Nine hours in the shadows turned the spotlight on the reality of being blind

Published on Sunday 21 December 2008 20:46

WE ARE walking down Ferry Road in Edinburgh when a woman starts haranguing The Scotsman photographer.

"What do you think you're doing – letting her walk along the road bumping into things. Can't you see she's blind?"

I explain to the woman, whose name is Lizzie, that although I'm using a white stick I'm not really blind – I'm pretending to be blind for a feature I'm writing for the newspaper.

She tells me she is homeless and living in a hostel around the corner: "I always look out for people who are blind because my granny had cataracts and I know what it's like."

Over the last couple of weeks I have met and interviewed several blind and visually impaired people as part of The Scotsman support for the Royal Blind Light Up Lives campaign.

I met Libby Clegg, the silver paralympic sprinter; Stefan and Christina who are pupils at the Royal Blind School; Archie Watt, who lives at Braeside House; and David Moodie, who works at the Scottish Braille Press.

I have tried to imagine what it is like to be blind, but now Helen Forrest, the marketing and fundraising manager at the charity, has suggested I try it myself. She has lent me a pair of blind simulation glasses produced by Visual Impairment North East. I've chosen type No 10, which recreate "severe loss of vision giving light projection only". To begin with, things seem to be going well. I manage to stumble around, to make a cup of tea, have a bath and get dressed.

At first I think I can see nothing – but I realise I can tell where I am from the glow of the lights. Soon all the lights in the house are blazing, including those on the Christmas tree.

But I'm bored. Sitting on the sofa with my cup of tea I don't know what to do with myself.

It reminds me of that moment in Friends when Joey realises he doesn't like living alone. "I thought it would be great, you know? Have some time alone with my thoughts … turns out I don't have as many thoughts as you'd think."

I feel cut off without any of my normal means of distraction. I can't read my e-mails or browse the net. I can't pick up a book or a magazine. I switch on the television but I can't tell which channel I'm watching and none of it makes much sense. I can't put on a CD because I haven't got the patience to keep trying until I find something I like. I try to ring a friend but type in the wrong number.

Even the radio isn't much use. All I can find is someone wittering on about the restoration of a clock tower in Dundee.

I don't even know what time it is until Michael the photographer comes to the door.

Like many news photographers, he is a man of few words – which isn't helpful because I can't work out where he is. I've never met him before which makes it very odd having him in my house.

His arrival means it's time to venture outside. It is a strange world out there. I can see the brightness of the sky, I can see and hear the cars passing. I can negotiate obstacles like litter bins and recycling boxes by tapping with my stick – but without Michael I would be lost.

The idea is to go to Scotmid on Ferry Road for some groceries. I'm pretending to be cheerful but my stomach is knotted from fear. I'm most scared of falling over, but the worst thing is feeling so disorientated.

In the supermarket, the manager has to ring head office to check we are allowed to take photographs. Normally, as a reporter, I would make the call, but the manager hands the phone to the photographer. I'm left standing in a corner, holding my white stick. It's my first "does she take sugar" moment.

But Scotmid has a pleasant surprise in the shape of Leona Diamond, the assistant who volunteers to help disabled, blind and elderly customers.

She tells me she has had no training but she is a natural, guiding me gently round the aisles and patiently explaining the choice of goods and the prices. She is a star and as we walk around the store I notice her greeting other customers by name and asking how they are. I'm a bit embarrassed – I always dash in and out of this shop and I've never noticed what a friendly place it is before.

Back home, I am exhausted. It has taken three quarters of an hour for a trip which normally takes 20 minutes. I feel like going back to bed.

A friend turns up to take me for a walk and offers to make me lunch, which is good because I haven't eaten anything yet.

I'm surprised to find I don't enjoy food much when I can't see it. It doesn't taste the same, I'm finding it hard to work out what's on the plate – and it's embarrassing trying to use a knife and fork. Most unusually, I leave my lunch half eaten.

We go off to the Botanic Garden, which is surprisingly relaxing. It's good to be out in the open air, nice to be away from the cars and there are no wheelie bins or scaffolding cluttering the footpaths.

I thought I might enjoy the glasshouse but it's become a terrifying maze of shifting green shapes and strange currents of hot air. It doesn't help that my friend threatens to push me in the fish pond and I can't tell if she's joking.

We have a chat and a laugh, but without facial expressions and body language, there is a whole dimension of conversation missing. Even talking and listening are different when you are blind.

As we drive home, it is getting dark and the roads have become a swooping mass of red, green and yellow lights. I have absolutely no idea where we are and I'm starting to feel like I'm hallucinating.

I've decided to take off the glasses at 5pm – after wearing them for nine hours. It is an odd moment. I stand there blinking at all the colours. It feels very weird.

I can't believe what a mess I've made. The sofa is at a weird angle, there are cups all over the place and I've trodden mud into the carpet. I've been wearing odd socks all day and I appear to have washed my hair in something that isn't shampoo.

I hope next time I meet a person who is blind, I will remember this experience – and that I will remember to keep talking to let them know what I'm doing, to help if they need it and remember to ask their opinion. I hope I won't forget the things those of us lucky enough to have our sight take for granted every day.

WHAT YOUR MONEY CAN BUY

HERE are some of the items the Royal Blind in Scotland hopes to buy with money raised from its Light Up Lives campaign:

&#149 Soft surfacing for one of the inner courtyards at Canaan Lane, where pupils with severe disabilities are taught: 14,000

&#149 One smart electronic wheelchair: 12,000

&#149 One wet-floor shower for Braeside House, the Royal Blind's home for older people who are blind or who have a visual impairment: 12,000

&#149 One standing frame for Canaan Lane: 1,400

&#149 One specially adapted posture chair for the residents of Braeside House: 258.50

&#149 One set of talking kitchen scales to help blind people to prepare food: 47

&#149 One speaking sign to help blind people find their way around: 35

&#149 One talking clock to help blind people tell the time: 32

&#149 One ultra-light cane to help blind people's mobility: 29

&#149 One adapted plate: 10

Focus on 'extremely worthy cause'

THE Scotsman has chosen the Royal Blind's Light Up Lives as its Christmas charity appeal for 2008. The campaign, which has already raised over 5,000 from Scotsman readers, puts the spotlight on work done by the charity, which runs the Royal Blind School, Scottish Braille Press and Braeside House.

The Royal Blind School is supported by councils and the Scottish Government, but needs an extra 2,300 every day to carry on running. It has 105 pupils split between its centre for young people with multiple disabilities at Canaan Lane, Morningside and main base in Craigmillar Park, Newington.

Another 1,000 a day is needed to meet costs at Braeside House, which provides residential and nursing care to blind and visually impaired older people. It has 70 residents with an average age of 89.

Over the next three years, the charity wants to raise 6 million to redevelop the Royal Blind School, rebuild its swimming pool, improve accommodation and modernise the Scottish Braille Press. SBP has 40 staff and helps thousands of people, producing six million pages of Braille and five million pages of large print each year and issuing 13,000 audio tapes.

Richard Hellewell, chief executive of the Royal Blind, said: "I am delighted this appeal will bring a renewed focus on our work while raising essential funds for Royal Blind."

Mike Gilson, editor of The Scotsman, said: "We know budgets are tight, but we are delighted that hundreds of readers have already helped this extremely worthy cause."