Blind people are unaware of the extent of their own sight loss

Trips to the optician are usually quite an entertaining experience. My eye condition isn’t very common, so the optician usually likes to have a good nose around, do a few extra tests and get all the students to come and have a good look around my diseased optic nerves.

I’d recently moved to a new city and around the same time, became quickly aware that my prescription happened to have changed. I made an appointment at my new, local opticians.

It was part of quite a well-known chain but I’d never had an experience with them before, so I quickly informed the, I assume qualified, optician of my visual impairment before she got a fun surprise when she began the tests.

She quickly brushed off my eye condition, telling me it wasn’t that big a deal and began the eye exam. I found this odd, but decided that she would probably realise the extent of my impairment as she moved through the examination. Besides, this was unlikely to affect the outcome of my new prescription anyway.

I dutifully read the snellen wall chart. I prepared for her to examine the back of my eye. I anticipated her shock when she saw the pale and lumpy bumpy surface of my optic nerve… But, no. She made no particular comment and quickly moved on to write out my prescription.

I thought for sure that she would send me for a visual field test - which is pretty standard procedure these days and takes forever on me because I can’t see most of the test - but she didn’t. Fair enough. Would’ve been a waste of my time anyway.

I stood to leave and attempted to centre myself in the doorway (surprisingly difficult). Unfortunately, I was minorly unsuccessful and the right side of my body collided loudly with the doorframe. Awkward.

I laughed it off.  “I’m so blind!” I smiled. Better to keep the mood light and let her know that I was okay, than to grimace at the growing bruises.

The optician, however, did not see the funny side. She responded quite abruptly. “There is very little wrong with your eyesight. You’re lucky to be able to see so well. Clumsiness isn’t the same as blindness.”

Needless to say I walked straight out of Specsavers and went to Boots instead.

Blind people are desperate

I was walking towards a local cocktail bar one night, bundled up in boots, coat and scarf (cane in hand) when I heard two men at the pub to the left of me talking.

“Mate! Look at her!”

You are probably very well aware that this is a fairly standard comment from a tipsy man when a not unattractive woman walks past. I took no notice and continued to walk.

Background info: it is not a myth that some people with sight loss often develop the use of their other senses to help compensate; in my case, my hearing.

“She is at least an 8, and she’s totally blind so she’s probably gagging for it and won’t care how ugly you are!”

Confronting drunk people when alone in the street at night isn’t always advisable. So I felt that I did the men in my life (who would have had words with me for doing just that) proud; I just chuckled to myself as I imagined turning around, ramping up the sass they love so much and responding politely with:

“No, I can’t see how ugly you are, but I can hear your desperation and it puts you at maybe a 2 on my scale. I’m not sure you could handle the sensory adventure a blind girl can provide anyway...”.

Of course i would then turn on my heel and hair flick dramatically as I continued on my journey. It would have been quite spectacular.

Blind people should try glasses... but if that won’t work, blind people should leave the attractive men to people who can see them

We’ve recently acquired a new housemate - let’s call her Plum - after the tragic loss of our old one to a bad case of ambition. Apparently we weren’t good enough to keep her here. It’s fine. I’m totally not sad about it at all.

Anyway, I told Plum I was visually impaired shortly after she moved in. It’s not really the kind of thing you could or should keep from people you live with, so I encouraged her to ask any questions she had. I didn’t want her to ever feel uncomfortable or unsure about it.

She began with the usual: “So what can you see?”

…I recited my well rehearsed speech that usually answers most questions

but she, understandably, had many anyway.

“Have you been to the opticians, maybe glasses will help?”

…and as I explained why this is not an option for me…

“Well isn’t there some kind of laser eye surgery you can have?”

“No, no, this is incurable.” Because y’know, I’m just ignoring glasses and cures for fun!

A look of pity swept across her face, so I put on my biggest smile and happiest tone of voice (as I often find myself doing when explaining my sight to people) in an attempt to convince her that I really am happy and ok with my eye condition and she should be, too.

A few days later she got brave.

She decided that now was the time to talk about relationships.

“Do you worry that you won’t be able to find a good man because your eyesight makes you less desirable?”

A cheeky, but fair question. It is well known, I think, that people with disabilities are often seen as less attractive (wrongfully so) as they are often portrayed to be less confident individuals that could be quite dependent on a partner. And that is often not the case - definitely not in mine. If anyone dares to help me too much, I get fidgety and make strange noises in protest.

“It is something that has crossed my mind before,” I replied measuredly. “But I feel that, if I can accept it and do awesome things with the sight that I have, that should be enough for other people to accept it too. So no, it’s not something that worries me.”

She considered. “Ah, okay. But since you can’t see all that well… will you take a less good looking man so that the rest of us can appreciate the good looking ones?”

I thought this was a joke.

On reflection, I think she was sincere.

I mean I literally waited for her to signal that it was a joke, but it never happened.

Blind people have feelings too... (what not to say to a blind person)

People offend other people a little bit every day. It is impossible for us to know everything that is going on in someone’s life and how they might be feeling in any particular moment, so it’s inevitable. It doesn’t make us bad people or insensitive souls.  All we can do is choose our words and tone as carefully as we can in the hope we don’t hit a nerve. It is, of course, considerably easier when we know the other person well: then we know which questions are too personal, where sensitivities are, and which jokes are appropriate.

