Type 1 diabetes has dictated many of the terms of Beth’s life since she was seven years old. Back then, there were not finger stick tests and portable monitors. It was simply regimented meal times and meal plans. And it was all pretty crude.

When she and I began courting, way back in the early 80s, she’d just inherited a little money from her grandma—enough to pay for her first blood glucose monitoring device. It was a breakthrough, but it was high maintenance,

Since then, the monitors have become cheaper, faster, and more compact. Insulin pumps have been a boon to many, and Beth—for nearly the past year—has used something call a CGM (Continuous Glucose Monitor). Here’s how it works: A sensor is applied/installed on Beth’s person via a special applicator. The sensor has a tiny wick that barely penetrates the skin—enough to take readings of blood glucose levels.

We then snap an almond-sized transmitter into the sensor housing. The whole shebang is held on by tape.

Now, in an ankle-bone connected to shin-bone chain, the sensor passes its data to the transmitter, which then transmits the data to an app on Beth’s iPhone. Beth’s iPhone has a feature called Voiceover—Beth then asks Siri, Apple’s personal assistant— “What’s my number?”

And Voila! It tells Beth what her blood sugar is and whether it’s trending down or up. Without pricking her finger.

These things (CGMs) have been around for a good while now. But not talking versions—the iPhone app made it useful for Beth and other visually impaired people with type 1.

At least most of the time. Beth (and I, for that matter–I often help with tests) was used to finger sticking. But it did make for some pretty messed up finger tips. And it’s not great to sneak it out when we’re in public to do a test. In addition, the CGM provides much more or less continuous data, which helps manage insulin levels more granularly.

The kicker: The user can designate other people to follow their readings. So, I can follow Beth’s blood sugar via the internet and an App on my phone.

Until I can’t.

A couple weeks ago, just as Beth and I were leaving to see friends in Washington, D.C., something went haywire. I couldn’t follow the readings. For us, that’s no hardship. I don’t bother checking unless Beth asks me too—mostly when we’re in public spaces when she doesn’t want her phone to bark out her blood sugar numbers.

But then her own readings cut out.

Now, Beth has a talking finger prick monitor that she uses as backup. Except when it doesn’t work. And that’s what we discovered the day before we left for our trip. It fritzed at the worst time.

Yikes. Beth would be flying home after the weekend but I was staying on in D.C. another week for my non-profit organization’s conference.

As it turned out, we learned that the follower outage was a big deal that affected everyone with the same device who had followers. Mostly, this is kids with type 1, and their parents. It even made the NY Times.

We also learned that Beth had experienced a completely unrelated sensor failure.

We were our own little Apollo 13.

And we duct taped our way back to safety. The day before we left for D.C., I ordered a new talking monitor. It arrived the day after Beth got back to Chicago. The intrepid Ms. Finke then asked our building’s generous door person to help her install the batteries, and she was in business, the old-fashioned way (if you can call using a talking, portable blood glucose monitor old fashioned).

When I returned, I helped Beth insert a new sensor, and she and her CGM have been buddies ever since.

Let’s hope it lasts.

I spent last Sunday afternoon with my husband Mike and friends Jim Loellbach and Dr. Janet Smith enveloped in holiday music. Not your everyday stuff – this was the Marcus Roberts Trio with the Chicago Philharmonic, playing holiday classics arranged by Duke Ellington. A Concerto written by George Gershwin. Holiday jazz.

I love jazz and am especially fond of jazz piano. The first time I recall hearing Marcus Roberts was back in the 20th century. (Yikes.) Mike and I were lucky enough to walk into a record store in Champaign called Record Service when they happened to be playing one of his albums. We’ve been fans ever since, listening to Marcus Roberts recordings and hearing him perform live with Wynton Marsalis Jazz at Lincoln Center bands and later, with his own trio. At one of those trio concerts, Mike kindly nudged me and whispered, “You know he’s blind, right?”

He’s blind?! I didn’t know. Quirky fact: Without having sight, it’s hard to know if someone else can’t see, either.

My fondness for Marcus grew after that. We bought more of his CDs, and I finally got to meet him in person: Mike and I were still living in Urbana 20 years ago when Marcus Roberts did a weeklong artist-in-residence gig at the University of Illinois. The public was invited to come and listen. I stalked him at every workshop and performance he gave. Not an easy feat for a blind woman, but well worth the trouble.

