Post by minianne on Oct 14, 2009 22:33:54 GMT -5
“A Long Way Up”
Chapter 10
Jim reached into his pocket and pressed the button on the side of his talking watch. Nine-o-three.
John Eberle from the Lighthouse wasn’t going to be there until 9:30 and Christie had left for work over an hour ago.
Jim was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the news on the radio. Reaching over to turn the sound up, he encountered the folded up morning paper where Christie had left it. He longed to read it. Losing the ability to read was maddening. But that was only one item on his “Things I’m No Longer Able to Do” list. Besides going to work, it included not being able to drive, not being able to take a morning jog, not being able to play racquetball and not being able to “watch” tv. Without sight, there weren’t that many distractions to help him pass the time. He felt trapped inside his own head.
Damn. Jim was getting tired of his own company. He didn’t remember ever thinking this much when he could see. Looking occupied so much of his time. With that taken away his world seemed to have shrunk. He was paying closer attention to smells, sounds, taste…the way everything felt.
The claustrophobia that had tormented him in the hospital and the first few weeks at home was beginning to dissipate. His surroundings were becoming more “real”. At least that’s the way he perceived it. Jim was still having trouble sleeping, even though he had taken the doctor’s advice and tried to stick to a regular schedule. Even more so than the “jet lag” business, Jim was beginning to think that a big part of his sleeping problem was because waking up was so hard.
It had been a month and a half and every time he woke up it was like going blind all over again. Opening his eyes to nothing still made him break out in a cold sweat. His dreams were tortured and that didn’t seem to be getting any better. Terry was still haunting him at night and he was beginning to dream about the bank and getting shot.
At least the pain behind his eyes was easing up. That thought made him realize that he’d left his dark glasses on the dresser. f*ck that, he thought. Eberle was blind as well. It wasn't as though by wearing them Jim would be sparing him anything.
He tapped his fingers on the counter, then decided to check out the cane Eberle had given him in the hospital. Earlier that morning Christie had gone down to the garage to get it out of the car. Jim had stowed it under the passenger’s seat on the way home from the hospital, but figured he’d better have it for Eberle’s visit.
The cane was made of some lightweight metal, probably aluminum. It folded up into five equal sections and was held together by a thick elastic cord that ran down the middle of hollow tubing. The handle felt like the grip on a golf club. There was also a thick elastic cord coming out of the top of the handle. The tip was about an inch long and made of hard plastic. He spun around in his seat and unwrapped the length of cord holding it together. It unfolded easily. He gently tamped the tip on the floor to “fix” the sections together.
So this was a white cane. Of all the God damned things he never thought he’d ever own or ever need… Holding it in his right hand the way Eberle had shown him, index finger pointing toward the tip, Jim slipped off his seat, taking a few steps forward. He swept it ahead of him and headed toward what he thought was the direction of the dining room table. He found it easily. He walked toward the bookcase. The cane “told” him that the couch was directly ahead, so he avoided that and wow, there was the desk.
f*ck. f*ck this thing for being so God damned useful, he thought. Jeez, it was long. He held it up against his body and it came up to about his armpit.
The doorbell rang and Jim, using the cane to guide himself walked over to the door. He pressed the intercom and said: “Hello?”
“Hi Jim. It’s John Eberle from the Lighthouse.”
“C’mon up,” Jim said, pressing the front door release.
“Which floor are you on?” John asked.
“The fourth. Just take the elevator up. We’re the first door to the right.”
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Jim answered it.
“How are you this morning?” Eberle asked, entering the apartment.
“Okay,” Jim replied tentatively, turning his head a bit, listening for someone other than Eberle. Surely the man hadn’t come here alone?
“What’s the matter?” the other man asked.
“I was just…”
“Wondering how I got here by myself?”
“Well,” Jim admitted. “Yeah…”
“I used my cane and my brain,” John said. “Well, that and I took a taxi.”
