Monday, May 16, 2005 By AMY McFALL PRINCE, Columbian staff writer
The sound of bad news In August 2003, Chard was at the top of her game. After being born with profound hearing loss, most of her hearing was restored with the help of hearing aids when she was 2. Growing up in Port Angeles, the tow-headed girl was always a few steps behind her classmates. Her speech and language skills were delayed. Although her speech sharpened and she learned to read lips, it seemed impossible to escape the taunts. As a teen, the softball diamond seemed to be the one place where she shined. She didn't need to hear well. She had strength and talent, and her left-handed pitching made her a standout. Her team traveled to Kentucky that summer to play in a fast-pitch world series tournament. It was there she first noticed a new problem. "I couldn't find the ball if I fumbled it," she recalls. "I just couldn't find it." Seven months later, Chard sat in a dark doctor's office. This was one time she wished she couldn't hear. Chard had Usher syndrome, a rare condition marked with progressive vision and hearing loss. "I'd been told years and years and years ago that sometimes blindness comes with deafness, but that was way back there in the cobwebs of my brain," said LaRae Chard, Audrey's mother. Over a number of years, Audrey Chard's vision had slowly narrowed. So slowly, in fact, she didn't really notice that the ground below her, the sky above her and the people beside her were disappearing. Eventually, she will go blind and possibly deaf. There is no treatment. It is estimated that 3 percent to 6 percent of all deaf children have the genetic condition. The syndrome causes retinitis pigmentosa, a disease that affects sensory cells in the retina, starting with those that control night vision. Slowly, the degeneration creeps into the cells controlling peripheral vision, and then eventually those that provide sharp, colorful detail. "I thought being hearing impaired was hard enough," she said. "Losing my vision was shocking. It's hard to think about not seeing the pretty ocean." All Chard could think of was her red Volkswagen Cabriolet, which she'd bought only two months earlier. Although she'd been driving before the diagnosis, the doctor advised her to stop. She wept at the loss of independence.
A time of transition
The diagnosis came in March 2004, three months before high school graduation. She had plans to attend a local community college and maybe play softball. Then came the news. "Just getting ready to graduate from high school, you have all these plans and then her world got turned upside down," said her father, Darrel. "She thought she wasn't going to be able to leave home." "Our first impulse was 'Let's sell the house and travel the world before she goes blind,' " her mother recalls. "We became more rational about it." In September, as many of her friends headed to college, Chard packed her things and moved to Vancouver. Her new home would be a dorm room at Washington State School for the Blind. She enrolled in a new program at the school called LIFTT, which stands for Learning Independence For Today and Tomorrow. She also enrolled in a few courses at Clark College. Lori Pulliam, who coordinates the LIFTT program, has worked with vision-impaired students for more than 20 years. She's seen the struggle. "It's like falling into a pit," Pulliam said. "They have to totally adjust to a whole new way of people dealing with them."
Moving away from home was a jolt for Chard.
But she watched as other students at the school, many with far less vision, walked around campus comfortably, guided by canes and strong senses of touch, smell and sound. For the first time in months, she began to feel less isolated. "They helped me realize that I'm not alone," Chard said. "I'm proud of myself. "The hardest part for me is not knowing when it's going to happen, going blind."
Turning a corner Chard is preparing for that day and gaining confidence. She is learning to read the raised cells of Braille. She is testing canes, getting a feel for which type she would like to use. And she has started learning a computer system that uses audio to read text to the visually impaired. Initially, she planned to move back home in June, but a couple of months ago she moved into her own apartment. Last weekend, she moved again, this time to live with her sister in Portland. It will help keep costs down, and she will continue to attend the School for the Blind and Clark College, where she plans to get her associate's degree. Later, she plans to study occupational therapy. "She is handling a major issue with a lot more grace than a lot of people would," Pulliam said. Chard wants to travel to Europe, coach a girls' softball team, finish college and go on dates. Some of her softball friends have already offered to size up the cute men for her should she need the help. She laughs. "I tell them at that point it won't matter what they look like." "Every day I think of things I want to do," she said. "I still want a white Toyota pickup. I'd just drive it on the back roads with a big sign saying 'Blind driver: Get out of my way.' " In January, she returned to Port Angeles for a reunion of her softball team. She had called the young women together, asking that for one last time they play with her. She played in the outfield and missed the one ball that came her way, but it didn't matter. "She just wanted to play one more game," her father said. Now she's turned her game to the water. The young woman who grew up on the Strait of Juan de Fuca has found a renewed drive for teamwork and strength in the dragon boat team Blind Ambition. The group will compete in Portland's Rose Festival. Afterward, she will have a chance to travel with the team to compete in other races. "It's helped her turn a corner because it's something she enjoys," her dad said. Her mom agrees. "The dragon boat is the reason she decided to stay." Audrey Chard's strong arms have taken to the rowing. Through the sweat, the hard work and her own ambition, she can finally see where she's going next.
This is waiting for the bus after dragon boat practice at night in the rain to go home.
I was considered our "power paddler", which meant I sat in the front to give us our strong start power to get our boat out of the water on starting line.
I did not even pose for this shot! The photographer actually caught me in a frustrated moment.
Working with my school counselor in the disability department at Clark College.When I was going to the Blind School in Vancouver, WA the newspaper did an article on me. It was during the first year of me taking on the news of going blind. The actual article had huge pictures that were taken of me during a day of them following in my foot steps of how I spent my day. I attached them to this so you can so and you will be able to put together where they fall into the story. Things defiantly changed since that article was written. The dragon boat team was the first sport that I started after having to quit softball. It was a great experience and I miss it still. Being apart of a team that consisted of 70-80% people with vision impairment put things into perspective for me. It showed that there are different levels of vision loss and they all go through the struggles of the grieving, denial and acceptance. I also met people that were fighting for their rights and showing that they are able to do a job just as well as a sighted person. I learned a lot, and I will still continue to learn. Dragon boating was what kept me there, but then I became lost. I became detached and I didn't know how to keep on top of things and not let the depression bring me down. I felt alone because I didn't have any set friends that I hungout with, only those I saw at practice or volunteered with at the blind school. I decided that it was time for me to move home where I had support from my parents to lean on and some friends from home. Was it the right move, some days I say yes and some days I wonder what would have been different if I just pushed through it.