Leader Dogs, Day 4

Jeffrey and I wanted to poll the sighties:

QUESTION: IF there were no streetlights, pedestrian heads, etc., would you know how to cross the street? In other words, do you actually understand how traffic works and when is the most optimal time to cross? Jeffrey thinks that, actually, very few sighted folks would cross the street particularly safely or optimally without the “ped heads,” as he and Hannah call them.

After breakfast (bacon and toast for me, nomnom), we did more street crossings. I wrote out some routes and mapped them out on the mobility velcro tactile board thing. The board is confusing, but I comprehended enough to follow my own directions with very little help, which is more than what usually happens!

I also tried flagging straight up and down instead of side to side, which was a little easier, less choreography-like, and saved me some time. Time is worth its weight in gold when you’re trying to cross a street.

I did get a LOT better about planting my feet when I don’t cross perfectly straight. This way, I don’t run the risk of running in the wrong direction of the up-curb and spending more time in the street; rather, I plant my feet, do a Go Go Gadget sweep to either side, and inevitably find the curb.

At the end of the first half of the morning, I crossed a street (an easy one) in front of some Leader Dog volunteers who, I think, were there for Distraction Wednesday, waiting to squeeze squeaky toys and distract the guide dogs so they could practice ignoring temptation. But there were no dogs around, so they were just chatting, and when I got across the street, they cheered very extravagantly. I felt kind of silly about it, because it was what Derek and I call a “baby street,” and I was crossing on an “all quiet, all clear,” and everything like that, but it was still cute.

I’ve also gotten Jeffrey into the habit of doing “up top” and “down low,” which seems to amuse him. I also definitely did a happy dance at one point yesterday and Jeffrey was like, “Um … step a little more forward so you don’t accidentally dance into the street.” Heh.

For the second chunk, we headed toward one of the much more complex crossings. I also practiced listening for, and paying attention to find clues that would help me avoid mixing up driveways and intersections with weak curb-cuts, no truncated domes, etc. I was also especially careful on my “all quiet, all clears,” because I totally missed an approaching car during one and was horrified, even though Jeffrey and Hannah insisted that it had not been a dangerous error. Of course I totally know they won’t let me die, but … when even a simple crossing seems fraught, I start having these existential thoughts of, like, “Why do blind people even cross streets independently when we could literally die?” I know, I know, I can’t say stuff like that or my Blind Pride Card will get taken away. And I know sighties can get hit, too. But it’s just where my mind goes when I do mobility. It can all start to feel so complicated and exhausting, which can feel unfair because sighties don’t have to worry about any of it, and then it can put me in a frustrated, stressed-out, angsty headspace.

The big crossing had an audible signal that gave hecka directions: the name of the intersection, the cardinal direction, a countdown as you cross, etc. It was also set up in such a way that I could press my hand parallel to the sign and use that as a backup tip for getting myself aligned. Because I am me, the choreography of doing that was difficult, because it seems most folks use their forearm, but I couldn’t coordinate that without standing way far away and torquing my body oddly. The flat-hand, and a reminder to stand closer to the sign, not closer to the domes, helped.

With the APS and the parallel surge, most of the crossings went fine once I was used to it. Still, I haven’t crossed a street like that without a guide in years. I’m not ashamed to admit it. (Okay, yes, I’m totally ashamed to admit it, but I oughtn’t to be, because whatever.)

Some Big Crossing things:

* The APS might indicate that it’s safe to cross, and it technically is. But we still want a strong parallel surge, where the traffic has been waiting and has JUST accelerated. My favorite thing about the parallel surge is that, essentially, you can follow it across the street … like a guide! But also, besides following it to the other side, you can use it to help you maintain your line of travel. So you can’t just (cough) blindly follow the APS (yes, Jeffrey and I made that pun … or joke … or whatever we wanna call that).

