Jan 23
Enrolment Part.1
Of course, I couldn’t find that one piece of paper I needed, my old transcripts so I could apply for advanced credit and skip the 2/3rds of the degree I had already done. So I was late.
There was much swearing and agitation until I bit the bullet and called to see if me getting there 2 hours after the allotted time would be a problem. Apparently, it wasn’t. Yay for me. Apparently, it also wasn’t a problem that I didn’t have my transcripts: The enrolment officers could access them on their computers. Yay for me.
The weather, of course, was Melbourne. Biting cold wind with promises of an almost scorching day, so Cas and I left all rugged up, with just enough room in the bottom of the pram to shove all the clothes we would inevitably have to remove.
Prams on trams are not the greatest thing. They’re even worse, when you catch them in the city and they are mostly full. They are even worse when you’re half blind and don’t really have any idea where you are supposed to get off. But the university was large enough for me to see in time. All was well.
Until I got off and realised that to get out of the tram stop in the middle of the road and across to the Uni, I had to go via an underpass, the only access to which was a very steep set of stairs. I guess trams are not designed for prams. Or disabled people.
Anyway, after the gargantuan effort of navigating the stairwell with my heavy load of winter coats and a bored baby, I was actually standing there at the entrance of the university. I was almost a student again! But the campus was large.
And I couldn’t see.
I learned a few things on Tuesday I think. Having that “disability” was disorienting and confusing. It made being somewhere unfamiliar very uncomfortable. I eventually managed to find my way around, and I did ask for help when I needed it, but I noticed when I did how much I “faked” being able to follow where specifically people were pointing. I used to do Adult Literacy tutoring. My students got through their whole lives to that point “faking it”.
It’s not a nice feeling and I wonder what deep recesses of my psyche prevented me from just saying, “I’ve lost my glasses and can’t see very clearly.” Because nodding as though I understood them fully was very much a lie. And I’m not a liar. And I hate the idea of being a liar.
There is no shame in having a minor visual impairment but the only thing I can think of that could motivate that dishonest behaviour is shame. The shame of not being able to manage everything for yourself. But that didn’t seem to fit. I think it was almost an evolutionary, defensive instinct; covering up a weakness.
But it made me uncomfortable when talking to people, and by the time I actually got to processing my enrolment, my eyes were so strained that making eye contact was difficult and I was unable to pick up on the non-verbal cues I am normally sensitive to. I felt disconnected. I felt frustrated. And I even felt angry.
I’ll tell you more about my enrolment tomorrow - and there were tears! - but right now, I’m just thinking back to my students, and wondering how isolated they felt for so many years. And I’m wondering at the bravery it took for them to sign up for classes to learn to read. And I’m wondering how much that early, instinctive pretending got in the way of them receiving the support they deserved as children and young adults. Not just in reading, but in life.
My experience can not in any way compare to anyone’s with a real disability, but I think on enrolment day I had an insight into how it can restrict so much more than just the obvious, mechanical things.
January 24th, 2008 at 12:26 am
This reminds me of a recent post I read at Cosmic Variance — it’s a nice story in itself but I was struck by the way the poster’s daughter “faked” being able to hear things, without even really realising she was hearing-impaired. I think this sort of thing is pretty common … I’m absolutely terrible with names, so to avoid the embarrassment of making a mistake (you’re right, it’s shame) I almost never say somebody’s name when I run into them and say hello, even if I know full well who they are! It wasn’t a conscious tactic, just something I must have been doing for a long time before I noticed it. People must think I’m really rude …
January 24th, 2008 at 1:02 am
Oh gosh, I spent my first nine years not seeing properly until someone realised I needed glasses. The kids at school thought I was “stuck up” because I didn’t know who was who until they got very close, and appeared to be ignoring people. My last blog post was about growing up feeling disconnected from the rest of the world – can it be that there was such a simple reason? This could also have explained my physical clumsiness when young.
January 24th, 2008 at 3:29 am
Well, you are charging right along and I, probably one among many, am so proud of you! This post is so good… there must be millions who identify with it. I know three first hand…my nephew was very hearing impaired (challenged?)from birth but no one caught it. As a very bright toddler he learned to read lips enough to survive, but he was accused of ignoring his parents and then teachers…labeled as having an attitude, etc. and treated accordingly. When tested, and after hearing loss was identified, he had surgeries in both ears that were effective. We all felt so happy, and so sad the first time he heard a bird and asked “what’s that?” That was when we fully realized the world he’d been living in…
missing so much others take for granted…and being in trouble so often through no fault of his own. Imagine the pain and frustration of that?
Another was a brother who couldn’t see well at all. No one caught that either until he was seven. Turned out when his vision was corrected he was quite intelligent, not the poor student he was being labeled as, and again the attitude thing did its damage.
The third is a niece who was developmentally challenged from birth,but labeled shy. Again, not identified for years, not until she was ten years old! By then she, too, was accused of not trying hard enough to do her school work, blamed on an “attitude,” too. Needless to say we all felt terrible when it turned out she was tested at an age 7 developomental stage that she would never grow beyond.
