I am currently awaiting surgery for my fourth onset of a middle ear disease called ‘cholesteatoma’. http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/cholesteatoma/Pages/Introduction.aspx This destructive disease is effectively a ball of skin cells which grows inside the ear eating everything in its path, including bone. Nice! Although the ball of skin cells resembles a large tumour it isn’t cancerous, but it must be removed surgically.
Most cholesteatomas are slow-growing but they do cause a lot of damage. In my case the recurrent disease has destroyed my balance organ and made me almost completely deaf in my left ear. The surgery I’m waiting for will cure the cholesteatoma but in doing so it will make my balance worse and leave me with no hearing at all on my left side. If untreated the disease will eventually find its way into my brain, so surgery is my only option.
So I’m in a strange position at the moment knowing that I’ll have an operation next year which could severely compromise my mobility and independence – at least in the short term. My surgeon told me that I will have to learn from scratch how to walk and balance, without a balance organ. With no useful sight, and therefore no visual points of reference to help me walk, I am quite nervous about what it will be like post-surgery. So I’m taking a proactive approach in my preparations.
At the moment my balance is quite poor, and I walk as if I’ve had three too many. I’m often stumbling and swaying, trying to counteract the effects of vertigo. My balance began to deteriorate in March this year. At first it unsettled my guide dog Dash, and he lost a lot of confidence.
He takes his work very seriously and I think he felt responsible for my tumbles and stumbles. So I had to scale back his harness work and rely on sighted companions to get out and about. But over the last few months Dash has adapted really well and now walks very cautiously, checking constantly to see how I am. He no longer gets overly anxious in harness, and if the ground looks uneven he’ll simply stop and wait for me to adjust my balance before continuing. Dash has always had amazing intuition. My Guide dog trainer has advised that we don’t go too far without accompaniment as I have had a few nasty falls which potentially put Dash in danger as well as myself. It’s not easy adhering to this advice because a guide dog is essentially a freedom ticket. So restricting our walks has been tough. In September I learned that things are going to get even worse from the mobility point of view, and this was a real knock.
But I must find a way round it. In Summer this year I met a lady with MS who was training with an assistance dog, and she mentioned that Guide Dogs were making her dog a special harness to help her balance. I remember wondering at the time if this might come in useful for me. Subsequently I have done some research and discovered that in the US (and increasingly in the UK) there are ‘balance dogs’ trained specifically to help people with chronic balancing problems. http://www.keystonehumanservices.org/susquehanna-service-dogs/balance-dogs.php
In my view Dash has already stepped up, of his own accord, and helps me in ways beyond his guide dog training. But I am going to make enquiries about whether his harness can be adapted so that I can use it as a stabilizer if needs be, when we’re out and about.
I have spent most of today researching walking aids. I don’t need a walking stick but I do need something to stop me toppling over when I lose my balance. This will help Dash to stay confident and keep us both safe. But trying to find something discreet, aesthetic and useful has been really hard! After much hunting I’ve come up with a Sabi walking cane http://www.designed2enable.co.uk/product/sabi-roam-sport-cane and a tri support ferrule, which I need to buy separately. The ferrule has three flexible feet to make the walking cane even more stable. I want something that I can hook over my arm on stand-by to access quickly if I start falling.
This situation reminds me of when my sight was starting to fail and I was not safe going out and about without a mobility aid. I was crippled with self-consciousness and hated every second of my first journey with a long cane. I felt so blind, even though I did not think of myself as blind. I suspect that my first walk with a balance aid will make me feel really disabled, even though that isn’t how I define myself. But in these situations we’re faced with a stark choice. Accept it, embrace it and get on with living. Or deny it, hide from it and never set foot outside the front door. If I don’t accept that I need to use a balance aid I will not be able to go out safely with Dash, and we’ll lose our freedom. Having had a guide dog since 2008 I am not about to give up my mobility and independence! Absolutely no way. Someone said to me today that using a walking aid isn’t a sign that I am disabled, it’s a tool to enable me to carry on regardless. And she was right. We all need to make adjustments as we go through life and I’ve always felt that obstacles are there to get around not to stop me in my tracks. So I need to put my philosophy into practise.
