Have you seen this commercial?

First of all, to Brooke Shields:

B.

Honey.

It’s going to be okay.

You don’t need to take these kinds of gigs. I know money is tight right now and Suddenly Susan was a long time ago, but you know there are plenty of products out there who would LOVE to have you as their spoke-person. OK. Not Calvin Klein. I’m pretty sure Ralph Lauren is a no go. Ambercrombie and Fitch… American Apparel… Gap! OOH! Old Navy. Oh, wait. You did Old Navy. How about vitamins? Or Orange Juice! Anything but body-modification chemicals.

That wasn’t my point. My point was: Remember this commercial for later in the story.

Vanity, thy name is Lash.
When I was a teenager, a ton of bricks had to fall on me before I knew I was being flirted with. It’s actually pretty embarrassing.

“Hey, my parents are going to be out of town this weekend. I’m gonna be all alone.”

“Make sure you lock all the doors before dark.”

Facepalm.

Anyway. I could always tell when a girl liked me because she would comment on the color of my eyes, or the length of my eyelashes.

OK, I’m not so vain that I can’t see through a teenage excuse to get close to (and stare at) each other – but you get a ton of compliments on a single feature it begins to sink in a little.

Oh, your lashes. The color of them. The thickness. The length. The gentle upward curve.

(OK. Second ton of bricks, just arriving. Wow. 20 years late.)

The beauty of my lashes aside, they were long. Then in my twenties… I got glaucoma.

OK, Back to the commercial.
Like all commercials for Legal Drugs, it has a fast-talking-low-silky-voiced-disclaimer. In case you didn’t hear it, it said:

If you are using prescription products for lowering eye pressure or have a history of eye pressure problems, only use LATISSE® under close doctor supervision.

May cause eyelid skin darkening which may be reversible, and there is potential for increased brown iris pigmentation which is likely to be permanent. There is a potential for hair growth to occur in areas where LATISSE® solution comes in repeated contact with skin surfaces.

If you develop or experience any eye problems or have eye surgery, consult your doctor immediately about continued use of LATISSE®. The most common side effects after using LATISSE® solution are an itching sensation in the eyes and/or eye redness.

The active ingredient in LATISSE® (bimatoprost) was originally marketed as a glaucoma medication. Longer thicker eyelashes were the listed side effects. Now, they’re doing it the other way around.

Wait. What? How can they do that?

They’ve done it before. Propecia, the baldness drug, was once called Finasteride and sold as a treatment for prostate cancer. Then someone decided to market the side effect.

Why do you think the pharmaceutical companies lobbied to outlaw doctors prescribing “off-label” uses? Because the markup is CRAZY. Generic Bimatoprost is 1/10th the cost of LATISSE®.

Is that what you’re taking?

No. I’m on one very similar called Travoprost (and also Dorzolamide… and Timolol… and… Prednisone… and…). Travoprost (brand name “Travatan®”) isn’t the only one that makes my lashes grow – but it’s the one that makes the biggest difference.

My dose is stronger than LATISSE® and I take it twice as often.

Wow. So how long have your lashes gotten?

I’m beginning to feel like a St. Bernard. Who knew eyelashes can get split ends? Is there a conditioner for that?

They smack my glasses and leave smudge marks. And because the drops pool in the corner of my eye, the eyelashes in the corners are nuts.

I’m two weeks into a six week recovery – so I get post-op eye boogers like crazy. Now they have an extra large extra tangled net to get caught in.

Is there such a thing as an eyelash barber? Is there an eyelash cutting tool I’m unaware of?

I have GOT to do something about this.

Long time no posts.

Since my last update I healed up pretty normally, then I went out and enjoyed the summer (before surgery number eight) instead of updating my blog. (Sorry about that; thanks for the e-mails.)

I did tweet my eighth eye surgery, however.

Twitter
Twitter, as I’m sure you’ve read, is the online thingee for losers and narcissists.

Hey, dude. Glass houses.

Oversharing to strangers is cheaper than therapy, so I thought I’d give it a shot.

