blindness is an adventure not an obstacle

I don't like to do things the easy way. I refuse to let my sight (or lack of it) be an obstacle to getting out there and doing things. And I try to see it as an adventure rather than a hindrance. You can't get much more adventurous than travelling in China, on your own, with very limited sight, no knowledge of Chinese, and just to make things a little more fun, diabetes and yeast intolerance. The latter two mean I have to be very careful about what I eat and drink. Not easy when you have no idea what's in the food you're eating....

On arrival in Shanghai, after nearly 20 hours of travelling and not much sleep, I decided in my wisdom that it would be much more interesting to take the metro from the airport than a taxi to my hotel. It was about 5.30pm when I got through the airport, and already dark outside. I also had a sneaky suspicion that the location of my hotel on google maps didn't bear much resemblance to its real location. But I knew which road it was on, roughly where it was, and had the address in Chinese.

I followed the signs to the metro and managed to find Line 2. No sign of a ticket machine, but there was a bag security check so I dutifully passed my bag through it and collected it on the other side. For some reason I never thought to put my laptop bag through, and no one said anything. It wasn't until after I had done this, that I realised the ticket barrier was right there, and I didn't yet have a ticket. Back out through the entrance and eventually asked an official looking person who pointed me at the ticket machines round the corner. Feeling a bit silly for not having seen them, I followed the instructions on screen and then realised that I only had notes and that the machine I was using only took coins. Found another machine and went through the process again. I had figured out that the stop I wanted was called Shiji Avenue. I could tell because it had about 6 different intersecting lines so I was sure it was the right one (having looked it up on the computer earlier and also written down the name). More on this later... After going through the process again, I got to the point at which I had to pinsert the money and discovered that the biggest denomination note it took was 50CNY, whereas the smallest note I had was 100. Now what to do? I found a desk that looked as if it might be a ticket counter and explained where I wanted to go and handed over 100CNY. The lady changed it for two fifies and pointed me back towards the machines. Ah, so it was just an information desk then. Back to the machines, got my ticket, and found the train.

Now began the confusing part. My ticket was for Shiji Avenue, about 45 minutes on the metro at the vast price of about 60p. Looking at the information in the train, it was all very high techand had little lights showing how far along the route we'd got. It also had announcements in English and Chinese, but I couldn't understand either. I really think I have some kind of hearing problem but I refuse to even consider that as an option. It's bad enough losing your sight, let alone your hearing too. Anyway, I couldn't see Shiji Avenue anywhere on the map. it was definitely Line 2. But Shiji Avenue didn't exist. Hmm. Century Avenue looked to be in the right place and had lots of connections, but I started worrying what would happen if my ticket wasn't valid and wouldn't let me out at the gate! Knowing that any officials were highly unlikely to speak English made me a little anxious. I started practising how I would explain the problem in very simple English and hand signals, but couldn't really come up with any hand signals for "I bought the wrong ticket because I'm a stupid foreigner and I've been travelling for the last 20 hours with no sleep in the last 36 hours or so. Could you please tell me how I can get the right ticket. And where the **** is Shiji Avenue anyway?"

Suddenly the train came to a stop and everyone got off. Now this definitely wasn't anywhere near my destination. What should I do now? I stood hesitantly, not believing that everyone really had to get off, until a young Chinese lady jumped back on the train and said "you have to get off here". I couldn't understand why. Everyone seemed to be crossing to the opposite platform. Again I stood hesitantly - the sign for the other train looked identical to the one I'd just got off. Line 2 going to wherever line 2 goes to... She came back again and almost pushed me onto the other train. Once on the train I managed to get close enough to the map to read tiny sign which said "you may change train here" at the stop we were at. Ah.....I think that means "you MUST change train here". I still have no idea why, but it seems to happen in both directions. Why don't they tell me that in my guide book?