Recently I spent a few days at the Calvert Trust activity centre in Exmoor http://www.calvert-trust.org.uk/exmoor/exmoor taking part in a series of outdoor challenges. I am by no means athletic but I completed every single challenge, including rock climbing. The great thing about going somewhere like Calvert is that it reinforces a ‘can-do’ attitude and that ‘can-do’ ethos stays put in your psyche for some time. So back home in Hereford my priority is to get back into my long solo treks with Dash and find a way of overcoming my deteriorating balance. My Guide dog trainer is visiting in a couple of weeks time so I hope to show her what Dash and I can do! If she sees that we are safe when we’re out together then I am on the way to freedom again.
My operation will not be soon, given the crisis that Hereford County Hospital is in at the moment. So I am going to use the time wisely and prepare myself for what lies ahead. So far on my list I have: Find out about adapting Dash’s guide dog harness; Start using a balance/walking aid; Make my home environment clutter-free and safe; Learn the Alexander Technique http://www.stat.org.uk
I have an acute sense of smell. And the truth of the matter is, I stink.
On May 10th 2014 around 100 people gathered to celebrate the Past In Mind project and the launch of Kate Lack’s fascinating book: Past In Mind: A Heritage Project and Mental Health Recovery.
Whitbourne Village Hall was buzzing with excitement and anticipation as faces old and new filled up the room.
It was very heartwarming to meet up with people we hadn’t seen since last year, and to hear their news. Past In Mind became a very close-knit group and we all believed in the project so much that it has left a definite imprint on each of us.
After some luxurious refreshments there were a few short presentations from a cross-section of people involved with the project. True to the ethos of Past In Mind this included some thoughts from volunteers…
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I have had my guide dog Trudy (AKA The Hereford Hoover) for just over five years, and we’ve reached the time that I’ve been dreading most – her official retirement.
When Trudy bounced into my life I was living in a residential home and had got used to the fact that I would probably be there forever. I rarely went out on my own, and feared strangers to the extent that I could not tolerate busy streets or crowded rooms. I spent most of my time indoors listening to music or the radio. The big wide world was virtually inaccessible to me.
Of course the furry whirlwind that filled my small room in May 2008 changed all that. Time for a cliché – it really was love at first sight. I knew Trudy was special. I knew she would radically change my life. It was breathtaking. Three days after that momentous first meeting we began our four weeks training together, and life has never been the same since.
Less than two years after training with Trudy I moved into my own flat and immersed myself in a new life. With Trudy’s help I overcame my fear of people and trained as a volunteer Speaker for Guide Dogs. Sometimes I wonder if I am the same person when I give a talk to an audience. I remember the me who refused to go into a room if there were more than two people in it.
Before I had even met Trudy I was told that she was a stubborn dog who loved her food. I had no concept of the Hereford Hoover then. Trudy’s trademark is her pinkish brown snout, glued to the ground wherever she goes, sniffing, snorting, and snuffling her way forward. There has been countless occasions where the Hoover has been offered cleaning jobs in various public buildings. (And as many where she has narrowly escaped being ordered off the premises). But despite her penchant for hoovering, Trudy was always a first-class guide dog. She has guided me to Scotland, London, Devon, Essex and all over the West Midlands. Together we have mastered ferries, trains, buses, trams, the London Tube and even a carousel in Hereford High Town at Christmas. Before I met Trudy, I would have preferred to die than go anywhere via public transport. (And I definitely never would have tried the carousel!)
Trudy stopped walking in harness about three months ago, but is due to retire officially next week. Her guide dog harness will be taken away for good.
Five years ago I never envisaged the emotional turmoil this would throw me into. A guide dog provides so much emotional and practical support that as a team you begin to function as one being. Picking up the harness and fastening the buckle under Trudy’s stomach is second nature to me. We just used to get up and go out. Being out and about with a guide dog is a real joy. I was forever finding reasons to go out with Trudy just to experience the unbroken communication between us.
