Donna Mack, M.ED, the Disability Diplomat™

Disability as Possibility

Donna’s Blog

Getting A Guide Dog (Part 2)

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My husband and I hug tightly on the jet-bridge. He hands me over to a flight attendant who guides me to my seat. The flight is packed.

I arrange my things. My head is SO heavy. I’m sandwiched between two very quiet individuals, but I can never sleep during a flight. I pull out my earbuds and settle in for the in-flight movie.

About twenty minutes in, we hear: “May I have your attention please? We have a passenger who is not feeling well. Is there a doctor or other medical professional onboard who could volunteer their services to attend to this passenger?”

A doctor steps forward and normal in-flight activities resume. I’m parched; the flight attendant takes my drink order. I ask her to confirm my request for an escort to take me from our gate to baggage claim. She assures me she’ll take care of it.

Two hours later, just as the movie is getting really good… “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. The physician who is attending to and monitoring our passenger has advised that the passenger’s condition has become more serious. As a result, we’re diverting the plane to Reno. I’m turning on the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign now. Please stay seated to allow EMS personnel to safely enter the plane and transport the passenger. We appreciate your patience and apologize for any inconvenience.”

Concerned, disappointed and feeling a bit surreal, I pray for the passenger and his/her family as EMS enters the plane. We are grounded for a full 45-60 minutes while they attend to and transport the passenger.

Airborne once again, I reinsert my earbuds in anticipation of the movie’s conclusion… It never comes. Crew members can only restart the film from the beginning, and landing necessitates that it be stopped near the exact spot where it was previously interrupted.

San Francisco at last!

Once passengers have exited the plane, my carry-on is located. A flight attendant escorts me to the gate, where I learn that my request for an escort to baggage claim was overlooked due to the chaos of our diversion. She informs the gate agent of my situation. I phone GDB to apprise them of my delay. No answer… So I wait.

Half an hour passes. (Sigh.) The most efficient solution would’ve been to have an airline employee escort me from the gate to baggage claim. The airline has other ideas. They send a pass to my ride who has been (more than patiently) waiting in baggage claim for the past 1-1/2 hours. Sure, it’s nice that she’ll be able to meet me at the gate…Unfortunately, clearing airport security takes an additional 45 minutes.

It’s 3:00 when we finally meet up and my stomach is growling! It’s still on central time, where it’s now 5:00. I haven’t eaten since breakfast! On the way to the car, she hands me a much-appreciated brown bag lunch, most of which I devour immediately. Campus is another 45 minutes away.

On arriving, I check in with the nurse and meet Jen, the staffer who’s assigned to the dorms overnight. A tour of the new dorm facility scheduled for 4:00 is pushed back thirty minutes to accommodate my late arrival.

(To be continued)

Copyright (C) 2015 Donna Mack Anderson. All rights reserved.

Getting A Guide Dog

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It’s hard to believe I’ll be headed for San Francisco to meet my dog in a few short days. I am SO pumped!

I create, check and double-check lists; buy sundries; continue to cook (and freeze the occasional meal); cleaning, with hopes of having laundry caught up before I leave…and search unsuccessfully for my swimsuit, which has mysteriously disappeared into a black hole, accompanied by my water-shoes.

My mom has dementia. Routine daily phone calls from her (now) middle-aged children provide her with a sense of security and normality. I remind her regularly of my upcoming training, and have caregivers write the dates on her calendar so she won’t be upset on extra long training days is I don’t call. My getting a dog is very important to her. This bond allows her to share in my excitement, resulting in a remarkably infrequent need for reminders.

It’s Saturday. Tomorrow I leave to get my dog. As I travel the familiar Starbucks route, I pay particular attention to the slope of the ground beneath my feet, the direction of the wind and the sun. As a cane traveler, I’m accustomed to encountering obstacles with my cane, like changes in sidewalk texture, grass-lines and parking stops. Come Monday, I will no longer receive that kind of feedback on walks. I’ll have a wonderful new friend who will guide me around those obstacles, and many more I’ll never know about. I’ll rely more on my sense of time and distance, rather than counting sidewalks and following grass-lines.

