"Is Your Balance Holding You Back"

Is Your Balance Holding You Back?

Originally published in the Summer 2011 edition of "The Blind Californian".

I work for a 112-acre community college. As a guide dog handler of thirty years, I was used to confidently zipping off to meetings and negotiating the ongoing campus construction with relative ease. As the resident geek for disability services, I often had to drop what I was doing and hustle off to a lab twenty minutes away to figure out why a student's midterm wouldn't print. As a fifty-something, I didn't pay much attention to studies proving we lose our sense of balance as we age.

Then one Sunday while washing my bathroom floor, I slipped in a wet puddle.

Suddenly I was in extreme pain, unable to stand. It took months to heal, though luckily I did not need surgery. Because I worked with computers, I could continue to do most of my job. My guide dog quickly learned to serve as a furry grab-bar enabling us to visit even the least accessible bathrooms. Our transportation for students who depend on crutches or wheelchairs helped me get to my meetings, and though my independence was somewhat diminished, I assumed I'd be back to my old fit self in a few months.

But even after I could walk well again, I developed a terrible fear of falling. Though perhaps common for seniors losing their vision, I had been a confident blind traveler since high school. Medical professionals suggested it was a psychological thing; I had, after all experienced a bad fall, even if only in my own bathroom. Using a knee brace because my leg was now weaker, was a suggestion I was reluctant to follow. And I've never been prone to big psychological issues before. I wondered if I was getting menopausal or there was a deeper cause. I requested tests and to see a physical therapist.

It turned out I was right; it wasn't all in my head. The physical therapist saw immediately that my sense of balance was compromised and my left leg's muscles were weak. The medical tests showed I had a vitamin D deficiency, because while recovering, I'd spent less time walking around in the sun. (A lack of Vitamin D compromises our sense of balance.) Vitamin pills quickly fixed the deficiency, and simple physical therapy moved me forward on the road to better balance, but Internet research showed me some scary trends. Falls are the number one cause of injury for seniors, and millions of seniors with unimpaired vision experience serious injuries caused by falling every year. The problem is that their sense of balance has declined.

The sense of balance, I also read was dependent on vision. Even physical therapists use visual clues to assist clients with relearning balance. I tried for example to take a fall prevention for senior class at our local HMO, and they refused me because they insisted that good balance required vision. I encountered this strong prejudice everywhere I turned for help.

It would have been easy at that point to simply get a knee brace and permanently ride the campus shuttle for the physically limited. How could I prove to the professionals that I believed I could regain my balance again? Despite the danger of falls, there is little advice for the senior who wants to prevent them. They can remove slippery scatter rugs and take Tai Chi, but by far the most common piece of advice is to improve lighting in the home. Nobody with severe vision loss wants to have good lighting as the only insurance policy to prevent falling! I decided I needed to banish my fear of falling before I could zip around campus safely again. Luckily we have a program to teach students how to become personal trainers. I asked C.J., the trainer, if I could become her guinea pig. C.J. was delighted. She is an open-minded teacher with advanced certifications in many aspects of exercise science. Personal trainers find athletes easy to work with, but it's hard to get experience with people who are older, stiffer, or kinesthetically challenged. C.J. taught me a mixture of exercises I could do at home and in the gym.

Under her careful tutelage, student trainers worked with me. They learned how to coach someone who is blind, overweight, creaky and injured, and such experience will broaden their resumes. I was able to benefit from the variety of these young people's teaching styles. Some of my helpers were the students with learning differences I serve in my job. They loved being able to assist me in return. And until the recent budget cuts, I was paying absolutely nothing for this amazing service.

The coolest piece of gym equipment I recommend for balance is the bosu, whose website is www.bosu.com. This is a springy rubber ball, with a flat side that sits on the ground. The exerciser stands on the ball and balances while bending, stretching, or lifting weights. The first time I was introduced to the Bosu, I burst in to tears. I couldn't imagine myself balancing on it while even holding on to the wall. At first we practiced just that. I'd stand, holding firmly to a nearby wall.

Eventually, I could stand just touching the wall with a single finger. Then I had to make it harder by bouncing up and down, flinging my arms in to the air and from side to side. I also practiced stepping on and off it and even doing slight knee bends. Due to my injury, it is dangerous for me to do deep squats or some of the other routines athletes practice with the Bosu. But stepping on and off simulated stepping down from a high train platform, and bouncing up and down helped me strengthen the leg muscles that keep my knee safe. Flinging my arms around throws off balance, simulating what might happen if I stumble on an unexpected curb. I eventually graduated to a larger Bosu which stands at the height of my thighs.

