The Guys

Mealtime was the time we all got together. It was at 7am -- noon -- and 5 pm. We called ourselves "The Inmates." No we were not in prison. But we all had at least two things in common -- We were all Vets of one period of time or other -- and we were all blind. At least we were all "legally" blind. We were all trainees at the Blind Rehab Center at the Souwestern VA Hospital in Tucson, Arizona.

There were about 30 of us in various stages of visual imparement. A few were totally blind but most of us had some degree of vision. Many of these vets were from WWII. Some were from Korea and several from Viet Nam. The most popular problem was ARMD -- Age Related Macular Degeneration. This condition takes the central vision leaving only the periferal vision. Many of the older guys had that.

The smallest but saddest group were blinded as a result of Agent Orange in Viet Nam. Richard is one of these vets. He is from Houston, Texas and looked and sounded remarkably like Patrick Swayze. He has a guide dog. His name is Alphonso. Richard became my short term buddy as we sat and broke bread together each day. He spoke of Alphonso as tho he was a family relative -- that is because he is! Rich said he could not function without his friend. He got a bit choked up when he admitted that his K9 friend would probably not out live him. One could probably have seen a tear in his eyes except that he always wore his totally black sunglasses -- hiding what might have been his grotesque eye sockets. Richard was in the computer training program -- it was his third visit to the VA rehab program. He was able to function as tho he could see perfectly well. When he finished the program, he was taken to the Tucson Airport and got on a plane and flew to DFW. There he changed planes and flew to Houston and got transportation to his home. All of this with no help except his friend Alponso and his cane and his GPS system. Oh yes -- and his training.

There was Doc, Roy, Mack, Ed, Jerry and a host of others whose names I can't recall. These mealtimes were an intergal part of our training -- although many of the guys didn't realize this.It was the time when werealized there are others who share our disabilities. It was the time when we joked and made fun of ourselves and told of our daily tasks and how we got through them. "What do I have on my plate today," Mac would say to Doc.

"How the hell should I know, I am blind." Doc would retort and we would all laugh. Doc is 90 and had been a surgeon in WWII. He developed a tremor in the 80's and switched to epidemiology and worked for the World Health Center. He joked about trying to eat Jello with his shaking hands. He said "If I try to eat this stuff I will throw it all over you guys." He had a wonderful sense of humor and a brilliant brain. His body was wearing out but he was still as sharp as a tack. I observed him in the hobby shop hammering out a Christmas tree on a piece of copper. I had a few seconds of pity for him as he struggled to see his little tools and hold them still. I thought something like how he was once a fine surgeon and now is hammering out copper Christmas trees. But that soon left me when he chorted, "I am making a Christmas tree. It'll take me 'til Christmas to finish it." It was June. No getting ahead of this blind vet!

My disease is called RP -- or Retinitis Pigmentosa. It has taken my right eye and narrowed my left eye to a tunnel of vision. I must hasten to say -- I am thankful for this small bit of vision. I was taught to use it to its full advantage. I was given a white cane which folds up neatly when I don't need it. I was given a thorough exam by two optomotrists -- which took about an hour and a half. This was to determine the extent of my visual needs -- no guess work here. I was taught how to c00k, clean and do all the necessary things to live a normal life. I was given a phychological exam by a young girl who I sware was only 16 -- who has a PhD. I was taught how to make things in a workshop and hobby shop and do it safely with my limited vision. But most of all -- I was taught "Mobility."

First order of business was my 56 inch cane -- white with a red tip. This is my eyes when I am walking. I was taught to use this extention of my vision with expertise. I was taught to determine when I heeded help and when I needed to go it alone. I was taught how to ask for help and when to refuse it -- politely. We began in the hospital hallway -- then out to the parking lot. Finally a trip to a neighborhood in Tucson. We practiced going up and down stairs hundreds of times -- until it was natural. Then the day came when I began to cross streets -- small ones at first -- then busier streets and finally the busiest intersection in the city. All this training took an entire month. But I passed the test.

I graduated from this wonderful institution a few days ago with my diploma in hand. I was asked if I wished to learn the GPS. I immediately said "Yes!" I will go back in a day or two for another week of training with this marvelous instrument (I Was given a demo to see how it worked).

Yes all this training costs the government (taxpayers) many hundreds of thousands of dollars. That bothers my consertive nature. But maybe it is a little payback for all the time we gave with such a small income. And I think we will each make a contribution to society in our own way after this training. Each "student" has only one instructor at a time -- everything is individualized to the needs and desires of the vet. You get only what you request. All instructors are required to have a Masters Degree in blind rehab training. They are the finest.

I was told before I went to this program that this was the best Blind rehab program in the world -- right here in Tucson. I was dubious. But not any longer. It is. I am living proof. I have no fear of the future -- I have my confidence, my cane and will soon have my GPS and I am ready to do anything anyone else can do.

From the Heart by Olaf Hart