by Tim Forder
Back downstairs in the family room, or as the family calls it “The Dungeon” because of all my horror décor, I had no problem finding my mini refrigerator and getting a canned drink from it. With my lunch gathered, I went to sit down to “watch” some news when I tripped slightly over one of baby Elaine’s baby toys that Diana had left out from the night before.
Luckily, I kept my balance and made it to my lounge chair without further mishap. Once planted in my lounge chair, I started to eat my lunch and actually started listening to the news, as I was feeling a little better on the successful adventure in fixing my lunch within my new world of grayness.
As I figured, adjusting to total blindness within the house was made easy from the many years of living with declining eyesight. Outside the house was a bit more difficult. It would take time to gain the experience and confidence in mobility as I had when legally blind.
I had a scheduled appointment with a dermatologist in two weeks. I had to think twice about keeping the appointment. Because of the potential importance of the appointment it was a no brainer. I would have to keep the appointment. I’m sure Diana would make a point about my keeping the appointment. Di had been bothering me for years about this mole on my back. If she had not mentioned it, I would not have even known it was there. When it got big enough that I could feel that it was there, I realized that meant it had to be growing. I called my doctor who gave me a referral for the dermatologist.
I first saw this doctor a week ago. She removed the growth and told me it would be sent to the lab for testing. At that time I got to the doctor’s office using public transportation. Would I brave public transit totally blind as I did legally blind? If the appointment was today I would not, but in two weeks? We’ll just have to wait and see.
Two weeks later, I kept the follow-up appointment thanks to help from Di. Today, I didn’t use public transit on my own, not because of my fairly new total lack of sight, but because of fatigue, I was having a bad day due to the sleep apnea.
After the nurse led me into an exam room, allowing me to put my hand on her shoulder, I waited for the doctor, and waited, and waited. I was starting to get impatient enough to just leave, but after all, the dermatologist had used the “C” word (cancer) during my visit to have the mole removed. She said she thought it might be melanoma, a form of skin cancer that can be fatal if not caught early. I did not mention that the “mole” she removed had probably been part of my back for years. So, yes, I was nervous.
A slight knock on the closed exam door preceded the entrance of the dermatologist and interrupted my musings of my first visit. She entered with, “So, Mr. Poisner, what’s new?”
“Well I’m blind,” I answered.
As I heard her sitting down, she continued, “Yes, I remember you mentioning that you are legally blind.”
“No, I mean I am now totally blind.”
There was silence, then, “You did have some eyesight when I last saw you, right?” I heard concern and confusion in her voice.
Calmly, to keep things on the light side, I answered, “Yes. Since the last time I saw you I had a change in my eyesight that has left me totally blind.”
“Have you informed your GP? Would you like me to inform your GP so a reference for consultation can be made with Mental Health?”
“No. I’m fine, adjusting still, but fine.” Deliberately changing the subject to what was really concerning me right now, I asked, “So what can you tell me about that mole you removed?
With a pause, possibly to look at my file, she answered, “What was removed tested as malignant melanoma. While it was sizable, we did totally remove it. I believe you will not require any additional tests or procedures. Feel free to set up an appointment if any additional moles should develop, but I really doubt that will be necessary as I am sure we got all of this one. That’s not to say that you can’t develop a totally new one in the future.” She walked over to me and took my hand to shake it, “Sure you don’t need a referral to Mental Health?”
“I’m fine, especially after the good news that we are finished with that cancerous mole. Mind leading me out to the waiting area? My wife is there waiting for me.” She did as I asked.
The morning came to fly to Dallas for the convention. While rechecking that I had packed everything I wanted to pack, Diana surprised me with, “By the way, I will be interviewing a young lady who just got a job down in D.C. Over the phone she sounded like a promising boarder.”
I’ve heard that song before. I just said, “Aren’t you driving me and the Russells to the airport?” “The Russells were the local NFB Chapter President and his wife, both born without eyes. During our last meeting, while in casual conversation it was discovered that the Pres., his wife, and I were taking the same flight to Dallas. On hearing this, Diana had volunteered to take them to the airport while with us, hence, saving our friends some cab fare.
“Yes of course, the interview isn’t until tonight. I’ll be back well before she arrives for our interview.”
“What do you know about her?” I don’t know why I asked. I’ll probably never see her, as she’ll most likely have some fault that will not get her past the interview. (“Never see her.” We’d gotten into the habit of having one NFB meeting/picnic in the backyard each year. Di and her mother couldn’t get over having twenty to thirty totally blind folk using phrases such as “I saw so and so last week,” and “It’s good to see you.” For instance someone said, “Did you see how excited Paul got when he found out that he was going to Dallas for the convention?)
“She’s starting a job down in D.C. managing a theatre. She’s looking for something a bit more affordable than she can find down in D.C. She noted my ad mentioned in walking distance of Metro, with easy access to D.C.”