In mastering the Bosu, I discovered athletes and even their coaches were terrified to try it with their eyes closed. Today C.J. who also coaches the cheerleaders, requires they do some simple Bosu work blindfolded. Some of my students have been inspired to work harder at overcoming their dyslexia after seeing me struggle with and master balance on the Bosu.

I work out at the gym twice a week now and always do a stint on the Bosu. Even though I've tripped on many pieces of broken concrete and those evil cement blocks in parking lots, I have lost the fear of falling. My balance is undoubtedly much better than it was before I had my fall. I also suspect, after talking to many older students who both do and do not have vision issues, that a lack of confidence might be directly related to a lack of balance. If you are afraid to ride an unfamiliar bus or visit a store across town, consider that maybe compromised balance is your body's wisdom.

Your body might be telling you that you aren't safe.

C.J. and I offer this advice for blind people improving balance: start simply at home first. Use duct tape to hold two old phone books together so it makes a solid cube. Add more phone books as you advance but be sure to create a secure platform. You want it to be a bit springy but not slippery. Practice stepping on and off your phone book edifice in a clear, carpeted area, or if you feel unsure, near a strong heavy table you can hold on to while stepping. Step in different patterns, on, off, sideways, backwards. Move slowly; breathe deeply and pretend that a string runs from the top of your head to your toes.

Practice every day, but don't push yourself beyond your own comfort zone.

Sit in a chair, feet flat on the floor, knees slightly bent. Your feet should be in the position you normally assume when standing. Place your hands in front of you in any way that seems comfortable but positioned so you cannot use your arms to assist you when standing. I like to hold my palms together, touching my chin with my fingertips. This presses my elbows close to my sides, preventing them from assisting me to stand. Now stand up slowly, using only the strength in your legs. Once you are upright, lower yourself to the chair, again not using your hands to assist. Just as your rear touches the chair, but before you settle your weight on to it, stand again slowly. My physical therapist made me repeat this 25 times nonstop every morning. It gave me amazingly strong legs. Of course if you have any concerns that your legs aren't healthy, you should check with a doctor first before performing this or any other exercise.

Stand near a solid chair or counter, and holding on to it with one hand, balance for as long as you can on one foot. Track your progress by counting "One Mississippi", "Two Mississippi" etc. Log how many Mississippis you can go standing on the single foot. You will see improvement each week. Remember to do this with each foot.

Investigate local fitness centers, YMCA, senior centers and college gyms. If you are on fixed income, get creative and ask about scholarships or if you can be part of an experiment or (as I did) other people's training. If an exercise class looks challenging or inaccessible, don't give up, but try something else. I unsuccessfully tried several exercise classes before I found C.J. Don't let injuries, age, arthritis or your weight be a barrier. Not every exercise opportunity works for morbidly obese, or arthritic people, but many exercises need to simply be done more slowly and gently. Make sure the instructor or trainer has experience working with people who have your physical limitations. You can show them how to work with your visual impairment, but they need to be trained properly to deal with physical disabilities or medical conditions. Instructors should not push a client in to doing workouts that aren't safe.

Remember to do a variety of exercises and not just focus on balance. We need stretching for flexibility, aerobics for cardiovascular health and the often neglected strength training to keep the muscles supporting our joints strong. I use a treadmill at home to keep up with aerobics. I also use free weights at home, to improve my strength and keep osteoporosis at bay. When I travel, I use exercise bands. In the gym, I work out on machines and use the time to learn new floor exercises I can do at home. I always ask students to teach me new stretches.

Don't let little issues prevent you from keeping yourself healthy. I love to swim but can't fit it in to my schedule. I am ashamed I cannot walk around the gym independently, but right now I always have a student guiding me because there are too many people and obstacles to navigate. More important, I can independently walk everywhere on campus again. Neither of these little annoyances have prevented me from getting what I need to keep my health and balance strong.

New Ways to Bond with One's Guide

The campground has many pluses. First there are few foxtails or burs. It's frequently used by cub scouts and brownies so the park service sweeps it free of forest debris.

It is surrounded by towering redwoods, keeping it shady and cool. We are several miles mostly straight up overlooking the rowdy Pacific ocean, so we have all the fog 'er' mist that comes with being on the central California coast. That means warm afternoons and chilly nights, and a tent covered with moisture upon awakening.