I loved the feel of her body bobbing up and down under the harness, the different signals she used to give me through the harness handle as we explored the streets of Hereford, and her sneaky attempts to procure food from the pavements wherever we went. Hoovering aside, I knew that I could trust Trudy with my life. The trust between us is mutual and it unites us. In her guide dog heyday Trudy was a keen worker and would always fly into her harness (quite literally!). She used to cock her head as if to ask me what our plans were for the day. No two days were ever the same. One day we could be in Worcester, the next in the park, the next on a coach to London and the next in the theatre. (I regret to say that Trudy often graced musical performances with her own vocal arrangements, so I always made sure we were right at the back near the exit!)
Reflecting over the past five years brings home to me how much Trudy has transformed my life. In 2010 she was runner-up in the Life Changing category of the Guide Dog of the Year Awards, and in 2011 she won the Life Changing category. The 2011 award was in recognition for Trudy’s role in helping me to cope with Breast Cancer. She unquestionably speeded up my physical and emotional recovery.
Trudy is notoriously inappropriate on official occasions. She nearly ruined the photo shoot in the 2010 ceremony when she dived to retrieve an apple stalk and refused to drop it. And far worse, when we met the Duke of Edinburgh last year during the Royal visit to Hereford, she stuck her snout inside his raincoat to sniff a certain part of his anatomy… Less said of that the better. (For the curious among you, he remarked: “Something must smell nice in there!”.)
Our precious moment of un-glory.
It’s very hard to acknowledge the end of an era with such a character as the Hereford Hoover. Trudy is not quite ten, and probably could have continued as a guide dog for longer had she not effectively retired herself. About a year ago I began to notice subtle changes in her demeanour when we were out together. She seemed fed up, and became more and more distracted. She started meandering instead of walking in straight lines, and frequently led me up the garden path (in fact every garden path in the street!). I got the distinct impression that she was no longer enjoying walking in harness. Eventually this was confirmed when she lay down in the middle of the pavement on strike. (Not once, but three times on three separate walks!) A guide dog on strike needs to be listened to.
So three months ago I decided to stop taking her out on harness. Since then Trudy has found her inner puppy, and bounces through the park revelling in her well-earned freedom. I know I have made the right decision.
But although Trudy is benefiting from the redundant harness, I am finding our new way of life quite difficult. The guide dog harness is a freedom ticket, and without it I have lost a lot of confidence. I still have my lovely dog and she gives me so much in the way of affection, humour and companionship. But our roaming area has shrunk from UK unlimited to a small corner of Hereford.
I am reasonably competent at using a long cane but this way of getting around ignites my old fears and anxieties about going out. I find using a long cane quite an ordeal, and it makes me incredibly nervous. After being dependent on a guide dog a long cane seems clumsy and lonely. I have tried taking Trudy with me on my various practise expeditions. It is better than being out on my own, but the slow walking speed and numerous crashes into bins, bollards and boards continue to put me off. In addition (and this may sound ridiculous) relying on a long cane is a constant reminder to me that I cannot see, whereas walking with a guide dog enables me to forget it. So my current solution is to go to the park every day with Trudy, but nowhere else. And after five years of freedom and increasing confidence, this is a set-back. If you imagine someone who has been used to walking with a prosthetic leg suddenly losing that leg and having to rely on crutches – that is how I feel without a working guide dog. Thankfully I still have Trudy, and she has prevented me from becoming a recluse.
And that brings me onto the pivotal question. What next? This is the question that has caused me untold agonies. My first decision was to keep Trudy as a pet and train with a new guide dog. Guide Dogs have been very supportive and in March they loaned me a dog for a week to see how I would manage with two dogs. The week went well and I coped.
But I knew deep down that I would not be able to sustain it. When you have a guide dog on harness you’re not allowed to walk another dog at the same time. I tried to imagine myself on a really bad day where I
struggle to make it out of bed. Could I honestly say that I would be able to go out and about with the guide dog and then come back and take Trudy to the park? There are days when I just manage to take Trudy out to the grass and then to the park gate where I let her off the lead. With a young guide dog raring to go, and Trudy needing and deserving a quality retirement, I know the pressure would get to me eventually. Not only that, I remember so clearly my first year with Trudy. The first year in a new partnership takes every ounce of time, patience, energy and determination. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that it would not be fair on either Trudy or the new guide dog to have the two of them.
