Guest blogger Mike Knezovich back. Thanks again to Chuck Gullett for his great post.

Now, back to New Jersey and Beth and The Seeing Eye: With all apologies to people named Whitney, everywhere, I think that Whitney sounds a little too preppy, a little too much like a girl who would hang with girls named Paige and Madison and the like. All perfectly nice names, they just don’t pair well with Knezovich, if you know what I mean.

And so, as far as I am concerned, her name shall be Whit, forevermore. And here she is:

There she is on a commuter train platform during training. Next stop, Chicago!

When she saw the picture, our friend Nancy described Whit as a cross between Harper and Hanni. Can’t argue there. Early reports have it that Whit loves to work so much that she doesn’t always know when to stop. Yesterday morning, anytime Whit approached a quiet intersection, or one where there was no traffic at the time, she’d slow down a bit but then blow right past the curb. She was so excited to see more sidewalk ahead to guide Beth on that she didn’t want to stop.

Part of the three-week training at the Seeing Eye is to remind Beth and the 18 other blind students in her class what they need to do when their new dogs make mistakes. Every time Whit blew a curb, Beth had to give Whit a quick leash correction, tell her “Pfui!” and take a few steps backward to the curb Whit missed. After commanding Whit to “sit,” Beth would tap the curb with her foot and say, “good girl,”  indicating that’s where she wanted Whit to stop. They’d step back a few steps then, rework the curb, and Whit always, always got it the second time around.

Later that afternoon Beth and Whit went on that same route with their trainer. Whit stopped at every curb, traffic or no traffic. Way to go, Whit!

Beth reports that Whit walks at a fast but not reckless clip, and that Whit is, umm, regular, which is a real plus for the partner of a working dog. And for the guy who takes the working dog out occasionally for its constitutional.

So, as the guest blogger here I’m happy to introduce: Another guest blogger!

He’s Chuck Gullett. He and his lovely partner Rene are friends from our little Printers Row neighborhood. Last week while I was in Urbana, Chuck was kind enough to accompany Beth to an unusual (for most people) appointment. Since he’s a great photographer and storyteller, Beth asked whether he’d be willing to blog about the experience. He did that, and got a bunch of good shots — I’ll post a couple with his blog. Oh, and besides being a terrific photographer and friend, Chuck’s also a solid, honest real estate agent. So if you’re in the market….

Finally, don’t blame Chuck for the “eyewitness account” headline — I just couldn’t resist.

That's a whole lotta eyeballs right there. (By Chuck Gullett.)

With that, I present Chuck Gullett!

A trip to the ocularist

Between Harper’s retirement and Whitney’s training, I had the great opportunity to accompany Beth as her “Seeing Eye Chuck” for a visit to the ocularist.  The ocularist, as I learned, is the place to go when you need a new glass eye or just a little glass eye maintenance. The ocularist’s office, on the 16th floor of the Garland Building in Chicago, has a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, Millennium Park and Navy Pier. Ironically, the hundreds of eyes in the office are all neatly arranged in drawers and never able to enjoy the view.

On this visit, Beth was going in for a routine cleaning. As an observer, the process is fairly straightforward…

1) Remove glass eye with a device that looks like a miniature Nerf suction cup dart.

2) Try not to make an immature sucking sound as the eye is being removed.

3) Sit back and chat until the eye returns from the onsite laboratory, which I pictured to be somewhat like Grandpa’s lab from the “Munsters.”

When the ocularist returned with the beautifully polished eye, I asked a few questions and Beth talked him into showing me the lab and explaining the cleaning process. What I got was an enthusiastic lesson in the history, making and care of the good ol’ ocular prosthesis, or what we commonly refer to as a glass eye. First off, the eye is not even made of glass. Modern glass eyes are actually made of acrylic, which is extremely durable and more cost effective to manufacture.

The guys in the lab area told me about the heroic GI’s returning from WWII having a large demand for glass eyes. The glass eyes would tend to break by accident or “accidentally” around the time a GI wanted to visit the big city. A shortage in high quality imported glass and the cost of replacement eyes prompted the government to find a better material to make artificial eyes. Now, we have the modern version in durable acrylic.

So, what's your guess? (By Chuck Gullett)

To give you an idea of how durable the eyes are, Beth has had the same peeper for 25 years and the last time she had it polished was 4 years ago. Each eye is hand crafted for its owner and is a true piece of art. I looked through the drawers of sample eyes and the level of detail is really stunning. The blood vessels are recreated with silk threads while the pupil and iris take laborious hours to hand paint so they look realistic. The ocularist had notes from Beth’s last two visits where they recommended that she get fitted for a new eye, but Beth just smiled and said, “Yeah, I kinda like this one.”  I like that one, too.  I had no idea that Beth even had a glass eye.  One eye is real and one is not.  You can try to guess which is which, but good luck.