Interesting, we would have something in common. I had been a floor manager of a theatre during a year of college. Mostly I took tickets and oversaw the ushers. Sometimes I would do the walk. The walk consisted of walking the aisles and checking customers during the shows for bottles and smoking. With my night blindness, I discovered a system that worked for me; I would walk down to the front of the theatre and wait for a well-lit scene. Then I would walk back up the aisle, looking for the glint of the movie off bottle glass or the little flare of a smoking cigarette. My nose helped find smokers more often than my eyesight did. But then I waste my time; I’ll never even see this woman boarder, she’ll come and go like so many before her.
Later, we made it to the airport where airport staff was waiting for us with wheelchairs. “I’m sorry it’s policy.”
“A wheelchair for a blind person is policy?” I asked incredulously.
“Well, yes.” he answered sounding slightly embarrassed.
“Does policy say we have to use these wheelchairs?” President Russell asked.
“Well, I guess not. I would be more comfortable if you individuals would use the wheelchairs, as it is policy.”
“Tell me sir, would you feel right being wheeled around this airport in a wheelchair?” President Russell piped in.
“I guess not.”
“And neither would we. We are handicapped, not disabled.” President Russell declared,
The airport lackey finally got the point and ordered his two assistants to park the wheelchairs out of the way. He then asked, “Is it alright if we take your arms to help you?”
“That would be nice,” President Russell answered.
I turned to Diana. “Well, I guess this is goodbye until I get back next week.” I was going to miss my little Dolly Parton and her mini Dolly Parton, Elaine.
“It’s just a week, and I will be right here waiting for you when you get back from your fun-filled week of conventioning.”
One of the airport lackey’s assistants then took my arm and we were off.
Word must have travelled faster than we did, as we were met at the Dallas airport by airport assistance, but they did not have wheelchairs for us blind. By the way, you’ll be surprised how many sig
hted people speak loudly, even yell to the visually impaired, as if we are as deaf as we are blind.
Chapter Five
The Boarder
At the baggage pickup, the airport assistance was very pleasant, polite, and happy to hand over the blind to sighted volunteers provided by the Dallas Chapter of the NFB.
We arrived at the hotel that would also be the site for all the meetings I would be attending. I was checked in and given a name tag with my name in large print and Braille. I was shown to my room, which I would be sharing with Tom, another member of our local Chapter. The hotel employee volunteered to help put my things away, but I figured it would be wiser to do that myself, so I would know right where everything was. Tom must have felt the same way, as he also declined the special assistance.
With our belongings put in place, it was time to check out the facilities of the hotel. This meant testing the ridged map given out to all convention attendees, and I easily found one of the hotel restaurants and the room with the indoor pool. While exploring the indoor pool room, I discovered an unscheduled “I hate Dr. Funkenstein” meeting in progress. Dr. Funkenstein was the head researcher who had told my mother that I was going blind and it was all her fault. Some participants sitting poolside were mispronouncing his name as Dr. Frankenstein.
Later that night I called home and told Diana all about my day; after I had finished she had news for me. “We now have a boarder,” she exclaimed excitedly.
“Oh, so tell me about her.” I said with interest.
“Well, as I told you before you left, she was living in D.C. where the rent was killing her. She is just starting a new job managing a theatre. She manages the theatre graveyard shift; that’s to say, she manages the theatre during their special nightly showing of Japanese martial arts imports. These movies all start showings around midnight and go until early morning, depending on whether they are showing a double feature or a triple feature.”
“Interesting. Maybe we should go down one night and pop in on her at work,” I said.
“NO. I mean, we can’t. It’s in the agreement with her that we will at no time visit her place of employment.”
“Strange.”
“Not really, she works in a dangerous part of D.C. at a really dangerous time of night,” Diana answered.
“Wait, she works in a dangerous part of D.C. during a most dangerous time of the night?” I responded incredulously.
“Yes, but it’s OK, for her; she is a Master of Kung Fu. She has been studying it most of her life. In fact, before she could get the job, she had to be tested in her Kung Fu proficiency and prove her ability to defend herself and others. Seems some audience members get carried away by the martial art movies and start fights within the theatre. It’s a qualification that all employees of the graveyard shift be well trained in martial arts, as they may have to double as bouncers during the movies. She’s been told it’s quite common. During her first month as manager, she has had to stop a fight once or twice a week. She said she has been in some in-theatre fights that have already tested her talents in her Kung Fu training... No, we will not be going down to see her at anytime,” Diana proclaimed emphatically.
Remembering one of her big concerns, I asked, “So how goes the sharing of the refrigerator?”
“We don’t. She has a mini frig in her room, much like the one you have in the family room downstairs, and she eats most of her meals out. She has gotten into the practice of getting breakfast at an IHOP near where she works while waiting for the subway to start up in the morning to get her back here. She told me that after the theatre is closed for the graveyard showings, she uses the quiet time to keep up with the paperwork, and then she gets breakfast at IHOP. Sometimes she does paperwork while she is eating her breakfast.”
“Interesting. So what do you think of...what is her name? You have never given me her name.”
“Her name is Isabella Báthory. Isn’t that just such a charming name?” Diana answered with a sound of envy sneaking into her voice. “It’s just so...old English.”
