Miss-Delectable
New Member
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2004
- Messages
- 17,158
- Reaction score
- 7
Lethbridge Herald - Deaf-blind residents living outside institutions learn to make choices
A gentle touch to her chin relays the question: Are you hungry?
Being asked the question, any question is remarkable for Lynn Todd who transferred to the new DeafBlind Ontario residence in Kitchener last March, the first time the 52-year-old has lived outside a government institution since childhood.
“She’s starting to gain independence, make choices: what to do today, what to wear,” explained Susan Manahan, community manager for DeafBlind Ontario Services. “She’s deciding if she wants a coffee and a muffin or a piece of toast. It used to be just handed to her. This concept of choice is huge.”
Todd is one of three adults living in the spacious, backsplit house purchased by DeafBlind Ontario and modified to accommodate three adults: Sean Loan, Sean Dodd and Todd. All three are deaf-blind and cognitively impaired, but what is remarkable about their story is that as middle-aged adults, the three have spent decades in government institutions where the focus was on physical needs.
How would they cope in a world they’ve never experienced?
The answer proved surprising, even for staff, who have noticed a dramatic change in behaviour, particularly by Todd.
Todd was born with limited hearing and sight, though both senses slipped away as she matured. In the institution she was living in a dark, silent world, well cared for physically and medically but at the mercy of staff schedules. She often acted out, hurting herself, which led to her being restrained in either a wheelchair or bed. Todd was being protected from herself, but restraints didn’t tackle the root of her unhappiness.
“When you are trying to get your message across, you get frustrated,” explained Manahan. “Their world is as far as their reach extends. It’s the intervener’s job to bring that world in.”
Interveners are staff who work one-on-one with residents as conduits to the world around them, stimulating with specialized toys and trips into the community. Communication is taught through simple methods: touching a paper cup indicates a trip to Tim Hortons while the feel of a bathing suit means it’s time to go swimming. Some meanings are conveyed though sign language symbols drawn into their palm.
Before every outing, whether it’s to a music festival or out for dinner, the resident is made aware of where they are going. Manahan said every deaf-blind resident has varying degrees of impairment, so interveners must customize communication to the individual. This is much more difficult for older adults.
DeafBlind Ontario houses 39 clients in 12 houses, including one in Waterloo where three men in their early 20s reside. All three attended schools for the deaf as children and understood communication. But with the adults at the Kitchener house, interveners were starting from scratch.
“It takes months to establish a bond with them,” explained Manahan, who notes a number of programs developed by her organization have made them a leader in deaf-blind communication. For Todd, day by day her interveners are opening up her world and her self-destructive habits have nearly disappeared. She also eagerly walks around the house unaided.
“I believe that she’s very happy; she’s content to be where she is,” said Lynn’s mother, Betty Todd of Brampton, Ont., reflecting back on five decades when services for children with handicaps were rare.
Betty and her husband David also had two boys and were told by all the experts their only choice was to institutionalize their little daughter. Betty recalled “we were very much against it.” But without benefit of community support for children with severe disabilities, they had to capitulate. A few years ago, when the provincial government started moving residents from institutions back into community, the couple fretted.
“We were very much against it,” said David. “We were worried she’d get into a place where they didn’t care for her.”
It was an unnecessary worry.
On a cold wintry day, Todd is at the kitchen table with her intervener Shari Chantler and together they are stirring muffin mix. For Todd the process, though laborious, is about becoming a participating member of the household, not just a resident needing care. With every new experience she explores her senses, making connections between the smell of an apple and its taste, the feel of stirring batter and the resulting muffins fresh from the oven. These are concepts never before understood.
After a busy morning of baking, it’s nap time. Todd stretches out on the family room couch, but in no time the smell of baking wafting around the house awakens her. Chantler, a team leader, helps Todd to her wheelchair (Todd has arthritis so staff must limit her mobility), rolling up to the kitchen table. One bite, and she’s in obvious heaven leaning over to Chantler for one of many kisses and hugs she’ll share throughout the day.
“They told us she didn’t like affection when she came here,” said Chantler.
When she wants to identify her interveners, Todd touches their earrings, rings, bracelets.
“She’s a girl. She likes bling,” joked Chantler.
Todd’s life today is very different from the hospital-style room she inhabited for the last four decades and every day is yet another experience. No one knows how much she understands, though the happiness on her face is evident.
Manahan recalls entering Todd’s spacious bedroom one morning, seeing her quietly relaxing on her double bed.
