Accessibility Frustration

I went to a Services Ontario Office last week to renew my Health Card. I approached the Greeters desk, told them why I was there, and asked what I needed to do. Despite the fact that I was carrying my white cane, neither of the greeters were particularly helpful;  I couldn't see that the number machine had five buttons marked "A" through "E" for  the various services offered (because they weren't lit or even back lit). Rather than pointing to the button the one woman just kept saying over and over again that I needed to push the button marked "B", as they both watched me search the screen with my palm for anything that might be raised. I could feel myself prickle with humiliation as the waiting room full of people watched me. It was my three-year-old granddaughter who finally found the "B". I took my number and slunk off to wait my turn.

The real frustration happened after I told the clerk that I was there to renew my health card and I handed her my paperwork. She told me I couldn't renew it without a piece of government-issued photo I.D. The health card IS my government-issued photo I.D., I said. Not good enough, she replied. Did I have a driver's license? [Seriously?] Holding my white cane in front of me I had to explain that I no longer drive. Well, I should have checked list 2 for the necessary requirements, she tells me, and hands back my paper work open to list 2. At this point I became upset; "I can't possibly read that list -  I have a vision impairment. Renewing a health card is not very accessible is it?" I asked her to write down the web address so that I could go home and read the document in its entirety using the assistive device on my computer. She happily complied, but wrote the information down in red ink and in the same-sized font as the written document in front of me. I sighed. "Why is all this even necessary", I asked? She explained that in order to renew your health card you need to prove that you still pay taxes in Ontario. Okay, I get that. Then she got the bright idea that I could return with a utility bill showing my name and address on it. When I said that we receive ALL of our bills by email so that I can read them on my computer, she looked dejected. "Oh dear, " she said, "printed online invoices aren't acceptable."

At this point I realized that I was stuck in a black hole of stupidity - I mean, who writes these policies, anyway?! I gathered up my papers and I left without renewing my health card. Accessibility is about more than wheel chair stalls in public washrooms. My next step is my MPP's office.

Faking It

I don't want strangers to know that I don't see well. Sometimes I'm forced to tell them - for example, if I'm trying to pay for something and can't see the prompts on the debit machine. Or when I don't want someone to think that my vision affects my judgment. Some people really do equate lack of vision with lack of intelligence. So I often "fake it" so I don't draw attention to myself. Well that little plan bit me in the ass on Friday afternoon when we stopped at an Enroute on the 401; we parked right by the door and there was only one curb to negotiate so I left my mobility cane in the car. It should have been a piece of cake, especially because I could take Stan's arm. But the curb was extra-high and I didn't lift my foot high enough - I fell flat on the cement spectacularly, keys and purse flying, in front of the a "packed house" of onlookers. I'm incredibly lucky that I didn't break anything, including my glasses. However, I can't say that only my pride was wounded because I am bruised and sore - and more than a little angry with myself! To add insult to injury, as I lay on the sidewalk some guy on the other side of the car said, "Nice car" to Stan!

It's What Colour?

I always felt so badly for Michael because he is colour-blind. As a painter, I appreciated the extraordinary array of colours that exist, and felt guilty that he misses out on that (the gene for colour blindness passes down through the mother). As a little boy, Michael would get excited when the leaves on the trees turned from green to yellow because yellow is one colour he can see accurately. I would put myself in his shoes by trying to imagine a colour that I'd never seen before - try it - it's not easy. So how could I possibly describe red, green, gold, pink, orange, or turquoise to him? He assured me that it really didn't matter because he couldn't miss what he'd never seen. I got a taste of what he meant recently when I began tutoring for Links To Learning: As the administrator showed me around she said I could set up at one of the green tables. I looked at the room full of gray tables and asked, "Which ones?" "The green ones," she replied. I felt like an idiot as I slowly said,"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean." She looked at me for a minute, and then it dawned on me. "What colour are those tables?" I asked. "Green, "she said kindly. "What colour do you think they look like?" Now I know from being tested that I've lost some colour vision on the low end of the spectrum. And I sometimes have to ask Stan if something is blue or purple. However, now I'm wondering how often I get the colour wrong and don't know it. But like Michael said, it doesn't matter - I can't miss what I don't see.

Still here ...

After I very long hiatus I am back ... It's a little hard to explain my absence, but I guess to put it simply, I had a crisis in confidence about my vision loss. When trying to apply for a tax deduction over a year ago, I discovered that, according to the Canadian Government, I no longer qualified as "legally blind". The person who told me this was my eye doctor - and he was quite rude about it and all but accused me of trying to rip off the government. Even after he admitted that there are no tests to measure the effects of my optic nerve damage and how my brain interprets the scrambled signals it receives, I left his office feeling like a fraud. And in the typical way that I react to humiliation, I withdrew. I decided that since he said I wasn't "blind" then I wasn't. I didn't renew my CNIB card, and I stopped using my white cane. Which meant that I had difficulty getting around safely. So I stopped venturing out on my own. And I stopped blogging. Utter stupidity, I know. But still having issues with high inner ocular pressure in my eyes, I was forced to see another doctor. After the whole battery of tests he validated my description of the way I see. He agreed that there is no way to test it at this point, but that what I described is very much how other patients with optic nerve damage describe their vision. Unfortunately for me, the government uses such a narrow method of defining vision impairment that I don't qualify for any help. Thankfully, we can afford hundreds of dollars for a new computer and assistive software because otherwise I'd be SOL. This also begs the question of how I qualified in the first place; my neuro-ophthalmologist at Toronto Western Hospital understands the brain's function in vision, and referred me to the CNIB when I was discharged from his care back in 2005. Anyway, I stopped being stubborn and started using my mobility cane again. And I'm back to blogging.