Raising Cane, as a Subject

Rich's most recent post got me thinking about an episode I had long forgotten.

When I was a kid, a social worker came to my house to offer services. I didn't really think we needed any, but my mom thought it would be worth finding out what was available.

He walked in with a big, friendly smile. When I told him what my vision issue was, he dropped the smile, and put on a sad, slightly stern face..

"Now, unfortunately, your condition is degenerative, which means it will only get worse," he informed me.

Well, "informed" may not be the right word: he was actually incorrect. While "degenerative" sounds a lot like the general name for my condition, "macular degeneration," I had it on good authority that the degeneration of my retina had already occurred. In other words, my eyes weren't going to get any worse. But the social worker would ear none of this from a twelve-year-old, and he proceeded to tell me what I needed to do.

"First, you'll have to get cane training," he told me.

"I don't have any problem getting around."

"Oh, but you will, because your issue is degenerative."

Clearly, this gentleman had just passed his vocabulary test, and I wasn't about to correct him again. He went on to inform me about the medial jobs that I should start training for now, for that inevitable day when I would no longer be able to see.

The social worker's intentions were good, and he seemed like a nice enough guy, but in retrospect, this was pretty horrific. Social workers should not be giving out medical diagnoses, and they certainly shouldn't contradict what doctors say. I happened to have been to experts in Boston who had been very specific about my prognosis, or else there's a good chance I would have either lived in fear of total blindness or had to visit another battery of doctors.

And, just for the record, there's absolutely nothing wrong with canes: they're a simple, low-tech, extremely helpful mobility aide. I just happen not to need one. I have plenty of other gadgets.