Jim closed the door and turned toward the other man. He felt odd. What should he do? Ask him to sit down? Jesus, here he was…the blind leading the blind. Christ.
“I’ll bet you’re wondering how to show me to a seat.”
Jim nodded, then caught himself. The other man couldn’t “catch” that.
“Right again,” he replied.
“Just tell me where to go and I’ll find it.”
“Straight ahead, about five feet, then take a left. There’s a chair on the right.”
“I’ll follow you,” John said, cheerfully.
“So,” he continued, sitting down, “How are you getting along?”
Jim sighed and cracked his knuckles.
“I’m frustrated,” he admitted. “I’m back on my feet, but stuck. I hate having other people feel responsible for me. I know I need some sort of training and I want to get it as soon as possible. I have to get up to speed so I can go back to work.”
“You’re a police officer?” Eberle asked.
“Homicide detective,” Jim answered.
“What do you do at work on a typical day?”
Jim thought for a moment.
“To be frank, there are no “typical” days. It all depends what cases come up in our precinct.”
“No,” John said, “That‘s not what I‘m getting at. Tell me what tasks you have to do to perform your job that you can’t do now.”
Jim cleared his throat.
“I can’t drive a car.”
“Can’t help you with that. But, the Lighthouse can teach you how to use public transportation like the subway and buses. Heck, we can even show you how to hail a cab, which is no small feat in this city.”
Jim chuckled.
“I can’t read.”
John smiled. “We can help you learn Braille as well as train you to use adaptive technology such as screen reader programs for the internet. You can also hire “readers”. There are other resources such as special radio wavelengths over which volunteers read newspapers and magazines.”
“I can’t get around by myself.”
“You know that cane I gave you in the hospital?” John asked. “It’s about to become one of the best friends you ever had. We offer complete Orientation and Mobility training which will have you up and out faster than you can imagine.”
“Jim,” he continued, “What I’m trying to say is we can teach you independent living skills that will show you how to use your remaining senses to the max. It’s a matter of time, training and your personal motivation.”
“I really want a guide dog,” Jim said.
“You can do that,” John replied. “Just not right away. You have to become competent in cane travel first. That’s one of the stipulations for being admitted to one of the dog guide schools. After you learn to use it properly you might find that all you need is a cane. But, that‘s a personal decision.”
“Do I smell coffee?” he suddenly asked.
“Yeah,” Jim said.
“Why don’t you get me a cup?” Eberle’s question was more of a challenge than a request.
Jim was quiet for a moment. Okay, he could play this game. He stood and started walking toward the kitchen.
“Are you using your cane?” John asked.
“How did you know?” Jim replied.
“I could hear it. You know, Jim, you’ll reach a point where you won't need it indoors when you're in familiar places. But for now, that‘s fine.”
Jim was feeling the fronts of the kitchen cabinets, “looking” for the one with the coffee mugs. Success. He got one out and closed the door. Using his other hand, he “followed” the counter toward the coffee maker. Cautiously he reached forward and found the carafe. He carefully poured the hot beverage into the mug, using his fingers to make sure he didn’t overfill it.
“I take milk and sugar,” Eberle called out.
“f*ck him!” Jim thought…but carried the mug toward the refrigerator. He located the milk and poured some in. Putting the carton back, he tried to remember where the sugar bowl was located. Getting a spoon out of the silverware drawer, he turned toward the counter where he laid the cup and spoon down. He touched the countertop, then moved his hand toward the end where the sugar bowl and Christie’s artificial sweetener usually sat. Success again!
“How many spoonfuls of sugar?” he asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
“One,” Eberle said, stifling a chuckle. “This Dunbar guy was going to do just fine,” he thought. “I just hope he doesn’t purposefully scald me with that damned cup of Joe.”
Jim stirred the coffee, then picked it up, slowly and carefully leaving the kitchen. He did remember to toss the spoon into the sink, though. He decided to leave the cane back in the kitchen and walked stiffly toward the living room trying to figure out where the hell Eberle was.