This is my last time…for a very long time… to travel this route alone with my cane.

It’s Sunday morning, and I’m giddy with excitement (which kept me awake until 3:30 AM). As I finish packing, I remind myself to allow extra room for dog supplies on my return.

Try as I may to hurry, my tired body is an additional hour behind from the start of Daylight Savings Time. My husband and I grab breakfast to go on our way to the airport.

What a madhouse! Ours is a busy airport, but this is insane. The lines are unbelievable. Families with children are everywhere. Everybody and their dog must be flying out of DFW today! Welcome to spring break!

I’m grateful that the airline issues a pass to my husband (because of my disability) permitting him to walk me to the gate area. An airport employee directs us to a specific security line. When we finally reach the front of the line, we’re told we’ve been misinformed and are directed to a second line. Just before we reach line #2, we’re intercepted by a third employee who insists (in a thick accent) on accompanying us to a third (even longer) line that is farther away from the first two. The prior chaos has eaten about 45 minutes of our time. As you might imagine, I’m less than thrilled with this employee’s insistence that we go much farther down to a line that appears longer than the first two put together.

To my relief and surprise, this security line moves miraculously quickly, despite its discouragingly long length. I say a silent prayer of thanksgiving and repentance for the persistence of the employee whom I had previously found annoying.

(To Be Continued…)

Copyright (C) 2015 Donna Mack Anderson. All rights reserved.

Applying For A Guide Dog

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That Friday afternoon a member of the GDB nursing staff phones to review my medical history. I’m impressed by her friendliness and apparent familiarity with my food sensitivities and lesser-known metabolic disorder.

Despite my busyness over the next two weeks, I’m acutely aware that my most highly anticipated phone call from GDB staff has not yet come.

Late Friday afternoon, ten days before class, it arrives.

“Donna, this is Larissa from GDB. I’m the instructor who’ll be working with you and your dog. Do you have a few minutes to talk now?”

“Absolutely.”

We review the class schedule. The first week-and-a-half are pretty firmly set, but there is room near the end for us to customize training.

“Is there something special you’d like to work on?” she asks.

“I speak professionally and have two speeches booked within two weeks of our return. If possible, I’d like to practice walking on and off a couple of different types of stages. It’s very important that my dog feel comfortable onstage and that the two of us transition on and off as smoothly as possible. We need to look like we know what we’re doing. I’d also like to try to teach my dog to guide me to the microphone.”

Larissa replies, “We actually have a stage here…but it’s not raised. We can work on the two of you walking to and from the microphone, and having your dog show you the lectern. There are hotels, theaters and other venues nearby where we should be able to work. I’ll make some phone calls and have something more for you when the time comes.

I see you’d prefer a small, female black lab. Can I learn more about the reasoning behind your choice?”

I answer, “With no public transportation, I use special transit, which subcontracts a majority of trips for its ambulatory passengers out to the local cab company. Smaller dogs fit more easily than larger ones into most taxis and personal vehicles. I think it’d be easier to find a female lab that is small enough to fit comfortably in a cab than to locate a male of comparable size.

I’ve always had female dogs and like their temperament. Besides, (I smile) I live with two guys -my husband and son- and would like the company of another female.

Most of my professional wardrobe is made up of darker colors. I don’t want to worry about light dog hair showing up on dark clothing while I’m onstage. A friendly, ‘waggy’ dog with a big personality, who settles quickly would come across very well on stage,” I conclude.

Larissa asks, “What’s more important—color or gender?”

My self-doubt starts talking…LOUDLY: “Why is she asking this? I’ve put SO much time and thought into this decision.”

I’m agonizing over this non-negotiable, already decided fact, second guessing myself like crazy. It’s as if I’m being tested and don’t have the guts in the moment to say: “They’re both equally important.”

“Oh! That’s so hard! Wow…” I say (thinking with my left-brained desire to look ‘put together’ onstage)… “I guess if I had to choose… I’d say color is more important.”

Larissa then asked, “What if you had to choose between a more laid-back, black dog and a more energetic yellow one?”