Anyway, I also learned that the cleaning/ polishing process is much like polishing jewelry. There is a buffing wheel and several different compounds to remove build-up and leave a nice smooth surface. The ocularist works the eye until it is just right, then rinses it off and you are ready to go.  I associate the feeling of a freshly polished glass eye like the smoothness your teeth have after a visit to the dentist.

All in all, it was a great afternoon. I got to spend some quality time with a friend, feed my odd curiosity with something out of the ordinary and learn something new. Anytime Whitney needs a day off, I’ll be happy to help out.

Hi folks, it’s me again — Mike Knezovich, aka Beth’s husband. Feels like the movie “Groundhog Day,” or “Groundhog Year.” The time since Beth left for the Seeing Eye last November seems to have flown by. And like last year, I’ll be getting dispatches from Beth —  who will be very, very busy, not to mention tired — at The Seeing Eye during training. I’ll try to fill Beth’s blog shoes while she’s gone, and pass along her news as it comes.

And some just came: It’s a girl. Named Whitney. The trainer says she goes by just “Whit” most of the time.

Not that Beth hasn’t been busy since she flew to New Jersey on Saturday. She’s been on training walks with instructors, sat in lectures and had her time scheduled solid. When she calls she’s typically interrupted by an intercom announcement calling students to the next activity.

Which is great, because the last three weeks — and really, the last couple months — have been a slog. We both were reminded of how independent Beth is with a Seeing Eye dog, and how much more she has to depend on me without. Plus, there has been sort of a dark cloud around this year’s trip. Last year was certainly bittersweet, what with Hanni heading off to retirement. But it was filled with the excitement of a new dog, and looking forward to another long partnership between Beth and her new dog. That didn’t turn out, and this trip has had a tinge of sadness and fatigue about it from the beginning.

So it was terrific to hear Beth and Whitney on the phone. Beth was upbeat and giggling, and I can’t wait to meet Whit. I’m confident it’ll be a good match, and that with just a bit of luck, this will prove to be a long partnership. By the time the dogs get this far, they have proven they have the right stuff. According to The Seeing Eye, 60 percent of the dogs born at the Seeing Eye make it to the training stage. Eighty percent of the dogs who make it to training stage go on to be placed with a blind person and work as a Seeing Eye dog. So about half the dogs — who are carefully bred by The Seeing Eye  — end up being placed as guides.

Beth’s first dog, Pandora, worked until the age of 12 and lived to 17. Hanni worked until 11 and we hope she matches Dora in longevity. Harper worked less than a year, but it was truly a “dog year.” Besides a harrowing near-miss with a car, he managed to run into a lot of other difficult situations that were mostly a matter of bad luck. Including walking into the elevator that happened to be occupied by two skittish Chows that lunged at and bit him.

So while it’s sad about Harper, I don’t for a second consider the time a failure. I do miss scratching his big lovable head, though. And I’ll always be grateful for the job he did for Beth, and for The Seeing Eye.

My Friend watches over me at this corner.

Every morning my Seeing Eye dog and I pass the same homeless man in front of the 7-Eleven store. “StreetWise today!” he calls out. “Can you give a little hepp today?” StreetWise is a newspaper sold by homeless people in Chicago. The concept is that by selling StreetWise, people down on their luck might get back on their feet.

For years I’d always nodded and smiled the vendor’s way as we passed. Since I can’t see to read, though, I never bought one of his papers. Until one cold day three years ago, that is. I left Hanni at home that day to go Christmas shopping with a friend — crowds can be so fixated on shopping that they step on the unexpected dog at their feet. I cabbed home on my own afterwards, and when I fumbled with my white cane at the curb I heard a familiar voice call out to me. “Want some hepp?”

The pronunciation of the word “help” was my clue. It was the Streetwise vendor. I grabbed his arm, and from the way my hand pumped up and down as we plodded together to my doorway I could tell he had a very bad limp. When we finally arrived, I held out a bill that had one corner folded and asked for a copy of StreetWise. “They only cost two dollars,” my helper said. “You’re giving me a five.”

“I meant to give you a five,” I said, showing him how I fold money to keep track of the denominations. “Thanks for the help,” I told him. “Merry Christmas!” He gave me a heartfelt thanks, then limped back to his crate.

A story in Disability Scoop says more than 40 percent of the homeless population in the U.S. are people with disabilities. The story quotes a report from the Department of Housing and Urban Development that points out that people with disabilities face additional difficulties — more than those who are poor — when it comes to accessing permanent housing. The HUD report suggests that people with disabilities “may have difficulties searching for a unit or finding a landlord willing to rent to them.”

The StreetWise vendor and I never exchanged names, but we have been friends ever since he helped me to the door that night. . He refers to me as “Mizz Lady. I call him My Friend.” On days he’s late to his crate he’ll call out, “Hello Mizz Lady – I’s likely to miss you this mornin’!” I always respond with a laugh, and a, “Hello, My Friend!” On days my dog and I go a different way and don’t pass My Friend, he notices. “I didn’t see you earlier,” he’ll say. “I was worried.”

