Fat Man/Fit Town

Edges are important to me. And very, very dangerous.

About two and half years ago, I wrote a little about having retinitis pigmentosa and what it’s like to be blind, but not completely blind. RP is degenerative, so things have not gotten better. And they haven’t stayed the same, either. From one day to the next, my vision seems about the same, but it’s pretty clear that, in the past couple of years, and perhaps even more dramatically in the past year, things are worse.

On the plus side, I can still get around on my own via foot or public transit, as long as I’m reasonably familiar with the surroundings. I can do my work without needing special accesibility tools (a big mouse pointer and light on dark text are sufficient for most things). I’ve accomodated pretty well to wearing bifocals (in fairness, that’s probably more a function of age than the RP). And I am not, you know, dying or anything dire. OK, that last was too much. Really, my life is pretty good. I have a loving family, a job, good friends, and I want for nothing.

But, still…

Edges, edges everywhere, and, with luck, not a drop off into the drink.

My useful visual field is very narrow. Don’t know how narrow, as I haven’t bothered to have it measured recently, but suffice it to say that narrow describes it pretty well. When your useful visual field is effectively a small disk, it helps immensely to be able to follow edges.

Sidewalks on a normal, rectilinear street grid have these marvelous edges known as curbs. I love them. I just keep my eye on the edge, and I can navigate a fairly straight path down the sidewalk. Of course, I do risk crashing into the odd pole or fire hydrant or pedestrian while concentrating on that edge, but that’s why I carry the white cane.

Edges are everywhere for me, and quite essential. The edge where the molding meets the floor helps me avoid the walls (but not necessarily the wall hangings projecting out from it). The edges of windows on my computer screen help me to navigate my self around to the part of the display I need. The edges of the counter and the kitchen table…well, their utility should be obvious by now.

But, as essential as they are, all these useful edges are a challenge. After all, as I said, following them too closely leads me to miss other, rather important things, some more hazardous than others. I misjudged a step the other day, one foot went down about six inches off the (non-street) sidewalk, and I caught myself, badly, on a rustic fence that gave me a couple of good bruises. That was an accident.

But sometimes I dread deliberately stepping off those edges. Who knows if there’s a drop much longer than I can perceive. Who knows if there’s a car coming down the street as I step off that curb (I do look–and listen–for this, but there’s still a little clench just at the moment).

I need to think more about edges. Seems like there’s a metaphor here for something else, but I’m perceiving them quite literally at the moment.

I am one terrible blogger. Never write. Never call. Feel guilty, but keep procrastinating. I spend too much time surfing, not enough adding content to the tubes. But my neighbor just started a blog (Sir Snackalot), and I’ve been inspired to say something (anything, really). One hopes that there’s some value in sharing experience in such a public way. I’ve never really been a writer for a general audience, but I don’t really expect to be widely read, so consider this a message in a bottle. Maybe someone will pick it up at some point and go “Huh. Interesting.” Or not. No big deal either way.

Enough with the meta navel gazing. Onward.