When confronted with disabled individuals, these everyday social navigations can feel like a minefield for a lot of people. And that can be embarrassing. The messages we get from society on how to treat disabled people are mixed: do you go out of your way to be helpful to them in any possible manner or do you pretend you don’t notice a difference? Is there a middle ground? What is it?

There is no definitive list of things that people should refrain from saying to a blind person. But there are a few Dos and Don’ts that I, as a blind person, have learnt from my conversations with sighted people (I’ve had a fair few) that might be of interest to you.  Of course, to complicate matters further, this list will vary between individuals and I’m sure there are visually impaired people who will completely disagree with some of the things I say here - that’s life! All I can do is tell you that I, personally, prefer it when sighted people:

- Do not patronise me. I can’t tell you how many times I have been told to go to the opticians, get glasses, or asked if there is some kind of cure I’ve been ignoring for years. I do understand why people say these things. I’ve just told them something they consider to be awful; they feel helpless so automatically switch to “advice and options” mode. It makes them feel better. But I’d rather they stopped and took a second to realise that I am intelligent enough to have considered all of these things before I bought the cane.

-Do not expect me to be different.  Yes, I am a normal person, with a life, family, relationships and hobbies. Don’t get super-overly-excited for my normality. Yours and my lives are basically the same; I probably just turn my head more, depend on my hearing more, have cooler hobbies (if i do say so myself), and a fun white accessory.

-Do not pity me. I don’t have sympathy for myself when there’s actually something wrong, so why are you pitying me on what is a distinctly average day in my life? Whilst sympathy is very much encouraged when someone appears sad or emotional, I rarely appear these things, especially when talking about my eyesight. In fact, I usually smile excessively as a sympathy deterrent! It’s not necessary. I, like many people that have lived with their blindness for a while, have come to terms with my sight loss and accepted it as a part of who I am.

To look at it another way: sympathy is used to let people know that it’s okay to not be completely satisfied in your current situation. There are a few reasons why I dislike receiving sympathy in my current situation:
1. I did a lot of hardwork to get to this stage of being comfortable with who I am. Your un-invited sympathy encourages the idea that there’s something wrong with me and I shouldn’t be okay with myself. Whilst I know it’s well meant, it can sometimes do damage, too.

2. I don’t accept emotional support from strangers generally, regardless of the situation.

3. It doesn’t matter how pretty or young or otherwise healthy you think I am, it doesn’t make it any more or less of a shame that I can’t see the same way you can. I get this comment a lot, actually, and it’s so frustrating. If anything, it just makes the commenter seem shallow.

-Do not make assumptions about me. Just because I am blind does not mean:

• I wish I wasn’t (a lot of us are perfectly comfortable with our eyeball function).
• I am incapable (please trust my judgement on whether I require assistance).
• I am unhappy or lonely (cue: the hundreds of street preachers that launch at me like an easy kill).
• My standards for a partner are lower (maybe I care a little less about the aesthetics, but the fact you’ve commented on this possibility means you’re probably not my type).

-Do not make me out as a hero. “I don’t know how you do it! I wouldn’t cope half as well as you do! You’re so brave!” Nope, I’m just your everyday, ordinary 20-something dealing with blindness as I’m sure you are dealing with something, too. Please don’t make out my life to be so much harder than yours; it puts me on some awkward pedestal that isn’t necessary. Everyone has difficulties in their lives, it’s not a competition.  

-Do not give me a sight test.  Seriously. Don’t. I’ve had more than you probably will in your lifetime.

-Do not make me a game (not even if you’re my brother and I’m forced to deal with your ridiculousness). His favourite party game is to see how close he can get a finger to my eyeball before I notice. Aside from this actually being quite dangerous (I could turn my head and impale my eye), it’s an invasion of my personal space and, quite frankly, utterly annoying.

-Do ignore my cane. At least long enough to ask me my name.

-Do ask about my sight.  It’s not something I’m ashamed of and I’ll give you the information I think you need or deserve (based on the level of trust between us). Plus, I’d much rather you ask, than stare awkwardly at my iris, dislocate your neck trying to avoid looking at my cane, or feign ignorance of the topic altogether.

-Do feel free to find my impairment interesting. I do. It allows me to view the world in a unique way (literally and metaphorically). When getting to know me, you will undoubtedly be introduced to my impairment and learn how it has woven its way into the fibres of my life; influencing much of what I do and how i think. But….Don’t forget to find the rest of me interesting, too. I am more than just how i see.

Blind people all know each other

One of my housemates invited over a group of friends for some drinks. Some of them I knew, some of them I didn’t. I didn’t hang around this particular evening, having had plans of my own already in place.

The next day whilst we were all recounting the events of the night before, my housemate asked:

“Do you know *George? From last night?”

“No” I replied, dredging up the brief glimpses of faces I’d seen at her gathering. There were only 3 guys I had seen arrive… I knew two of them, so I suppose the last one would be the one she was talking about. Nope, didn’t know George.

“Oh, are you sure?” my housemate continued, oddly mystified. “You have a lot in common, so I just assumed you know each other.”

“Oh, how interesting,” I commented, genuinely interested. “What do we have in common?” Did we take some of the same classes? Had we attended the same events?

“Well, he’s visually impaired, too!”

...right. I’d forgotten about that telepathic network that all blind people share.