Blind people think other people’s problems are minor in comparison

I’m sat on a wall eating a McDonalds with a friend, and he tells me all about how he’s had a
really bad cold for weeks. Such a chesty cough and cold that people at work forced him
to see a doctor. it’s really making life difficult for him, particularly since he has a very active
job with unsociable hours and can’t quite get the sleep he needs to recover. Whenever he
tries to go out he’d just end up leaving the room for a coughing fit and going home early
anyway. The doctors told him that it may actually be an unknown allergy, and this may
be something he has to learn to control with medication and get used to.

I provide him with the sympathy social rules dictate in this situation.

To which the obvious and appropriate response is, of course: “I’m sorry, I know this
sounds pathetic compared to your eyesight problems.”

I actually feel that, in this instance, some context would probably help you understand
why I find these kinds of comments so annoying:

We were very much talking about him, and he turned the conversation to me and my sight
with no logical connection. I’m not against talking about my eyesight, but it wasn’t exactly
relevant to the conversation.

You see,  the two things are very different. For example, i don’t feel that my sight affects my
work and day to day life much anymore, but his cough clearly does; in my opinion, this
makes it clearly a more pressing matter.

Unfortunately, it seems that everyone will always assume I’m comparing their problems
to my own (though incidentally, I would never refer to my lack of peripheral vision as a
“problem”) and they take the liberty of playing the blind card for me.

You probably don’t like having words put into your mouth. Surprise, surprise: neither do I.

Blind people can use other senses

I was walking home one evening during that annoying “in-between” phase of twilight that offers no contrast. It makes it quite difficult for me to spot curbs and obstacles, but I had my cane to help.

I was stood at the edge of a road I crossed frequently, ears pricked.  I usually use my hearing to cross this road, but it was a bit later than usual this time and there was a lot of background noise from people in the pub over the road;  it was taking me a little longer than usual to decide if it was safe.

I detected footsteps behind me. They stopped at the edge of the road next to me. I felt an arm brush mine, sweeping in the direction of the road. The owner of the arm loudly stomped onto the road.

I followed.

My cane picked up the curb on the other side of the road and I was fine. The footsteps remained slow for a little while,  but then sped off ahead of me.

Thank you to the kind stranger that felt no need to shout instructions at me, grab me by the arm, or leave me there endlessly. He let me use the senses I’ve got rather than forcing me to trust a stranger to do it for me.