Over the past year My Friend especially worried about Harper. “He’s havin’ a hard time, isn’t he?” he’d say. “Is he okay?” When I finally had to tell My Friend that Harper would be retiring, My Friend told me he was sorry.

It’s been three weeks since Harper retired, and people in our neighborhood have been generously taking time away from their schedules to walk me places I need to go. I am grateful for the assistance, but I’m afraid my face betrays a sense that I’ve gone backward. I need too much help. My Friend lifts my spirits with his comments. Whenever my escort happens to be a man, for example, he assures me he won’t tell Mike. “I’m not tellin’ anyone, Mizz Lady,” he says. “It’ll be our secret.” I respond with a laugh. “Thank you, My Friend!”

Thanksgiving yesterday gave me an opportunity to reflect once again on just how fortunate I am. Friends, family members, teachers, employers, donors, volunteers, book publishers, and, especially my husband Mike Knezovich, all put their faith in me after I lost my sight. They kept me on my feet, and quite literally kept me off the street.

I also feel fortunate for the Federal disability benefits I received when I first lost my sight, and over the years countless non-profit agencies have helped me find my way. Tomorrow I leave for one of those priceless non-profit agencies. The Seeing Eye breeds and trains guide dogs. And one of those dogs will be my fourth Seeing Eye dog. I am looking forward to the independence that will come with this new match.

On Wednesday, Mike escorted me downtown to teach my final “Me, Myself and I” memoir-writing class for this year, and we stopped for a minute in front of the 7-Eleven. “I’m leaving for a few weeks,” I told My Friend, explaining that it takes a while to train with a new dog. As we walked away, he called out to Mike. “I’m glad she’ll be coming back home with a dog again,” he said. “She’ll be happier.”

I will be, but no more thankful than I am now.

I’ve always liked Bears quarterback Jay Cutler. “That’s because you can’t see his face!” my football-loving friends at Hackney’s (our local tavern) tell me. “You can’t tell what a whiner he is.” Ever since Cutler broke his thumb in last Sunday’s game, though, it seems like it’s those Bears fans doing the whining, not my Jay.

Confession: I don’t really follow NFL football much. The reason I follow Jay Cutler? He has Type I diabetes. I have Type I diabetes, too – that’s the disease that caused my blindness.

Two very different conditions are referred to as “diabetes” – Type I, formerly known as juvenile diabetes, and Type II, the kind that is often brought on by obesity or poor nutrition. Type II involves a breakdown in the body’s ability to process the insulin it makes. So with Type II, if you watch your diet and exercise, you have a fair chance of improving the condition. With Type II, you can even reduce or even eliminate the need for insulin injections.

Type I, the kind of diabetes Jay Cutler and I have, is an autoimmune disease. With Type I, the body attacks and destroys its insulin-making cells. No matter what we do (exercise, diet, whatever) our bodies are unable to make insulin. We either have to take multiple injections of insulin throughout the day, or wear an insulin pump. There is no behavior that causes Type I. Doctors believe it is a genetic condition often triggered by an environmental stress. A virus, for example.

Type I is usually diagnosed in childhood (I was diagnosed when I was seven years old) but in recent years it has become increasingly common for people Cutler’s age or older to be diagnosed with Type I. We test our blood sugar levels regularly to know how much insulin to take. The more we test our sugar levels, the easier it is to walk the tightrope between high and low blood sugars. It’s never a walk in the park, though, and I cannot imagine what it must be like to walk that tightrope with a football in one hand while the other hand is fending off 300+-pound gorillas rushing to knock me down. It wasn’t easy to find details on how Jay Cutler handles his Type I diabetes on the football field, but finally I found an interview in Diabetes Forecast magazine where Cutler was asked how he uses a blood glucose monitor to check his blood sugar level on game days. His answer:

I check my blood sugar about four or five times before the game—try to stay around 150 to 160 [mg/dl] before kickoff. Most of the time, I prick my finger every time we come off the field, especially in the first half. There are definitely dangers out there—we try to avoid them at all costs. That’s why we check as many times as we do. I think the worst thing imaginable would be to get really low and pass out in the middle of a play, or in the huddle. That would scare a lot of people. I try to avoid it as much as possible, but it’s still a reality that could happen.

The interviewer also asked Cutler if he worried whether his teammates, the media, or fans might blame his Type I diabetes as a reason for poor performance. His answer:

I hope not. I don’t want sympathy—I want to be judged like every other quarterback. But living with diabetes in the public eye does make it harder. If I go out and my numbers are off and I have a bad game, I know I’ll be criticized for it. I just try not to worry about it and go out and play my game.

I dunno. This guy just doesn’t sound like a whiner to me. I sure wish the diabetic magazine had asked him about that Packers game last year, though. You know, the one where so many Bears fans accused Cutler of not being a “team player.” Who knows? Maybe he needed a blood test.