My world crashes and then comes up again...

Illuminated Portable Magnifier

I left Dr. Low Vision’s office, went home and ordered three different magnifiers: a portable one, a standing one and some spectacle clip-ons that could be used over my regular glasses. It took about 3 days for them all to arrive. The two magnifiers were illuminated and worked well enough, but it’s awfully hard to read a story when only the left side, or the right side, or the middle of a paragraph appears in your field of vision.  You really have to get used to moving the magnifier around.

Good idea, but not for me!

I was so excited when the clip-ons arrived. I opened that package immediately; I had the beadwork ready to try them out. What a let-down!  The plastic lenses weren’t any better than the stuff I already had.  I was starting to wonder if all this effort would be worthwhile after all.

A few days went by, and I received a call from a rehab counselor from the Division of Rehab Services. She said she had a referral from Dr. Low Vision, and that I needed to complete some paperwork. Then we would set up an appointment and get moving with the evaluations. She mentioned an “O and M” evaluation and I said “What’s that?”  Ms. Bureaucrat said “Oh, to see if you need a white cane.”

Major meltdown!  “Who said I need a white cane?” I asked in a high voice that was getting higher by the minute. “I don’t need that! “ Ms. Bureaucrat said that Dr. Low Vision had ordered it and that I should talk with her.  I said I would. Nevertheless, we set up an appointment. All I really wanted was the machine that would allow me to do my beadwork. I hadn’t bargained for a white cane!

I stomped around the house for a few days and was very unhappy about this white cane business.  What did I say or do that made Dr. Low Vision think I needed a cane? Finally, I decided to send her an email.  My question, in milder form, was basically “how dare you refer me for an evaluation that includes a white cane?”  And her answer right back was “When I asked about your comfort getting around in dark or unfamiliar areas, you indicated a bit of uncertainty…” And then, in typical Dr. Low Vision style, she said, “there is a lot more to a mobility eval than the white cane. There are other tricks the O&M (orientation and mobility) person can teach you.”

Ok, I thought. But I still stomped around some more. The seriousness of my visual impairment was sinking in. Maybe I did need a white cane and maybe this eye thing was more serious than I thought. In my opinion, I could still see well enough for most things; the idea that I was so nearly blind as to require a white cane was not just shocking, it was – well, sort of insulting. My self-image was under attack, and I did a lot of stomping around and venting my resentment.

A week later, my husband and I drove to Annapolis again, this time to meet with the Rehab Counselor. She explained that DORS (Division of Rehabilitation Services) was a service available to all Marylanders.  I explained that I was working and made a decent salary. Doesn’t matter, she said. The purpose is to keep me working. The evaluations and recommendations are available to all Marylanders regardless of income.  She asked a billion questions (later, my husband would say she was “thorough”) and said she would gather the information to determine the degree of my disability. In the meantime she would set me up with a rehab team, including a specialist in orientation and mobility.

Ugh, the white cane thing again.  I was defensive again. I’m not disabled, I can drive! I can just imagine driving into a parking lot and then getting out of the driver’s side with a white cane! She then told me that people with visual impairment do this all the time. They use their canes to test depth and changes in the terrain, especially in low-light conditions.

We left her office and went home to await the rehab visits.  My first appointment was with the dreaded White Cane Lady. She came to the house and we sat in the living room. She asked me questions – I told her I had problems getting around in dark and unfamiliar places.  My commute to Washington is hard – maneuvering around all the people on the train platforms.  Once I get on an escalator, I hold on for dear life.  We talked about the yellow strips on escalator steps, and how they are often misplaced.  Curbs can be tricky, as can almost any terrain that is uneven. Airports where the floors are shiny can be tricky. She measured me for a cane and we made two more appointments.

My next visit was from a computer guy. He came to the house and we/he adjusted my laptop and iPad to enable all of the accessibility features. The Mac is even more amazing than I thought. In addition to the zoom in and zoom outs, you can change contrast, font size, colors, etc., etc. It will also read the dropdown menus aloud to you. And the iPad has special zoom features too. We made another appointment so I could try out a variety of the CCTVs, the special camera machines that really, I MEAN REALLY, enlarge print. After the tech left, I felt very enabled!

These are phenomenal for stringing beads
and also for hiding the ends of yarn
when changing colors

My third visit was from a rehab specialist who knew all about special gizmos and gadgets. She had quite a goodie box with her that included orange dots to mark settings on the TV remote and microwave.  You can use one of the raised dots to stick on a button, or the orange material around a dot to highlight a button. Much to my husband’s dismay, we walked all around the house marking settings on the washer, the dryer, the oven, and anything else that had a tiny number on it. She brought big-eye needles for sewing and she showed me how to use dental floss holders to use as beading needles. Brilliant!

These tools would make any beader, jeweler,
sewer happy!

She told me about some simple tricks like putting a rubber band on the shampoo bottle (to differentiate from the conditioner) or a diet soda (to differentiate from the beer), to have a special shelf in the fridge for the stuff I use all the time, and to put labels on salad dressings and other things I use. She showed me special pens (I won’t use anything else now), check writing guides, talking clocks. There are knives that help cut even slices of bread or tomato. There is something to help a person who has a visual impairment do just about everything. From this amazing catalogue, I ordered a pair of scissors and a pair of pliers that had magnifiers attached, and a combination lock that is based on directional movements rather than tiny little lines and numbers.

I was feeling pretty good again, but I was still dreading the white cane visit. I don’t want a white cane. I don’t need a white cane. I really, really, really, really don’t need a white cane. Honest.