Meanwhile, how’s Whitney? Loyal blog readers know we delivered my retired Seeing Eye dog to her retirement home this past December. Her new/old owner Elisse (she and her family were the volunteers who raised Whitney as a puppy) has been keeping us up to date with the retiree’s adventures in her new home in green, hilly and quiet rural Pennsylvania and generously agreed to let us share her most recent update here as a guest blog.

by Elisse Pfeiffer

Good morning Beth.

Whitney’s living large.

Last night, I decided to read through your blogs, only to find out that you broke your wrist – ouch! I’m so sorry that happened to you and wish you a speedy recovery! I was also quite happy to hear that your time with Luna is going well. It must be a bit of a challenge to adjust to a new puppy, but at this point, you’re probably a pro. She looks like a sweet dog.

As for your old “puppy,” well, she is just fine and loving life. She follows me everywhere, but I’m okay with that. She is a very happy and loving dog, and as always, I’m amazed at her level of intelligence. We’ve been to a variety of parks here, and she’s doing well off-leash (as long as there is no water in which to swim, that is). When she is leashed, she is learning my stride, which is probably slower than yours and definitely slower than hers, but I’m in no rush. Actually, I think walking with Whitney has increased my pace which isn’t a bad thing! This coming week, I’ll be bringing her to the Jersey Shore. It’ll be a little cold still, but I’m anxious to see how she reacts to the sand and the surf and the seagulls. She’s become my little sidekick/companion and I love it! I will never be able to thank you enough for giving her back to me.

My older daughter is staying with us for a few months until she leaves for the Air Force in May, so Whitney has not only another human, but also a new cat in the house. At first, the cat was afraid of Whitney, and poor Whitney didn’t know what to do with the furry creature, but now, they are oblivious towards each other. I guess we’ll have this cat until my daughter gets a permanent location, but he’s a good cat so I don’t mind, and apparently, neither does Whitney.

I’ll close here for now. I just wanted to keep in touch and let you know that Whitney is doing well. Again, good luck with your recovery, and regards to Mike!

Hugs,

Elisse

As always, lots of questions. (photo by Jamie Ceaser)

On earlier visits to elementary schools in the suburbs, my Seeing Eye dogs would lead me to the transportation station in downtown Chicago to catch a commuter train to get there. Luna’s got it good. Yesterday our friend Jamie gave us a ride. Door-to-door. Many, many reasons to appreciate this so much:

• Freezing temperatures — if Luna and I found ourselves lost or turned around on the long walk,, for just a few minutes, we might have ended up with frostbite!
• Snowy slippery sidewalks.
• Salt (it can end up in Luna’s paws).
• The train we would have needed to catch left at 7:40 a.m., which meant we’d be approaching the train station precisely when commuters were getting off trains and rushing to work.
• And oh, yeah. I still have a cast on my broken right wrist.

Jamie drove us to Pritchett Elementary in Buffalo Grove, bought me a cup of coffee along the way, videotaped parts of my presentations there, and then drove us all the way back to our doorstep in Chicago afterwards. Thank you, Jamie!

The third-graders we visited at Pritchett School were sweet, polite, and very curious. The Q & A part of the presentation was entertaining, as always. A sampling of their questions:

• • Can you remember the names of all the Seeing Eye dogs you ever had?
  • How can you open a door if you can’t see ?
  • How did you get blind?
  • How long did it take you to learn to read and write Braille??
  • How do you write if you can’t see?
  • Do you cook by yourself?
  • How do you drive?
  • Can you write cursive?
  • This doesn’t pertain to you personally, but to all people who are blind, I guess: what happens if you are blind and you are allergic to dogs?
  • Does Luna ever bark?
  • If your dog is color blind, and she can’t see red and green lights, what colors can she see?
  • Do you like chocolate?
  • I have a dog at home, she’s not as big as your dog and she’s not black and her name is Luna, too, so how can I get a service dog?
  • How do you know what you’re eating if you don’t see it first?
  • Do you always have to say your dogs name before you tell her what to do?

For that last question, I picked up Luna’s harness and told the kids that when you’re training at the Seeing Eye school they teach you to always say your dog’s name before giving them a command. “If I just say the word ‘outside’ like I just did there, Luna doesn’t even notice, but if I say, ‘Luna, outside’…”. I had to stop talking right there, mid-sentence. Hearing the command, Luna immediately stood at attention and guided me to the door to the hallway! “I guess the Seeing Eye knows what they’re doing,” I said with a laugh. The kids laughed right along and applauded us as we left. Pretty good for her first ever school visit, eh?!

Have you read the first part of Ali’s Story? Check it out!

My parents drove me to Chicago Midway airport for my flight. I had been a little nervous that morning, but once I realized weather wasn’t going to stop me, excitement took over. The anxiety about my first time flying alone started to fade, and I could sit in the car and enjoy the ride.

