There is a light at
the end of the tunnel
By Fiona Cummings
Can you imagine your life where by you never see again? It’s
a boring thought for you if you can, see, tiresome, move on don’t read this,
why should you? Why would you?
Well just spare four minutes please of your life. In the UK
100 people start to lose their sight every day. Not everyone is born with an
eye condition. In fact, now days most people go blind for so many reasons not
linked to genetics or disease.
Ch. 1.
(There is a light at the end of the tunnel) Chapter 1.
Waking up to blindness
Your eye lids are opening and closing, but there is
something in the way of your vision. Something is blocking your light. You wave
your hand in front of your eyes, but there is nothing there, not even a shadow.
You look directly into the sky, well, what you think is that direction as when
you first go blind, to be honest, some people don’t know the difference between
the sky and the ground, you lose all ability to any sense of direction. For the
first time in your life, you have to think, where is straight forward? Which
way is left? You may have spent your life not even using the words left and
right. Now you are blind you are going to need that skill.
When eventually you learn to use the white cane, you have to
hold it in your right hand if you are right handed and left if not, but
normally it’s your right. When you move on to a guide dog, you have to have
your dog’s harness handle in your left hand. When you are learning how to get
to your new destination, you need to be taught by a mobility instructor who
will tell you to turn left or right, whilst she is walking either at your side
or behind you.
When you have your dog, you will make actions with your
hand, your right hand whilst holding your dog on your left. Your dog will work
with your hand motion as well as listen to your instruction of your direction.
Remember our dogs only go where we tell them to. There are
people out there who still believe our dogs know what it means to say take me
to the post office or the hair dressers from a couple of miles away, no, we
have to get them to a close area then we can say find whatever, but only after
they have been taught to go into that shop many times over and over again
before they are let loose with us.
But that is all in the future. First things first. How to
deal with the fact that you can’t pick out your clothes with ease. You can’t
differentiate your shoes, you bought one black pair one brown, both the same
kind of shoe, but colours before meant something. Now? What is a colour? Blind
people live in a colourless world. A world without sun and rain drops a world
without the views of pretty flowers. A world without seeing smiles. A passer-by
may smile, but how do we know? How do we get to take our children to school?
Imagine now you can’t see anything. How would you collect your child?
You can’t go and do your sport tonight in fact your pals
don’t want to bother with you. They don’t know what to say, and they don’t know
how to deal with you. It’s easier for them if they just forget you. But you
don’t forget them. It rips at your heart; you suffer from anxiety because you
are left. Family? Well, most people I know and know of have family but they
visit may be once a year at most. Out of duty. They don’t call you, as for
texts, you have just lost your sight, how do you text? How do you call people?
I mean, before you opened your phone book or you looked at the list in your
phone contacts. You can’t do that just yet. You pick up the phone, the dialling
tone is there. You want anyone to speak, even if it is a recorded message
telling you to replace the hand set and try again.
No one understands you. There is no one to talk to during
the night when you wake up after trying for ages to sleep and only get about an
hour before the cold sweat has covered you like the blankets on your bed.
What time is it? You don’t have a clue. You can’t see your
watch any more or your phone. Is it day light?
Your pets, where are they? Your hearing isn’t tuned in at
this point, so you don’t hear things like your cat coming towards you.
You still have to feed your pets as you have to feed your
children. Clothes need ironing, but first washing. White clothes? You don’t
want to wash the whites with the red towels. You have some white towels too,
but they were bought together to coordinate and compliment your bath room. How to turn on your washing machine. It’s all
screen control. Your cooker, microwave, all touch screen. Tinned food? What is
what? What is it you have in your hands that has just come from the freezer. In
fact, how to get to your freezer?
Brushing your teeth, which brush is yours? Which is the
toothpaste and which is the cream? Hair, shampoo? Shower gel? Dioderent or
shaving foam.
Cleaning products, don’t get me started on those.
Your child’s school play, you do get someone to guide you to
school, but you can’t see your child, tey are smiling at you for approval, you
either have a permanent smile and look rather as if there is something wrong
with you or you look like you feel. Miserable and lost.