Between tunes at the first workshop, Marcus told us what it was like to grow up blind, how he first learned to read Braille music, and the frustrations he faces when traveling to and from gigs.

“When our plane landed this morning, I stood up. The flight attendant brought in a wheelchair.” He paused for a moment. He was looking at us, I could tell. “I was STANDING. You with me?!” he finally continued. “I wonder, do they give white canes to dudes who need wheelchairs?”

I was spellbound. So, it seemed, was the rest of the audience. We all broke out in laughter.

Marcus went on to explain how he communicates to his trio during a performance without being able to see them. Drummer Jason Marsalis demonstrated the cadence he uses to cue a key change. Marcus showed us a pattern he plays on the upper register to cue bass player Roland Garrons for a solo. Afterward, we were encouraged to ask questions. I directed mine to Jason and Roland. “When Marcus approached you to play in his trio, did you hesitate at all?”

No answer.

“I mean, knowing there might be extra work involved, him being blind and all.”

They both stayed quiet for a while. Finally, Jason piped up. “In jazz, when you’re offered a gig, you take it.”

Roland asked to add something to that. He’d played with a lot of musicians over the years, he said, and a lot of them get lazy. “But with Marcus, he’s always coming up with something new. And when you play with Marcus, you really have to listen. I think we’re better for that.”

Amen.

Marcus and I had a chance to talk after a performance later that week. “Have you always talked about your blindness like that?” I asked him.

“Oh, man, no!” he answered. What a voice! “I used to do what so many other blind people do — pretend it doesn’t exist, it’s no bother.”

I nodded my head in agreement. You might think you have to be able to see to know if someone is nodding, but we know. “What made you decide to start talking about it, then?”

“About five or six years ago, I just thought, man, I deal with this every day. I might as well talk about it.”

What a relief it was to hear him talking so candidly about blindness.

At that time I’d been writing a book about losing my sight as an adult. Long Time, No See was in the midst of reviews and editing just then, due out in a couple months. “I’d like to read it,” Marcus said.

I got his address, contacted rehab services at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign, and they agreed to print a Braille version of the advanced copy. Marcus liked the book so much, he agreed to do a blurb for the cover.

So there you have it. My brush with fame. I haven’t spoken one-on-one with Marcus since then, but his performance from that Chicago concert stage of Gershwin’s Concerto in F last Sunday? It spoke to me. What a sensational way to start celebrating the holidays this year.

A different version of this post originally appeared last week on the Easterseals National blog.

I was busy shoving Whitney’s water dish and extra leash and a Braille copy of Safe & Sound into my backpack Wednesday morning when it dawned on me. The presentations we’d be doing at Ravinia and Braeside schools in Highland Park that afternoon would mark Whitney’s final school visits as a working Seeing Eye dog.

Whitney’s always known how to charm kids. (photo by Jamie Ceaser)

Do third-graders even know what the word “retirement” means? Should I tell the kids its Whitney’s last visit? That Whitney’s moving away? Could eight and nine-year olds possibly understand?

Whitney and I have visited dozens of classrooms this past year as part of the Educating Outside the Lines disability awareness program, and the thoughtful, caring questions third-graders came up with during the Q&A wowed me every time.

When we arrived, I ran the idea by their teachers. Would it be okay to forego most of the blindness stuff? Focus my talk on Whitney’s upcoming move instead? “Sure!” they shrugged. “If they want to know more about you being blind, they’ll ask about that, too.” The teachers were right, of course. This sampling of questions the kids asked tells all:

• How did you get blind?
• Why do you want Whitney to go to another person?
• At the beginning of your talk you said all of Whitney’s brothers and sisters have names that start with ‘W’, so do all the dogs who start with ’W’ live in one house, and dogs that start with ‘B’ or another letter live in another house, and like that?
• Is Whitney gonna have babies?
• If you can’t see where you’re going, and there’s like, a wall in front of you, how does your dog tell you it’s there?
• After Whitney retires, are you looking for a certain type of dog?
• Do you have kids?
• If the dogs are just puppies, how do the people at their school know that they can be trained?
• How many years have you had a dog that helped you?
• Do you really want Whitney to go to another person?
• How long does it take to train a dog?
• What will you do in-between the time you give up your dog and you get a new one?
• What are the books that you wrote?
• What if your new dog isn’t a good match, do you have to go back to school again?
• What happens if a person is blind and they’re allergic to dogs?
• So if dogs are color blind, is everything in black & white?
• Are you older than Whitney in dog years?
• How do you get on the plane to get your new dog if you don’t have Whitney to help you anymore?