Seems like one of the first things we’d be wise to do when a child doesn’t seem to be listening, seeing, paying attention, socializing, acting out, or showing other similar behaviors, is to seek medical advice and testing instead of assuming as so many do that the child is going through a “phase,” to outgrow…
But I write today on another matter…although not unrelated it seems.
Megan Bayless over at “Imaginif…Child Protection Became Serious Business” tagged me for a Meme. I confess I didn’t even know what such a thing was…another quick learning experience for me! At 65 it’s amazing how much I still have to learn…
So you are TAGGED! Means you are IT to play “Seven Random Things About Me! Any of your interested readers are invited to join in, too. Please don’t miss this one. Follow the link to see the rules and my Meme as an example.
http://childpersonfromthesouth.blogspot.com
A Child is Waiting.
Take Care…Be Aware.
Nancy
January 24th, 2008 at 9:27 am
Brett, thanks for the link. I could recognise so much of it. Luckily for me, Cas was at the audiologist within a couple of weeks of his birth, but when he had his surgery at 9 mths, the changes were almost identical the ones described there.
Snaky & Nancy, thanks for sharing those stories. I was really happy to read them this morning when I got up.
Just generally, it is amazing how children learn to cope and compensate but also disturbing how easily their behaviour can be misinterpreted. And adults too, I guess. I think I’ll have to revisit this subject when I have more time to write properly.
And a general apology too, as I just haven’t had time to read and comment lately. I will catch up at some stage! And Nancy, I’ll get on to those 7 random things early next week. Thanks for tagging me.
January 24th, 2008 at 10:05 am
It’s a pretty interesting experience to be in that situation and all of a sudden have an appreciation for how it must be for others. I’ve had a similar experience throwing myself into a situation where I couldn’t speak the language or understand what people were saying to me. I do a lot of nodding and smiling when I don’t fully understand what’s going on because sometimes its just easier to muddle through than constantly ask people to speak more slowly or repeat themselves. It’s frustrating because you feel like all of a sudden you have the vocabulary skills of a 4 year old (actually I think my 4 year old has better Spanish skills than me). But’s its also exhausting! I completely understand why someone with a disability whether physical, mental or in the strict sense of the word (a lack of a particular ability) would get tired of asking for help and would try to fudge their way through. And that’s just in dealing with kind and understanding people, imagine how difficult it would be to keep asking for help in the face of discrimination, ridicule or ignorance?
In any event, I’m sorry the enrolment didn’t go smoothly. I hope you can work it all out without too much hassle.
January 24th, 2008 at 1:06 pm
I think you are very brave and should be really proud of yourself x
January 25th, 2008 at 12:45 am
I’ve been diagnosed as legally blind for the past 4 years now and I’m still “faking it” only because I get tired of reminding people “no I can’t see that vague splodge in the distance you’re pointing to”,etc even when they know I have a vision deficit.
I smile and nod and say “oh yes” just coz I’m sick of the reaction when I remind people.
January 25th, 2008 at 4:30 am
Inspirational conversation… while living in Ethiopia and Okinawa for 3 years each, I certainly spent lots of time nodding and hoping I wasn’t agreeing to something I’d regret later! But I also encountered two different people who handed me business cards explaining the difficulty each person struggled with. One was deaf and his card explained that he was deaf but could read lips so please look directly at him and speak slowly. The other was also deaf; a girl who could read lips and could speak but was difficult to understand her speach. The cards in both cases seemed to work well…I understood what was needed from me and could then make adjustments that benefited both of us. It was especially important with the girl as she had a hot temper and without the card it was just too easy to respond to her anger rather than try to reach across the barrier to communication.
By the way, I have a friend who works with the folks at Phame. If you haven’t heard of Phame, you might enjoy learning about a goup of incredible people determined to follow their dreams of being on stage…
And Cerebral Mum…and others who might be interested. The second of the Memes is ready to post at:
http://childpersonfromthesouth.blogspot.com
This Meme is from Marj at “Survivors can Thrive.” This one is called “Survivor Needs.” Both were worth the time for me, but I surely do understand reluctance to get caught up in too many of these things!
A Child is Waiting.
Take care…be aware,
Nancy
January 27th, 2008 at 11:15 am
Sorry I’ve taken so long to respond, guys. I’ve just buried myself in the site design for the knitting charity. Without that singleminded focus, I would never get it done.
Guera, I can see how the language barrier would be the same.
And Jayne, yes I can see how it would be tedious. I’ve had friends I’ve known for years before ever finding out they had an impairment.
Nancy, I’ve heard about people using the cards. I imagine they are really useful in certain situations. I’ll try to get to the meming in a couple of days.
And the reading! I’ve hardly read a blog or left a comment all month. This needs to be fixed. I love that you guys all come and visit me, but I fear my turn is overdue.
I will get there though.