Kansas Rose: Blind audition
Photo Credit: Callie Spencer
Kansas Rose
Madison Wendt, Student Life Editor
April 17, 2010
Filed under Student Life
You never realize what you have until it’s gone. Every breath I take, each voice I hear, every sight I see I take for granted. Each day, I can accomplish tasks both small and great without even considering how heavily I rely on my senses to carry me through. What would I do if one of those crucial senses was impaired—how would I cope?
I gazed around the room one last time, memorizing my surroundings. “No big deal,” I thought as I wrapped the blindfold around my head. “Easy-peasy. I could do this with my eyes shut.” (Pun intended).
Taking a deep breath, I confidently stepped forward—and proceeded to trip over first a chair, then a desk, and then another chair on my way to the door of the room, which I later discovered was actually in the opposite direction. I spun around, looking for something recognizable. (The irony was, of course, that I couldn’t see).
Bewildered and confused, I paused to gather my wits and get a sense of direction. But the longer I stood still, the more lost I became, and everything I thought I remembered about my surroundings faded into obscurity in mere minutes. I felt myself drifting into a subconscious lull as my mind went into overload.
This was not good. Wildly, desperately, I decided to carefully walk straight ahead, and perhaps eventually I would find the wall, which could lead me to the door. My head swam, and my mind played tricks on me, imagining objects about to hit my face with each step I took.
After what seemed like hours, but could only have been a matter of minutes, my shoe hit something. Ecstatic, I rushed forward to what I thought was the wall—only to stumble over yet another desk, the wall nowhere near.
Panicking, I grasped for something, anything familiar, but my flailing arms were met with nothing but air. Just a moment before, I hadn’t been able to avoid stumbling over obstacles if I tried, but suddenly I found nothing to hold on to.
My pulse quickened, I struggled for breath, and, unpleasantly enough, I felt the burning of hot tears prick my eyes. Gasping, I whipped off the blindfold to discover that I stood mere feet from where I had started.
I self-consciously sniffed away the embarrassing tears, hoping that no one had seen. What a baby. Apparently, I had a long way to go.
After a couple more practice sessions, I decided I was ready for the real deal. In order to make the experience as authentic as possible, I used gauze eye patches and medical “paper tape,” the same treatment that would be used for a real injury, such as a welding burn. With everything prepared, I was ready to start my day in the life of a blind person.
My first goof of the day occurred when I was asking my little brother a question. He was being unusually quiet. I reached down to assure myself of his presence, and felt his prickly hair.
After repeating the question twice, I reached down again, only to be unpleasantly shocked by a long slobbery tongue on my hand, accompanied by the foulest breath I had ever smelled. Yes, I had mistaken my dog for my brother.
The drive to the school was disorienting. The school was not nearly as familiar as my house had been, and I was grateful for the kind friends who patiently guided me from class to class. The hallways were long and all felt the same under the touch of my untrained hands; my formerly independent self was reduced to the state of a helpless babe in constant need of assistance.
I had overlooked many small details: for example, how to get my locker open, eating lunch, etc. A mean trick had me convinced that I sat down at the wrong lunch table, and I momentarily panicked. I even avoided going to the bathroom all day because the thought of needing someone’s help there terrified me.
To be unable to see the faces of the people I loved, even for a couple hours, was the most frightening sensation of all. More than once, I considered ripping off the patches to ensure that I was in the right place, with the right people. I never realized just how much meaning is derived from body language and facial expressions; many comments can be misinterpreted by hearing alone.
Frankly, I missed seeing my friends’ smiles and seeing their eyes sparkle at a good joke. The worst part of all was hearing the layers of hurt in one friend’s voice and feeling unable to comfort him because I couldn’t see his face to know if my presence had eased the pain I could imagine in his eyes.
Throughout my day, a helping hand and even simply the warmth in a person’s voice reassured me when I was at my most vulnerable. When encountering a disabled person, even if you aren’t sure how to act, even the slightest friendly effort is encouraging. Always remember to show her kindness and love, because at the weakest moments, a comforting hand on her shoulder will make her feel strong.