My morning started in much the same way the morning of the last one did. The difference: This time, I brought my iPhone. (Thank GOD! This time the only magazine in the waiting room was the issue of Time with Sarah Palin on the cover.)

They told me to get there at 9:30am. Just like last time this was wildly optimistic. At 11:11, my wife couldn’t take it anymore and had to go ask. That was the subject of my first tweet:

OK. Bitching made me feel a little better, and no one here had to hear it.

11:16 AM: I could have slept until noon instead of being stuck in this waiting room! Grrr.

OK. Maybe this is cathartic.

11:37 AM: Im grumpy. Not eating for fourteen hours will do that to you. After surgery, I’m eating a whole cow.

OK. Maybe not.

The ninety minutes came and went, and still I sat. Finally around 1:45 I was taken to the back. I changed clothes and posted a TwitPic.

Five minutes later, I twittered that I finally got my I.V. and twitpicked a picture of it.

They swept me away, sliced open my eyeball, tinkered, put a foreign object in, stitched on some alien tissue, and sent me to recovery.

As soon as I got there, the first thing I did was tweet.

Hmmmmmm…..?
So, that was my experiment with Live Twittering. Kinda Meh. Maybe I’m doing it wrong.

Summary
Did this experiment make me feel more social? More connected? More 21st Century? Stupid?

Not really, no, yes, and a little.

Another day, another neurosis.

Ok, I already poked the bear by mentioning Paterson before, but holy crap, I just found this out: David Paterson can’t read. At all. Not in print, not in Braille, not in morse code (OK, I don’t know for sure about that last one.)

WTF? Really. Really? WTF.

He is read to. Every day.

He spent 60 hours memorizing a speech, and still didn’t nail it.

He doesn’t know how to use ANY assistive tools.

WTF? Really. Really? WTF.

Wes Derby put it somewhat more eloquently:

I know someone will probably come along and say “Can’t you just be happy for the guy”? Sorry, but no. He’s managed to hoodwink the people of New York. He is, in my belief, a bad representation of the tblind community. I doo fear he will set us back in many ways. What’s going to happen if a ccompetent person, who just happens to be blind, decides to run for high office, such as governor, senator, and so on? Is he/she going to have a fair shot, or are people going to say “Remember what happened with that Paterson guy? He couldn’t even perform the basic functions of his job without help.”

Yeah. What he said.

David Paterson: Disgrace to the Blind Community

OK, I did. But I forgot until this morning at 10:22, just late enough to miss the second annual White Cane Safety Day hoo-hah here in Seattle.

Missing it last year is how I learned such a thing exists.

Source: seattlelighthouse.org

Apparently, every October 15th people at all points on the blindness spectrum (I just made that up, please Mr. Angry E-mail Writer I’m sorry if I used an Official Blind Term incorrectly. I’m still learning.) …

…where was I? Oh, yeah… People at all points on the blindness spectrum all get together, bust out their white canes, and take to the streets. It’s like a Improv Everywhere sketch, but with cripples.

This has been going on since 1964.

I’d never heard of it.

I never saw it reported on the news, I never read about it in the paper. I never traded stories at the water cooler or over a beer about suddenly seeing a ton of blind people.

I’ve been losing my vision for fifteen years. If you think ANY demographic would be aware of it – SURELY I would be in it!

Apparently not.

Have you ever witnessed this moving blind demonstration of independence? Moving demonstration of blind independence. Blind moving demonstration of moving blind independence. This moving blind moving demonstration of moving blind…

The Roving Blind Spot. Have you seen it? No? me neither.

Then again, the only time I’ve ever seen cluster of people with white canes I was visiting a strange city so I just assumed a blind school was nearby. Have I seen this “awareness” campaign before and come away unaware?

Do other people do that?

Boy, was I cocky.

“I’ve done this six times already,” I kept saying to anyone who would listen. “This is all old hat to me.”

Actually, it turns out, I’ve done it seven times. Re-reading my medical records, I’m on number seven. The fact that someone sliced open my eyeball and stuck their hands in just slipped my mind should have been my first clue that I’m not as smart as I like to pretend to be.