A good 45 minutes later, my dad was driving circles in the parking lot while my mom led me inside to the ticket counter. My dad had told me they could get special passes to take me from the ticket counter to the gate, but I said no. “The point of this is for me to do this by myself,” I explained to him. He understood. I think. No matter how old you are, or how much you’ve prepared for something, parents always worry about their kids. Then, add a disability to the mix.

At the ticket counter, I showed my ID and requested assistance to my gate. Mom led me to a seat to wait for airport assistance, said goodbye, told me to have fun, and left.

This was the worst part. What is considered a normal wait time? “I’ve been waiting for like 10 minutes,” I texted my friend Juan in Houston. “Is this normal?” He replied in less than a minute: Yes!” Another friend I texted sent a reassuring reply: “They won’t forget about you.”

And they didn’t.

“Ali?” a man said, standing a few feet away. I stood up, smiling. “Hi! Yep, that’s me!”

“Do you need a wheelchair?” he asked me. I thought for a second. I had anticipated this question — when I asked my blind friends about what to expect from airline assistance, they told me that this wheelchair question is very common. Oddly enough, I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t sure I wanted the ride. “I mean…I don’t need one, but if it’s faster, sure.”

He helped me into the wheelchair, and I laughed and made some light-hearted joke about how I didn’t know what I was doing. “I’ve never been in a wheelchair in my life!”

We zoomed down some hallways, took an elevator down, zoomed down more empty hallways, and wound up at the front of the security line with two people ahead of us. I was instructed to put my phone in my purse, so I did. The skycap took my things, I stood up, and walked through security.

“Okay, you’re through,” the TSA agent said. She sounded friendly and I could tell she was smiling. I smiled back.

“Okay, awesome!” I said – which, okay, probably isn’t your typical response at TSA, but I was feeling so excited and proud of myself that I couldn’t help but call it the way I saw it: it was awesome. The TSA agent laughed. “Is this your first time flying?”

“Sort of,” I said, explaining this was my first solo flight. “I’ve always flown with my parents.” Just then the airline assistant returned with the wheelchair, my purse and my cane. Once I was seated and situated again, the skycap placed my suitcase on my lap. “Before we go to the gate, can we stop at a restroom?” I asked, letting him know I prefer the family style ones. “Those are one-person, right?”

The skycap confirmed that yes, they were, and we started moving again. “Okay, then that would be great if possible, and not too much of an inconvenience. I just hate public restrooms, you know? Wandering around looking for everything,” I laughed. The assistant laughed, agreeing with me. As we rode along, I pulled out my phone and texted my parents that I’d made it through security.

After the restroom I asked for one more request. “Can we go somewhere to fill up my water bottle?” I apologized after I asked. That’s something I’m trying to work on. His job is to assist me; I don’t need to apologize for said assistance. We filled my water bottle and then headed for the gate.

“Can you let the gate agent know I’m here? I’m doing pre-boarding, so I’ll need help,” I told the airline assistant as I got out of the wheelchair and sat at a regular seat. “Absolutely,” he said.

I tipped him when he returned, and he thanked me and went on his way. A lady across from me called out to me then. “Excuse me, mis?” she said. “I can help you as well, if you’d like.”

“Thanks…the airport provides assistance, though, so the gate agent knows I’m here,” I replied. It’s not that I didn’t trust her, but I felt more comfortable having an airport employee help me on the plane than anyone else, just for the sake of assurance that they knew I was there. Or that I’d actually get on. And that’s when I texted my parents (and Juan) to let them know I was waiting at the gate. I’d promised my parents I would text them with updates along the way.

Stay tuned for Part Three, where Alicia talks about how her second solo flight, the trip back to Chicago from Houston, compared to the first time she’d ever flown on her own, and how it feels now to be a seasoned traveler.

An “All fall down” update:

Cast and all, the girls are back at it.

Beth’s wrist was indeed broken by her fall. In two places. When against all hope the pain did not go away on the Monday after the tumble, we ended up in the ER on Tuesday morning, where doctors were fairly amazed that Beth had made it that long with just a couple ibuprofen. For the record, the docs at Rush were fantastic—asking detailed questions about whether she hit her head, and x-raying her bruised knees, which were, but for the bruising, just fine.

They put on a humongous cast that severely limited any motion in Beth’s right hand an arm. And we went home, pulled the blinds down in our bedroom and curled up in the fetal position for a couple hours.

Here’s the deal. Beth won’t say it but I will. Her life is made pretty complicated, difficult and sometimes tedious by her not being able to see. Add anything onto that, and it just sucks. It doesn’t do a lot for me, either. For a couple days, I had to tie her shoes, zip her coat, there was the bra thing, and, well.

