Leader Dogs Day 3

I forgot to mention the tragedy of yesterday! Sighties who know me will attest that I am always wearing my Braille notetaker in a cross-body fashion. Alongside that, I have a little side-bag, which holds all the things that a purse would hold if I had one: ID card, credit card, money, lip balm, antibacterial, thumb drive, etc. As iPhones have gotten bigger and bigger, I’ve also stowed my phone in the pouch on the front of this side-bag. Hilariously, the types of little side-bags that work best from me are usually meant for camera accessories! But now, because I need to hold my cane on my right side, closer to my body, guess what’s in the way? The freaking side-bag. And I don’t want to have to wear a little backpack or purse or cross-body bag all the time, because, between Braille notetaker and cane, I already feel encumbered enough as it is. Ugh. So I have no clue what I’m going to even do with my whole life and aesthetic.

And the other part of the tragedy is that, for now, I think the rhinestones on my cane made it slightly heavier. The Sensaball and Pathfinder tips, which I adore, also make my canes heavier. So now that I need to rewire my wrist and forearm muscles to accommodate holding the cane closer to my body and higher up on its handle, the cane feels heavier and harder to control. I’m using a plain cane for now, and hoping I can build up my muscles enough to go back to a bling cane. Because what will my aesthetic even BE if I can’t have a tricked-out cane of glitter and rainbow explosion and vibes!? Hashtag devastation!

Anyway, I’ll figure all that out in good time … on to today!

Most folks had some fancy-ish breakfast, but I got two buttered toasts (yes, Derek, I know toast is not a countable noun, in case you’re reading), and a sausage patty. Hannah, Jeffrey and I got to take a shiny new van downtown, complete with that delicious new-car smell.

Jeffrey (mock-appalled): What’s that left hand doing?

Me: Um … getting into the car?

Jeffrey: Remember to anchor!

Me (genuinely appalled): What if I hit the new van!? I cannot!

Hannah: It’s totally fine to hit the van.

Me: … … … Nooo!

Again, I’ll do highlights, avoiding some of the most mobilityish mobility stuff.

* We worked on several intersections, including a crooked T, and practiced waiting for the all-quiet, all-clear and listening for near parallel traffic. I was introduced to the concept of “blocker cars” and “musher cars,” as a means of differentiating which cars “block” you from oncoming traffic, and which cars could “mush” you to death.

* There’s this thing that frightened sinsist on you crossing the street, even if you’re trying to listen to the traffic and don’t want to cross at this moment. This can look like honking, shouting, or just … silently lurking. Forever.

The three of shooing drivers away:

1. Lowering your head slightly

2. Looking away

3. Walking back the way you came and realigning yourself, simultaneously signaling to the sightie that you don’t intend to cross

Me (as a clarifying question, which I stated rather than asked): So we aren’t waving people on anymore.

Jeffrey (with a tone that suggests he’s quizzing me): Why?

Me (flustered): I don’t know, it was a question.

Jeffrey: No, you’re right, I’m asking you why we don’t wave people on.

Me: Because … if they die, they’ll sue us?

Jeffrey: Correct. Generally, I’m not comfortable with blind people directing traffic.

Me: Seems reasonable.

* I have a distinct memory, when I was practicing my route to audition for guide dog school, of Mr. C yelling, “P! A! T,” which stood for Protective Arm Technique. Now, we call that Upper-Hand And Forearm.

Jeffrey: Nice job with upper-hand and forearm right there!

Me: Oh, I … I didn’t even really do it, I just kind of … put my arm out.

Jeffrey: It was about halfway there.

Me (aggressively trying to do it correctly): Like this!?

Jeffrey: A little higher … protect the moneymaker. — Moneymaker meaning … your face. Clearly.

* I think I had a bit of a breakthrough with cut-backs, but just now, when I tried to write it, I don’t quite know how to explain. Heh. I’m sure we’ll work on it more.

* We worked on some problem-solving in the field:

Me: The sidewalk here has, like, come to a dead-end. Of death.

Jeffrey: So what can we do?

Me: I don’t know? Turn around?

Jeffrey: Have you ever seen Anchor Man?

Me: … … ” No?

Jeffrey: They put question marks on his teleprompter, so he reads everything like questions, even his own name.

Me: Ahahaha, that’s totally what I do.

 Jeffrey: Even if you’re not sure you’re right, you can state it like it’s true.

Me: I’ll try!

Later, after Jeffrey gave me a clue, and I got around the dead-end by climbing a staircase:

Hannah: You’re on a boulevard now.

Jeffrey: What was that reason we learned for why it’s called a boulevard?

Hannah: It has more trees … and businesses.

Me: I never knew that.

Hannah: We didn’t, either; we had to look it up.

Me: Ooh, truncated domes! Wait, am I lined up right?

Jeffrey: Ahhh, don’t move those feet! That’s the number-one rule!