My fears have my imagination in overdrive! I’m picturing myself (on one hand) with a sweet, slooowly plodding black male lab whose gate will only become slower with time. On the other, I’m being left in the dust by a pretty yellow female lab devoid of the big, sweet personality I crave.

“The black dog,” I groan.

We say our goodbyes… and my uneasiness taunts me throughout the weekend.

At the point of surrender, I leave a voicemail first thing Monday morning.

“Larissa, this is Donna Anderson. I’ve been thinking about my dog preferences…Pace and personality are most important. I spent the weekend picturing myself with different kinds of dogs… I prefer gender to color. You guys are the experts. You’ve successfully matched people with dogs for lots of years. I’d prefer a small, black female lab with a big personality, who settles quickly…If you don’t have one that would match my pace, or believe another combination would prove better for me… I trust you to match me with the right dog.”

Copyright (C) 2015, Donna Mack Anderson. All rights reserved.

Applying For A Guide Dog

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Before we say our goodbyes, Bill mentions that he’ll email Megan from Admissions today to ask her to look for a class opening for me. He’s taking a few days off when he returns, so that will delay his report reaching the Board. This could well be a long 2-3 weeks.

I am maternally compelled to complete my training by May 1. Both of my children are graduating seniors this spring: My daughter from college, and my son from high school.

I’ve heard that 3-month gaps between one’s home visit and class start date are not uncommon, and it’s all I can think about. If I can’t complete my training before May, I’ll be forced to wait for the fall…but I’m ready NOW!

A few days after my home visit, I come up with some (BS) questions about the applications process. Once use these as an excuse to contact Megan, in an attempt to keep my application front and center in her mind, and to satiate the obnoxious taunting of my own compulsive thoughts.

My desperate, almost amusing inner dialogue sounds something like:
“2-3 weeks…hmmmm… My mom would LOVE for me to have a guide dog…Even at her age, she worries about me. Her birthday is in a week-and-a-half, on the 6th. It would sure make a nice birthday surprise to be able to tell her that I’ve been accepted to a class.”

Once I took action and began working with Angela to learn my routes, the entire process fell miraculously into place and has been humming along smooth as silk ever since. Good grief! My 2-3 week response window hasn’t even opened yet… Why do I see myself attempting to bargain with God?… Where is all this doubt coming from… and why?

After what feels like a month, my phone rings, just two days into my reply window, on February 11.

“Hi Donna, this is Megan with GDB Admissions. I have good news. You’ve been accepted for guide dog training. I know you need to complete training as soon as possible. I have an opening for a class that starts on March 9. If that week doesn’t work, we can try for the next class that starts on the 23rd.”

Wow! I am ecstatic! This is better than I’d hoped for! It’s also less than a month away.

“I’d prefer the 9th, but should probably check with my family to be sure there are no schedule conflicts. Can I get back with you by tomorrow morning on that?”

I confirm my training for March 9. Megan advises me I’ll be receiving phone calls from a member of the nursing staff, and my instructor prior to the start of class. She reserves my flights, emails my ticket, a list of things to bring, and alerts me that there is a contract on its way to be signed and returned by me prior to the start of class.

With only 3-1/2 weeks to go, I purchase two *really* good pair of walking shoes and a windbreaker (per Megan’s list). I clean, do laundry, cook and freeze meals in preparation for my time away. On my own, I practice my routes as often as possible, occasionally going over all three routes in a day, and work with Angela as often as she’s able. The days fly by.

Copyright (C) 2015 Donna Mack Anderson. All rights reserved.

Author’s note:
Thanks SO much for taking time out to read my blog. I apologize for the delays in my last posts. My mom passed in October, following a long illness. Though I’m doing well overall, writing has proven more challenging than expected. Thank you for your continued patience and support as my writing reclaims its rhythm.

Applying For A Guide Dog

By

January 25? That’s in ten days! Per my earlier conversations with the school, I was expecting at least twice as much lead time…not that I’m complaining…I’m ecstatic!

I practice my routes, often more than once per day. I don’t want to lose concentration and become disoriented, or do anything to thwart my chances of acceptance.