That’s just it, I told the boy who asked that last question, admitting that I try not to think about it. “It’s going to be hard, but eyebrows up! She’s still here now!”

And with that, I thanked the kids for having us, and when I stood up, the beautiful ten-year-old Golden Retriever/Yellow Labrador Cross at my feet jumped up, shook herself off and stood patiently at my side. I lifted Whitney’s harness handle then, commanded, “Whitney, outside!” and dozens of eight and nine-year olds, all of them sitting criss-cross applesauce on the classroom floor, laughed and cheered as Whitney threaded me through them and out the door.

Whitney finished her final school visit on a high note, as did those third-graders. They wowed me again.

Like you loyal readers, I was touched by Elisse’s guest blog last week—and I already knew the story!

Something about reading the blog made it all more real—I was at a work conference with very little time for contemplation. But when I got back last night, at some point, I felt how much I’m gonna miss Beth’s companion.

It’s not going to be a new experience—but it’s never easy. The thought of the joy she’s going to experience in her retirement and the joy Whitney will undoubtedly give makes it all good.

And, for all you good folks who are following along, everything is now official. Beth will arrive at the Seeing Eye on January 6, 2020. She’ll be matched to a new companion—her fifth dog—and they will train until January 23, when Beth will bring her new helper to his or her new home. And I’ll be waiting.

Before then, we will deliver Whitney to her new Pennsylvania home. And then Beth and I will head to New Orleans for her Birthday. Beth will be dogless for a few days before she heads to the Seeing Eye, but I’ll do my best.

A headsup: Although the training at the Seeing Eye is thorough and intensive, in a real way the training begins here at home. And Beth and her new friend and I have to pretty rigidly follow some prescriptions. In our house, the dog will be leashed to Beth constantly. If Beth gets up from her desk to get another cup of coffee, she’ll have company. For a good while we will not bring her out to places with lots of people. For awhile Beth cannot go anywhere without the dog—so if we’re a little less social than normal, that’s why.

The first few weeks home are also when the paws meet the road as the new dog learns Beth’s haunts. We’ll see how she behaves at the pool where Beth swims, for example. Hanni would sit leashed to a poolside table and patiently watch Beth do her laps. Beth would get out, put Hanni’s harness on, and head to the locker room. The other dogs couldn’t stand watching Beth in the water without them—they have stayed with the patient locker room attendants while Beth swims. Beth gives the attendant a time to come fetch her, she hooks Whitney up at the desk, and they head to the locker room.

In the city we use elevators a lot. Whitney acquired an uncanny ability to spot elevator button panels and get Beth to them. On the other hand, where other dogs were good at ignoring other dogs, Whitney needed a lot of work.

They’re all different and each is better at some things. And every one of them has been an incredible gift to Beth and to me. With that, if you’re making year-end decisions about what and where to send your support, I hope you’ll give The Seeing Eye a look.

I am pleased to introduce new guest blogger Elisse Pfeiffer today – she and her husband live in Red Lion, Pennsylvania.

by Elisse Pfeiffer

Two weeks from now I’ll be meeting up with an old friend — one I haven’t seen in over eight years. You see, this particular friend has been very busy fulfilling her life’s purpose, and in doing so, she has been a great benefit to a wonderful woman who needed her to enhance her own quality of life.

My friend Whitney is an old lady now, about age 70 in human years, and she’s getting tired. I’m assured she is still in great shape, with many anticipated good years ahead of her, but as most of us know, age has a tendency to slow us down a bit, and our acuity begins to decline. We can still function, for sure, and continue to live a long and productive life, but when your job is to keep a person safe, you need to be 100% aware for 100% of the time you’re at work.

It’s time for Whitney to retire.

We have my daughter to thank for bringing Whitney into our lives. As a junior in her small country high school, Kate was President of the Leo Club. A junior division of the International Lion’s Club, the Leo Club encourages young people to do community service projects. Kate was 16, and she wanted to raise a puppy for the Seeing Eye.

