Laughing at life

thinking

After eating lunch I was looking for the red lid of the Bovril and inadvertently started to pick up the last slice of red tomato you have to laugh!

I cannot decide if it is heart breaking or humorous to take a jibe at our weaknesses.  Sometimes the silly side is really refreshing.

So…

What is worse than a blind joke?
A lame one

What did they call the silo  filled with  eye balls?
The eye full tower

Why did the blind teacher resign?
He had no pupils

A blind man walked into a bar? What did he order?
Cane

A blind man walked into a bar ….ouch!

Why was the blind comedian rewarded?
His jokes were cornea.

What apparatus depicts the highs and lows of losing your vision?
A see sore

New technology for eye protection?
The iPad

What did the ophthalmic surgeons use to remove the eyeball?
A socket spanner

Why was the eyelid scolded for bad language?
He couldn’t blinkety – blink sit still.

I am legally blind… I didn’t know it could be illegal!!?

Advice for a low vision sufferer: “ it is hard to recognise people at first ….
but you’ll get a feel for it”

What source of energy do short sighted people use?
a magni-fire

Sight loss is never funny, but we might as well laugh … and occasionally  find a safe place to cry.

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Let’s face it

faceVision loss is a tough companion to learn to live with. It means that as your vision changes, your relationship with yourself and others needs to adapt too.

Recently my father-in-law relocated to eternity and so , we had a rare  opportunity to get together as an extended family and close friends to celebrate his  well-lived  life and to rejoice in the hope  of the next generation of Webster’s and co. It was a sad happy time reconnecting with loved ones from around the world.  Somehow, if you don’t see each other often the changes you see in each other seem quite dramatic.  The little chaps are now big bruisers and us ‘young marrieds’ are now the ‘old marrieds’. It was in meeting old family and mew additions that I realised how my eyesight has deteriorated since our last meeting.

The family also noticed the changes in me as I now use a mobility cane, can’t collect the glasses off the table after dinner and am no longer the scrabble champJ , but what hit me ‘in the face’ was not a low branch over a walk way, but was that I could not see expressions on faces at all. In a social environment this is a big deal.  I was disappointed that I could not easily understand or gauge who these new loved ones were. Not able to look across a room and smile or nod in greeting etc.  The up side is that I just tried to spend a little time with each one, so that I had a reference for relating.

On our return I went to the Low vision support group where we spoke about  the obstacles around communicating without the feedback of facial expression. And, something I had never thought of …what is my face doing when I talk? I can’t even see my own face in the mirror (which may be a relief for my middle aged wrinkles) .  Also, eye contact is an important portal for social intimacy, as we can communicate through just looking. Children can gain confidence and trust through meaningful glances and encouraging smiles. Reflecting on our family gathering   I really felt like I was missing a channel of communication especially with the kids.

Being two-faced is always a problem, but being no -faced is exceptionally tricky. I find it difficult to aim my nose at people’s faces because they disappear in my central vision and, because my eyes look normal, they think I am seeing them …or think I am maybe high on something!!! It must be a bit weird looking onto eyes that aren’t actually looking back at you.

On discussing this with a mentor she told me that 7% of our communication is relayed through the actual words, 38% of our communication is transmitted through the tone or how we say it and 55% is related through facial expression and body language. Visual impairment thus greatly affects communication and places added hurdles in the way of easy social interaction.

I am very aware of body language and it is easier to see people in winter because clothes usually provide a good colour contrast. I see clothes moving about  and  as long as folk keep their heads above their shoulders, I can aim my nose for the designated  spot. When I see sleeves swinging about, there is generally an animated conversation on the go.

When I am talking to someone and they become still, I can’t always gauge how they are responding. I love it when sounds come out …”sjoe”or,” wow”….or,” hee hee”….or,” aaagh”  ! It is an expressive clue to their facial expression.

I am so grateful for my family and friends who are available for encouragement and help in all social contexts. I don’t know if you realise it, but you ‘smile’ at me by a squeeze from a hand, a touch on the shoulder or a friendly bump on the elbow. My smile-voice is usually loud, slightly over expressive and accompanied by touch.

Let’s face it …vision loss is tough, but love is tougher.

 

Love, disability` and a feline fur ball

kittyI never used to like cats… but then I never had the experience of growing up with one. Dogs were easier for me as I am somewhat of a control freak, love to do things my way and loved training our ridge-back to enjoy doing  what I thought was necessary. Dogs love to obey and they cannot hide their joy of being in your presence

Then I met Milly- a little stray kitty who was found on the streets of Langebaan where she had been terrorised by children… We think she was about 10 weeks old when my daughter got her and this little fur ball began to train me!

She loved to be loved and cuddled and fussed over, but unlike a dog, she did not ask for the attention, she just received it as if we were privileged to give it. Stroking her little head ignited a guttural rumble of satisfaction and she revelled in the affection so lavishly bestowed on her.  I never saw such a creature so confidently assured that she was alive to be loved.

One weekend after being out, we arrived home and she was not there to greet us. Eventually we found her on our blood covered bed. She had a huge gash on her hind leg and she hissed with pain when we tried to pick her up. Her back and hips were damaged and her tail was hanging limp. We think she may have been caught by a dog or in the motorised garage door…

To cut a long story short, she had layers of stitches in her leg and was put on medication for a sub located vertebra. We were not sure if the injury would ever heal. She spent the next two weeks hiding under the bed or in my hubby’s cupboard, too sore to come out and very reticent of people.  She still responded to gentle touch and as I lay on the floor talking soothingly to her, she purred like a massy Ferguson tractor.

