EBU (Senir Group) Fine Work "Learning Braille, my lifeline" Isabel de los Angeles Lopez-Valdivieso Rodriguez (72, female, Spain) |
My story with visual disability is relatively short. On 8 February 1987 I was rushed to Madrid's Ophthalmology Institute for an emergency operation to treat acute glaucoma. My intraocular pressure had climbed to 60. In the post-operative period, I recovered my sight almost entirely. I needed not-very-strong glasses for near vision, so I could read, write, embroider, sew and anything else I was asked to do in my community without much trouble, for I'm always happy to do that sort of work. I truly enjoy drawing and painting and all sorts of crafts. But diabetes has been taking a toll on my health recently and my sight, like an oil lamp, has slowly dimmed. In spite of that, for a year and a half I hung on to the hope of recovering my sight as I had on other occasions; but that was not to be. I went into denial about my progressive blindness and refused to accept the harsh reality that was staring me in the face. Nonetheless, I'm not easily discouraged, so I talked to my friends, one of whom has been blind since she was a young girl. She told me: "Talk to the ONCE, don't waste any more time," but I wouldn't. Finally, however, common sense won out and I applied for ONCE membership. Blessed be the day! They took me in at once, in view of the circumstances. When my application was accepted I just laughed and said: "I didn't think I was that blind!" Even then, it wasn't until I stumbled and fell three times walking down the street that I decided to go to rehabilitation and learn to use a white cane. I'm the second nun in the community to use one, but we're not the only blind sisters. Others have also lost their sight but refuse to admit it. When the mother superior heard about my membership in the ONCE she encouraged me to learn Braille. And so did an old friend's son, who had lost his sight when he was 13. He told me: "You should learn Braille. It's easy, and besides, you could teach it". "Teach it?" I answered, "at the tender age of 72?!" In my ignorance I thought Braille was as difficult as Chinese and I didn't think I could learn. Besides, I thought, at my age, what use would it be to me, with all the technology available today. Coincidence, though, isn't casual but causal: the very first day I went to mobility training I ran into the Braille teacher and her guide dog Gladys. I love animals, so the fact that the Braille teacher had a dog was the first thing that prompted me to attend her class. At least, I thought, I could pet Gladys if the dots got to be too much for me or I couldn't make out all the words. I was excited but a little frightened, like a child on the first day of school. And that's how my venture with Braille began. At this writing, although I've only been studying the system for two months, I confess that I'm captivated by it. In light of my age it's a challenge, an essential cultural tool to be able to communicate with people who use the same reading-writing code. Not only that, it's a very good mental exercise and comes in very handy when my memory fails me: Now what was so-and-so's telephone number? Ah, of course! I jotted it down in Braille! Or when someone offers to "write my address down for you", I can reply "No, thanks. I'll take it down myself in Braille." What a treat to be able to actually read texts: listening isn't at all the same because my mind wanders easily and I get sleepy and lose track of what's being said. I even get bored listening. Learning Braille, however, has burst the bubble of self-complacency and disability where I'd taken refuge. In Braille class I meet other blind people, whose troubles and successes I've come to feel as my own, as if they were kin. I don't care if it's raining or cold outside, I'm off to school(at my age!) with a joy that I thought I'd never recover, for after I went blind I grew very passive and despondent. Today I know that blindness is no hindrance for social, occupational or cultural life: a blind nun can be useful to her community, blind people can contribute to their surround and, if they make the effort, can do whatever they set their minds to. I, for example, plan to perfect my Braille to the point that I can copy the Common Rules(my community's by-laws) and the complete psalms, lauds and vigils of the Divine Office and all the order's other prayers. I may have mentioned that I'm a St Vincent de Paul Charity nun. Once I can hold those writings in my hand, written in Braille quite by myself, I'll feel blessed because I'll be able to read the prayers that now have to be read to me. And I'll be able to read them to the sisters who are ill or whose poor eyesight makes it very tiresome for them to read by themselves. I'll also be able to tell them which medication they need to take and to go up in the lift to visit my relatives without having to have someone press the right button for me. I'm eternally grateful to Louis Braille for his extraordinary legacy to humanity. And to the ONCE for its highly qualified staff who help so many blind people, and people with disabilities in general, to move onward, to regain their good spirits along with their self-confidence. My mobility instructor, Helio, has done wonders in that regard. With patience and human warmth, like a good father he has shown me how to navigate with my cane, that white companion I can always count on to tell me when to swerve and when to keep going straight. And of course I'm vastly grateful to my Braille teacher for being such an unrivalled communicator and for placing at my fingertips all the readings my eyes no longer see. Thank you, Louis Braille. Thank all of you for your generosity. |
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