To cut a long story short, I get off the train at Century Avenue and head for the exit. I look for the one that says Fushan Road, my destination, and congratulate myself on my success. I even mange to find Fushan Road once I get outside, and start heading up it in the direction of my map. Of course, it is pitch black and I can't read building numbers as they're too small. The roads are pitch black to me, although to everyone else, it's obviously still light enough to see. I trip over random steps, slither down steep inclines and generally stumble along. I try to walk behind other people so I can tell more easily if they're going up or down something (the height of their head, which I can just make out if i stand close enough) goes up or down when they do. Eventually i start getting to what looks like a more residential area. This doesn't look right so as I reach a bar, i see a young man standing outside and ask him for directions. He looks at me blankly so I pull out the piece of paper with the address in Chinese. He looks worried and suggests a taxi. I insist I can walk - after all, I'm on the right road, so it can't be too difficult, I just need ot know how far away I am. He can't understand my question but points me back in the direction I've come. OK, so clearly the map is wrong. I head back down the road. Eventually I see a street number which is a couple of hundred short of the one I want. I keep going. Then I reach some kind of enormous 7-way intersection. In my mind I know which road I want, but I have to cross several individual roads before I can get there, and I get a little confused. No problem, all the roads have signs on, with English too. There are some little maps at some of the junctions. Funny, Fushan Road has now disappeared from the signs, and at least 3 of them say "Century Avenue". This can't be right. The maps all appear to tell me I'm at the same point, no matter at which intersection I look. I cross backwards and forwards over several roads, trying to decide which one looks most likely. I ask a few more passersby, all of whom look blank and shrug. Finally I ask a newspaper seller (well, I show her the address in Chinese) and she points down the road. Aha, now I must be nearly there. I keep walking, and again it goes pitch dark and I can see no street numbers. How far am I? I reach another hotel and decide to ask the doorman for help. Surely he must know where my hotel is. Another shrug and an offer of a taxi. No thanks. This is getting ridiculous. I am covered in sweat (though the air is cool), my blood sugar is low but I'm too anxious to get there to do anything about it, so I turn my insulin pump off and hope for the best. I keep going and ask again. Finally someone tells me that Fushan Road is just round the corner. Funny that, about 3 people just told me I was already on Fushan Road. Oh well, let's try. I turn down an even darker street and walk along. I reach some kind of brightly lit plaza and ask another young couple for help. They have no idea but they ask a nearby waiting taxi driver if he knows. They come back smiling and laughing and point across the street. "It's right there!". I still can't see anything but I take their word for it and wonder how far "right there" actually means. I walk past some unlikely looking buildings and suddenly realise they were correct, I am actually standing outside the hotel. Hurrah! Well the supposed 10 minute walk from the metro took only an hour and a half. Somehow, instead of being annoyed, I am at the same time both deeply relieved and also feel, somewhat oddly, slightly victorious that I have finally found my destination despite all the obstacles. I can't even contemplate the thought of going out to find dinner, once I reach my room. Although had I had better sight, I would have realised that the building immediately opposite my hotel is a supermarket. I only discover this when the following day an American gentleman asks where the nearest supermarket is....Hmm well I guess he didn't realise that either! I much my emergency biscuits in my room, ravenous but far too terrified of going out and getting lost again!

Footnote: the following day, I try to navigate my way from the same metro stop to the hotel and it also takes me 1 1/2 hours and a lot of getting lost! But I now have a slightly better idea of where it is - if I can find the building with the big red lights on, then I am OK. better still, I discovered the hotel is about 10 yards from another metro stop. I think I'll use line 6 in future!

The fine line between comedy moment and embarrassing moment

One thing that people find very hard to understand is the fine line between making jokes about someone's disability and upsetting them. Actually, I find it very hard to understand it myself: something that on one occasion I might find hilarious, on another occasion I might find quite hurtful. It's the same with those odd situations that arise: sometimes they can be funny to me and sometimes they can be embarrassing or upsetting.
Last night I was at a ball, in a fairly dark room. Having nipped to the loo, I came back to the reception area where we had all been standing, to find everyone had gone through to the large dining room, and I realised I had absolutely no idea where my friends were sitting. I would have felt desperately embarraased to walk round the whole room in search of them. Luckily I spotted someone I knew and asked for help. He scanned the room for me, and pointed me in the direction of where I should go, explaining carefully exactly where they were. Relieved, I walked over and nervously looked around me in case I hadn't got it quite right. Luckily, I found my friends and they waved as I got close. Embarrassing moment number 1 averted! I would never have found this kind of situation in the slightest bit funny. Other people might well have done though, had I been walking around trying to find my friends.

