When my buddy Derek and I went to guide dog school as sixteen-year-olds, we were the two rogue “minors.” Presumably because of this, the “powers that be” placed us at a dining table with Dorianne, an incredibly sweet, funny, and savvy lady who had her own kids and had taught many others.
As I recall, Dorianne said that she’d been told to keep a proverbial eye on us; she quipped something to the tune of, “I guess I’m supposed to be the grown-up in charge.”
Derek and I were amused by this turn of phrase. I often trotted it out — “You’re the grown-up in charge!” — when begging Dorianne to do something for me: come out to the paddock to let our dogs play, so I wouldn’t have to go alone; help me find an errant sock with her minimal usable vision; and, most famously, checking to see if darling Lanniekins was really eating his own … well, you know … in the relieving circle.
As a twenty-something, I’d occasionally need to be the grown-up in charge, or felt that I did: when tutoring very young kids while all other adults were occupied; meeting younger blind folks out and about and feeling responsible to get us from point A to B, whether or not they actually needed that support (usually, as can only be predicted if you know me, the opposite was true); sitting with my grandpa after he developed dementia; moving through the world with folks who were disabled but not blind and who, subsequently, sometimes asked me to support them in advocating for respect and equitable access to things. Still, I skated through most of my twenties with the vague sense that, if I ran into something I couldn’t handle, there was always, quote, “a REAL grown-up” close at hand, who would take up the mantle of adultness (I almost wrote “adultery,” oops) when I felt hesitant to do so.
For me, blindness is relevant. For me — and I give that clarifier again, because I’m sure not all blind folks feel this way — it’s a relief to know that there’s someone else around, whether they be blind or sighted, to help me run block (physically and-or verbally) with ridiculous randoms, to confer about a question or confusion, to just … be with me in space. For me, especially if I’m in a setting I don’t know with folks I don’t know, I’m constantly evaluating, planning, and staying on guard, and blindness adds an indisputable layer to that. When you’re blind and in a new place under stress, there are simply certain things you can’t independently, instantaneously know, anticipate, access, or find. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and it’s not true or pertinent all the time and in every situation; it’s just how it can be.
Today, as a thirty-six-year-old, I feel like I’ve been thrown into a brutal crash course in adulting … and I shocked myself by realizing that (a) it’s not quite as hard or as terrifying as I imagined, (b) I can actually, truly manage much more than I think I can, and (c) I feel much more confident in and secure about myself once I’ve gotten through it.
* A very close relative of mine has recently been in the ER and hospital several times. Martha helped immeasurably, AND there did come a time when I needed to be with this person in the hospital, solo, while they were completely not themself (crying, shouting, uncomprehending, lashing out at staff, holding onto me with a vise-grip, etc.). We finally got them calmed down with meds, whereupon I waited for them to finish some last tests before going with them to a different location via ambulance, then Ubering home in the dead of night with a driver who didn’t speak English. All this after a very long, stressful day spent with Martha, finding them somewhere to land, trying to gather their belongings, ascertain what was going on with them medically, calling the pertinent people, and so forth.
You do what you gotta do, I learned … and it all went fine. I was able to stay calm and regulated, support my loved one with kindness and patience, and advocate to randoms for the things I needed in order to stay grounded and effective as a support (a phone charger, a drink, the bathroom, meds brought to us directly so we could avoid negotiating the pharmacy while they were agitated, etc.).
* For that same relative, I’ve made innumerable phonecalls, met up with people I don’t know, and generally tried to help co-steer someone else’s life. This also included hella math, paperwork, and things way outside my skill set, so if not for Martha, I could not have managed it. Despite needing help, I was still struck by my own ability to stay organized, capable, and respected.
* My beloved grandma, of German-Jewish-New-York-accent Facebook fame, passed away in August of last year. It was very sad, of course, despite her long and productive life … but it was also incredibly scary and frustrating because, on her last day, I couldn’t visually see what was going on; her breathing was shallow and those around me were trying to determine whether or not she was still alive. This is a creepy and helpless, blindness-specific feeling which I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but I got through it, and was able to remain calm enough to support the rest of my family who were there, after which I somehow got nominated to call loved ones who were not there.
* Martha has had to have several surgeries over the past few years. After her last one, during which she had to be dosed VERY heavily with painkillers, I doubted in my ability to get her safely out of a cab and into the house. Martha had initially requested that it just be the two of us, since surgery recovery is a vulnerable situation, but, with her (albeit loopy) consent, which was the best I could get in the moment, I reached out to a friend for help. After a very scary and carsick Waymo home, our friend met us at the house and helped Martha get situated. I was very grateful for this, since the drugs had knocked her out pretty spectacularly, and helping someone physically when you’re a small-bodied, sometimes-klutzy blindie, is anything but a piece of cake.
* Maite, our precious “rock wilder,” has had to go to the vet twice in the past month, culminating in the news that she has osteosarcoma in her jaw. She’ll need extensive surgery, which will remove part of her jaw and at least one tooth in order to get rid of all the cancer. Poooor Maite! We were desperate to get Maite seen ASAP, but our surgeon, who is the only “dogtor” Maite adores, is very busy and hard to book. Both times he could fit her in, once for a biopsy and once for a CAT scan (haha, a dog’s CAT scan), Martha had work commitments she couldn’t change. Now, Maite is my darling angel baby and everything like that, but she’s also a leash-reactive rescue who has high vet anxiety. She’s a Rottweiler, which freaks out a lot of people. She acts weirdly extra-protective of me when Martha’s not around. And she also, you know, doesn’t listen to much of anything that I say, because I’m just her little snuggly Stepmom who kisses her face and gives her goldfish crackers and cheese constantly. Martha is her person, her actual mom, and The Enforcer.
So I was like, “Um, I absolutely cannot take her to the vet for a big procedure.”
And Martha, of course, was like, “You absolutely can,” and suggested some folks who could drive us and support.
I thought and thought about who to ask. I wanted — needed — someone who I felt would be comfortable both with me and with Maite in a high-stress situation. This is not always easy to find, haha. And also, someone we could afford.
We got one of Maite’s sitters to help us — she was my first choice — and both times, Maite was good as gold. It helped that we pre-drugged her hard, and that our helper was awesome, but still, I was able to stay chill and level-headed for Maite’s sake, ask and answer questions under pressure, and not flip out when scary things happened, like Maite’s seatbelt not being compatible with the car, and Maite coming out of the cage with blood all over her face because she hadn’t wanted anyone touching her poor little hurt head. I felt like a much more competent “pawrent” after this.
All this to say: when my dad came to town this past weekend for a visit (he has moved out of state this past year, which multiplied my feeling of being the grown-up in charge), and I said that I felt like I aged ten years in this past calendar year, he agreed.
I felt different around him than I have before. I’ve always felt fairly adult around him — that’s just how we interact — but I felt like a Real Adult, with capital letters, this time. Like we weren’t so much parent and child, but more like adults commiserating together about how life can be sweet and stressful by turns. That felt new, and even though a lot of the experiences leading to it were difficult and unpleasant, I feel stronger in hindsight, knowing that, even when I think I can’t, I actually, really can.
Image shows Maite in a nice sit position showing off her “riding jacket” which is red and black. She wears it when she rides in the car. Also visible is her blue bed on the left, her bowl stand behind her and a colorful rug to her right.
