furniture. The topic shifted to her evening's attendance at a baseball game. She has back trouble and the stairs are really steep. I commented that it sucked that ball parks weren't accessible to everyone. She thought it was just wonderful that strangers would reach out and offer their arm so she could descend the stairs. I repeated my comment about lack of accessibility. She repeated that people were just so wonderful. ......because "wonderful" and "amazing" hadn't been said enough. Off the bus and walking home, I was crossing a street when not one, not two, not three but FOUR skateboarders whizzed past me while I was in the middle of the street, startling Cam so much she actually moved sideways and stopped in her tracks.. ......because the joy of boarding trumps the safety of others. Upon arriving home, I yelled "ARGH!" at the top of my lungs and then did it a few more times. Camille went and had a drink of water. About when I stopped the yelling, she walked over and vomited up... everything at my feet. ......because a comedic author is clearly crafting the story of my life.

Public Property

Pregnant women often speak about total strangers asking to touch their bellies. The social mores that keep people from requesting contact with the body of someone they do not know suddenly vanish in the face of that rounded mound of baby. Even worse, a significant number of people don't even request permission before giving a rub. I cannot come up with another situation, except maybe when it comes to "directing" a blind person, in which respect for bodily personal boundaries is ignored. Even when an individual in a crowd simply brushes up against a stranger accidentally, they apologize. This behavioral tendency has been framed in terms of the woman's belly becoming public property – as if everyone has the right to touch it the way they would a soft blanket on display at a department store. Attempting to explain a specific behavioral tendency that currently has me annoyed, I reached for an example my therapist might understand and came up with that of pregnant women's bellies. Aspects of my life are being treated as public property. Approaching a bus stop where I was to wait for a friend, I was asked by a man if he could pet my dog. I said no explaining that while wearing the harness, she was working. Apparently, he didn't like my answer because a tirade ensued. He started with the point that one little pet wasn't going to be a problem. I disagreed. He then said I was being cruel and was I afraid my dog would hurt him? I tried giving the complicated explanation about distractions and my safety. He said if my dog was that badly behaved, she wasn't trained well. Was I just not training my dog properly? I admit snapping at that point and saying something about having a dog previously that was highly distractible leading to me getting my nose broken. That did not penetrate his skull. About then, my friend's "Just walk away. He's nuts>" penetrated and I tried leaving. Really, I tried. I had to turn back when he told me I should "Just stay home." Excuse me? I don't think so. Let's just say it went south from there and he was really insulting. My point? This man treated me, my dog and my life as though he had a right to comment upon them. Everything about me had suddenly become public property. I was the politician whose life is open to public scrutiny. I was the actor living in the public eye. I was just lacking any of the compensatory perks either of those roles supposedly bestows. The worst part? People stood there watching and did nothing. Nobody said, "Hey, man, it's her dog. Leave her alone." In their silence, they were condoning his behavior. To paraphrase a mother-to-be's comment, "It's my dog. Keep your hands off!" And, I would add, your opinions to yourself.

Amazing Revisited. Again.

Don't roll your eyes, but I'm back to that "amazing" thing. Again. This time with something new. Promise. I get to a doctor's office via my dog, my feet and a bus. When the receptionist discovers this, she is in awe of me. Previously I've thought about this behavior in two ways. I'm amazing because I have failed to live down to the low expectations another individual has. I also become amazing when a person imagines walking in my shoes and decides I am doing something they could not. Now I think there might be a third possibility related to obstacles. When people consider me going from point a to point b, they generate a mental list of all the steps that they think involve sight– assessing traffic to cross a street, determining what bus pulled up at the stop, getting on the bus and finding a seat, knowing what stop to disembark at and so on. Each of these tasks becomes tagged as "obstacle for blind person" in their heads. Because I have surmounted these obstacles, I become "amazing." This mental process is distinct from the first two, for there are no assumptions made about what I cannot do. The accolade is *earned* by doing things perceived as *challenging*, granting the praise the distinctive flavor of possibility. My amazingness is engendered not by doing the impossible but by accomplishing the unusual. I have less objection when amazing is about overcoming an obstacle. I'm not performing magic, just doing something that might be hard. I can live with aspects of my life being perceived as hard, calling for skills most haven't cultivated or even simply requiring above average persistence. It feels far less dismissive of...me. Many people with disabilities, myself included, have issues with the concept of overcoming. The root lies in the fact that typically what we are seen to overcome is our disability, not the physical and social barriers society has created. To me, blindness is my natural state of being, so deciding that I have overcome it seems absurd. Do people of color overcome their skin color or the societal inequities and prejudice they encounter? Do cis-gendered women overcome their biology? Disability is a form of human variation that is an inherent part of the person possessing the trait. They're not something you can discuss in terms of overcoming. So, while being seen as amazing for overcoming obstacles is not totally insulting to me, I do take issue when the obstacle is perceived to be my disability. It's like seeing me as amazing for overcoming my curly hair or extraordinarily narrow feet. The concept literally makes no sense. Fish, here's your new bicycle. Ride it. Blogs New home

