Have you ever had a phone call that changed your life? I have, and I remember mine as though it were yesterday – even though in reality, it was over seven years ago. And I’d been absolutely DREADING it!
“What’s the name?” I said, while holding my breath as though competing in a game of musical statues at a children’s Birthday party – my brain frozen like I’d eaten too much ice cream, my legs turning to jelly. I know the old cliché, of course: ‘What’s in a name?’ But this name would become one of the most important in my life and (if especially unfortunate) had the potential to transpire as the bane of my existence!
“It’s Nancy”, came the reply down the line. I didn’t know it then, but these two words would echo around inside my mind for days. ‘It’s Nancy’ – and I hadn’t even met her yet!
I didn’t have to wait long though, because Nancy came to visit me just one week later. She was small and sweet and treated me like I was a Queen, looking longingly into my face or leaning lovingly against my legs. Now, before you get any funny ideas – Nancy is a petite golden Labrador. Not just any Labrador though – oh no, this particular one was destined to be my guide dog!
For many people, this is the moment they have been dreaming about for ages. I could definitely forgive you for assuming that what I’m describing here was one of the happiest moments of my life this far. However, you’d be very much mistaken.
Although I didn’t let it show as I sat there stroking Nancy and learning about the skills she’d already nailed and one or two that were still marked as ‘we’ll work on that’. Anxiety flooded my nervous system. It was like an angry swarm of bees had decided to make their home inside my head, periodically stinging me with a new unanswerable question or worrisome ‘what if’.
For years, I had thought getting a guide dog would be like suddenly deciding to wear a cape everywhere. Dramatic. Attention-grabbing. Not necessarily me. I imagined myself wandering about, cape flapping in the wind, people gawping and whispering things like: “Ooh, she’s one of them now,” while I slunk off to buy potatoes, party rings and a pack of painkillers for my pride from the Co-op.
My main concern was that if I let myself get to know Nancy, it would likely mean trading in my identity. I worried it would change how I saw myself – like a wizard who’s just been handed a wand and told, “Right, off you go. Start casting spells and being looked at.”
Up to that point, I’d always done EVERYTHING (and I mean everything!) I could to minimise my disability and to seem, to all intents and purposes, sighted. I had deep fears about what might happen if I became defined by my disability.
It is an odd thing how very often, we care far more what a stranger thinks of us than someone who knows and loves us, but when you delve a little deeper, it kind of makes perfect sense.
Those who are closest to us know us fully – for the nuanced, complex and multi-faceted human being that we are. Strangers can so easily make unfair assessments. Strangers can assume things about us that come in the category of our worst nightmare! We can (mostly) rely on those we love to stick around, but strangers? They need constant persuasion and convincing!
I could already hear the whispers:
“Look, she’s got one of those dogs – she must be BLIND-blind!”
“Is she faking it? She doesn’t look blind.”
“Is that one of those emotional support llamas?”
“Can dogs do taxes now?”
And this alone was the reason that I very nearly said no to sharing my life with Nancy.
But am I glad I didn’t?!
At first, I felt like I’d borrowed someone else’s life. Walking down the street, I imagined I looked like a child pretending to be a pilot, complete with invisible goggles and a dog-shaped co-pilot. But then things started to change. Little things.
I could go out without mentally mapping every bin, bollard, and inexplicably placed sandwich board in the known universe. I stopped apologising to lamp posts. Most importantly: I stopped apologising to myself.
Nancy didn’t just guide me – she gave me permission. Permission to take up space, to move at my pace, to exist publicly without constantly managing the reactions of others. People did look, but mostly they just asked polite questions or said things like,
“Your dog’s got a better work ethic than my teenager.” To which I’d reply, “Yes, but she’s rubbish at Fortnite!”
Seven plus years on, I can safely say that adding Nancy to the modest list of the things I care most about in this world was the best thing I ever did. And strangely, the very thing that had almost made my confidence in her crumble is the thing which today allows me to hold my head high.
People know.
They know I can’t see and it has allowed me to know myself so much better. Where before I would spend my life shaming myself and feeling like an idiot if I narrowly avoided colliding with someone or clanking noisily into a postcard stand in a shop doorway, now I understood that there was nothing wrong with me as a person, I just needed to find my way around differently.
When wondering if I could do something independently, it was the shift between ‘no’ and ‘not like this’. And that changed everything.
It was like someone had unscrewed a jammed window in my brain and let in a bit of fresh air. I’m still me. Still partial to sparkly shoes and funny voices. Still deeply suspicious of people who call lunch ‘dinner’. But now, I’m a me who gets around with the help of my comedy sidekick – a very soppy dog who has given me back bits of myself I didn’t even know I’d misplaced – and who will do literally ANYTHING for a carrot fresh out the fridge!
Today, Nancy and I are a partnership. I’m the satnav and she’s the steering wheel. I’m the planner and she’s the protector. I’m the handler and she’s… the one everyone really wants to see!
I give her the food, fuss and fun and in return, she gives me bundles of courage, confidence and a connection like no other.
As it turns out, I don’t feel like a stereotype. With Nancy by my side, I feel more like a superhero – complete with an imaginary cape and the kind of VIP status that has others apologising to me, even when I’m most definitely the cause of the pedestrian congestion taking place!