* What I love about the surges (that they guide you) is also tricky, though, because, obviously, you also can’t get too close to them. But you have to be careful not to get too far away, because then you’ll go into traffic. It’s a delicate balance. That I’m not used to. So you can’t let the cars get any closer to you than they are when you start off from the curb, but you also can’t flip out if you discover they ARE too close to you, because then you’ll get annihilated by the other cars.

* I think I was also getting hung up on the feeling that my feet really needed to be in the precise right position when I aligned myself to cross. Which, I mean, they do … but I just needed some reminders that I can let a cycle or two go by, listen to the parallel traffic, and adjust my alignment as necessary. I think I’ve internalized the sense that waiting a few cycles is, you know, weak and shameful and indicative of garbage mobility skills.

* Hannah taught me a life-hack when I complained that the audible signal poles in SF are often literally, like, five feet away from the curb-cut. If you wait for the perpendicular traffic to go, “run” to the APS (Audible Pedestrian Signal), press it, and come back, you’ll have the maximum amount of time to get yourself re-set up to cross. So after all this, and to some extent during it, I was feeling low-key toasty / tearful / stressed out. Jeffrey and Hannah were great and reminded me to “shake it off,” which is totally a thing Martha and I often cite. Dogs do it for a reason! It literally enables you to complete the stress cycle. Also, if either of them had, you know, even asked, “Are you doing okay?”, I probably would have cried, so I was super grateful that they followed my lead and just kept rolling. I’m one of those people who just disintegrates at the first expression of comfort and sympathy in the face of impending tears, haha. And I despise crying in front of people. After a few crossings, and a lot of encouragement, Jeffrey, because he now knows me from sitting at our dining-room table three times a day, said he was going to buy me ice cream. So kind.

Again, the way the Leader Dog crew do not default to guiding continues to surprise me, which only reinforces to me how accustomed I’ve become to being guided out in the world. They still managed to give me a break by giving me verbal directions to the ice cream place right behind our crossing, but I was still walking solo. As it happened, Hannah told me that the shop had a mini chocolate-chocolate cupcake, which was absolutely perfect. And I think it speaks to Jeffrey’s and Hannah’s bossness that (a) they freaking got me a cupcake, and (b) I was actually able to eat and enjoy it, even after all that stress. Believe me, that’s not always the case, even if I’m given a perfect chocolate thing!

Jeffrey wants to eventually do mobility with kids, and I told him that, if he keeps doing kind things like taking people to get cupcakes and ice cream, he will be perfect at it. I commented that I could have been so easily bought and motivated by going to pizza, ice cream, whatever … but, often, the stringent rules around where mobility teachers could take me meant that we couldn’t do much that was relevant. So of course I didn’t get as much out of lessons as I could have, especially in later years, when the rules became stricter and my abhorrence of mobility got more intense.

Ooh, the last thing I learned in the morning was that it’s best practice to have my cane proceed me as I exit a door. I guess I always kind of felt like, “Well, I already came in, so if that went fine, then the exit will go fine.” But, especially in SF, anything can happen on sidewalks. Or there could be a step which I forget about because something ridonc happened while I was inside the building. You never know!

After lunch, doubtless deducing that I was a little fried, we went to the beach and I got to try the Dakota disc cane tip. I always assumed it would be more like a wheel standing on its end, but it’s actually more like a baby frisbee, and it bounces over sand, snow, and grass really nicely. I super-liked it. My SensaBall and PathFinder tips do okay, but because they’re more like suitcase wheels, they have a harder time than a disc on those textures. When I hit the sand with the Dakota disc, it felt so deliciously swishy in the sand that I ran down the beach. Jeffrey and Hannah were sweet and let me, although Jeffrey pointed out later that, really, for safety, unless a sightie’s around to ensure that there are no giant holes, sand castles, or picnic spreads, my reaction time would not be good, so it’s not ideal to go running blithely all over the beach. But they let me, because they are kind. Although Jeffrey did tease that, if I accidentally ran into the water, he wasn’t going to stop me. But obviously I didn’t … even though the water sounded more like a splashy little puddle than the ocean, which was new for me.