Not everyone knows what I’m working toward. I’ve tried not to advertise it, lest things don’t work out as planned. A few days in advance of my appointment, I post on Facebook, telling my FB friends that I have a very important, potentially life-changing interview coming up on Saturday at noon. I ask for their support.

Saturday finally arrives. It’s a beautiful January day: sunny, with a predicted high of 55 degrees, and only a slight breeze.

The doorbell rings. It’s Bill. My heart begins to pound. I swallow, take a deep breath and invite him in.

We opt to interview in the kitchen, so Bill can access his paperwork more easily from the table. I introduce him to my husband and son, both of whom are at home when he arrives. He welcomes input from them, since they will be involved with my dog, if I am accepted to the school.

I’m amazed. I’ve been sitting, talking with this guy for all of five minutes, but I feel as if I’ve known him for five years. This is not the uptight, stress-inducing, “Give the most right answer” kind of home visit interview I was expecting.

We talk about dogs for a while. I tell him about Lulu, and how her age played a part in me taking so long to apply for a dog. He asks about my preferences in a dog: gender, color, temperament and size, as well as my reasons for each. We discuss family and lifestyle.

It’s time for our walk.

Bill advises me he’ll need to video a short segment or two of our walk. He’s already scoped out my routes, and instructs me to walk to the corner and turn left.

I had a feeling this would be the route he chose, because it contains lighted intersections, which I’m sure he needs to observe me crossing. Crap! I hope my nerves don’t cause me to freeze up at the really busy intersection on the way to Starbucks! Although my street-crossing confidence has greatly increased, I still feel intimidated by that crossing…under these circumstances.

I cross at a small lighted intersection (where there is rarely traffic) near the half-way point on my Starbucks route. A few yards farther, Bill asks me to stop and turn around to reverse the route.

Because there is traffic queueing up for the light, I grab Bill’s arm to expedite my way back to the intersection, per his request. He wants to watch me cross with a traffic surge, that was nonexistent when I crossed just two minutes earlier.

Rather than using my cane on the remainder of our return, we use Juno, a training technique for individuals interested in getting a guide dog. The trainer pulls a guide dog harness, simulating the dog’s movements, pace and behaviors. This allows the applicant who is blind or visually impaired to get a feel for what it’s like to partner with a dog as a guide, by introducing basic, guide dog specific gestures, commands and footwork. It affords the trainer an opportunity to observe an applicant’s learning style and their ability to incorporate some of the basic commands, gestures and footwork.

We approach my house.

“The Board has to approve your application packet, and my report for you to be accepted to the program. I’m not on the Board and don’t know what they’ll say, but, I plan to recommend you for training. I think you’d be an excellent candidate. Megan from Admissions should contact you in 2-3 weeks with their decision.”

Copyright (C) 2014 Donna Anderson. All rights reserved.

Applying For A Guide Dog

By

Looking over the online application, I’m struck by the extent to which I’ve allowed myself to forfeit my independent travel, in an effort to keep my children safe. My kids long ago outgrew the need for a watchful parent during our travels together. Between the young family, the aging dog and our city’s lack of public transit, I’ve somehow become lost in the shuffle.

Once applications are submitted, it typically takes 1-2 months for applicants to be contacted. It’s August. Ideally, I’d like to be in class by late February.

I calculate mileage to determine the most realistic routes to list, and ask my husband, Steve, for help learning them. Hedging my bets, I list them.

Steve teaches me the main route. We go over it a couple of times. Between the August Texas temps and demands of his job, it’s soon apparent that this cannot fit within my ideal time frame.

.
The school to which I have applied, Guide Dogs for the Blind, (GDB) phones me to go over my application. Even with great orientation skills, I need to know these routes like the back of my hand because I will be responsible for teaching them to my dog when we return from training.

They reject my application, tell me to learn my routes and re-apply.

I contact my local vocational rehabilitation office for a referral to an orientation and mobility instructor (someone who teaches independent travel skills to people who are blind and visually impaired). They refer me to Angela, whose company and instruction I enjoy immensely.
By now it’s late October, and I’m ready to do this.

