from medical school and his
desire to live in downtown Denver. Smitty had actually been thinking about
Nelson for this young man, but now as he watched him, he wasn't sure. Maybe
Nelson would have to wait for the next class; that is, if nobody caught on to
his deception.
He crossed
the room and introduced himself. "I'm Harold Smith," he said.
"You're Brenden McCarthy, right?"
The handshake
told Brenden that this guy had worked hard throughout his life. His hand was
gnarled and strong, but there was also friendship and warmth in the shake.
Brenden had noticed over the months since he lost his sight that he could learn
a lot from a handshake, and it was clear to him that this one said, "Glad
to meet you. I hope I can help." Right now, Brenden didn't want any help.
He wanted to go to bed.
"Excuse
me," he said, without engaging in conversation. "Could you show me my
room, please? I think I'd like to call it a night."
"Oh
sure," Smitty said. "Take my arm. Right this way."
They moved
down the corridor, and Smitty refamiliarized Brenden with his bedroom and bath.
"Well,
good night," Brenden said, sitting down on his bed.
"Listen,
McCarthy," Smitty said, sensing the young man's disconnect, "I want
you to know I'm here for you; I mean, any extra attention you need, any special
work with the dog that we'll pick for you. I know from your application that
you had a tough break with your accident, and I'm sure it's not easy to begin
living as a blind person. But if you're willing to try, these incredible
animals can make a big difference in your life."
Brenden
didn't even nod, and Smitty was forced to go on. "Like I said, we'll begin
tomorrow morning after breakfast, and actually I'll be working with you for the
first couple of days. I very much look forward to sharing a partnership, so get
a good night's sleep, okay?"
Again,
Brenden sat mute, and Smitty quietly closed the door.
For a long
time after the trainer left, Brenden just sat on his bed, not moving, deep in
thought. He hated his circumstance. He hated the idea that he was thought of as
one of these people. They were blind, handicapped, disabled, and yet they
seemed happy in their pathetic state. Didn't they know what the world was
really like? How much they had lost or would never understand? The changing of
the seasons? A rainbow? A beautiful smile? They were blind.
And then it
hit him like a crippling blow in the stomach. So was he: Brenden McCarthy,
doctor, mountain climber, fiancé to Lindsey. He was just like them. No better,
no worse. He was blind. And tomorrow he would begin to learn to use a dog, an
unmistakable symbol of his disability.
He put his
head in his hands, overcome by the emotion of the moment, overcome as his
reality enveloped him. Not for the first time, the tears began to flow. The
sobs were gut-wrenching, and they came from a place of utter desolation. There
was no catharsis in his crying, no easing of the pain, no opening of the doors
to therapeutic understanding. Brenden was bereft of self-worth, a shattered
spirit broken in heart, soul, mind, and body.
Eventually,
when the crying subsided, he rolled onto his bed and mercifully slept, still in
his clothes.
chapter twelve
At breakfast
the next morning, Brenden felt the buzz in the room. He sensed the excitement
all the students were feeling as they began the process toward relationships
with new dogs and the independence that meant.
Their
enthusiasm annoyed Brenden. Didn't they know? Didn't they understand that their
dogs would brand them as—the word handicapped caught in his throat. Just the
thought of it was almost impossible for him to take.
Smitty came
in just as everyone finished breakfast. "Okay, boys and girls," he
said, "your chariot is outside. We'll drive to the student lounge and pair
you up with your instructors. Everybody have good walking shoes on? Wonderful.
Because you're going to need them. By the time you're finished, your feet will
be telling you you've covered
desire to live in downtown Denver. Smitty had actually been thinking about
Nelson for this young man, but now as he watched him, he wasn't sure. Maybe
Nelson would have to wait for the next class; that is, if nobody caught on to
his deception.
He crossed
the room and introduced himself. "I'm Harold Smith," he said.
"You're Brenden McCarthy, right?"
The handshake
told Brenden that this guy had worked hard throughout his life. His hand was
gnarled and strong, but there was also friendship and warmth in the shake.
Brenden had noticed over the months since he lost his sight that he could learn
a lot from a handshake, and it was clear to him that this one said, "Glad
to meet you. I hope I can help." Right now, Brenden didn't want any help.
He wanted to go to bed.
"Excuse
me," he said, without engaging in conversation. "Could you show me my
room, please? I think I'd like to call it a night."
"Oh
sure," Smitty said. "Take my arm. Right this way."
They moved
down the corridor, and Smitty refamiliarized Brenden with his bedroom and bath.
"Well,
good night," Brenden said, sitting down on his bed.
"Listen,
McCarthy," Smitty said, sensing the young man's disconnect, "I want
you to know I'm here for you; I mean, any extra attention you need, any special
work with the dog that we'll pick for you. I know from your application that
you had a tough break with your accident, and I'm sure it's not easy to begin
living as a blind person. But if you're willing to try, these incredible
animals can make a big difference in your life."
Brenden
didn't even nod, and Smitty was forced to go on. "Like I said, we'll begin
tomorrow morning after breakfast, and actually I'll be working with you for the
first couple of days. I very much look forward to sharing a partnership, so get
a good night's sleep, okay?"
Again,
Brenden sat mute, and Smitty quietly closed the door.
For a long
time after the trainer left, Brenden just sat on his bed, not moving, deep in
thought. He hated his circumstance. He hated the idea that he was thought of as
one of these people. They were blind, handicapped, disabled, and yet they
seemed happy in their pathetic state. Didn't they know what the world was
really like? How much they had lost or would never understand? The changing of
the seasons? A rainbow? A beautiful smile? They were blind.
And then it
hit him like a crippling blow in the stomach. So was he: Brenden McCarthy,
doctor, mountain climber, fiancé to Lindsey. He was just like them. No better,
no worse. He was blind. And tomorrow he would begin to learn to use a dog, an
unmistakable symbol of his disability.
He put his
head in his hands, overcome by the emotion of the moment, overcome as his
reality enveloped him. Not for the first time, the tears began to flow. The
sobs were gut-wrenching, and they came from a place of utter desolation. There
was no catharsis in his crying, no easing of the pain, no opening of the doors
to therapeutic understanding. Brenden was bereft of self-worth, a shattered
spirit broken in heart, soul, mind, and body.
Eventually,
when the crying subsided, he rolled onto his bed and mercifully slept, still in
his clothes.
chapter twelve
At breakfast
the next morning, Brenden felt the buzz in the room. He sensed the excitement
all the students were feeling as they began the process toward relationships
with new dogs and the independence that meant.
Their
enthusiasm annoyed Brenden. Didn't they know? Didn't they understand that their
dogs would brand them as—the word handicapped caught in his throat. Just the
thought of it was almost impossible for him to take.
Smitty came
in just as everyone finished breakfast. "Okay, boys and girls," he
said, "your chariot is outside. We'll drive to the student lounge and pair
you up with your instructors. Everybody have good walking shoes on? Wonderful.
Because you're going to need them. By the time you're finished, your feet will
be telling you you've covered
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