We’ve gotten nothing but support and love from friends and family, and for that, we are grateful as always. (Zingerman’s care package! Cheese from Marche! Homemade meatloaf and fixins’ for an entire meal!) But some stuff, we just have to do ourselves as a practical matter. The worst part for me, frankly, is seeing Beth have to deal with this. But we’ve done it before and we’ll do it again.

And now for the answer to the question that some have asked and others are afraid to ask: No, it wasn’t Luna’s fault.

Luna likes to go fast, really fast, and I think after walking at a snail’s pace with Whitney for months, Beth was thrilled by the pace. Kinda like going from a Ford Pinto to a Ferrari.

Still, Beth decided she needed to slow Luna down. So, before taking off on that ill-fated walk to the pool, Beth decided to use an apparatus the Seeing Eye had given her to use at home. It’s called a Gentle Leader, and it helps dog focus, it gives the human another way to give the dog feedback, and generally helps them work better alongside one another.

The Gentle Leader really worked. Luna and Beth were walking at a deliberately slow pace and the damaging fall was slow-motion. Thinking back, it was sort of like some snow skiing falls; sometimes the slow ones are the worst.

On the Thursday after the accident, we saw a specialist. They replaced the log on Beth’s arm with something still cumbersome but much more manageable. Also, no sling. So, there’s that. We’ll go back this Thursday, and if a new x-ray shows it’s healing properly, it’s a few more weeks in the cast. If not, outpatient surgery will ensue.

Beth and Luna have eased back into working together—for Beth, even though she’s right-handed, it actually would’ve been worst to break her left wrist—it would have meant she couldn’t work at all with Luna at a really important time. Beth taught her class last Wednesday. She’s teaching again this afternoon, and she and Luna are visiting a school Wednesday morning.

And Luna’s just fine. She is, in fact, at this early point in their union, better than any of Beth’s other dogs.

Me, I’ve become a version of Jack Nicholson’s character in As Good as it Gets. All I see are cracks and irregularities in the sidewalks. And there are a lot of ‘em.

Luna, Beth’s new dog, is a gem. She doesn’t wake us up at 5:30 to eat (which is when Whitney used to wake us up). She stays out of the kitchen. She likes to play fetch. She only poops once a day. She walks really fast.

That big red coat provided a nice cushion.

And sometimes too fast.

I know this because I’ve been on a ton of walks with Beth and Luna since they got home from The Seeing Eye. And I can barely keep up. Our pal Laura witnessed it first-hand this past weekend when we took a walk downtown. She and I also witnessed Beth taking a scary, headlong fall. Beth was wearing a big puffy coat, and that helped ensure there was no harm. But it’s a very difficult thing to watch.

Or to think about, if you’re me. I try not to think about the perils Beth faces in everyday life. Mostly I’m OK, and manage not to dwell. But this past few months, as we retired Whitney, I’ve been more attuned to Beth’s vulnerabilities. To how remarkable she is to live the full life she does.

And so, I was vociferous in suggesting to Beth that she needed to learn to slow Luna down. (Especially after a snowfall.)

Beth took it to heart. And yesterday, before we headed out to the gym where Beth swims and I work out, Beth put a thing called the Gentle Leader on Luna’s snout. The Gentle Leader makes it easy for Beth to provide Luna a reminder to focus on what’s ahead when they encounter distractions like other dogs. It also slows Luna’s pace.

And as we walked east on Harrison yesterday, our usual route, Luna indeed walked at much more relaxed pace.

Things were going fine and then I noticed Luna and Beth veering left a little. Then I noticed that Luna was trying to route around a big, snaking pavement crack. Then I kind of froze up before saying, “there’s a crack!” By that time Beth was nearly horizontal on the way to the pavement.

There was an awful thud. And a combination scream/groan from Beth who wisely laid in place to take stock. Her knees hurt. Her wrist hurt. A pizza delivery guy who witnessed it pulled over to ask whether we needed help.

Beth was eventually able to rise to her feet with my help. We turned around to head home. I tended to her left knee, which was bruised and slightly bloodied, but overall, OK. The other one was fine.

We iced her wrist, and at first Beth had hope that that’s all that would be required.

Today, not so much. She’ll be going to the doctor and we’re expecting bad news. But it’s not her dog harness hand, so Beth expects not to miss a beat teaching classes.

Still. It’s hard sometimes, for both of us. In the universal kind of tug of war that life partners tend to have, I worry too much sometimes and Beth doesn’t worry enough. Or, we worry about different things.

And I’m left wondering if I’d just shut my trap about how fast Luna was going, maybe the second fall doesn’t happen,

On the other hand, Beth did everything right—the Gentle Leader did make sense.

And I’m reminded, once again, that despite all precautions and intentions, bad things can happen to really good people.