So the reluctant decision I have had to make is that when the right guide dog is found for me Trudy will go to live with a friend in Hereford. Subject to approval by Guide Dogs, this would be a brilliant compromise. Trudy will have a fantastic retirement with people she knows and loves. I will still have contact with my Hereford Hoover, whilst benefiting from having a guide dog to help me fulfil my remaining dreams. This way Trudy and I will both be winners. Someone advised me recently to imagine that Trudy is going off to University rather than leaving for good. (Look out St. John’s College, Oxford!). Bizarre as it may seem, this has helped me with the heartache. Trudy will still be a huge part of my life.
In the meantime, Hoover and I are spending some quality time together and I have no regrets about her retiring. I have my fingers crossed that my new guide dog will be an anti-establishment, rule-bending and reliably subversive canine with a character to rival the Hereford Hoover. As Miranda Hart might say; “Such fun”.
To find out more about Guide Dogs for the Blind, please click here: http://www.guidedogs.org.uk/scarlett3/?gclid=CI_KgorL9bcCFfLHtAodYyYAqw
I was contacted in December by someone who wishes to share his family’s personal story. This truly inspiring account written by Cameron Von St. James demonstrates the power of hope. It has also inspired me to revitalise this blog. Thank you Cameron.
Standing by my Wife Through Her Cancer Journey
On November 21, 2005, my family’s lives changed forever. On this day, my wife Heather found out that she had malignant pleural mesothelioma. It had only been three months since we celebrated the birth of our first child, and instead of getting ready to celebrate our first Christmas together, our lives were heading into a chaotic period.
Before we even left the hospital, I knew that I would have an important job ahead. Caring for a cancer patient would be extremely difficult. After the doctor told us about mesothelioma, he gave us three places we could go for treatment. My wife was speechless after learning about her diagnosis; therefore, I made the decision to go to Boston under the care of Dr. David Sugarbaker, a renowned specialist in the treatment of mesothelioma.
During the next two months, we were living in a very chaotic situation. Heather and I both used to work before she was diagnosed with cancer; however, after her diagnosis, she could no longer work. As for me, I could only work part time. I had to care for my wife, travel to Boston, and take care of our daughter. I was so overwhelmed and often thought about the worst possible outcomes. I was terrified of losing my wife and being left alone to raise a daughter who would never really know her mother. On several occasions, I found myself breaking down and crying when I was alone. However, I never cried around Heather because I knew she depended on me to be strong for her.
We were blessed to have so many people to help us. Many people would give us both words of comfort, and financial assistance which we so desperately needed. I was so hesitant to accept their help at first, but as soon as I let go of my pride and started accepting the generous offers that were coming our way, a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. If there is anything that I would tell people dealing with cancer, it would be to take any offers of help offered to them.
Caring for someone with cancer is difficult, and most people will experience a ton of emotions; however, it is important to not let the fear and anger take control. By continuing to have hope, life is easier to manage. It was the most difficult journey of either of our lives, but after Heather’s intense treatment involving surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, she miraculously beat mesothelioma, a feat so rare it is almost unheard of.
After this ordeal, I decided to go back to school to study Information Technology. My experience as Heather’s caregiver helped prepare me. I graduated with high honors, and at my graduation, I was the student graduation speaker. During my graduation speech, I informed the audience that I would have never imagined giving a graduation speech five years prior; however, by having hope and never giving up, people can accomplish more than they have ever dreamed of accomplishing. Heather and Lily were in the audience to cheer me on, and that was the best reward of all.
I was up early on January 27th 2012 – well before I needed to be. Whenever I undertake a long journey I have a rigorous pre-travel routine, which has become more complicated since Trudy’s arrival on the scene. On this particular trip Trudy’s kit took up more suitcase space than mine! (Probably my fault for packing more dog food than necessary in case we got stranded somewhere). The motto “Just in case” unfortunately determines most of what I pack when I go away.