Me: I thought that was just for … other things? … Questionmark? Anchor Man?

Jeffrey: Ahahahaha nice.

* It will surprise very few of you to know that, at the precise moment something unforeseen (cough) happens on a route, I do not, in fact, plant my feet. Ever. I do the opposite … namely, lashing out with cane and free arm and free hand to figure out what in the heck is going on, and swinging around wildly all over the place. Jeffrey impressed upon me that, of course, the more I move, the more off-course I’m likely to get. And it was true that, often, I was either still totally fine and following my line of travel, or just a touch off-course, which would be easily corrected if I could just, you know, find some chill.

My other temptation, for some reason, is to grab the cane in a double-handed vise-grip, I think because I subconsciously think that gives me more reach and control. If I don’t do that, the left hand’s flailing around to ascertain information. But by the end of the day, I shocked even myself with my ability to just stop, take a minute to think, and then either search more calmly for landmarks or clues, or simply to do some narrow sweeping to see if I can hop back on to the correct line of travel.

* Hannah and Jeffrey both normalized that it’s totally okay to ask someone for help crossing a street, and also pointed out that, often, if there’s a business nearby and it’s a route you travel often, you can solicit help from employees who may start to know you. Martha also had this idea in the neighborhood, but it hasn’t worked out … yet. But I loved the reminder!

* It’s also very strange-feeling to be learning mobility in a calmer, more residential area. I’ve been in SF so much, and had so little mobility training there, that I just … forgot that calmer streets existed, that some sidewalks aren’t rife with hazards and sidewalk junk, and that I actually do remember a lot of mobility things. They just aren’t as applicable in the city, which is a whole different beast. This part of Michigan is much more like my hometown in its characteristics, so I feel much less out of my element here, even with the larger crossings (which we didn’t get to until the afternoon).

* There’s a balance I had trouble striking. Sometimes in the world, there’s not a well-defined curb-cut, much less truncated domes. But also, in the world, there are driveways. So often, when I’m trying to follow a line of travel along a sidewalk, and I pass a driveway, especially if there’s a change in the texture of the pavement, which there often is, and especially if there’s a lot of noise or no noise, I’m freaking out, thinking I’m wandering blithely into the street. This is, of course, where listening to the traffic in the street alongside me comes into play, as well as tapping into other landmarks. I still often catch myself stopping too soon, trying to analyze, and subsequently losing my line of travel … or, if it really is a flare leading to the street, misaligning myself. So we’ve been practicing this.

* And might I remind you that, in addition to these things, I’m trying to remember to keep my arc narrow, to relax my wrist and arm and shoulders, and to not choke up on my cane? Although Jeffrey did say that my arc and my grip were great today, so it’s already sticking … but it’s still on my mind, even as I try to catalog these other things. Luckily, Jeffrey and Hannah get this … and also applaud me for taking copious notes, rather than thinking I’m ridonculous.

* Joy Explosion: We ran into a guy walking two retired Leader Dogs, and he let me pet them. OMG, I literally fell to my knees and gave one of them a full-on hug. And she was all wet, too, because presumably they’d been playing in the sprinklers, but I had zero cares about that. I miiiiiss Maíte-hugs! The day was also super humid, with only occasional breezes, and between the heavy air and, probably, my mega-focus and intensity, I was SO sweaty! Seriously, I’m typically not a sweaty person unless it’s, like, ninety degrees, but my whole entire forehead was drenched, soaking my bangs, and I could feel sweat running down my spine, which I haven’t felt to this extent since I was in sixth grade and trying (and failing spectacularly) to do Track and Field in freaking June! All of this would have been fine, except I was starting to get a blister on my thumb from strangling my cane in the new way I’m working on holding it. And that blister was also probz from sweating so much. As Maite, voiced by Martha and me, would say, “That’s asgusting!”

Hannah and Jeffrey are like Scouts, though, and had a whole first-aid kit. Hannah bandaged my finger to cover the blister, but I was SO sweaty that the Band-Aid literally just … peeled off. Hannah also said they have tennis tape, like what’s used in the mainstream world for racket handles, and that that might help me get a better grip. (They also had canes with alternative handles, but none were short enough for me, heh.) This gave me funny flashbacks to guide dog school; the harnesses with the more ergonomic, detachable handles had just come out, and I was the first (and I think only) one in our class to get one before they were officially given out, because my freaking hand was so small that the standard harness was hurting it. This caused so much gentle mockery from my classmates … as seems only fair.

By that point in the morning, I was having a hard time keeping a narrow arc because controlling the cane with minimal thumb action was getting harder. It was about time to leave anyway, and Jeffrey and Hannah impressed upon me that taking care of this situation now equated protecting the rest of the week, which I appreciated.