Later in the evening came the raffle. I hadn't really been paying attention but suddently realised that the second number called was one of mine. My heart actually sank as I got up, as I knew I had to find my way to where the prizes were being given out. I thought it was right at the far end (I'm still not sure whether that's where the earlier speeches had been given, or whether I'd been looking in the wrong direction when they had!). As I started walking across the room, with everyone watching me, I realised I had no idea where to go. I couldn't see anyone looking as if they had prizes to give out and a microphone. I started walking towards the middle of hte room very slowly, feeling more and more embarrassed as I got closer, knowing I'd have to make a decision which direction to go very soon. I looked around me but everyone was sat down. I suppose I could have asked someone to point me in the right direction but I felt too embarrassed. I hazarded a guess and headed to where I could see a long table and someone standing up. Thank goodness, I was right! Next problem was in choosing my prize - I could see a table with various prizes laid out, but couldn't identify what they were. I asked the person running the raffle what they were, and she rattled off a few items, but that didn't really help. For example, I could see Tshirts, but not really what they were. I saw a bag that I quite liked the look of, but had no idea if there was anything better or that I would have preferred. I picked up the bag and was about to go and sit down, when I was reminded that I had to draw the next ticket. I pulled it out of the box and managed to read the number. I confidently announced "Number 50" down the microphone. There was a pause, and someone asked "What colour ticket?" Without batting an eyelid, I replied "I've absolutely no idea". (I don't have a very good sense of colour distinction, especially in the dark). If I had been pushed, I would have said "green". Luckily I didn't, because it was actually blue.... The organiser, a good friend of mine, was immediately contrite, and rather embarrassed because she'd temporarily forgotten I wouldn't be able to tell the ticket colour. She helped me out by announcing it, and was very apologetic. Oddly, I didn't find that embarrassing at all, I just thought it was rather funny.

So out of 3 events that evening related to my lack of sight, one I found an easy solution to (ask someone for help), one I felt too embarrassed to ask for help about, and felt very stupid, and one I just found terribly funny. If only I could always see the humour.

white sticks

I don't hide the fact that I'm partially sighted. But I don't advertise it either. Most people don't realise I have any sight issues at all until I tell them. There are a lot of reasons for this. First, I'm naturally qute shy and I grew up in an environment where you didn't talk about your problems or your health issues, you hid them away and just got on with things. Not necessarily the best policy in general, but that's another matter. Second, I don't like to be pre-judged. I don't want people to think of me first and foremost as the blind person. Especially in my career, where I want to establish myself for my own success, not be known as the person with the white stick who needs help crossing the road. I don't mind people knowing, but I don't want to be known FOR it. Thirdly, walking around with a white stick leads people to treat you differently. Being young, you tend to attract a lot of sympathy. People think "oh what a shame, there's a blind girl and she's only young." People try to help you across the road. Which leads to probably the most crucial point. If you're completely blind and have no sight at all, it's much easier for people to understand your needs. You know roughly what they need help with and what they don't. If you carry a white stick but at the same time you sit reading a book, it confuses people. They can't work out who or what you are, what help you need from them, and in the worst case, they think you'r some kind of fraud. "I saw her getting books out of the library the other day, she can't really be blind. I bet it's just an excuse to get a free bus pass."

When I first started losing my sight, I was very reluctant to use any kind of aid. I didn't want to be branded a stereotypical blind person with sunglasses and a white stick. I need the sunglasses when i'm out and about and it's even marginally sunny or bright. Actually i can see better with them all the time outside, but I don't always bother. Then I was convinced into using a stick by the various health workers and so on who trained me, in the interests of my own safety. Apparently if I get knocked down by a car when I'm crossing the road, even if it is the driver's fault entirely, I could get sued by the driver if I'm not using a white stick, because I'm an accident risk or something. Never understood that one.... i did start to use a stick, and felt very self conscious, especially in front of my friends. But I found it useful especially at night. That, however, led to a new dilemma. It felt stupid to be using a stick at night but not during the day. Not from my point of view, but from the point of view of other people. I kept thinking my beighbours must be wondering why on earth sometimes I'd happily walk down the street unaided and at other times I'd be there tapping with my stick. I started to become more self conscious, especially if I was out and about as the darkness started to fall and I'd have to get the stick out. Eventually I just stopped using it at all, especially as I got used to feeling with my foot for steps and learning the layouts of the various routes I typically take. I don't often go to unfamiliar places in total darkness on my own. If I have to, then I walk very very slowly and feel for every step with my foot or use my hands to guide me alongside a wall or building. I'm still not very good at asking for help when I'm out with my friends at night. Those who know me very well will just offer their arm or ask if I need a hand, which is by far the best way. Otherwise it depends - sometimes I'll ask them for help. Sometimes they'll just set off and I'll feel too nervous or self conscious to ask for help. If there's someone with me, it's easier as I can use them as a guide even if I'm not actually holding their arm. If it's absolutely pitch black (to me, which is different from pitch black to most people) then I'll probably ask for help. It's something I need to work on, just asking straight away when it's dark - or any time I need it - if someone will assist me. I don't know why I have such a problem with it. I guess it's just an admission of my vulnerability, and that's a side of me I hate to show, except to very close friends.