Somehow that name sounds familiar. Isabella Bathory Isabella Bathory, old English. Perhaps it’s a name from history? Right, you have someone famous person wanting to move into your guest room so they can afford to manage a theater at night. Yah, that really works.
So why does that name sound so familiar?
Breaking into his deliberations, “She is just so lovely, you should see her. She’s a tall, lean blond with such perfect light skin tone. I swear I just don’t know why she is not making a career as an actress or at least as a model. She has such a lovely angelic voice. I have already tried to talk her into joining the church choir, but she reminded me that she works Saturday nights into Sunday morning so while church is in session, she is getting some well needed sleep.”
Interesting. I have known her to repeatedly turn down potential boarders because they were not churchgoers. It also came to me that as a young twenty-something, I had a friend who worked guard duty so late into Sunday morning that he would arrive at church still in his uniform. He just barely had time to rush directly to church. He come in uniform because he did not have even enough time to change before the Sunday services began, but at least he came to church.
So our new boarder is not a church attendee, but she is still renting a room in our home. How interesting. Now that I think of it, I don’t recall Di ever talking about a woman’s looks the way she talks about this Isabella Báthory. She must be quite a woman.
The next night after a full day of meetings, I was so tired I just couldn’t call home. The phone call would have to wait until tomorrow night. My inability to call home was disturbing considering I missed one meeting while getting a nap for the sole purpose of making it through the rest of the day awake and mentally alert. In my last working years before my whole department get laid off, I usually got some sleep during lunch to get me through the rest of the day without having to battle the fatigue brought on by the sleep apnea.
The following night I made a point of calling home. (I was also feeling a little guilty for not calling the night before.) Besides I was missing my beautiful wife and daughter.
When I got her on the phone and after we shared our separate activities of the day with each other, I remembered a concern I had about the boarder, “Di, I’m thinking with our boarder working nights and sleeping days, am I going to have to pussy foot around my own home during the day so as not to disturb her daytime sleeping?”
Di laughed, “When I came home today; I could hear music blasting inside the house before I could even get to the front door. I burst into the house to find Chris with the stereo blaring. My first thought was, “Isabella is going to absolutely have a fit.’”
“Oh no, did she?” I asked fearing what was coming.
“Not a bit. When I apologized for the loud music, she responded,”What loud music?”
“When I told her of what I found when I came home from work she simply waved a hand of dismissal and said, ‘don’t worry about being quiet during the day. I sleep like the dead.’”
“That was nice and polite of her,” I interjected.
“No, Hon, I believe her. I really think that she can sleep so soundly that she could sleep through just about anything. So don’t worry about having to be especially quiet during the day because of Isabella’s sleeping.”
“So Issy is a very sound sleeper.” I mused, a little relieved, if this was true.
“NO.”
I was startled by the sound of sudden panic that came through the phone. Di continued, “Don’t you ever call her Issy, EVER. Her name is Isabella or Isabella Báthory. Never Isse or Issy or anything else. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
“OK, I get the message.” But not the overreaction.
“You had better, mister.”
She was really serious about the pronouncing of Iss—I mean Isabella’s name. I’d better remember or Di sounds like she will take my head off.
Changing back to her loving tone that I love
so well, she continued, “It’s late and I have meetings all day tomorrow. Let’s call it a night so the both of us can get some sleep. Speaking of sleep, how are you getting by with your sleep apnea and all those meetings?”
“Well, I nap during lunch break, and I did fall asleep during one of the meetings, but overall, I’m not doing badly. When I mentioned to Tom that I fell asleep during the afternoon meetings, he said I wasn’t alone by far. We both got a laugh at that.”
“Well, I’ll say goodnight and sleep tight.” With that she gave me a kiss over the phone. The phone clicked, and the connection went dead.
Wednesday was a “meeting free” day, a day for taking tours or just taking a break from the meetings. Tom was part of a large group that went to Six Flags. On their return, a number of the Six Flag goers were reported as not feeling well from dehydration. My roommate, Tom, was one of them.
But for me, I had special plans. Before leaving home I had noted that my Baltimore Orioles were in town to play the Texas Rangers, so I came prepared. I took a taxi to the Rangers’ stadium all ornamented with my Orioles’ cap, shirt and leather belt and shiny matching belt buckle. I was ready to watch my Baltimore boys trump the Rangers. I had everything but a ticket. With the Rangers having a losing season, and the O’s on a winning streak, I figured I would not have any trouble getting a ticket because of lackadaisical attendance that losing brings on among some fans...
Boy, I could not have been more right. Getting out of the taxi all duded up in my O’s gear, a man on the sidewalk asked me in a Texas twang, “You’s here for the game?”
Not being able to hide my excitement, I replied, “Sure am.”
“Put your hand out, son.” So I did.
He put a slip of paper the right size and shape to be a game ticket in my outstretched hand, and said, “That’s a little old ticket for the game. Have a good time on me.”
I sure did, especially as my boys of Baltimore beat the Rangers with a score I’d be too embarrassed for the sake of my Texas friends to mention. I also got back to the hotel not suffering from dehydration. I was not suffering at all.