I’m a dog lover, but I was reluctant at first: we already had a two-year-old Golden Retriever! Kate’s enthusiasm won me over, though, and shortly after we’d applied, we got a phone call from the Seeing Eye. An adorable six-week-old ¾ Yellow Labrador and ¼ Golden Retriever puppy named Whitney was available.

They told us we’d be required to attend frequent puppy-raiser meetings and go with our puppies as a group on outings to the movies, the airport, the malls, you name it. What they didn’t tell us was that our puppy would come with a four-inch-thick binder of instructions: commands to use, do’s and don’ts, other rules and regulations. Whew! This was going to be a lot of work!

Whitney, although cute as can be, was a handful. She did all the puppy things, but in mega-doses. She chewed up every toy we gave her, chewed up the molding in my dining room, ate countless shoes, and counter-surfed ad nauseum. She was so energetic that it bordered on her being crazy. We’d laugh at the way she spun around 2 to 3 times before laying down — I’m told she still does this!

She competed with our Golden Retriever, too. I’d throw a Frisbee as far as I could into our backyard and watch Whitney learning from Honey about retrieving toys. It didn’t take long before they reached the toy and brought it up together, tugging on it as they got closer to me, as if they were saying, “No! I’m bringing it to her!” Each dog eventually got her own designated playtime (to avoid the competition) and the two of them became great friends, often sleeping next to each other.

It was a great joy to raise Whitney, and it was hard to not get attached. Every single day I would tell Whitney that I loved her, but that she had a higher purpose. “You are going to be a great asset for a special person one day,” I’d say. I’m not sure if I was telling Whitney that for her sake or for mine, but I swear she understood. Her eyes are so expressive, and she’d wait for commands as if to say, “I’m here, I’m ready, what do you need from me?”

When we got the call that it was time for Whitney to go back to the Seeing Eye for her intensive training, we did our best to use our intellect over our emotions, remembering the original goal: helping someone we didn’t know who needed a dog to enhance their quality of life. An awesome thing.

The Seeing Eye sent us Whitney’s official graduation photo months later along with a letter saying Whitney had been given to an author in Chicago. We were so happy to hear she’d been matched with someone who we surmised was active, and later on, when we Googled “Blind author Chicago Whitney,” voila! Beth’s name appeared. We checked out Beth’s blog from time to time, but followed Seeing Eye rules and never contacted her directly.

Until a couple of months ago.

Our dearly beloved Honey had to be euthanized earlier this year after suffering renal failure, a result of that insidious disease called Lyme’s. Grief over that loss got me thinking about Whitney. I looked up Beth’s blog, only to read that after 8 years of awesome service, it was time for Whitney to retire. I commented to that blog post, letting Beth know I was glad to hear that Whit had been such a great dog for her and was sad that their time together had come to an end.

Beth emailed me personally then, assuring me Whitney would be in good hands with her great-niece Shelley in Minneapolis. Whitney and Shelley had developed a bond over the years, Shelley already had an older dog, Wilson, and was excited to take Whitney now, too.

I completely understood. With Whitney staying in the family, Beth and Mike would be able to visit her from time to time. I let Beth know I’d always dreamed of getting Whitney back one day but never expected that to become a reality.

When Beth told her wonderful great-niece about my message, Shelley was especially sensitive about our life without a dog now, and Whitney’s long ago friendship with Honey. It was decided. Whitney should retire with her puppy raisers.

I still can’t believe that in two weeks, I will be getting Whitney back – I am delirious with excitement and have already gotten her a new Serta sleeper bed, new food/water bowls, non-destructive toys (as I understand she still shreds a soft toy, haha), and have even darned Honey’s winter sweater as it will now belong to Whitney.

I am retired now myself and plan to get Whitney certified as a therapy dog through the American Kennel Club so that I can take her to Nursing Homes and to our local library for the kids “Read to a Dog” program. I don’t want to overwork Whitney, but this will be perfect for her: she’s used to being a working dog. If she is the Whitney that I remember, she will love interacting with people while still being able to be of service.

We will take nature walks, too, and go swimming and have play dates with my daughter’s dog –Kate got married this past year. I am so thankful to Beth and to her niece for making this crazy dream of mine a reality. I am blessed!