Tags
acceptance, confidence, family, friends, low vision, white cane
Last summer, I signed up for Orientation & Mobility (O&M) lessons and asked for a full-length white cane. Before this, I’d had an identity cane for several years, but I had hardly ever used it. An identity cane is a short, light and portable version of the white cane which isn’t used for tactile feedback, but simply to identify the user as partially sighted. The full length white cane is used with the traditional tapping or sweeping motion to detect obstacles and any changes in the ground’s surface. I remember hesitantly trying out the full cane for the first time, feeling pretty ridiculous, and then immediately realizing that this cane did exactly what I had wanted out of my identity cane. I hadn’t been using my ID cane because it was useless to me, and the tactile feedback from the full cane gave me so much more information and confidence!
Despite realizing the usefulness of the white cane, I didn’t embrace it with open arms right away. I felt weird carrying it where anyone could recognize me… and that was pretty much everywhere. Fortunately, I was moving to Toronto in a few months, and I made a deal with myself that I would carry it full time – no questions asked – when I moved to the new city.
And I did! I had learned the basic techniques while I was still in Ottawa, but carrying my cane in Toronto showed me that it can be an invaluable tool. Other people were gracious, aware, and impressively helpful. While I was learning how to navigate a new city, I had people approach me any time I looked remotely confused or disoriented… which was a LOT. I began to realize how much extra work I took on while trying to navigate the world as a sighted person. Now that I carried a cane, it allowed other people to help me out because my disability was obvious and my white cane disclosed my visual impairment everywhere I went.
I had begun to recognize the value and usefulness of carry a white cane. However, I could have never predicted just how reliant on and attached I would become to an inanimate white stick. Now, I don’t go anywhere without my cane, and I get anxious if I temporarily misplace it. It has become an extension of myself whenever I leave my house.
I occasionally miss the anonymity of having the choice to disclose my disability, and I’m still not completely comfortable carrying my cane all the time. I’m currently at home in Ottawa for March break, and I have to force myself to carry my cane when I’m running errands with my family. I also still feel weird carrying my cane when I meet up with my Ottawa friends. While my friends are the most amazing, accepting, and nonjudgmental people, I feel like a different person when I carry my cane and I miss being my “old self” around them.
Despite feeling uncomfortable in some situations, I do love my white cane. It has given me a sense of independence and more confidence than I could have ever imagined. While I don’t always love the stares and reactions I get from strangers, I am proud to carry my cane. To me, it’s not a symbol of shame or disability, but rather a tool to help me maintain my independence and it allows me to live my life more fully. Once, I was walking down Yonge St. on my way to a fitness class, and a man passing me commented, “Boy, you sure walk fast for a blind girl”. Yes sir, I do.