The surgery itself went well and they sent me home with instructions I’d heard six seven times already: Don’t do anything strenuous. Don’t bend over. Don’t pick up anything more than 8 pounds. Drink lots of fluids. Don’t eat anything too salty or too spicy. Get lots of bed rest – especially over the first week.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

I wasn’t listening. I took a Percocet. Straight from the hospital, I hit the grocery store.

In the store, things got a little… expanded.

Mmmmm. Chicken. Boy, this is a strong pill. Ooooh, soup!

Everything in the deli smelled amazing. It didn’t hurt that I hadn’t eaten in sixteen hours. I ate 24 ounces of soup and a fried chicken breast.

I forgot to drink anything.

The next day, my neck disappeared.

This is why I should hydrate
Here’s a picture of me on the 19th, and on the 20th.

I’m not the thinnest dude, but I could swear I had a neck yesterday. Puffiness and dehydration are opposites, aren’t they? Not on these drugs.

Drugs, Drugs, Drugs, Baked Beans, and Drugs

All of my clothes and jewelry got tighter overnight but I didn’t notice right away, because I was prescribed just under 48,000 different prescriptions. Some I take in one eye, some in both. Some 4 times a day, some three, some twice, and some once.

No drug can be taken within 10-15 minutes of any other drug. (They’re topical, so they have to “soak in” before another med can be taken.)

I have 14 alarms set to remind me of what drug I’m supposed to take when and in what eye.

You’d think with all the alarms I wouldn’t have the opportunity to get bored, but I did. I did anything and everything I could think of that required no physical exertion. I took photos from the sofa. I watched dust piling up on the electronics. I posted 800 tweets. I watched the bathroom get dirtier.

Boredom makes me stress over bills and my lack of employability. Inactivity makes me notice unclean areas visible from my vantage point. Usually I say Another day, another neurosis, but two at once?

Then for no reason whatsoever, I got The Toast Song stuck in my head.

To distract myself, I decided to clean house.

Cleaning house requires a little bending. Bending is a no-no, so I just cleaned what I could reach by standing, sitting, or squatting. It was half-assed, but I felt better.

Unfortunately, I was still bored. And stressed.

My wife was helping a friend move and I couldn’t be trusted around heavy boxes, so I just sat on the sofa drinking Gatorade. That’s when i had the massive pressure spike in my right eye.

From inside it looked like an occular migrane. Colorful dots exploded all over the edges of my vision, but it didn’t hurt. What was happening was my eye pulling an Incredible Hulk move and was ripping open.

[Not Safe For Lunch Photos here, here, and here. ]

So I waited several hours before going to the hospital.

I wasn’t sure at first what had happened. Drugs are bad m’kay? I waited until my wife got home to ask her opinion. By then it was getting close to time for my next alarm and I was becoming aware of the the pain, and the scratching on the inside of my eyelid.

The pressure in my eye got so high that I popped two stitches.

Get bed-rest, and I MEAN IT this time!!!
If the pressure spike had come a day earlier, I may not have been healed enough to handle it. (Yay, steroids!) As it was, It was just a minor flesh wound.

I was told to go home and stay on the sofa. That was when Seattle had it’s hottest week in recorded history.

Nice paper-cut you gave me! Why don’t you just pour some nice lemon juice into it?

Holy crap it’s hot. It’s like Africa Hot. Tarzan couldn’t take this kinda hot. And there I am, stuck on a sofa.

As the temperature climbed, I was faced with a brand new dilemma.

All of my medications need to stay between 60F and 80F to be effective. The refrigerator is too cold and my apartment is too hot, so my wife sacrificed her cooler. She gave up cool water on the hottest day ever just for me.

Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but the ice packs she normally uses made the cooler a little too cold. It’s too warm to use nothing, and the icepacks are overkill. So I improvised.

Trader Joe’s to the rescue, again.

I found other uses for the ice packs. Don’t judge me.

Bloated, Dizzy, Forgetful, and Wandering The Streets Alone

It finally cooled down yesterday, so I decided to take a walk.