It’s a coffee break, all the parents are heading for a
drink. You soon learn you are the only person sitting in the hall. The person
who took you there has totally forgot you need to get back home.
Writing cheques for your child’s school? Getting to the bank
to get money out? How?
Time to sell your car.
Your pride and joy.
Stop right there please? Did you read the above? Sell your
car. Never to drive again. Imagine that?
How? Take a photograph? Really? Put it in the newspaper
advertising section. How do you sell it? You no longer can write print or type.
You can’t see your computer screen. As for your job? Forget that. No one wants
a blind Doctor, or hair dresser.
You are starting to cope and are still in shock, but you
want to look good for when your mobility instructor comes to see if you will
qualify you will be assessed. Make up? Where on earth to begin? As for your red
hair? Well, is it still red? It has been ten weeks since you had a visit to the
hair dressers. What colour is your hair now?
Well, I could go on, I seriously could write like this for
another two hours. But in short, in time, all these questions will be answered
and fifty per cent of your now fears will be resolved.
I have written before about the morning I woke up blind. I
truly believed that it was the end of the world. It was summer and there was no
sun. My curtains in my bedroom must have been closed right? Answer no.
The lights didn’t work, power cut, right?
No.
I was so disoriented. When realisation kicked in, it wasn’t
the only thing that kicked in. My stomach was wrenching. My heart was dying. My
soul had to live, my world had died. I would never be warm again. I shivered
inside and had Goosebumps on the outside. My tears were as if rusty. My lips
didn’t talk anymore. I was terrified. Because my brain was still seeing, though
my eyes were blind, I was seeing bad people constantly in front of me. They
were as real as they would be if I still had sight and someone came into my
house. I carried my baby all around my house, trying to feel with one hand
where to go, hanging onto him. My Dad
was dying and my Mum was not able to help me anymore. She lived to save my
sight, now it had gone, some months later, she too died. It was me and my baby.
I after some weeks, tried to phone various societies to ask
for help. There was no help for me other than mobility training. Oh my, going
out? I had to learn to live first, to try to control my breathing. To cook,
clean and do all the jobs around the house as well as learn a new way of
looking after my baby. Help with all of that? No, nothing at all.
I did not want to except the fact that I had gone blind.
This was a day that was not meant to happen. But it had. So then what?
Ch. 2.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel (Part Two) Reach
out for help
By Fiona Cummings
It has been 18 years since I went to bed with sight and woke
up blind. So from the deepest depression of darkness and doubt, I found a
switch and turned on a light. It was a small bulb, a torch that I shone
straight ahead and it shadows the end of my tunnel though nothing was as clear
as it used to be! But at least that light has been lit for me, thanks to the
help of firstly my Son who from the baby in my anxious arms, has turned into a
very tall young man. If not for my Son I wouldn’t be here today for sure.
Perhaps my parents were taken away so that they could help
me from a far? Help me in a way they would be unable to on earth.
Slowey I met people, I guess you could say through God?
Though the bible doesn’t interest me at all and I don’t live by the words of
Christianity all of the time, the house of God did get me my next help, as I
contacted my local church after months of desperate grief and worries about how
I could be as normal as possible, for my baby.
Our vicar came to my house and told me of a group in her
church where the children played and the Mums as it was in those days, I guess
now it would be said Mum’s, Dad’s Grandparents and child minders, would all
have coffee and a chat.
Well, I expressed to her that I had no way of getting to our
church and she kindly offered the services of another mother who would collect
me and together with her little girl who was around the same age as my Son,
would attend the group.
Gosh, that was a very scary time that I still feel shivers
down my spine about.
The lady from the church group picked me up in her car. To
say she was slightly crazy was an understatement. The woman had even bigger
issues than I had. I won’t go into detail, but she should have been certified
and I felt so sorry for her little girl. It was then when I started to realise
that actually, though blind, I was a blooming good parent. It was then when I
realised that I had enough of being on the ground as low as you could get. Beneath
the surface of earth, perhaps in hell though there were no fires, as I still
shivered from fear.