“The sun was coming in and she looked so content.”
A gentle touch to her chin relays the question: Are you hungry?
Being asked the question, any question is remarkable for Lynn Todd who transferred to the new DeafBlind Ontario residence in Kitchener last March, the first time the 52-year-old has lived outside a government institution since childhood.
“She’s starting to gain independence, make choices: what to do today, what to wear,” explained Susan Manahan, community manager for DeafBlind Ontario Services. “She’s deciding if she wants a coffee and a muffin or a piece of toast. It used to be just handed to her. This concept of choice is huge.”
Todd is one of three adults living in the spacious, backsplit house purchased by DeafBlind Ontario and modified to accommodate three adults: Sean Loan, Sean Dodd and Todd. All three are deaf-blind and cognitively impaired, but what is remarkable about their story is that as middle-aged adults, the three have spent decades in government institutions where the focus was on physical needs.
How would they cope in a world they’ve never experienced?
The answer proved surprising, even for staff, who have noticed a dramatic change in behaviour, particularly by Todd.
Todd was born with limited hearing and sight, though both senses slipped away as she matured. In the institution she was living in a dark, silent world, well cared for physically and medically but at the mercy of staff schedules. She often acted out, hurting herself, which led to her being restrained in either a wheelchair or bed. Todd was being protected from herself, but restraints didn’t tackle the root of her unhappiness.
“When you are trying to get your message across, you get frustrated,” explained Manahan. “Their world is as far as their reach extends. It’s the intervener’s job to bring that world in.”
Interveners are staff who work one-on-one with residents as conduits to the world around them, stimulating with specialized toys and trips into the community. Communication is taught through simple methods: touching a paper cup indicates a trip to Tim Hortons while the feel of a bathing suit means it’s time to go swimming. Some meanings are conveyed though sign language symbols drawn into their palm.
Before every outing, whether it’s to a music festival or out for dinner, the resident is made aware of where they are going. Manahan said every deaf-blind resident has varying degrees of impairment, so interveners must customize communication to the individual. This is much more difficult for older adults.
DeafBlind Ontario houses 39 clients in 12 houses, including one in Waterloo where three men in their early 20s reside. All three attended schools for the deaf as children and understood communication. But with the adults at the Kitchener house, interveners were starting from scratch.
“It takes months to establish a bond with them,” explained Manahan, who notes a number of programs developed by her organization have made them a leader in deaf-blind communication. For Todd, day by day her interveners are opening up her world and her self-destructive habits have nearly disappeared. She also eagerly walks around the house unaided.
“I believe that she’s very happy; she’s content to be where she is,” said Lynn’s mother, Betty Todd of Brampton, Ont., reflecting back on five decades when services for children with handicaps were rare.
Betty and her husband David also had two boys and were told by all the experts their only choice was to institutionalize their little daughter. Betty recalled “we were very much against it.” But without benefit of community support for children with severe disabilities, they had to capitulate. A few years ago, when the provincial government started moving residents from institutions back into community, the couple fretted.
“We were very much against it,” said David. “We were worried she’d get into a place where they didn’t care for her.”
It was an unnecessary worry.
On a cold wintry day, Todd is at the kitchen table with her intervener Shari Chantler and together they are stirring muffin mix. For Todd the process, though laborious, is about becoming a participating member of the household, not just a resident needing care. With every new experience she explores her senses, making connections between the smell of an apple and its taste, the feel of stirring batter and the resulting muffins fresh from the oven. These are concepts never before understood.
After a busy morning of baking, it’s nap time. Todd stretches out on the family room couch, but in no time the smell of baking wafting around the house awakens her. Chantler, a team leader, helps Todd to her wheelchair (Todd has arthritis so staff must limit her mobility), rolling up to the kitchen table. One bite, and she’s in obvious heaven leaning over to Chantler for one of many kisses and hugs she’ll share throughout the day.
“They told us she didn’t like affection when she came here,” said Chantler.
When she wants to identify her interveners, Todd touches their earrings, rings, bracelets.
“She’s a girl. She likes bling,” joked Chantler.
Todd’s life today is very different from the hospital-style room she inhabited for the last four decades and every day is yet another experience. No one knows how much she understands, though the happiness on her face is evident.
Manahan recalls entering Todd’s spacious bedroom one morning, seeing her quietly relaxing on her double bed.
“The sun was coming in and she looked so content.”