The Day I Mistook a Woman for a Hatstand

RP Moments in Time

Digital art collage by Stella Kalaw

I never thought I’d find myself apologizing to a complete stranger for thinking they were a hatstand. Yet there I was, red-faced and fumbling for words at a local farmer’s market, all because of what some of us affectionately call RP moments.

But let me back up for just a minute. RP, or Retinitis Pigmentosa, wasn’t always part of the landscape of my life. For nearly 50 years, I navigated the world with what I thought were fully functioning eyes, never questioning the gift of sight. But life, as we all know, has a way of throwing curveballs, and mine came in the form of a degenerative eye condition that slowly began to chip away at my peripheral and night vision.

What this has meant is that RP moments, sometimes hilarious, almost always embarrassing, have become an unexpected part of my new normal. A perfect example of this new normal would be the classic RP talking to a stranger moment, when your partner has stopped to look in a store window or has walked ahead without your noticing.

“Shall we stop for a coffee sweetie? I’m really ready for one,” I say to the baffled balding man beside me, my partner having somehow disappeared. Believe me, it’s good to have a sense of humour at these times.

One of my most memorable RP moments happened very recently, on a beautiful sunny day at a local farmer’s market. I was there with my white cane gliding effortlessly from stall to stall and perusing the fresh garden produce, the fragrant soaps, the honey, the handcrafted jewellery and all the lovely creative things we find at such places.

With my 4% remaining central vision, often referred to as tunnel or keyhole vision, I spied a canvas bag, khaki green, with a strap of perfect length, and what I thought to be a lovely handmade wooden button at the closure. I reached for it to take a closer look and lifted it up to feel the fabric. It was heavy in an unexpected way, and I wondered what might be inside. Curious, I lifted it a little higher and, at the same time, lifted my eyes.

A middle-aged woman with long blondish hair stood with her back to me, sporting a stylish green khaki bag with a wooden button over her shoulder. She turned just at the moment that I hurriedly dropped her bag, clearly, as I knew now, weighted down with car keys, her wallet,  credit cards, cell phone and the like.

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were a hatstand!”

I showed her my white cane and apologized more than a few times. Astonishingly, she seemed completely unperturbed by the whole event and, in fact, had barely noticed the commotion taking place behind her.

“It’s ok. No worries,” she said with a smile.

“I guess I could have made a career of pickpocketing,” I joked as we continued our separate ways, she with her worldly possessions intact, me gliding along just a little more cautiously now.

We all know that the world is not always as kind as this incident would suggest, to people with disabilities. So the next time you see someone with a white cane looking lost or talking animatedly to a lamppost, be your most gracious self and ask if there’s anything you can do to help.