So what's it really like to lose your sight?

Probably the most singularly annoying thing people say to me is "oh I know what it's like to be blind. I'm completely blind without my glasses." You have NO idea what it's like to live without proper sight unless real sight loss - the kind that can't be fixed by a pair of glasses - happens to you. I know what it's like to have poor sight that's corrected by glasses, I had short sight ever since I was about 10. But it's a whole different world from being blind or partially sighted. Trust me, I know.

What gets me the most about sight loss is the little things. I've long accepted the fact that I can't read small print, that I'll never play sports like cricket or lacrosse again (despite my dad constantly saying "but you used to be so good at cricket, why don't you play any more?" - he really doesn't get the whole sight loss thing), that I'm not allowed to drive any more, that I can't read slides in meetings or see what's on other people's computer screens. I'm quite handy with a white stick, although I very rarely use one these days...but that's another story. One of the things I hate the most is not being able to recognise my friends when they're only a few feet away, and not being able to find my way.

Here's an example. Recently I arranged to meet a friend in London for a drink. We're both already in Covent Garden so it should be easy. My friend texts to say he's standing outside the Apple store waiting for me. My knowledge of Covent Garden is pretty hazy...there's the Tube station and then a big market area in the middle, and I'm somewhere on the other side (it took me a while to find my way to my meeting on the other side, earlier that morning). I start walking towards the market area and realise I have no idea where the Apple store is, so I call him. "Where's the Apple store?" The reply was something like "in front of the market". Whatever, it didn't really help me because I didn't know where any of the things were that he mentioned. I'm totally confused, the market seems to have about 20 entrances and several different sections, and I don't know which bit the front is. Or how to get there. I reply that I don't know where that is, or where I am, other than a street name. "What can you see around you?" Now this flummoxes me. I can see a market, but it could be any bit of the market. I can see some shops, but I can't read any of the names. I can't think of anything I can see that would be able to indicate to someone else where I am. I start getting stressed and panicking now, I'm already late and my friend has been waiting ages. I feel completely stupid that I can't even describe where I am to someone. I put the phone down as my voice starts to wobble, and say I'll find the place. I give myself a few stern words, calm myself down and decide to ask a stranger if they know where the Apple store is. I start looking around for a person who I think might know. Someone young, probably, who looks like they might frequent such a place and who isn't a tourist. I spend a while trying to spot a likely candidate while walking in what I hope is the right direction, and then happen to glance upwards and see an Apple symbol. Ah...I must be there. Good thing I didn't actually ask anyone, I'd really have felt stupid then! Then I panic. The store is huge! How on earth am I going to find my friend? What does "outside the store" mean? Outside the front entrance? Which is the front entrance? In fact, where is any entrance? I can't see one. How big IS this place? How far away from the store is my friend? I start walking around the outside of the building. This is where I feel at my most embarrassed. I know that my friend will be able to see me long before I see him, and from experience of meeting people I know that for the other person, it's comical to see someone wandering around not being able to see you when you can see them perfectly well. I might be almost right next to them and start walking in the wrong direction. My head is swivelling trying to see all around me (I have a very narrow field of vision), and I have my eyes screwed up trying to see better. Wondering what my friend will be wearing, how I will recognise him. If he's looking in my direction and sees me, what will he do? Will he call out to me? Will he wave? If so, will I see him waving? What if the person I think is my friend is actually waving at someone else and I start walking up to him and say hello, only to realise my mistake? I've done all these things before and it's incredibly embarrassing (particularly if the actual friend is watching the incident). I walk very very slowly, head still swivelling, and spot someone which might or might not be my friend. I'm aware how stupid I must look. I edge closer even more slowly, hoping for a sign. It's not him. I change direction and walk on, heart beating faster and faster now, trying to keep myself calm. Finally I see another likely figure and walk hopefully towards him. I see a movement, it looks promising. I keep going and am finally rewarded by a movement towards me. At about 3 feet away, I recognise him and give a big smile. But inwardly I want to put my arms round him and burst into tears. I feel so helpless.