Hannah and I also talked a little about bathrooms, because I cited them as another stressor, especially since I have bathroom anxiety, try to put off going because I hate asking for help, and then am often in a panic and need to go fast, especially when I’m not with someone who’s able to go into the same bathroom as I am, or when there’s not a single-stall bathroom available (I know there’s a better word for that kind, but I can’t think of it … the ones that don’t have stalls!). Hannah said we can practice in the Leader Dog’s lobby bathroom tomorrow, and that she always reminds clients to try sticking with the walls rather than wandering through the middle, trailing with the back of your hand because EW, and also remembering that the accessible stalls have doors that go inward and tend to be on either end of the lineup. I tend not to use the accessible stalls anyway, because I don’t need them and a wheelchair or guide dog user might, and also because it’s just one more giant open space to navigate.

We also walked on a trail, where I liked the jumbo roller tip; it’s lightweight and did well in the dirt and hopping away from the grasslines. It didn’t do quite as well as the Sensaball or Pathfinder, but its lighter weight means that it and wrist, and would be less tiring on a hike. Same with the Dakota Disc. But the Dakota Disc is hollow, so if it gets punctured by something sharp, it will die. It also isn’t meant for everyday use, unless you’re in the snow, and it’s not meant to go on concrete. It’s hook-style, though, so is very easy to swap in and out as needed.

As we drove back, we had a good, honest talk about taking an arm versus trying to walk by myself. Let me add that I brought this up willingly, which I have hitherto never done with a mobility teacher because, you know, I worry they might spontaneously combust when I ask why anyone would bother using their cane when they could walk with a guide, other than to prove that they can? I mean, it wrecks conversations, slows your companions down, trips people, makes people stare, causes random sighties to freak out and grab you and scream if your cane touches anything, etc. But after this week, I genuinely feel like I do want to do a little more walking solo out in the world with other people … because I can. And because a guide isn’t truly, always necessary … it’s just easier. But walking solo also feels … empowering. In a way. Sometimes. I don’t know. I’m unpacking it.

Both assured me that whether I go solo or with a guide is ultimately my choice and can be based on the situation. We talked about how certain family and friends might be better at working on this with me (IE, people who can and will glare at other people who look like they want to interfere, who will be patient and interested in the process, who can strike that balance between helping and standing back, etc.). Jeffrey also pointed out that, now that I’ve refreshed my technique, and my arc has improved so drastically (he repeatedly commented that I hadn’t needed a prompt and was doing well), solo travel might feel less cumbersome.

Speed-through of the rest of the night: we had a tour of the Canine Center and the gift shop. I asked for all the braille things, and the gift shop people were excited because they said they don’t get a ton of people who are into Braille. I brazenly informed them that I’m the biggest braille fan in the world. Because I have no shame. Or modesty.

The canine center was really interesting and we learned a ton of factoids, most notably that (if I remember right) it takes less than three freaking months for puppies to gestate and be born. I could not! What in the world? How!?

My Dark Oreos came, and I gave people samples, including Craig from the kitchen, who made me another fake-chocolate sundae, into which I crumbled my Oreos. Delish.

Then we had a little lecture (optional) about Meta Glasses and Be My Eyes. I thought it would be more about using them for mobility, because I know people do, but none of the other folks seemed very familiar with either service, so it was mostly just introductory stuff. It was super cute to hear their amazement, though. And, as our presenter pointed out, Meta and BME can be a tool in the mobility toolbox, but ought to be primarily a confirmation, not a guide, because they’re unreliable, can hallucinate, glitch, etc.

I promised Jeffrey I wouldn’t stay up late blogging because I was sooo tired this morning (he was amused that he was advising a teacher, of all people, not to stay up late). Off to bed I go, so I can get my eight hours. Sweet dreamzzzz and more tomorrow, if I can stay on sched!

PS. I’m not editing these posts at all, so sorry (not sorry).