We have a large fire ring where we are allowed to roast our wieners and marshmallows. The barrier is over a yard high so the forest is protected from flying embers, a big concern in this fire-ravaged state. And we have friendships. About twenty of us, mostly women in their fifties and sixties comprise the local dog scout troop.

Dog scouts is just what you think, people who loved scouts and since the kids grew up and moved out we do the same thing with preparedness and patches minus kids but with dogs. You can get a community service badge, a therapy badge, a backpacking and of course a camping badge.

All these pooches love adventure and are comfortable doing things with humans. We go on ranger-lead nature hikes, visit outdoor concerts and cafes and just hang out on restaurant patios with our canines. I am the only member with a service dog.

The campground is also a preserved Native American relic. It has numerous small pits where the Indians ground acorns. These were hollowed out and lined with sharp rocks centuries ago by native tribes. A naturalist painted vivid pictures for us of Indian women squatting before these holes, chatting, singing and grinding. This, the naturalist tells us is the first factory for stone-ground grain.

Maxwell, my golden guide knows immediately to avoid the pits. He loves hiking and is careful to insure I never sprain an ankle. I feel safe running around camp holding his harness. We also have to navigate around numerous concrete picnic tables as well as coolers, stoves, the fire ring and lots of portable chairs, tents and tables brought by my friends. But Max happily powers through all the obstacles, his bushy flag-tail sweeping back and forth, his nose alive to the scents of the woods.

Now when I was a kid, a campground had an outhouse. The smell actually assisted me in finding it. But here, we have a row of huge, green wheel-chair accessible plastic porta-potties. Totally sanitary they have almost no scent. And because we are Scouts we just naturally keep them clean.

The potties are about a quarter of a mile away from the campground and due to a leaking faucet which the forest service plans to fix, the route directly to the potty is a muddy quagmire. So my friends advise me to take a circuitous route, circumventing yet more tables, coolers and chairs.

Max doesn't like mud either, which is good, because he's happy to tramp farther to get to the human toilet. But teaching him to find it on his own is another thing.

"Good potty," I croon, sliding a treat in to his eager mouth. "Find the potty," I request later, hopefully as he snuffles through the forest until a helpful friend rescues us.

Max continues to find more stoves and tables to guide around and the potty just isn't a destination for him.

At bedtime my friends suggest I wake them if I have to go. I assure them we won't have any trouble finding the potty in the middle of the night, and besides, I lie, I almost never get up in the night to go anyway. All the food has been locked in cars due to the occasional threat of bears and the regular visits of raccoons so there will be nothing yummy to distract Max, I tell my friends.

I carefully avoid drinking water before bed, spitting out the toothpaste when I brush. At 1 A.M. I awake parched, and take the tiniest little sip from my water bottle.

At 3 AM I wake with a bladder the size of Texas. I can barely move it feels so full. The more I try to stop thinking about it, the more I have to go.

Finally I pile on the warm layers, I harness Max and we slip out of the tent. It is pitch dark, and though I don't really see enough for light to help, I notice the moon is absent so I wonder how well Max can see.

"Find the potty," I whisper and rattle the food pouch, promising him a treat to come.

He charges off happily, nose in full gear. I hear my friends snoring and we encounter no obstacles so I know Max can tell where he's going. I smell the fire ring as we pass, hear the wind rattling a pot lid on one of our camp stoves. But is he going where I want to go? And speaking of going, do I ever have to.

We are climbing a slope. Oops, I know there is no slope to the potty. And suddenly we are on an asphalt road. It's deathly quiet. Following his training, Max takes me to the road shoulder, with bushes on the left and the road stretching ahead of us on the right. I think about retracing my steps, but can't remember where the road we drove on was. And I can't remember if there are two roads out of this campground or if it's on a dead end.

I halt max and pick up some small rocks and throw them experimentally to my left. I hear them cascade down what seems to be a fairly steep slope. Then I hear a large splash as they land in a pond below the road. We continue because frankly I'm not sure what to do.

Another quarter mile I toss some pebbles again. This time the slope seems less steep and I realize there are no tents below us. I hear my pebbles finally come to rest in shallow water, maybe fifty feet below. Good, I think, it is indeed safe here.

I squat on the edge of the road and make it quick. I have done this many times backpacking but never when car camping. I hope I am really far away enough from people.