I’m amazed at the freedom I feel practicing my routes. Just like riding a bike, all my skills remain, sharp as ever. I enjoy a confidence and sense of accomplishment that I haven’t experienced in a very, very long time.

Angela and I meet weekly. In between, I work on the routes independently, or with help from family. Within a month, I have two routes down, and begin my third and final route. At this point I reapply, knowing that it will likely take almost a month to be contacted by the school.

I get the call on December 9, from Megan in Admissions. She approves me for the next phase in the process, and emails me forms to be completed by Angela, my ophthalmologist, and my primary care physician.

Once my paperwork passes review, the next phase involves a home visit from a Field Rep…Field reps have been known to call with as little as three weeks notice, so I must be prepared. I set my doctors’ appointments and scan and return the completed forms one month later, on January 9.

It’s January 15, and my phone rings…

“Donna, this is Bill from Guide Dogs for the Blind. I’ll be in your area on January 25. Would you be available for a home visit then?”

I fall asleep that night with a grateful heart, and a prayer of thanksgiving for my dog. I know (s)he exists, and lives on one of GDB’s campuses…Somehow, just knowing where- under this big sky- my dog might be at this moment, provides me with something tangible to hold on to.

(To be continued.)

Copyright (C) 2014 Donna Anderson. All rights reserved.

How I Came To Want A Guide Dog

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I complete my Master’s, and soon begin work as a contract therapist at a local agency. My boyfriend and I are engaged and planning our wedding.

With both of us out of school, we move closer to our jobs. Our city has public transit, but we’re not on a bus line. The combination of my disability and location qualifies me for door-to-door para-transit services, my reliance on which is not conducive to maintaining an acceptable level of confidence at street crossings.

My getting a guide dog would necessitate traveling out-of-state to train remotely for a month. I’m in the midst of too many changes now to make that commitment. As a contract therapist with an active case load, taking a month off is out of the question.

We get married and start a family. I take my parental responsibilities very seriously. Remembering my grad school experience with the speeding car, I am hesitant to cross busy streets with my children. The safety of young lives has been entrusted to me, irrespective of my lack of visual acuity.

I might feel safer and more secure with a guide dog, but it’s too soon in the life of this young family to leave for a month of training.

One Christmas, Santa brings us a two-year-old Shih Tzu named Lulu. By the time our youngest is old enough for me to feel confident leaving for training, our sweet Lulu is eleven. I know the acquisition of the new dog will be an adjustment for all of us, including Lulu. She started out as the children’s pet. She’s now very much a “Mama’s dog.”

When I ask our vet the average life expectancy for a Shih Tzu, he says 12-14 years. I cannot bear the thought of dethroning this sweet, quirky, neurotic little dog during her last year or two of life.

Well-loved and cared-for, Lulu surprises us all by living to be just shy of seventeen.

I grieve the loss of my dear dog, and address some of my own health concerns.

A year goes by. It’s time to consider applying for a guide dog.

Guide dog puppies are raised in the homes of volunteers from the time they are about eight weeks of age, until about the age of fifteen months. I cannot imagine raising a dog during the most adorable stage of its life…taking it everywhere with you to socialize it, only to give it up to someone else…

I begin praying for the wellbeing of my future guide and its raisers, asking for peaceful transitions for both. I ask that my puppy knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it is loved and wanted, and that the raisers can rest assured that this puppy will go to someone who will love it with all her heart and appreciate both the dog, and the love and dedication they have invested in it.

As I investigate the online application of the school I plan to attend, I discover that they want me to list starting and ending addresses for three routes, each a minimum of 1/2 mile in length, that I travel on a consistent basis. Between the accident in grad school and my current residence in the largest city in North America without public transit, I no longer walk everywhere as I once did. It’s time to get to work.

Copyright (C) 2014 Donna Anderson. All rights reserved.

September Is National Guide Dog Month: Why I Might Want A Guide Dog

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The International Market has just collapsed, as have my hopes. I have the aptitude and personality for management…but the economy has tanked…and what corporate employee really wants to report to a twenty-year-old manager with no corporate experience?

