As he aged, Dad’s white cane stopped being a mobility cane used in a sweeping motion in front of him to detect obstacles. It became a staff to lean on while standing. Then it became a walking stick.
For the last year, I’ve asked Dad periodically if he wanted a sturdy cane to lean on. He always says no. I brought over an old hiking pole of mine for him to see how much more stable a cane could be. He tried it and said he didn’t need it.
Problem was, unlike some of the changes I’ve helped my elderly, blind father navigate, this one had me stumped. I phoned our state’s office of rehabilitation for the blind to see if we could get assistance from a social worker to help us figure out what to do. It was explained to me that they help those who are seeking employment and education, in other words, young people, not seniors.
At my last eye doctor appointment, the wonderful Dr. C told me of an agency that could help. I walked into their office the other day and they immediately set an appointment with my dad, and me, at his independent living facility. Their mobility trainer will bring a white “stability cane” and will teach my dad how to use it.
I am happy to be moving forward on this issue, but not unmindful of the additional hurdles to clear. Will he accept the new cane? Will he be able to use both canes to get the stability but retain the mobility he still needs when he treks to the dining room? Will he even consider this change or just shut out the mobility trainer all together?
He has had his white cane for decades. It’s a bit beat-up and long ago lost the plastic strap that allowed him to hang it on his wrist. But it is like an extension of his arm. It has given him mobility on bus commutes to work, trips to other cities, walks in his neighborhood, and now in his facility. I remember when he swapped out his previous, folding cane for this new fiberglass one. He thought it was really cool, and so did I.
He told me once about the event that made him realize he needed a white cane. It was shortly after he lost all sight in his right eye, his formerly “good” eye, at age 18. He had very limited sight in the other eye. He was about to cross a street in downtown Salt Lake City when he felt the whoosh of air from a city bus turning the corner right in front of him as he stepped off the curb. He thought how close he had come to being hit and realized that others couldn’t tell he was blind. He decided he needed the white cane to alert others as much as anything.
Now he needs the white cane for himself and for more reasons. That’s a hard transition to make for someone as independent as he.
By the Sweet Grace 