Find Blind Help Under L

At the age of forty-five, darkness suddenly enveloped my every waking moment. Since I lived and worked in a West African jungle village, assistance in independent living skills couldn’t begin until my return to the States. Had I known to find blind help under L in the phone book, I’d have received assistance nine years earlier.

For the first three years of blindness, I utilized improvised aids with the help of my mission colleagues. I unscrewed a short-handle from our mop to serve as my cane. Mostly, the tapping of the thick, round stick provided the noise I needed to ward off reptilian ground-slitherers.

Soon, a Sacramento friend sent the real-McCoy, which sprung to life at the opening of the padded envelope. Of course, I had no idea at all how to use the white cane properly. As it turned out, my ignorance of local nomenclature interfered with my search. I looked under B, not realizing I’d find blind help under L in the white pages.

Shortly after my father died, my niece came to visit me at my parents’ home. Aware of Erica’s involvement with the deaf community, I brought my frustration into our conversation. “Do you know why the city doesn’t have anything for the blind but seems to have a lot of things for the deaf?”

“What do you mean? The Deaf Center where I help out is on one side of a duplex. The blind folks have their programs in the other half.”

“But, I’ve looked in the phone book each time I’ve been home. There’re only the national things such as the American Foundation for the Blind. What do I look for to call that organization?”

My niece took the Spokane Valley white pages off Mom’s kitchen counter, flipping the pages until she found just what I’d been searching for. “Here it is. Did you look under L?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t think I’d find blind Help under L. Why isn’t it under B?”

Erica shrugged, much as one would when responding to what should be obvious to all spokanites. “Because it’s the Lilac Blind Foundation. We’re really into lilacs here, you know?”

“Of course! I know that Spokane is the Lilac City. Duh, I should’ve thought of that. Guess they figure anyone who lives here would know to look under L, huh?”

“Sure. If you’d have seen an eye doctor here, they would’ve directed you there.”

I lost no more time; I called the Lilac Blind Foundation as soon as Erica left. Although I didn’t hold out much hope for help this time, I figured I’d check it out and contact them my next trip home. I had only a few weeks left before returning to Africa.

“I’m glad to meet you, Dannie!” The friendly lady said after hearing the story of my search. Peggy impressed me with her genuinely warm welcome. “What can we do to help you before you leave for Africa?”

“Is there time? I don’t even know what kind of help you folks have to offer. I’ve been blind for nine years; but living in Africa for most of that time, I’m still quite ignorant about these things.”

Her gentle laugh helped me lighten up. “Okay, let me share a few things and see if anything sounds helpful to you.”

I can honestly say, from that first phone call to the Lilac Blind Foundation, my life took an enormous turn for the better. Their friendly, competent staff squeezed me into their full schedule without ever making me feel like I’d burdened them by calling with so little time left on my home assignment. I’ll be forever grateful to Erica for setting me on the LBF’s path.

Twice a week, Russell guided me through lessons of using JAWS, the software program I’d purchased from Freedom Scientific two years earlier. I’d been limping along, managing to use the email and word processing features I’d taught myself. Russell opened up a lot more of the package for me.

Kelley’s plate had been overflowing when she found a moment to call to schedule a home visit. I had only three weeks left at this point. Even today, I wonder at just how much this dear professional set aside to pack a ton of instruction on independent living skills into that brief time.

In addition to “Independent Living Skills,” Kelley gave me three, one-hour training sessions in “Orientation and Mobility.” The O and M included beginning lessons in the proper use of the white cane. Since my cane fell short of the right length, Kelley gave me two canes (one straight and one folding), teaching me not only how to tap but also how to choose the correct length.

By the time of Kelley’s last home visit, she’d exposed me to a host of independent living aids and tips that made life as a blind person so much more doable. I wanted to stay in Spokane to learn more.

Kelley began shuffling through her resources pile. “Here is a place you can continue to learn, even when you’re not at home,” she said, handing me an email address. “Hadley School for the Blind is a program for distance education.” Seeing my raised eyebrows, Kelley explained. “This used to be called correspondence courses; is that more familiar to you?”

“Okay, yes, I understand; but how can blind people take correspondence courses?”

“Go ahead and check out their website. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Give them a try; they have a lot to offer folks who want to learn.”

I followed Kelley’s advice, receiving Hadley’s 2006 Student of the Year Award. In fact, I’m still amongst Hadley’s distance education student body. (I’ll be sharing more about this remarkable program in another post.)

One of the best surprise-finds came by way of an off-hand remark. I’d just passed Russell in the Lilac Blind Foundation’s hallway, mentioning that I’d be celebrating my birthday later that night with pizza and a movie.

“Great! So, you’ve found a descriptive video you’re interested in seeing? Have fun!” I knew Russell was hurrying off, so I never stopped to ask him to explain what in the world a descriptive video was.

Nevertheless, the seed had been planted. My family began searching for these marvelous videos. In fact, the DVS designation popped up on some television programs, too. There are even movie theaters in the States that offer headsets for blind people to view described or narrated films on the big screen.

If the Described Video Service designation is foreign to you, picture the last movie you saw. At each spot there is no dialogue, the viewer is expected to follow the line of the story based on what he sees. For the blind, it’s simply a dead space of silence unless a chair is knocked over, or a fist finds a face.

In described or narrated programs or films, a narrator describes what’s happening when no one is talking. He fills in the dead space.

(If you’d like a taste of this DVS feature, the next time you’re set to view the television program “NCIS,” turn on your Secondary Audio Program (SAP). In America’s Pacific Time Zone, that would be Tuesday evening at 8:00, CBS Channel.)

Thank you, fabulous staff and supporters of Spokane’s Lilac Blind Foundation. Your assistance revolutionized my life.

If any of the information in this post is new to you, how about checking online for the blind services in your area? You may have the opportunity to pass the information along to someone who hasn’t heard. Wouldn’t you like to be the catalyst to revolutionize someone’s life?