It’s been two weeks since the surgery. (Four more weeks until the implant expands and “goes active” and I find out if it’s going to slow the progress of my blindness… or cause a problem of it’s own.) I’m healed enough to start doing “medium level” stuff, so I went to a movie on Saturday and had some friends over for grilled meat and steamed corn on Sunday… then rode to Tacoma to deliver a futon after. I told you I was bored.

Until yesterday, I’ve not been alone outside of my home in two weeks.

The surgery has rendered my glasses useless, so I popped in the contact lens in what used to be my bad eye, donned my black glasses, and grabbed my long cane.

The Long Cane: The Official Cane of Blind People(TM)

It’s a “tappy” style, collapsable cane. It’s the cane you think of when you think of blind people.

I replaced the tappy tip with a “roller” tip. This keeps the tip from getting stuck in every crack in the sidewalk.

The end of the handle has a strap that doubles as the cane wrangler. Nifty.

I took off around noon and got home around three. My right hand felt like I was jackhammering all day. I could swear it was still vibrating for at least ten minutes after I got home.

On the plus side: my neck, shoulders, back, and head hurt much less because I wasn’t staring at my feet the whole time. I’m not going to be able to see forever and I don’t want to waste it staring at the sidewalk, looking for tripping hazards.

I saw so much yesterday that I plan on doing it again tomorrow.

Oh, yeah, …and I’ve been eating spicy food like crazy.

Ten years of playing this at parties, I never wrote down the rules… until now!

Check them out over @ http://NeuroticNomad.com

OK, since my last update a few weeks have passed. It’s time for the first of my two scheduled glaucoma surgeries. (I’ll be getting the second as soon as they feel the first is stable.) They’re doing my “good” eye first because time is of the essence. My pressure must come down or I will be in total blackness by Christmas. There is no guarantee this will be effective, and there is a small chance my eye will not survive this sixth surgical procedure.

Nothing will restore my already-lost vision, and nothing will keep me from going blind – but this may slow down the inevitable by a few years.

On Monday July 20, I woke up at 6am. I was told to be there exactly at 7.

“Don’t be late but don’t come early, either.” I was told.

What a tight ship they run! I thought to myself.

When 9:30 rolled around, I was still in the waiting room – endlessly flipping through the sole copy of The New Yorker they had. When the nurse came and got me, C was sleeping on my shoulder and I hated to wake her.

In the back, I had a choice of two sizes of hospital gowns. One that would leave my butt hanging out, and one that was just slightly larger than a circus tent. I took two tents. (It’s policy that you wear two.) In the changing room, I stripped completely down (why do I have to take off my underwear for EYE surgery?) and swaddled myself in the acres of gown.

Then I sat around for another two hours “going commando” waiting for my turn under the big lights. I didn’t have my iPhone with me because they told me to bring ONLY my ID (and the clothes on my back)… and now I don’t even have The New Yorker.

By the time they came to get me, I was falling asleep. You can’t sleep during eye surgery.

The procedure itself took just under 90 minutes and was done to the soothing sounds of The White Stripes, Modest Mouse, Franz Ferdinand, Oasis, and The Raconteurs.

It was mildly disturbing having to listen to my doctor give instructions while the resident did some of the work… especially when he said “nononono! over… y… more… there.”

I hated to interrupt them, but the local anesthetic started wearing off and I could totally feel them stitching. (EEeeeewwwwwww!)

Then I saw a flash of light… through the eyeball they were stitching up!

I just had to say something.

Talking at this point was a bad idea (because then they wanted to chit-chat with me during the whole rest of the procedure! I usually don’t like small talk anyway, but when I’m watching a 3-D horror film I’m a bit distracted) but I had to get another shot of pain killer.

Are you familiar with the phrase: Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye? That’s a 3-D experience that never gets old. Six surgeries in, it still makes me grin and say “Cool”.

They squirted some gel over the eye, patched it up, and sent me home. They told me to get bed rest. I went to the grocery store instead. I was on Percocet. I was feelin’ fine.

The next day the bandages came off. I didn’t mind because my eyepatch wasn’t in the least bit piratey. I looked (at best) sorta like The Mummy (from certain angles) or (at worst) like Keyser Soze’s only surviving victim.