He heard a rustling of papers. Jim used that cue to guide himself toward where the other man was sitting.
“Now, how am I supposed to get it in your hands?” Jim asked. “Neither one of us can see it.”
“I can, a little,” the other man said, gently touching the mug and taking it from Jim.
“How’s that?” Jim asked. “I thought you were blind, like me.”
“I am blind,” John replied. “I have some light perception and can make out some shapes depending on the lighting. But that’s all.”
“But I had always thought that blind was blind,” Jim said, sitting down on the couch. He wished he’d brought his own coffee over.
“Only about 10% of people who are considered “blind” are totally blind. You’re a total?”
“Yeah,” Jim answered. “Both my optic nerves were severed. I can‘t see anything. It‘s all gone.”
“Bummer,” John said.
“How did you lose your sight, John?”
“Retinal detachment,” he said. “It was pretty sudden. Happened about 20 years ago.”
“How did you deal with it?” Jim asked.
“It was rough for a long while. I didn’t get help for nearly a year thinking my sight would come back. I resisted it. That was a big mistake on my part.”
“You’re smart, Jim,” he said. “You’re getting help now. I’m going to tell you now and I don’t ever want you to forget it, being blind is difficult, but if you have the desire you can reduce it to the level of a nuisance. There are always going to be things like driving a car that you won’t be able to do. But remember there is always a way around everything. You can do anything a sighted person can except see.”
They spent the next hour discussing what classes Jim would be taking and made an appointment for him to visit the Lighthouse the next day.
By the time John left, Jim’s spirits had lifted. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was moving forward.
John Eberle was a pretty cool guy, Jim mused. He certainly told it like it was. He reminded Jim of Walter Kramer, his mentor. The older man had been a homicide detective on the NYPD for close to 30 years. He had taken Jim under his wing when he was still a young beat cop with aspirations of moving up to homicide. Walter had visited Jim in the hospital several times, but Jim had not returned his telephone calls since he got home. He hadn’t had anything to say.
Jim went over to his desk, sat down and reached for the telephone.
Chapter 10
Jim reached into his pocket and pressed the button on the side of his talking watch. Nine-o-three.
John Eberle from the Lighthouse wasn’t going to be there until 9:30 and Christie had left for work over an hour ago.
Jim was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the news on the radio. Reaching over to turn the sound up, he encountered the folded up morning paper where Christie had left it. He longed to read it. Losing the ability to read was maddening. But that was only one item on his “Things I’m No Longer Able to Do” list. Besides going to work, it included not being able to drive, not being able to take a morning jog, not being able to play racquetball and not being able to “watch” tv. Without sight, there weren’t that many distractions to help him pass the time. He felt trapped inside his own head.
Damn. Jim was getting tired of his own company. He didn’t remember ever thinking this much when he could see. Looking occupied so much of his time. With that taken away his world seemed to have shrunk. He was paying closer attention to smells, sounds, taste…the way everything felt.
The claustrophobia that had tormented him in the hospital and the first few weeks at home was beginning to dissipate. His surroundings were becoming more “real”. At least that’s the way he perceived it. Jim was still having trouble sleeping, even though he had taken the doctor’s advice and tried to stick to a regular schedule. Even more so than the “jet lag” business, Jim was beginning to think that a big part of his sleeping problem was because waking up was so hard.
It had been a month and a half and every time he woke up it was like going blind all over again. Opening his eyes to nothing still made him break out in a cold sweat. His dreams were tortured and that didn’t seem to be getting any better. Terry was still haunting him at night and he was beginning to dream about the bank and getting shot.
At least the pain behind his eyes was easing up. That thought made him realize that he’d left his dark glasses on the dresser. f*ck that, he thought. Eberle was blind as well. It wasn't as though by wearing them Jim would be sparing him anything.
He tapped his fingers on the counter, then decided to check out the cane Eberle had given him in the hospital. Earlier that morning Christie had gone down to the garage to get it out of the car. Jim had stowed it under the passenger’s seat on the way home from the hospital, but figured he’d better have it for Eberle’s visit.