Once we got back to campus, I went to the RA’S office, and they bandaged me up more intensely, with some elaborate criss-cross doctor way of securing the larger Band-Aid. And they helped me get a yellow Gatorade, because NECESSARY! I felt a little fried after that, but I amped up again after getting a grilled cheese for lunch (and found out that Jeffrey eats very similarly to me, which is boss), and (even more thrilling) Jeffrey giving me the choice of what color tennis tape I wanted to wrap my handle in. Cane bling seriously always makes my life. I chose purple … obvi.

I’m getting tired, so just a few highlights from the afternoon that might be interesting to you people:

* When I’ve learned routes, I’ve literally written things in my notes like, “Stand with left foot two inches from the upper-left corner of the truncated domes for optimal crossing.” This way, I don’t have to worry that I’m lined up correctly to cross … at least, not as much. What I didn’t know is that I can hit the domes, plant my feet (the number-one rule), and then use my Go Go Gadget right arm to find the inner curbs on either side, to help me line up. (I mean, maybe I was taught this, but either I forgot, and-or we didn’t do it precisely this way.) But it made lining up feel so much more methodical and so much less like guesswork and praying to the mobility guru above.

* We did a ton of work with those mobility kit things with the velcroed, plastic intersections and blocks and people (I forget what the kit is called). I always despised those so much as a kid and, sure enough, it took a good forty-five minutes for what Jeffrey was explaining with the materials to make sense, but by the end, they clicked! Sort of. As Jeffrey put it, “We’ll see if it’s still there in the morning.”

I explained that it’s always just been so, so hard for me, almost impossible-feeling, to (a) imagine an entire street layout, complete with all the lanes and curbs and intersecting streets and on and on, and then (b) hold that in my mind long enough to figure out what the heck I’m supposed to do with it to get to some elusive destination off in the distance. Jeffrey genuinely seemed to get this. It was nice feeling like I could say this and have it understood and believed, rather than feeling like I was just making excuses. Not that any other mobility teachers ever made me feel that way … I think I just make MYSELF feel that way. So the validation was appreciated.

* Oh, also, in the morning (because I’m running out of sufficient steam to scroll up), we were going to practice veering, but then (of course) I stopped veering. Hilarious. But, oddly, if I flag a certain way (almost, like, with Caitlin choreography), I go straight … and if I flub that, I veer. Interesting.

The rest is just mobility stuff that I’m too tired to write about and which probably isn’t interesting to the vast majority of you. But also, Jeffrey very kindly offered to hold my cane for me when a siren came so I could cover my ears, aww! He can stay.

Then, our crew had a meeting with the Leader Dog counselor, who also talked with me before class re: anxiety and ARFID. She was lovely, and I felt like our cohort became immediately closer after just sharing that single, vulnerable hour.

I took a shower (seriously, I’ll probably have to shower every day once lessons are done), and then we had a really fun, raucous dinner. I feel like everyone’s personalities are really coming out more, and there’s a lot of laughing, teasing, and sharing, both the hard and the silly. This was a staple of guide dog school, too, and it’s so sweet and singular.

Also, shout-out to one of the kitchen staff, Craig. First of all, at lunch, when I asked him to please refill my thermos, he also cleaned it for me, so thoroughly that I could smell that delicious whisper of bleach. Not like, you know, there was bleach in it! Just like … someone had done a boss job actually cleaning it, rather than just rinsing it, like I often do when I’m in a hurry. And like I certainly would do if I had, like, thirty freaking blind people asking for thirty different things in my dining room.

THEN, tonight, everyone got some fancy sausage thing with trifle for dessert, but I heard Craig telling someone else they could have vanilla ice cream. I have been longing soooo desperately for ice cream since I got here!

So it went like this:

Craig: Caitlin, would you like trifle?

Me: No, thanks, but … did I hear that you have ice cream?

Craig: Yes, I can make you a sundae with vanilla and chocolate syrup.

Me: No chocolate?

Craig: No, sorry.

Me: Okay, but can you please put so much chocolate syrup in the vanilla that it, you know, forgets it was ever vanilla?

 Craig (laughing): Yes, absolutely, I totally get you!

(As Craig leaves ) Me (to the table): Dang, too bad the volunteer who’s getting groceries comes tomorrow! If I had my dark-chocolate Oreos, this would be perfect.

(Five minutes later, Craig returns, gives sundaes to each of the two folks sitting on either side of me, and…)

Craig: Caitlin, I put LOTS of chocolate syrup, and there were some mini Oreos left over from Kids Camp, so I put those on top for you.

Me: Oh … my … God, thank you! Seriously I cannot thank you enough right now, I might cry, I want to hug you!

The table, of course, was amused … but I was so serious! It’s the little things! It really is! He didn’t have to do all that! Also, it was delicious.

Then my Leader Dog mentor called to check on me, and one of our cohort, who was mourning the scratchy toilet paper alongside me, brought me a roll of soft TP from a pack the RA had given her. Everyone is seriously so kind.

Okay, I am soooo tired and meant to be in bed like … an hour ago. Hugs and rainbow joy to all, and more laterz.