Jen's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Thing One The first incident wasn't all that bad – almost routine in fact. I was at a meetup type gathering and most of the attendees were strangers. About forty-five minutes into the conversation, I suddenly realized a segment of the group didn't realize I'm blind. (My guide dog, Camille, was out of harness at my feet.) "Um, you know I'm blind, right?" "Oh, no we had no idea." I could have scripted the next part. "You don't seem blind." There I go again not living down to low expectations of my behavior. Thing Two The next was far more ominous. On a "no destination" walk with my dog, I crossed a street and a man asked where I was going. I knew the street dead-ended somewhere, so I asked if I could keep going or not. His answer was not, so I asked if the street we were on met up with another street. "No, you have to go back a couple of blocks." Great. I got my foot caught up in a plastic bag that was in the gutter and had some trouble untangling myself, then I took off. About a block along my route, the man calls from behind me, "Turn there." or something. He had *followed* me. Followed. Thing Three I next ventured to the Transgender Day of Empowerment ceremony at the local LGBT center because a friend was receiving an award. Upon arriving in a very crowded auditorium, I was trying to convince my guide dog to find a seat, but she was as overwhelmed as I. A woman approached, introduced herself as Tracy and offered help, which I accepted. She took my arm in the hold you are taught for drunk people so they can't escape. I was dragged to a chair, but I let it go. Later I realized there was someone's jacket on the chair, meaning I'd taken someone's seat. I let that go too. The woman who had helped me was the M.C and immediately prior to concluding the ceremony, she said something like, "There's this young woman who I see in Hillcrest all the time." She kept going and it finally dawned on me that she was referring to me. I put my head down and began shaking it no rather emphatically. It didn't help. "I'm coming toward you, dear. What's your name?" I answered. "Now I want someone to volunteer to help this nice young woman get some cake." She didn't stop until someone volunteered. Thing Four I fled the room, hid out in the bathroom and then took my dog outside to relieve herself. I was headed back inside, reaching for the right door handle, when someone came out the left door. Fast. I was hit in the head. Camille let out two yelps. Commotion ensued with ice bags and emergency room nurses coming to check us out and people and more people and orders not to take the bus home and..... I handled part of it badly. Eventually, someone I knew gave me a ride home. Camille wound up at the vet, needed X-rays and was restricted to light duty until the bruise she sustained healed. Thing Five By this point in my week, I needed some fun. With enthusiasm, I went to my first in-the-theatre described movie. We got my headset from Guest Services -- my specific request for "the one for blind people." It didn't provide descriptions and my companion finally left the movie and went back to Guest Services where she acquired the proper headset. (I'd been given the one for Hard of Hearing folks.) Thing Six Finally, and most amusingly, dinner. I ordered a salad with peaches and caramelized onions. About two thirds of the way through my meal, I asked my friend, "Where are the peaches?" "There aren't any," she said, baffled. "Maybe these shriveled up things?" "Those are cranberries." I tasted one. They were. We asked our server and he came back saying I'd gotten the right salad just without peaches and he brought me a bowl of them. I said to him, "This is one of those things that happens to blind people. I just assumed the peaches were somewhere on the plate but I hadn't found them yet." I thought that was funny, and my friend was certainly amused. The server -– poor man --didn't get it.