The cane was made of some lightweight metal, probably aluminum. It folded up into five equal sections and was held together by a thick elastic cord that ran down the middle of hollow tubing. The handle felt like the grip on a golf club. There was also a thick elastic cord coming out of the top of the handle. The tip was about an inch long and made of hard plastic. He spun around in his seat and unwrapped the length of cord holding it together. It unfolded easily. He gently tamped the tip on the floor to “fix” the sections together.
So this was a white cane. Of all the God damned things he never thought he’d ever own or ever need… Holding it in his right hand the way Eberle had shown him, index finger pointing toward the tip, Jim slipped off his seat, taking a few steps forward. He swept it ahead of him and headed toward what he thought was the direction of the dining room table. He found it easily. He walked toward the bookcase. The cane “told” him that the couch was directly ahead, so he avoided that and wow, there was the desk.
f*ck. f*ck this thing for being so God damned useful, he thought. Jeez, it was long. He held it up against his body and it came up to about his armpit.
The doorbell rang and Jim, using the cane to guide himself walked over to the door. He pressed the intercom and said: “Hello?”
“Hi Jim. It’s John Eberle from the Lighthouse.”
“C’mon up,” Jim said, pressing the front door release.
“Which floor are you on?” John asked.
“The fourth. Just take the elevator up. We’re the first door to the right.”
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Jim answered it.
“How are you this morning?” Eberle asked, entering the apartment.
“Okay,” Jim replied tentatively, turning his head a bit, listening for someone other than Eberle. Surely the man hadn’t come here alone?
“What’s the matter?” the other man asked.
“I was just…”
“Wondering how I got here by myself?”
“Well,” Jim admitted. “Yeah…”
“I used my cane and my brain,” John said. “Well, that and I took a taxi.”
Jim closed the door and turned toward the other man. He felt odd. What should he do? Ask him to sit down? Jesus, here he was…the blind leading the blind. Christ.
“I’ll bet you’re wondering how to show me to a seat.”
Jim nodded, then caught himself. The other man couldn’t “catch” that.
“Right again,” he replied.
“Just tell me where to go and I’ll find it.”
“Straight ahead, about five feet, then take a left. There’s a chair on the right.”
“I’ll follow you,” John said, cheerfully.
“So,” he continued, sitting down, “How are you getting along?”
Jim sighed and cracked his knuckles.
“I’m frustrated,” he admitted. “I’m back on my feet, but stuck. I hate having other people feel responsible for me. I know I need some sort of training and I want to get it as soon as possible. I have to get up to speed so I can go back to work.”
“You’re a police officer?” Eberle asked.
“Homicide detective,” Jim answered.
“What do you do at work on a typical day?”
Jim thought for a moment.
“To be frank, there are no “typical” days. It all depends what cases come up in our precinct.”
“No,” John said, “That‘s not what I‘m getting at. Tell me what tasks you have to do to perform your job that you can’t do now.”
Jim cleared his throat.
“I can’t drive a car.”
“Can’t help you with that. But, the Lighthouse can teach you how to use public transportation like the subway and buses. Heck, we can even show you how to hail a cab, which is no small feat in this city.”
Jim chuckled.
“I can’t read.”
John smiled. “We can help you learn Braille as well as train you to use adaptive technology such as screen reader programs for the internet. You can also hire “readers”. There are other resources such as special radio wavelengths over which volunteers read newspapers and magazines.”
“I can’t get around by myself.”
“You know that cane I gave you in the hospital?” John asked. “It’s about to become one of the best friends you ever had. We offer complete Orientation and Mobility training which will have you up and out faster than you can imagine.”
“Jim,” he continued, “What I’m trying to say is we can teach you independent living skills that will show you how to use your remaining senses to the max. It’s a matter of time, training and your personal motivation.”
“I really want a guide dog,” Jim said.