Northern Blindfish

People often ask how I play softball when I'm registered blind. I wrote the following article for the Manchester Softball League newsletter in 2005 to answer some of those questions.


But you're registered blind, how can you play softball? Those who see me walking down the street at night, white stick in hand, feeling for every step, kerb and random stray object in my path, or wandering around a train station not being able to read signs or find my way, find it impossible to imagine how I could ever play a sport like softball. I'm not surprised. Those who know me better just think I'm mad. I'm not surprised at that either. I'll never forget the look on a certain umpire's face when he congratulated me on my pitching after a game and I casually
mentioned that I was legally blind. I've never seen someone instantly go so pale! OK, I've
since given up deluding myself that it's safe for me to be pitching. But how can someone with less than 2% vision, useful sight in only one eye and no depth perception play a sport like
softball? The answer lies in my team. It took a long time for me to figure out how I could play
softball safely after I lost my sight. If I hadn't originally started playing when I was fully
sighted, I probably wouldn't be able to play now. As it was, I gave up for several years before
I finally figured out, with a lot of experimentation and some difficult moments with my team
convincing them it was safe to hit the ball at me, ways to make it possible for me to start play-
ing again. Most of them are just good practice generally in terms of safety, but sadly many players and teams do not play as safely as they could or should, and they don't consider other players. When playing for a different team or with new players, I don't mention my sight till
they've seen me play, so they get to see that I'm pretty much as capable as anyone else. Then
I explain how it works.
Rule 1: Never throw the ball unless the player you're throwing to is looking and ready. This
means facing the right way and having their glove up. Sounds obvious, but you'd be surprised
how many people don't do this. It works both ways. I can't tell if someone's looking at me or
not, but I can tell if their glove is up, and I won't throw to anyone unless it is.
Rule 2: Always use 2 hands to catch. Yes you might break your fingers if it bounces out
and hits your non-glove hand, but it's better than breaking your cheekbone, as I discov-
ered the hard way.
Rule 3: Always call for the ball when fielding. One of my teammates learnt this one last year
by not calling for a flyball, colliding and breaking my nose as a result. The resulting guilt was
enough to burn it onto her brain for life!
Rule 4: Communication in the field. If I'm playing outfield, I rely on those next to me to call
whose ball it is, to direct me back and forward on a flyball, and to let me know where the
play is for the throw. I might not be able to see the ball when it leaves the bat (often I can't
see even the batter when I'm in outfield, let alone the ball), but with some directions and fast
running I can generally see the ball in enough time to reach it or make the catch. Communi-
cation in infield is also vital. I need to know if someone is covering my base, or someone's
stealing a sneaky run behind me.
Rule 4: Proper base coaching. I can't see where the ball is once I've hit it, I've no idea
most of the time whether a flyball has been caught or not. But I don't need to as long as I
have a decent base coach. It might sound like I ask a lot from my teammates. But we
should all be doing every single one of these things anyway. No matter who is playing. It's all
about communication. And it improves team performance no end when it does happen. I
trained with a first division Bristol team last year, and I was amazed to see that they didn't
need to alter their playing style at all for me, because their coach was teaching all these
things anyway. Other than that, I've developed some individual tactics which
help me see the ball better. Some of them might look a bit strange (like the fact that I wear
sunglasses all the time, even when it's raining), but I'm past caring what people think. Clean
balls help, especially optic yel-low ones. My latest acquisition, competivision lenses, which
mute all colours except optic yellow, help. Blue skies rather than dark clouds help. Twisting
my head to see the ball at an angle as it's approaching helps. Players wearing team shirts helps me distinguish fielders from runners (always useful). Letting me know whether it's a
male or female batter helps when I'm fielding (I've upset a few people by asking a bit too
loudly which sex the batter was!). Players remembering to use their voice rather than hand
signals helps. But most of all, having team mates who make no concessions if I screw up or
play badly, but who look out for me, warn me if I'm about to get hit in the head, or identify my
possessions when I lose them! This article isn't meant to be about me. It's about not judging
a book by its cover. It's what, for me, softball's all about: playing as a team. I leave you to
draw your own conclusions.....