They say God works in mysterious ways? Well, he did for me
then, that is for sure. I could write volumes on this lady, but I choose not
to. And that is what this next chapter is about, choices.
Ch 3.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel (Chapter 3) making
choices
By Fiona Cummings
I chose to reach out for help. I had three choices. One end
my life, no way, my Son was each breath I took. My heart beat was for him. I
was unwanted from conception and it was confirmed at birth, and though my
adopted parents wanted me, they didn’t need me. They in turn lived their lives
for me but this never made me feel wanted or excepted in fact I was in the way
and nothing but hassle. For those who don’t believe an unborn babies having no
feelings, you are so wrong. Again I could write volumes on why this is, but
that will come when hopefully, one day I will write my autobiography.
No way I would reject
my child. Not ever. No one would or will ever come before me and my Son. He was
born into this beautiful world of pure anger and evil caused by man, and I
believe he came from love, peace and only kindness. Whatever wherever that
place was, to be with me. My angel without wings.
Choice number two? To procrastinate. Stay still. Don’t move
forward in life, hence bringing down my child as low as I was. How could I do
this to him? It would have been easy for me to do, for myself, don’t get me
wrong, but it was wrong, selfish and unacceptable.
So it wasn’t a case of the lady picking me up in her car and
taking me to this fun group for my child. It was me having to try to find my babies
clothes, make sure he had the right food to take with us as they had to have a
snack. Did his socks match? I could feel his hair knew that was fine, though
again, other opinions didn’t agree. My Son had almost white blonde hair and
tight curls turned into ringlets. This I loved. He was like a doll.
That was what I
missed so much. Seeing his beautiful face. That was to be no longer, but his
beauty would remain I thought, in my mind. Other parents kept their children’s
hair so short to me it was pointless. My baby’s hair from two was collar
length. Mainly because I couldn’t get him to the hair dressers. But also I loved
it.
I had to stop shaking and breathe. I had to go around my
house and make sure that every window was closed. My memory was getting tested
every second of the day. Where I had put the door keys? My shoes and so on.
As I heard the car pulling up to my drive, I had to walk to
the door open it. This was becoming a problem for me, stepping out into the big
bad world.
No time to hide now. This was the choice that had to be. My
third choice. Do something for my Son and in time for me.
Why me? So I could go to bed at night and know my Son was
allowed a choice.
I had to fight my way through the front door. It was like
walking towards a cliff. It was windy, I was on the edge of the ledge and one
gust of wind I would fall to my death. That is how I felt as the engine roared.
How would I find the car door? How would I put the baby seat
in the car? Which way was the car facing?
My tiny child held my hand, it was his hand who got me here
today. He even knew from the age of two how to fasten his little seat belt on
his car seat. Sadly, more dangerously, he also knew how to undo it too.
As we entered the foisty smelling church, the room went
quiet. I felt a thousand faces staring at me. As I know did my baby. slowly but
surely, the children came to him and said hello. Asking if he wanted to play? I
put my hand that wasn’t in his to his face. He was looking up at me. As if for reassurance?
I encouraged him to go off to play. He asked me in his sweet way, if he could
show me where to go? Imagine that as a parent? Our kids grow up too fast. And
not by my choice for sure as I over compensated in many ways over his life to
make sure that an innocent childhood could be given.
The lady who picked me up told him to go and play and she
would show me the seat.
It was a small room and I learned that the thousands of
faces that were looking at me, were in fact, eleven Mums and about fifteen
children. My Son was the youngest at two, the rest were about three and four.
We drank tea or coffee.
The sofa I sat on made me itch.
The toys my Son brought me were sticky.
No other child came and showed their Mum the toys they were
playing with. Why? I learned, because my child from six months knew I had no
ability to see what he was doing. So he showed me his toy putting it in my hand,
rather than across the room. When I fed him solid food, he learned to come to
the spoon, rather than me find his mouth.