Sarah (of the BosTens) said that I’m about two bandages away from Phantom of the Opera.

The implant is set, and I’m not rejecting the donor tissue*. I’m on a pile of medications and have alarms set for 14(!) times through out the day. In between meds, I wander around downtown Ballard with my long white cane. (I finally got one of the “tappy” kinds, I’ll write about it soon.)

I go back on Tuesday to see if I’m still doing well.

My vision through the eye is blurry, but hopefully it will return to pre-surgery level.
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*There aren’t words big enough to express the gratitude to the donor and his/her family for the gift of eyesight. Thanks so much to everyone who is a registered organ donor. Without this tissue, I would not have been able to have this procedure.

Tim O’Brien writes:

Apparently, Apple has been listening. I have blogged much over the past six months on the iPhone’s missing accessibility features; more zoom, more color contrast and more voice. Today, Apply announced the next iteration of the iPhone, the 3G S, and it has taken a giant step in the right direction.

Tim is a blind photographer. Like me, he is thrilled with the accessibility features in the newly announced iPhone 3GS including Voice Over, Voice Control, and more.

Just as importantly for me are two of the other new features. The new iPhone offers a more extensive zoom feature. “Zoom on iPhone lets you magnify the entire screen of any application. Zoom up to 5 times normal size and move left, right, up, and down to view any portion of the screen close up. Zoom works everywhere, including the Home, Unlock, and Spotlight screens, and with every application.”

For high contrast needs, there is a new black-on-white display option. “If you need or prefer higher contrast, iPhone 3G S lets you change the display to white on black. Use the White on Black feature in any application, as well as the Home, Unlock, and Spotlight screens, and with Zoom and VoiceOver.” It looks nicely implemented…

New iPhone 3G S, More Accessibility @ Tim O’Brien’s Photos

UPDATE: And a Blind Gal, too. She has a link to Tim’s blog and three others! Is the iPhone the device for the unseeing masses?

In a world-first breakthrough, University of New South Wales (UNSW) medical researchers have used stem cells cultured on a simple contact lens to restore sight to sufferers of blinding corneal disease.

Sight was significantly improved within weeks of the procedure, which is simple, inexpensive and requires a minimal hospital stay.

[...]

The researchers are hopeful the technique can be adapted for use in other parts of the eye, such as the retina, and even in other organs. “If we can do this procedure in the eye, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work in other major organs such as the skin, which behaves in a very similar way to the cornea,” Dr Di Girolamo said.

[UNSW via Gizmodo]

Today @ 1:40pm I am a Time Bandit No More!

I finally have caught up to “live” episodes of Too Beautiful To Live, and plan on tuning in tonight. Apparently, I’m caught up just in time for Luke to go on vacation.

I almost tuned in last night (I realized the time @ 7:04) but decided not to skip my last time-bandited show. Not only did I miss “TBTL is Call Takers”, but I was on!

Freaky… no, wait… meta.

Speaking of TBTL; a tenacious 10 from the U District sent a perfectly timed e-mail, checking up on me again, and she made me realize that I’ve procrastinated long enough. I’ve made a June 15 appointment for 5 Element Acupuncture. I am now entering my Andy Kaufman Phase.

…and with the humidity, my Roseanne Roseannadanna Phase. (Get used to it, Kate Blanchett!)

…and no, I still haven’t met Karen the Cane Lady, yet. I’m waiting for a ton of bricks to arrive first. Damn, I’m stubborn.

I guess my Mr. Magoo Phase is coming concurrently.

[Insert photo of "Andy RosannaMagoo" here].

I’ve looked worse.

OK, so the story ended abruptly.

I was going to tell you about the friendly doctors and the boring tests; how familiar it felt over the course of a day as they went from treating me like a hypochondriac that’s over reacting, to taking me seriously, to treating me as if I don’t understand the severity of my situation. I was going to tell you how my poor wife didn’t get anything to eat until 7:00pm and how I sat around for an hour to pay $60 on 2.5mL (that’s a half of a teaspoon) of Travatan and 5 mL (a teaspoon) of Timolol Maleate.