Acquiring Objectness

I and other disabled people have a unique talent. We can transform ourselves into objects. Here are some examples of people instantaneously morphing into things. When flying, I need help transferring from one gate to another. This is not true for all blind people, but it is what I do. The airport provides someone to do this and they are the people who also push passengers in wheelchairs. To avail myself of this help, I must wait until someone shows up and usually until the plane is largely empty. If I were waiting along with a man who uses a wheelchair and an older woman needing special help, likely as not you will hear one flight attendant call to another, "How many wheelchairs do we have?" Now, to be clear, they aren't asking how many wheelchairs are waiting outside the plane. They are looking for the number of people who need assistance. I get that they are using some sort of short hand, but really? They could ask how many escorts they need or even assists. There are ways to talk about me without me having to become a thing. Sitting on a bus, I listened as the driver tells everyone waiting to board, "I have to unload a wheelchair." Apparently I took snarky pills because I said, "Um, person?" He didn't reply. Finally, this happened to a friend who ordered a coffee at a local Starbucks. She did tell the barista her name, so I can't think why they then wrote on her cup "wheelchair." Seriously. It said, "Wheelchair." Was she supposed to pour it on as some kind of new lubricant? Clearly the chair didn't pay for the coffee...

Don't Watch!

There are times when I stand on the sidewalk, Camille Guide Dog Extraordinaire at my side, trying to figure out some navigational complication. Often I'm simply trying to "hear" what's going on. Passers by may stop and ask or offer assistance -- an appreciated gesture that I sometimes accept gratefully. Unfortunately, a response from me of "No thanks. I'm good," can result in problems. People step back and *watch*. I know this because when I get past the challenge, they might comment, my ears may pick up a slight sound or I can feel the weight of their eyes upon me. So, there I am, trying to sort out a mobility issue, while somebody hovers. It's creepy. It's annoying. It's rude. And, if I were sighted, it wouldn't be happening. Most significantly, it shows a profound disrespect for my own judgment for if I've said I can take care of it, standing to watch implies at least a suspicion I am wrong. Well, either that or some over-the-top fascination with how I function as if I'm an exhibit at the zoo. (I am not an animal in the monkey house. Promise.) There is one crucial fact that might escape the average non-disabled person. Taking time to listen to my surroundings allows me to deal with situations as I study them with my ears. I may be working through a set of circumstances that challenge my skills and if people always save my butt, I will never learn how. Saying "No thanks," can be me granting myself a learning opportunity. Those are good for me, right? I suspect people's motivation to stand and observe usually comes from a good place. They don't want me to get hurt. While I value the goal of keeping me in one piece, I still cannot stomach it when someone lingers. It's yucky. And did I mention creepy? So, I am declaring anyone who walks away when I say, "No thanks," off the hook if I turn out to be wrong and break a body part. Absolution is yours. But I know this won't be enough. Here's a way to handle it that helps the non-disabled person feel good about leaving whilst demonstrating respect for me. Tell me your concern while acknowledging your ignorance and taking responsibility for the discomfort you feel with moving on. "I don't know much about how blind people navigate. I don't know how you would handle x situation which is making me unreasonably concerned." Make it your fault – because it basically is – and see what happens. Since nobody has ever done this to me, I can't guarantee the response. I can say that it would feel better than the hovering. Much better. I encourage you to go forth and try it, then come back and leave a comment. I need data.

Riding The Bus With My Dog

Ever wonder why bus drivers need to announce *every* stop? Here's a great example. To conserve energy so I could attend a yoga class, I decided to take a bus one way to the vet's office. As usual, while swiping my bus card I told the driver my destination. After sitting down, I pulled out my phone to monitor the street numbers as they passed. My first mistake was in putting the phone away just before my destination. The driver did announce all the stops, which had me convinced she would also indicate the one I needed, even if she forgot I wanted it. That was my second mistake. She didn't announce my stop nor did she stop. When she announced the stop after mine, I called to her, "I wanted 39th?" I think her response was simply saying she'd gone past. When I got off, I inquired, "How many streets back is the stop I wanted?" "You should cross the street and take the other bus back," she replied. "Don't have time. Do you know how many?" "Two or three maybe. Sorry," was her answer, with the apology covering either her lack of knowing or her mistake or both. Armed with this wealth of information, Camille and I began walking. About the time I reached the second intersection, it dawned upon me that I would need to cross either on or off ramps for a highway. Having never done that in my entire life, I was a bit.... concerned. With a crosswalk and light, it was probably one of the safer ways to cross an off ramp, but without an audible signal, it was still daunting. I spent a long time listening to the traffic pattern trying to figure out how you timed things. I have to say that my little black dog was awesome. I might have been flipping out, but she was a total pro. And then we had to do it again on the other side of the overpass. Bus drivers are suppose to announce *all* stops whether they pull up to take on or disgorge passengers precisely so that blind people can get off where they wish. This driver's mistake put me in a pretty unhappy situation only mitigated by the fact that my dog is good at her job.

