To Cane, or Not to Cane...

By Renee Valdez

To cane or not to cane…has been my own question since I lost my eyesight, eight years ago (this month!). The question is easy enough. It requires a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response. It is actually a no-brainer for someone who is blind, or of limited vision. If you don’t want to trip and fall over something in your path, or fall down a flight of stairs you didn’t anticipate, or walk right off a cliff—not a good look unless you’re Thelma or Louise—then the only answer to that question is a resounding YES! Give me that cane!
But, oh no! Not this one! This one is a little thick in the grey matter. As I have shared before in previous blogs, I have been properly introduced to the white cane and have received many painful, but extremely helpful lessons by a few very patient instructors. I know how to navigate my world safely as a blind person…and yet, I continue to make the decision to leave my cane behind. (Close your mouth and stop rolling your eyes!) I can hear you clicking your tongue, shaking your head, and asking, “Why in the world would you not take your cane with you, dummy?” Well, I’m not absolutely sure…
In the beginning, when I was newly blind, I couldn’t see a thing. I could tell if it was light or dark, but that was it. I also could see no reason to leave my couch, much less my home. Using a white cane was not even in my scope of awareness. “Just let me sit here and rot,” was my thinking. But somehow, God, the Universe, or Mother Earth presented me with the Department for the Blind and Vision Impaired, DBVI, a state agency dedicated to people like me! This crazy little woman, Joanne Laurent, showed up at my front door one day and, like a drill sergeant, she started “yelling” orders, only in her sweet, coaxing voice, “Now, Renee, it’s time to get up off your ass, cut those roots to your couch, and get back in it!”
So, I did! In fact, I became very comfortable with my new friend, the white cane, even thinking of names for it—Tiger, Bonefacio, Rosie, like Rosie the Riveter. Then what’s the problem, you’re thinking, right? Well…What had happened was… (Hee, hee!)
There was no problem when my eyesight was totally nonexistent. I was happy about the cane and thankful that I could go out and get around with the dignity of independence. (The dignity of independence! That sounded so good, I thought I’d type it again!) Here’s the back story…
I had been serving as a lab rat for the National Institutes of Health, National Eye Institute. They are the ones who finally were able to diagnose the autoimmune disease (VKH) that caused my blindness. I was being treated with mega doses of prednisone, and some other good drugs, and after many months, my eyesight improved to an unbelievable level! As my Uncle Tom would say, “It was a goddam miracle!” Almost as suddenly as my eyesight petered out, it came back! It wasn’t perfect, but I could see enough not to need my white cane anymore! YIPPEE! So, all too quickly, I stored it away deep in my closet, thinking I would never need it again!
You know where this is going…The first time the docs at the NIH attempted to wean me off the prednisone, my eyesight took a major dump! It was nearly gone again. Cane out of the closet. Back on the heavy prednisone. Eyesight better. Cane back in the closet, not so deep this time. This was the routine for several years, and each time I relapsed, I lost a little more eyesight, permanently. Something about scar tissue. And each time the cane came back out of the closet, the feelings of fear and denial and ambivalence and anger came with it. I hadn’t planned on this blindness thing becoming a permanent “condition” in my life, but there it was.
Ok, but what does this melodrama have to do with this story, you ask? Well, let me tell you…
Last week, I attended a Zoom seminar offered by DBVI, “Discovering Freedom with the Long White Cane”. I don’t know what made me sign up for this seminar. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I think there was a fleeting thought of, “Maybe this will make me like my cane again.” Surprisingly, (only to me) there were lots of people in attendance! I really didn’t expect to share anything, so I busied myself with other things while I half listened to the panel. Early on in the seminar, certain words started to stick out to me, like “I didn’t want to use my cane…” and “I was ashamed of my cane…” and “If I used my cane, then I had to admit I was blind!” That was the one! That was the phrase that made me stop what I was doing and really tune in to the people on my computer monitor!
If I used my cane, I had to admit I was blind…I had to admit I was blind. I have to admit I am blind. Let me rephrase that…I am blind. As I am typing that now, my heart is suddenly pounding in my chest. My throat is tight. I can barely hear Billy Holiday in the background over the suddenly noticeable ringing in my ear. Is that it? Is that why I leave my white cane behind? I don’t want to admit I am blind?
Following the seminar, I acted on impulse and ordered a bright GREEN cane! I actually thought I would be more inclined to use a cane if it were a pretty color, and they didn’t have purple! I was excited about receiving my new cane and taking it for a spin.
My new green cane was delivered today and the excitement I felt before was overshadowed by the reality that hit me like those very same Mack trucks I try to avoid by using the white cane! It really doesn’t matter if the cane is white or green or my coveted purple. The fact remains. I am blind. The degree to which I am blind, I have learned, does not matter. What matters is what accidentally came out of my brain earlier in this prose: I can go out and get around with the dignity of independence…with a white cane, green cane, purple cane…
I can hear the little drill sergeant in my head, “Now, Renee. Get your head our of your hind quarters, stop acting like a spoiled brat, and get back in it, with the dignity of independence!