As a person with a disability, I learned two things. Both of these lessons touched a deep nerve in me and tested what I thought about my life.

1             Our cat was loveable just because she was alive. If she had ended up being disabled, but still able to receive love then her life was still valuable. I am valuable just because I am alive and able to receive and respond to love.
2              It was not her owners fault; no loving pet owner would ever hurt their cat to teach them a lesson. My disability is not the fault of a loving creator – either he does not love or I have a warped belief system. (More about that journey later) Life is full of troubles, but we have been given the spirit to choose how we walk through them.

I was challenged about my thinking about myself and value and love. In short, I was edu-CAT-ed by an injured kitty!

 

 

 

Quirky Questions ’bout three blind mice

mouse question3 blind mice, 3 blind mice
See how they run, see how they run
They all run after the farmer’s wife
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife
Have you ever seen such a thing in your life
as 3 blind mice.

Was their blindness metaphorical? How can they run if they are blind? Were they just severely vision impaired?  If they had good mobility does it mean that they still had some peripheral sight? And for that matter, how can they run after the farmer’s wife if they cannot see where she is?  Does she smell? Why was she running with a knife? Does she not know how dangerous that is? What made her turn and attack the mice? Why is the farmer’s wife torturing the disable creatures? Did the SPCA and the disability rights associations get involved?  Where is the farmer?  What did she do with the tails? Are they still running blind? How are they doing after their unexpected amputations?  ‘ Have you ever seen’…why is our sight  being questioned?

This is a short sighted poem … not very mice!

(origin actually to do with Queen Mary’s assassination of three prominent protestants)

An angel a day

photo-1459179214099-4bb3cc48e6c3This morning I woke up to another ordinary day. How boring.  I decided to live it with my eyes wide open looking for a new hope, a new person to meet or something ordinary to see in a new way so that it could be an extraordinary day with something interesting to remember in it.

 I took the taxi to Durbanville village as it is more than half way to the aqua aerobics class. At 8 am the taxi rank was a buzz and we all poured out of the vehicles escaping the confines of our stuffy tin cans, flooding the streets with bustling bodies heading in different directions. As I was negotiating the shadows and steps that led onto the sidewalk, a lady wearing a white blouse and navy slacks walked slowly ahead of me. I decided to follow her as she was walking my pace and it is easy to follow a monochrome top.  She saw my white cane and asked if I was okay. I greeted her, noticed the scrubs and asked if she was in the medical field. She is an assistant in a local pharmacy and we worked out we were heading in the same direction. We spent 5 minutes walking and talking together, and she didn’t mind me holding onto her shoulder as we crossed various roads and driveways. What a joy to meet such a positive, beautiful lady. I pray every time I travel on public transport, asking God to designate a ‘traffic angel’ for me. She was it. We parted near the gym and so, by 8.20 am, this could no longer be called ‘just another day’.

Remember the school nurse?

school-nurse

Every second year in Primary School the department of education had a health official who would come to do a health check on every child to see that we were meeting our developmental milestones. In the junior years the boys and girls were lined up in our underwear to have our turn being prodded and poked. Once it

was on the day that I did not wear a vest …. How embarrassing for me … and I felt so sorry for the boys having their check up in front of the girls.

Eyes and ears were tested regularly which, in itself, was a good thing (when we could keep our tunics on).  The problem for me came in when I learned that I had a retinal degenerative disease in both eyes. My parents got me, and my 2 siblings, the best help from eye specialists, but there was nothing more to be done for us medically.  We just did our best to cope as well as we could in mainstream schooling. The teache

rs were very helpful, my parents kept in communication with the school, but the school nurse was a differen

t lady every time. I got tired of explaining that, “yes” I did know that I was very short-sighted and, “Yes” it was a serious condition. By the time I was in grade 6, I didn’t have the energy to discuss the whole thing from scratch. I quite enjoyed and also pitied the shocked concern from a well-meaning professional. In order to save them the trauma of breaking terrible news to a child and to save a very intense conversation, I just learned the eye chart off by heart. I got the giggles when I had to pretend to read and when she pointed to another place on the chart my friends had to whisper the first letter so that I would know which line to recite.

In hindsight I don’t think this was helpful for accurate statistics for the health or education department

….in fact, a bit short sighted …but fun!  I am however grateful for the schools that accommodated me in what is now called inclusive education.

In Matric many of us went to apply for teaching or nursing because it was a good way to get a study bursary and you were granted a job for 4 years afterwards. We went as a group  to the department of health and li

ned up fully clad with our jars of ‘apple juice’ , said ,”Aaah” and did the ear and eye test with  the same school nurse that had visited us.  Unfortunately, I had forgotten the eye chart, so although I was fit and bright, I was denied access because I was disabled. I wasn’t’ put out about it then and so, with some scrimping and scraping from my parents, a financial windfall and a scholarship, I went on to do my BA Hons. It was only after working part time in a private school for a couple of years  that my headmaster fought, on principle (or should I say principal),  to get the Department to recognise me as a qualified teacher. I was grateful for the justice of his action.

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