After 2-1/2 years of fruitless job searches, I return to school. I’m taking leveling courses in preparation for the Master’s in Counseling I had investigated years earlier. Adaptive technology can now provide me with a means to read, record and share case notes.

I enroll in grad school an hour away and commute for a semester. Commuting works, but it’s stressful. I move just off of campus to lessen the stress. I’m enjoying my classes and feel more in control of my destiny. I have excellent orientation and cane skills, and walk practically everywhere. Life is good.

There is a major thoroughfare, with a big hill running through campus. I take this road daily, to and from class.

One windy afternoon, near the end of my degree program, I pause at a four-way-stop on my way home. I listen carefully. It’s clear, so I begin to cross.

Out of nowhere, tires screech loudly to my left. Before I can react, I feel the vehicle impact my body.

Oh crap! I’ve been hit!

Time slows waaay down, as I realize I’m riding this guy’s hood…for what seems like a couple minutes.

It’s truly amazing, what goes through your head at a time like this: “Wow, this is either a fairly late model car, he keeps it in the garage, or he has a great wax job.”

With a jolt, I fly from his hood as his brakes finally kick in.

I land on all fours. With onlookers asking if I’m okay and offering assistance, I climb to my feet. Sensing that all eyes are on me, I wish for invisibility. I feel the slight sting of road rash on my knees and the heels of my hands, my face starting to flush…and the stabbing pain of a seriously bruised ego.

Remember that rather robust swearing habit mentioned in an earlier post?…It kicks in about now.

“This is bull ___! Why the ___ were you going so ___ fast? Do you think you could’ve watched up ahead and maybe slowed down a little before you got there? Maybe next time, you’ll be a little more ___ careful!”

I must be in shock, because I don’t wait to file a police report or ask for the driver’s insurance information. As a non-driver, I’ve never contemplated being involved in a wreck as a pedestrian. I feel like a spectacle (exacerbated by my disability), and want to escape as quickly as possible.

Not trusting my own judgment, I ask my boyfriend to walk me to and from school for the next few days. When we pass the accident site, he says the guy must have been traveling at a pretty high rate of speed, because the skid marks go for a long way.

I’m a little apprehensive about crossing the street for a very, very long time.

Maybe a guide dog is a good idea…Even though I’d still be responsible to know when to cross, if it were windy, and hard to hear an approaching vehicle, the dog would see that it was unsafe, and simply refuse to cross.

To be continued.

Copyright (C) 2014 Donna Anderson. All rights reserved.

September Is National Guide Dog Month: Why I Didn’t Want A Guide Dog (Part 4)

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I report to Dr. X’s (the Music Department Chair) office twice per week, per his prescription, for unsolicited private instruction in Theory, Sight-Singing and Functional Piano.

Whereas in functional piano class, I previously played familiar songs, I now play an insignificant series of chord progressions in various keys and positions. I’m suddenly expected to play all my theory compositions on the piano, rather than using the 3D bulletin board I had adopted during the two prior semesters. I understand how this new approach might increase my overall musicianship…but wouldn’t it have been more positively impactful to have started me out that way, rather than waiting until now to change the entire pedagogical approach?

More than once during my lessons, he tells me: “We all wish you didn’t have this problem, but you do…and I’m not being paid extra to work with you.”

I report to a particular room for a “pre jury hearing” (mid-term equivalent), where I am to play for my former instructors. My heart is pounding in my ears, and my palms are damp.

For the past several weeks, each time I’ve sat down to practice, all I can hear are his words in my head…So much for my dedication and desire to practice!

I begin to play, a little nervous, but I’m okay. Suddenly, I blank. I have no idea where I am in the progression. I stop momentarily, trying desperately to regain my place.

The silence, and tension, grow.

“I think it’s obvious she hasn’t practiced and her work is not up to parr,” proclaims Dr. X. “Any comments?” he asks of my former instructors. They shake their heads.

“Do you have any comments?” he asks me.

“No…But I promise I’ve done my best to practice every day.”