Ears

I welcomed the new year in with double ear infections – both sides, inner and outer. First, in defense of infants the world over, I have only felt that intensity of pain once before when my appendix was about to rupture. The ear pain had me curled in a ball on my living room rug at 2:00am begging the universe to make it stop. Sobbing. Loudly. Babies, in my opinion, should scream louder. Along with the pain, I lost significant amounts of my ability to hear. I could hear someone on the other end of the phone, but not someone standing next to me. I stopped being able to perceive the noise of my fridge for about three weeks. I was unable to walk in a straight line inside my own home. I couldn't hear if the pot of water on the stove was boiling or not. As you might imagine, this was a life complication. Once the pain was under control, it took about 48 hours for my brain to say, "Hey, we can navigate the outside world. Camille's good at her job. You should be able to hear audible crosswalks. AS long as you only go to places you know....." Around then, I stood up and the room started spinning. "Okay, maybe not if I'm experiencing vertigo." Once the dizziness passed, that's exactly what I did – went out and navigated familiar places while my hearing was limited. I'm still stunned at myself. Not amazed. Stunned. What attitude or approach achieved this ... result? This is a new adventure. Wonder what it will be like. Wonder what I'll learn. I credit this mindset to my December reading of Crashing Through written by Robert Kurson telling the real life story of Mike May's adventures in going from totally to legally blind. Perfectly content as a blind man, he was presented with the unexpected possibility of regaining vision with a new medical procedure. The book chronicles his decision and subsequent experiences. To boil it all down, he did it to – excuse the pun – see what it would be like. I was presented with a perceptual change and decided to embrace it as an experience. It went well. two months later, I have most of my hearing back, but they aren't sure everything will return. The nuanced auditory input I use for things like "Where did that thing land when I dropped it?" is effected along with trouble discerning traffic patterns, identifying the location of an open doorway and a few other things. I'm pretty much done sucking all the learning and experiencing out of this adventure. Fingers crossed that the steroids work.

Blind Self Defense

A local community group of and for blind and visually impaired people offers a free self-defense class to those with vision loss. To encourage myself to try more adventurous travel, I decided to attend. I'm going to attempt an objective re-telling of events. First, I called to find out how to reach the location. I was asked, "Do you have any usable vision?" I replied in the negative. "Then just call us when you are at the corner and we will come get you." Being me, I thought, "Screw that" and tried to find the place on my own. I failed and resorted to calling. I was told the woman would "Throw the harness on the dog and be right there." A man then pulled up and confirmed I was going to the place in question. "I'm here to give you a ride," he said. "I'm not getting in the car of a man I don't know," I flatly and rather emphatically stated. "Then how will you get there?" he asked. "Um, walk." I answered. "Turn right at the first driveway," he said and by subsequent lack of presence I determined he had left. He did re-appear about when I needed to turn and directed me inside. I did not enter the building until I heard the sound of other people. After leaving my guide dog leashed to a chair – standard practice in such a situation – I took my telescoping cane and went to the spot I was directed to occupy. It is all the way across the room from my dog. Someone then asked me, "Why do you have your cane?" "So I can walk places," I replied. "You don't need it. We'll take you wherever you need to go." "Um, is it a problem for me to have it?" "It might get in the way. We'll just put it by your jacket." "Uh, okay." Class happens. At the end, I need the restroom and am given directions that include, "Use your echolocation to find the first hallway on your right." I don't really have great echolocation, but I did find the hall with my dog's help. Upon leaving, I asked which way to turn once I exit the building. I was told right and I tried that. It led me to a trash can, poll, and bush. I went back inside and inquired, "Go right immediately outside the door? There was a bush and stuff." "Just tell your dog to go right." I did that. The nice mailman had to help me get to where I needed to go. Note: The blog is moving to People Aren't Broken