Instead, I’m going to tell you the short version and then go into the yard and garden. It’s a beautiful summer day. Later, I’m going to grill some chicken.

The Short Version

My eye pressure is high. My implant is failing. There are no new drugs to try… but we have to try something. As my doctor put it: “If we don’t get it under control, we’re talking months, not years.” I’m going in in a few weeks to see if another surgery will buy me more time.

Oh, and I think someone was stuck in the elevator when we left.

I also learned how wrong I was about not being able to see in. Those Harborview people have all sorts of things to look around curves. (Yes, I know prisms aren’t new inventions. Shut up.)

Look at these two thumbnails:

Each one is a map of an eye. The dark spots are where I’ve lost vision. Even after the removal of the cataracts, that vision isn’t coming back.

Pity Party

To quote myself: Everyone’s invited to my Pity Party, but I’m going to sneak out and go to Golden Gardens to play on the beach. Feel free to pity without me.

I started writing this on May 13.

When I got to the part in the story where I go to the back to see the doctor, I stopped writing.

Read into that what you will.

May 13th.

I woke up early this morning. I took a long hot shower and ate a good breakfast. My vision was good and I felt zero discomfort.

I was going to the eye doctor, so of course I was feeling great. Like the mysterious engine noise that disappears when it’s time to take it in to the mechanic, my eyes were determined to prove that they are doing just fine thank-you-very-much.

C woke up looking like hell and announced that 1) we’re not taking the bus today, 2) we’ll just pay the parking fees, and 3) she’s going back to bed for a half an hour.

The women in her family hit menopause relatively early and she’s currently “pre-menopausal”. Not fun for her. She’s really learning the true meaning of PMS and this month is a doozy.

When she can’t sleep any later she crawls out of bed, puts on her favorite sweats, ties her hair into pigtails, and walks out the front door. I grab my glasses, cane, and iPod and follow.

In the car, she asks if I want drive-thru and I say no.

With the headphones on, I snickered to Luke, Jen and Sean as they recount their exploits of Week 2 of Surviving Thunderdome on the April 1 episode of TBTL as we headed toward Harborview.

I’d only been there once before (three weeks ago when I felt like my head was going to split open), and I felt very lost on the way there, but C knew right where to go. We drove around the parking garage for what seemed like forever and ended up on the bottom level. The elevator doesn’t even go down that far. We climbed up to the fifth level and got on the elevator. It made a terrible noise and took entirely too long to reach ground level.

Our first stop was Financial Assistance. My emergency room visit was $4800 and my last paycheck was last year. We signed in and went to the waiting area.

As we sat, C turned first green, then white, then red, then white again. She looked more like she needed to be in a hospital than I did. Several people moved from our immediate area. After sitting for a spell, she turned human colored again and began to eat animal crackers and read things on her iPhone.

By the time we got called to the back, she looked almost normal TBTL was on April 2.

The nice man behind the counter asked only a few questions and then had me sign a stack of papers almost as tall as the one that I signed to buy my first house. Afterwards, he gave me the lowdown. Because my wife has income we don’t get immediate assistance. We get billed for everything. If I rack up enough bills they will pay them… if I get approved, which I won’t even find out until after I’ve racked up the bills.

If I do rack up a bunch of bills and don’t get approved because my wife makes too much (a whopping dollar over minimum wage to support two people), there is a secondary charity that I might qualify for.

…or I could just go home, go blind quietly, and save my wife tens of thousands of dollars. (OK, he didn’t say that last part – but I sure thought it.)

We thanked the nice man and went to the third floor. I checked in for my appointment 40 minutes early and still sat in the waiting room long enough to finish April 2.

[I went blog-silent, but vented a bit on Twitter.]

I hate an incomplete move.

Being nomadic, I get a lot of practice packing and unpacking. Being neurotic, I fear losing and/or breaking things and want to minimize the chaos of messy areas. Therefore I have the act of moving down to a science. An in-town move was usually four to six days, then I’d begin re-arranging things until everything “works”.

That was when I could drive.