Max bounces up and down. He's gotten to relieve himself with other dogs, but now his pack leader is urinating in the woods where he likes to go. The joy of over marking my spot makes him snort and spin with uncontained fervor. As soon as I pull up my pants, Max indicates he needs to go too. Off with the harness and he's circling and wagging and urinating a gallon. Why I wonder, did he save that up instead of going at bedtime like he usually does? Did he hope for a chance like this, bonding like dogs do but with his very own human in the woods?

Max is practically dancing up the road as we retrace our steps, walking on the other side, hoping we won't miss the campground. About half a mile later, Max begins pulling me frantically across the road and through a lot of very squishy mud. And guess what he's found -- the potty!

In Defense of Obsolete Technology

How quickly technology becomes obsolete, and how truly sad. Our college was gifted several boxes of hardware Daisy players from a training program which became defunct. The idea was that they could be shared with students but the only person they could find who knew enough Daisy to unravel the mess was me -- so I got them.   We have several varieties of Plextalk and Telix things and a pile of original desktop Victor Readers, plus a trio of Book ports and some clunky gizmos that I haven't yet identified.   I got boxes and boxes of them, together with power supplies, which I'm still matching up to the players, plus boxes of CDS, some were books made in-house by a college, others from Recording for the Blind. This was before a hardware Daisy player could handle books from NLS or bookshare, and the book port is the only thing with a memory card. (Daisy 2 didn't handle the digital content from bookshare -- which is Daisy 3 and NLS books are play-protected, though not copy-protected.)   Their old NiCad batteries mostly don't hold a charge -- who thought special-purpose batteries which would eventually loose their charge were a good idea anyway -- and some of them need the battery to work minimally even when plugged in. That's because the charging circuit isn't bypassed when it's connected to AC.    Gives turn of the century a new meaning eighteen years later.    The training program that used them didn't bother to save the original boxes, manuals, and  many cases the master CDS that might have come with the products. Surfing the web, it is impossible to find documentation for the original Victor Reader, and for Book Port I found a user guide but no transfer software, which is needed to make the book port useful. (Luckily I did find a copy of the book port transfer software in the box of college-produced Daisy books, but so many of these players have lost their instructions.) Even when software and drivers exist, it's often for an operating system that is obsolete too.    Thousands of dollars were spent on this stuff; I know for example that the Plextalk PTR1 was around a thousand dollars, and now I have 4 of them which nobody wanted. I have a dozen literally of the original Victor Readers, and haven't got a single one to charge up yet.     And look at the Dectalk Express, something many of us poor blind folks lusted after. I now have five of them, not because I am a hoarder, but because I just can't bear to toss them. And they used a funky cable nobody has these days, which in a completely unrelated coincidence my husband had a box full of the same cables, simply because he used to work for Dec and they were a standard connector there.   But today's standard is tomorrow's  forgotten connector; my ability to understand CTS and DTR, IRQS and I/O ports is no longer a marketable skill! Oh well, maybe I really am a hoarder!   But look at the TeleSensory Navigator, a Braille display from the 1980s. When I worked for TeleSensory and they literally threw their remaining stock in a dumpster, my sighted husband and I snuck back in the middle of the night and "reclaimed" it. Today, the Navigator is supported by Narrator in Windows 10 but you need to be kind of geeky to figure it out. Who knew I could ressurect mine again!   I guess the moral of this rambling is that you really shouldn't go throwing away all the supplementary stuff that comes with today's hot gizmo. But then again, the websites on which they depend to download content or firmware updates will disappear, so who knows if the future will want it.   My husband -- same husband restores old Digital Equipment corporation hardware. Many of his collector friends scan old manuals and put them up on sites for other collectors to download so they can configure the old computers, install software and get them running like new again. When you restore an old car, you just need gas to run; when you restore an old piece of technology you need a manual, software, and the media on which the software lived, which might be old 9-track tapes or 8-inch floppies. And you need hardware that works to run the media to get the software to boot the hardware to make it work!   Even in my current job when I try to retain all the material that comes with a new Braille printer, video magnifier  or scanner, someone usually comes along to complain that I should throw all those extra boxes out because it looks so "cluttered". They want to lock the master CDS in a cabinet which will be forgotten, or the key will get lost, or maybe only the serial number will disappear because someone threw out the box on which it was printed. I dutifully de-clutter, but when I retire, woe to the person who replaces me and has to try and put all the bits of the obsolete technology together again. They'll probably just toss it in the dumpster!   Luckily I'm happily married to a guy who gets it. When he buys the farm we know collectors who will lovingly maintain his collection of old computers from the 1970s and not throw out the manual just because its pages are gray!