Sight-impaired people often find public transport a real headache. Travelling by train in the UK has been made easier thanks to station stops being announced on the train’s PA system. It is not very often nowadays that we have to resort to counting stops or checking the time to ascertain where we are on a train journey! But the noisy, smelly and busy platforms, crowded trains and huge gaps in between the train and platform can be off-putting. As for which platform to go to and which train to board, that’s another mountainous obstacle. Booking Assisted Travel beforehand reduces the stress of an unfamiliar train journey, but nevertheless it is not easy to put your trust in a “system “.
Hereford Railway Station has the most expert staff when it comes to assisting passengers who need extra help. Down to a T, they are faultless. Even so, until I was a hundred per cent sure that I was on the right train to Crewe I could not relax. As it was early the train was quiet and I found myself settling back very quickly. Trudy’s agenda was to hoover up beneath the seats and wriggle as far away as she could on the lead. After she had licked the floor and eaten all the stray crumbs, she grumbled and curled up in a big lump to catch up on some missed sleep. Labradors have it so easy.
Crewe was where I needed to change in order to catch the train to Glasgow Central. When I had Googled Crewe Station a few days earlier, I was dismayed to learn that the station had 12 platforms and several cafes. In other words, it was BIG. This meant that as the train approached Crewe I became steadily more anxious. What if there was no staff member waiting to meet me and assist me with the connection? What if I actually missed the connection and never got to Gourock? Suddenly my whole life seemed to hang on making this one train connection. It became my ultimate goal, my springboard, my future. Crewe Station was Rivendell, Mount Olympus, Utopia, Paradise. I had to get there, and equally I had to leave. The Quest was gigantic and seemingly impossible.
On arrival, I was met by an extremely cheerful young man who took charge of my suitcase and bad me follow. Off I went into the nether regions of Crewe Station, Trudy hoovering in the lead, completely oblivious to where we were heading. It paid to be trusting. In a few minutes I was comfortably established in one of the cafes I’d read about, relieved that at least I would make it over the border to Glasgow. The chirpy lad was unquestionably sure of his trains, and that meant that I was sure too. Ironically, I actually informed a fellow passenger that this was the correct platform for Glasgow Central – such is the ebb and flow of public transport!
The second leg of the journey felt like the real start of my adventure. For one thing, I am so used to Arriva Trains that sitting in a train which was owned by a different company felt decidedly unorthodox. It was like being in a stranger’s house. This train was very crowded, and Trudy received far more attention than she had done on the way to Crewe.
I could feel the tip of her tail thumping against my foot as one by one, people described her as “marvellous” and “beautiful”. Her ear flaps were pinned back against the side of her head as she licked the cream off the luscious compliments. She was the picture of stoicism – the perfect working dog, saintly, bordering on smug.
So when she dived into an un-manned crisp packet and virtually devoured the contents before anyone could intervene, the food crime appeared all the more shocking and unthinkable. I was expecting a Tabloid journalist to tap me on the shoulder and berate me for “creating” a thief. I felt the shame of a disappointed parent. The aisle was narrow and there were people jammed in every available space, so Trudy’s intention to finish off her ill-gotten gains was harder to contain. I succeeded in retrieving the crisp packet, only to realise that my hand and sleeve were covered in slimy, half-chewed crisp remnants fresh from the mouth of a Labrador. I pretended I was not with her. I was disgusted. Trudy was disgusted too, for she wanted the crisps. The atmosphere was a tangible bubble of bad mood.
Then we reached Preston. I remember Preston because the train suddenly became colder. This was my first awareness of being “on holiday”. It was snowing outside, and I began excitedly sending texts to friends and family relating that I was at Preston, and “guess what guys? It’s snowing!” The PA system decided to pack up here so I rapidly tried to recall how many stations lay in between Preston and Glasgow Central. There was a swift change of guard, and the new one was Scottish – so we truly were on the way to Glasgow!