This go round, it took us six days just to get our stuff here and clean the old place. My poor wife pulled double shifts; working during the day, moving in the evenings (in the pouring rain), to keep my stress down and to keep me from trying to do too much on my own. (Did I mention my wife is a saint? She only killed three passers-by this week and that’s just normal PMS-level grumpiness.)

After the long, slow, wet move… we still aren’t finished.

Before signing the lease on the new place, my wife negotiated a whole new laundry room, a washer and dryer, and our own water heater for just $25 more a month. (Did I mention my wife is a shark in negotiations?) The drawback? I’m living in a construction zone.

Until the construction is finished, we’re in unpacking limbo. I have no rear speakers (therefore no surround sound), the living room furniture doesn’t quite line up, half of my wardrobe is dirty, and cooking is a juggling act. I “finished” unpacking the kitchen and C “finished” the bathroom but they’re still buried in as many boxes as the living room and bedroom.

A misunderstanding on the start date caused the snafu, and our slow move didn’t help, but in the end it’s to our benefit.

It’s the mean time that sucks.

C isn’t used to an unpacked home, and is getting antsy. Unfortunately, when she gets antsy about storage, she buys furniture. I try to explain that we only have so many square inches of floor space to dedicate to new furniture – so we have to maximize what each new piece can hold – but she just looks at me like a kid being told that they can’t go to Disney World next week because it’s their grandmother’s birthday and we have to go to the Cabbage Festival.

My white cane hasn’t been touched in a week. It’s hard to carry a cane and a moving box at the same time and I haven’t ventured out of the house. Getting used to my new indoor environment is taking all my spare time, but I’m getting the itch to wander – if anything just to get away from the boxes.

They say that everything will be finished by next week. I hope I can keep my wife from buying a new bed or bringing home a Craigslist sofa until then.

I’m a big “adventure” guy. When I was 17, I lived in Central Park for a summer. I’ve driven cross-country on 45 minutes notice – twice. I burned all my ties, quit the cubicle farm and became a filmmaker; then when my wife quit Corporate Life we moved from Texas to the West coast without a plan, a clue, or any money. In 2007, we moved 3000 miles to live with newfound birthparents-in-law for a year. I find uncertainty more fun if you actually find out “what if…”.

Losing my vision is my biggest adventure, second only to my marriage. Unfortunately, I don’t really have friends who understand it in those terms. All my current friends either feel sorry for me or worried about me. Telling them about weird optical illusions created by the cataracts or visual hallucinations inherent to losing sight never causes any of them to crack a smile. I excitedly tell them how I walked to the park by myself, and I can see tears in their eyes. I feel like I’m bumming everyone out!

Being able to talk about going blind in a non-bummery fashion on this blog for the last two months has been very cathartic. I just wish I had someone to laugh at me when I bump into crap. Maybe I’ll go roller-skating in a clown wig. I have GOT to get my giggle fix.

The outpouring of kindness I’ve felt in the last two weeks, first from my white cane adventure then from my broadcast, has really reaffirmed my faith in humanity.

Now, I just have to work on humanity’s sense of humor.

Thanks to Kirstin for the pointer for 5-Element Acupuncture, to Paul for letting me know about the Washington State Department of Services for the Blind and Seattle Lighthouse for the Blind, to Anne for letting me know about Deep Baseball, to Jan, a Seattle woman who lost her vision at age 2 to cancer, for her offer of general advice, and to everyone who wrote in to give me words of encouragement.

And like I said to Kate in the comments: If you see me walking around town, don’t be shy. I’m trying not to be.

My wife and I signed a lease on a new apartment today. I’m about to conduct my first move since giving up driving and am changing my surroundings for the first time since going blind enough to need the white cane.

The adventure continues….

Some Captcha are better than others. You know what I’m talking about: Those annoying security codes that guard against spam. Some of them I can still read, but others are like a cruel joke.

Dark Angel weighs in:

The thing that really annoys me is that there are far more accessible alternatives out there which work just as well. And I’m not talking about audio captchas. Obviously I’m pleased when webmasters think to provide an audio alternative; however, they are as difficult to understand as the visual captchas are to read. This leaves those of us with both visual and hearing impairments still unable to access them.

The Dreaded Captcha