My tears start to flow uncontrollably. The more I try to maintain composure, the harder and faster they flow. My functional piano teacher sympathetically offers me much-needed and appreciated tissues.

I feel humiliated. If I were more collected, I swear I would just get up and walk out…telling Dr. X to take his piano, and his class and shove ‘em…

The next day, my former theory professor greets me in the hall. Ashamed, I apologize to him for “losing it” in front of them.

“No need to apologize. We all felt sorry for you. I don’t know what his problem is…but he’s been on the rag all semester. He had no right to take it out on you.”

In a month, my performance is re-evaluated.

“I believe it’s safe to say that her performance has improved somewhat,” decrees Dr. X. “If she chooses to remain a music major, I’ll give her an incomplete, and she’ll have to repeat the semester. If she decides to change her major, I’ll give her a ‘D’ to get rid of her.”

Three months after turning twenty, and completely burned out, I graduate with a BA in Foreign Language, and a minor in Marketing.

Guide dog?…Not a chance!

*AUTHOR’S NOTE: The experience recorded above with Dr. X was devastating, to say the least. However, I believe I owe it to those who are reading this to let you know…I learned some years later, that Dr. X had been removed from his position as Department Chair a couple of years after I left. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s…which explains a lot!

In retrospect, I feel certain the real Dr. X was the warm thoughtful man with whom I met initially. Sadly, it appears that his disease had already begun to take hold just a year later. I personally believe that it was the disease- not the man- who pulled me from my classes and treated me so unfairly.

To be continued…

Copyright (C) 2014 Donna Anderson. All rights reserved.

September Is National Guide Dog Month: Why I Didn’t Want A Guide Dog (part 3)

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Attending high school in the late 1970s, followed by college in the early ’80’s, I notice how little awareness and how few jobs exist for students with disabilities…especially those with more significant disabilities, like blindness. So, I work, on occasion, doing the one thing I know I’m good at and requires no accommodations…singing.

But there are other things I’d like to do with my life.

When it’s time to choose a major, I explore my three biggest interests; Counseling, Radio and TV Communications, and Music.

I look into Counseling, and am told there is no way for me to record case notes. Technology is still in its infancy. Most households do not own a computer. Adaptive technology is a brand new field, so most text-to-speech word processing programs are proprietary. It will be the better part of a decade before adaptive technology easily interfaces with mainstream technology.

When I inquire about Radio and TV Communications, I’m told there is an inflexible degree requirement necessitating that I spend time both in front of, and behind, the camera.

I approach the chair of the Music department, and explain my accommodation needs. I inquire if the curriculum might eventually become too visually complex. He assures me this is not an issue and welcomes me to the department.

I turn in theory compositions on a type of bulletin board. There are long, hard plastic lines with push-pins attached to the back, that I arrange to form raised music staffs. There are also hard plastic clefs, numbers for time signatures, sharp and flat symbols and bar lines, in addition to various kinds of notes and rests, all complete with push-pins. It affords a way for both me, and my professor, to read my compositions.

Those lacking in keyboard proficiency take Functional Piano. My instructor is great, and I enjoy practicing and working hard in class.

Sight Singing proves more challenging. My instructor has perfect pitch…Thankfully, he is patient with the rest of us who don’t. He works hard to ensure I can access the material.

I make it through my first year of music theory, sight singing and functional piano with all A’s…except for Sight Singing, whereas I earn B’s.

One day a couple of weeks into my third semester, I’m sitting in theory class when in walks the department chair, completely unannounced. He tells me to gather my things, that the curriculum will be too visual this semester. He’s pulling me out of theory, sight singing and functional piano and teaching me privately.

What is this man’s deal? Does he not remember our conversation from about fourteen months ago? I directly asked him about the visual nature of the curriculum as the classes advanced…and HE specifically said he anticipated no problem. Further, I’ve had the same professors for these subjects this entire time. Communication lines have remained open, and this is the first time anyone has indicated there is a problem with the curriculum.

I’m too busy treading water right now to want a dog to guide me…even a “water dog.”

To be continued…

Copyright (C) 2014 Donna Anderson. All rights reserved.