Having survived Crewe, I was not overly anxious about Glasgow Central Station. I’m very glad, for this station dwarfed Crewe by far. It was like a micro-city, with swarms of passengers buzzing hither and thither. Thankfully the Assisted Travel was still up to the mark, as otherwise I would have disappeared into the underworld and never emerged again. In Glasgow Station I giggled like an over-excited kid – I was actually over the border, out of England, venturing into another country! My ears tuned into Scottish voices, some of which I could barely comprehend. I slid about in my own Englishness, for it felt totally inadequate in this environment. I so wanted to add a bit of Scot to my identity!
My third train was a relatively short journey from Glasgow Central to Gourock. By sheer coincidence I found that I was sitting opposite someone who was destined for the Murder Mystery Weekend in Dunoon. Trudy actually introduced us and hence made the discovery – in return for which I forgave her earlier food crime. The Snout has its uses.
Thus I reached my destination of Gourock Railway Station nearly seven and a half hours after leaving Hereford. The smoothness of the journey gave me untold confidence when it came to returning home three days later. Ironically this time I did miss the connection at Crewe which delayed my return to Hereford by over an hour. The event was almost an anti-climax and I smiled recalling the anxiety which had plagued me just a few days earlier. I can even whisper to the world that I think I now feel confident travelling by train. “If there’s a railway station,” I heard myself saying to someone a couple of days ago, “Trudy and I can get there”.
The second part of the Tartan Trilogy (in progress) will recount the Murder Mystery Weekend itself – tune in if you dare!
Well here I am, in my Hereford den, poised to relate my adventures. But the black dog has sought to hound me yet again, and that is why my WordPress Tartan Trilogy is still wrapped in its box in my cerebral attic.
I have stolen the black dog metaphor from Winston Churchill because I cannot produce a better one. The hound appears from nowhere, hungry for your soul, thirsty for your life-blood. When you wake up and espy the beast lying at your bedside you cannot escape from him. Loyal as any hound, he follows you wherever you go, and finds his way into the core of your being. In many ways you become the black dog which is haunting you.
Shortly after my return from Scotland I learned that my grandmother had died. I thought that I was coping fairly well with my grief until the black dog bit my ankles and brought me down. Once I was on the ground with his hot breath pumping into my face, I could not get up again.
Over time I have learned that the black dog is not something to fight. He is stronger than I am, and could kill me with one snap of his jaws. Whenever I feel those iron jaws upon me, despite my instinct to fight him off I must reach out to caress and soothe him. As my fingers plunge into his black fur I know that I have to accept this unwelcome visitor. For an unspecified period I will be sharing my life with him – a semi-feral beast who would not be averse to eating me for dinner. If I allow him to stay and treat him with wary respect, I have a better chance of staying alive. For being no ordinary hound, eventually he will tire of me and wander away. The black dog likes to wander.
As I write, the black hound still lurks nearby but he appears to be retreating. As soon as I feel some space between the beast and myself I crawl onto my knees and examine my wounds. The bites have been severe this time, but they are not fatal.
I know that as soon as I regain some inner-strength and optimism he will slide away into the shadows. When I become master of myself, I am master of him also.
So the Tartan Trilogy may well appear fairly soon if the black dog continues his retreat. But right now he is still skulking between me and my mental archives, and I do not wish to lose my fingers.
I’m writing this post in some haste. Trudy and I are embarking on an adventure early tomorrow morning which is making me feel electric with excitement and apprehension.
In November last year when life was pretty bleak I responded impulsively to an e-mail which was offering a discount on a Murder Mystery Weekend in Dunoon.
I realised today that I have been wanting to go to Scotland for thirty-five years, so this trek across the border feels momentous. Trudy and I have been told to arrive at Gourock Railway Station by 4.30pm tomorrow. The whole trip has such a thrilling, mystifying, alarming uncertainty about it that I am almost beside myself.
The sense of adventure is gripping. I have no idea what to expect – or even if we will get there. This journey is truly putting Assisted Travel to the test! My public transport experiences have been so varied that I am prepared for anything.
I do not know anyone in the holiday group so that too is fuelling my imagination. Who will be there, and what on Earth am I doing? Whether I’m experiencing some mid-life crisis or latent travel bug is immaterial now, for I am all packed and about to go to bed so that I won’t sleep past the alarm (set for 5.30am).
No time to think about the whys and wherefores. The Hoover and Bag go forth!