“You can do that,” John replied. “Just not right away. You have to become competent in cane travel first. That’s one of the stipulations for being admitted to one of the dog guide schools. After you learn to use it properly you might find that all you need is a cane. But, that‘s a personal decision.”
“Do I smell coffee?” he suddenly asked.
“Yeah,” Jim said.
“Why don’t you get me a cup?” Eberle’s question was more of a challenge than a request.
Jim was quiet for a moment. Okay, he could play this game. He stood and started walking toward the kitchen.
“Are you using your cane?” John asked.
“How did you know?” Jim replied.
“I could hear it. You know, Jim, you’ll reach a point where you won't need it indoors when you're in familiar places. But for now, that‘s fine.”
Jim was feeling the fronts of the kitchen cabinets, “looking” for the one with the coffee mugs. Success. He got one out and closed the door. Using his other hand, he “followed” the counter toward the coffee maker. Cautiously he reached forward and found the carafe. He carefully poured the hot beverage into the mug, using his fingers to make sure he didn’t overfill it.
“I take milk and sugar,” Eberle called out.
“f*ck him!” Jim thought…but carried the mug toward the refrigerator. He located the milk and poured some in. Putting the carton back, he tried to remember where the sugar bowl was located. Getting a spoon out of the silverware drawer, he turned toward the counter where he laid the cup and spoon down. He touched the countertop, then moved his hand toward the end where the sugar bowl and Christie’s artificial sweetener usually sat. Success again!
“How many spoonfuls of sugar?” he asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
“One,” Eberle said, stifling a chuckle. “This Dunbar guy was going to do just fine,” he thought. “I just hope he doesn’t purposefully scald me with that damned cup of Joe.”
Jim stirred the coffee, then picked it up, slowly and carefully leaving the kitchen. He did remember to toss the spoon into the sink, though. He decided to leave the cane back in the kitchen and walked stiffly toward the living room trying to figure out where the hell Eberle was.
He heard a rustling of papers. Jim used that cue to guide himself toward where the other man was sitting.
“Now, how am I supposed to get it in your hands?” Jim asked. “Neither one of us can see it.”
“I can, a little,” the other man said, gently touching the mug and taking it from Jim.
“How’s that?” Jim asked. “I thought you were blind, like me.”
“I am blind,” John replied. “I have some light perception and can make out some shapes depending on the lighting. But that’s all.”
“But I had always thought that blind was blind,” Jim said, sitting down on the couch. He wished he’d brought his own coffee over.
“Only about 10% of people who are considered “blind” are totally blind. You’re a total?”
“Yeah,” Jim answered. “Both my optic nerves were severed. I can‘t see anything. It‘s all gone.”
“Bummer,” John said.
“How did you lose your sight, John?”
“Retinal detachment,” he said. “It was pretty sudden. Happened about 20 years ago.”
“How did you deal with it?” Jim asked.
“It was rough for a long while. I didn’t get help for nearly a year thinking my sight would come back. I resisted it. That was a big mistake on my part.”
“You’re smart, Jim,” he said. “You’re getting help now. I’m going to tell you now and I don’t ever want you to forget it, being blind is difficult, but if you have the desire you can reduce it to the level of a nuisance. There are always going to be things like driving a car that you won’t be able to do. But remember there is always a way around everything. You can do anything a sighted person can except see.”
They spent the next hour discussing what classes Jim would be taking and made an appointment for him to visit the Lighthouse the next day.
By the time John left, Jim’s spirits had lifted. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was moving forward.
John Eberle was a pretty cool guy, Jim mused. He certainly told it like it was. He reminded Jim of Walter Kramer, his mentor. The older man had been a homicide detective on the NYPD for close to 30 years. He had taken Jim under his wing when he was still a young beat cop with aspirations of moving up to homicide. Walter had visited Jim in the hospital several times, but Jim had not returned his telephone calls since he got home. He hadn’t had anything to say.
Jim went over to his desk, sat down and reached for the telephone.