I was introduced as the blind Mum… Imagine that? After I was
given my title, I was handed a book.
Oh yes. The book!
Ch.4
There is a light at the end of the tunnel (Chapter 4) Open
minded
I was to learn that the book was indeed a bible.
The fun group for my child was in fact, a bible class for
young Mothers.
Someone was to read out a part of the bible, and then we would
talk about it… Disgusts the meaning… Oh dear. They weren’t ready for me. I
wasn’t ready for me. I had a spark. It was lit. It started to catch fire,
flames turned into a blaze of beliefs, moments of brilliance and views I never
knew I had. But soon learned that what I was saying wasn’t at all what was
expected so my amber flames smouldered into dusty coals.
We were not there to disagree or challenge the bible, but to
believe every single word and take from it something to go into the big bad
world and preach.
Well, after my expressions didn’t receive a good response, I
learned to keep quiet and thankfully, the vicar soon moved me on to another
group in the church, this wasn’t religious, just part of the church where small
children had a lot more toys to play with and there was a load more Mums and
kids from all walks of life.
For weeks I sat there, the odd lady still picked me up but
to be honest, I wasn’t sure just how much more I could take from her? She
stopped sitting next to me and I was on my own, with loud screeching and voices
echoing in the vast hall.
It was juice time. All the Mothers got their children’s
juice and biscuits, brought them back to their seats where they all sat
together. Me, I was still on my own, my baby got his own juice and biscuits. He
sat with me. Again, I felt bad. He had not to feel different. I used to tell
him to join in with the others and he would reply. “No Mummy. I want to sit
with you!”
After more weeks. A couple of Mums came over to me. One
asking if it was OK if she sat next to me, the other saying that my Son looked
like he was stuck in one of the toy cars. Did I want her to get him out for me?
Well, yes first lady could sit next to me with pleasure. And
yes the other could help my baby out, but if only I could have gone and done
it? In fact, the pain of not knowing my Son was in trouble was unbearable. But
I couldn’t tell the ladies that, I had not to be pitiful, but jolly, I had to
over compensate to make them want to be with me.
Each time I heard a child cry, I ached. The loud sounds made
it impossible to identify my own child.
As more weeks went by, I made good friends with the girls.
They actually invited me to the swing park after church. Oh heck. How could I
do this? I wouldn’t be able to watch my child in the park and how to get home?
One lady, Tracey, saw this in my eyes. She then offered to
guide me to the park and said she would drop me off home.
And from then on, some kind of normality would be in place
for my little boy.
I had to learn to adjust to my new world, a place I didn’t
want to be. I had to think differently. How would I take down a phone number?
Answer, Dictaphone. How would I write again? My local blind society told me
about the software that spoke each time I pressed a key. Thank Goodness I
learned to touch type at school. But the price of the software? It was then
almost a thousand pounds. When the lady came to my house to talk to me about
this, she saw in my exasperated expression that there was no way I could even
start to be able to afford that.
Long story short, a local charity funded me half the money,
after a letter was written for me in my words. Where would I be without that
help? The help of the vicar, the odd lady who picked me up for that awful
group? The two girls who came to reach out and talk to me?
Answer, not here writing to you all.
I had already by this point learned to cook, clean, wash and
iron I burn myself still, when I’m ironing, I put the iron down to put
something away I have just done and then have to remember exactly where the
iron is? If I do this, if I misjudge by only a thread, I will burn. Simple. So,
I learned to go down the side of the ironing board and feel for the cord. Once
found, trace it up the the join and that is normally the back of the iron where
the handle is.
So many times I have poured boiling water from the kettle
over the top of my hand. My hand holding the cup steady so I don’t miss. By
sound now, I have learned where to put the spout. So it’s just in the middle of
the cup.
I can hear the difference in the sound as the cup is
filling.
Cooking? It’s far from easy, but in eighteen years, no one
has starved in my house.
Ch. 5
There is a light at the end of the tunnel (CH 5 Acceptance)
By Fiona Cummings
It was time to take my Son to nursery. No one was there to
help me get there even though social services promised a lady would come and
walk us to nursery. This is after a battle as they wanted my three year old to
go by taxi without me. Especially on his first day? No way, this wasn’t
happening. But neither was the help as the day before I was to take him to
school, I was told that the person who was coming, now wasn’t able.
My brother came and walked the route with me. This was a God
send as I had to get my boy to nursery. It was the only thing We had spoken about
for weeks. His little Thomas the tank engine school bag was on the hook for the
next day, big day in his little life.
I didn’t have a white
cane. I for the first time was to walk my baby on our own. Then get back home
on my own? Crossing little roads and one big one, along paths without any kind
of tactile to let me know where I was, I got there, my Son told me when there
was a step.
It was the last door to go in. I had to relate this to my
three year old as the grounds were full of little medium and big children
running all over, little bikes and footballs being kicked from a far, but just
enough to hit us a few times. I wasn’t a parent who could be like the others
and protect my child from these rather hard footballs. He tried to protect me
bless him. Again this cut me up.
We got to the right door where the nursery staff were
waiting and they were my next stage of help. I couldn’t see the clothes peg
with my Sons name on and he didn’t know how to read or write. So they said they
would make it so I had the first peg at the door. A kiss and told him to have
fun.
Now. How to get out of the building without my little angel
eyes?
I can tell you it was hell. I was accused of being a drunk.
My child was kept from other children as I was an alcoholic. Why? Because I was
bumping into things. Apart from tea or coffee, I drank nothing. People were so
cruel.
I had to except the fact, I was blind. I needed more help.
So my white cane training began.
That was awful. Stepping out in front of my neighbours who
most of them if not all, didn’t even know I was blind. How? Not sure, I think
they must have been naive to blindness. In fact, life.
I felt so self-conscious. But I had the best trainer in the
business. He was called David. A wonderful Irish man who was for sure sent to
me as part of my journey as no one else I am sure would have had such an effect
on me. He was the first person in my life to believe in me. Moreover, to make
me believe in myself.
All the new things to take in. All the questions from other
Mothers. When did you go blind? How blind are you? So you don’t have a drink
problem? And so on.
My child went from not being asked to parties to being
invited, but how to get him there? Well, with the help of my white cane, asking
a lot of passer-by’s and my little boy, I got him to most of them, but it
didn’t occur to parents, how would I get there? Many times we would come from a
party, it was raining, I would hear other parents asking who wanted a lift? Me?
We walked home. I did go as far on a couple of times to ask for help but it
wasn’t given. Then more strength came.
Ch. 6
There is a light at the end of the tunnel (Chapter 6
Stronger)
By Fiona Cummings
With the help of David, my confidents built. Nothing was
going to stop me. My knocks over the years by many wasn’t going to stop me from
fighting for my child. The first lesson, do you want to know what it was?
To dump those who
were haters and negative in my life. For those who thought I was an
inconvenience in their perfect lives. Once I found the strength to do this, I
felt free of the heavy chains of negativity and dread.
I went into education as far as to re-educate myself. Because
of the nasty children who made fun of my now five-year-old Son as they
pretended to mimic me using my white cane, I applied for a guide dog. Something
I was so against as I am an animal rights person and don’t believe in using
dogs.
I did some research into Guide Dogs UK and learned that they
have the best food, best vetanary care and in general, once the harness is off,
they are our pets, we can play with them take them to the beach and so on.
After a long eighteen months waiting for the perfect match
between me and my new and first guide dog, my strict training with my guide dog
began. It was a very long and exhausting five weeks of intense training.
Suddenly my Son became very popular at school. As oddly
enough did I. People spoke to me because of my dog and learned that my brain
functioned rather well. I was like them, only full of more compassion and a lot
more of a challenged life I had in comparison to them. In fact, one day when my
autobiography will I hope come out, my life was more of a challenge before my
seventh birthday than any other adult I know of and I hope you will be able to
read that in the near future. But more on that I hope in a later date.
© Fiona Cummings
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