[nabs-l] Before the Black: Dealing with Impending Blindness

[Joe]

What's worse, to be born without any sight or to grow up seeing and realize
soon you will not be able to? Blindness
<http://joeorozco.com/blog_facts_about_blindness_according_to_me>  is a
complex animal, because there are varying stages of "legal blindness." There
are a number of medical conditions that can result in loss of sight, but no
matter the cause, I have embraced the idea that blindness in any form does
not have to spell the end of a person's usefulness. But, of course: Beliefs
aren't really convictions until they are sincerely tested.

Memories of what I could once see bring a degree of comfort. I remember what
it was like to be able to sit in the back of a classroom and make out the
writing on a blackboard. I remember the distinct color of the balls against
the green felt of a pool table, and as mundane as it may sound, there was
something empowering about reading a license plate from down the street.
This was second only to the ability to jump on my bike and take that street
as fast as my feet could peddle.
Ironically, it was a biking accident at the neighborhood park that finally
got through to my adolescent mind that something was wrong with my eyes.

Over time the situation became more complicated. Visits to the optometrist
led to appointments with the ophthalmologist, and regular eye exams turned
into regular surgical procedures. The once vivid blues, greens, and reds of
the world around me slowly faded into something lackluster, lifeless.

My senior year in high school, after many failed attempts to stay on top of
the glaucoma, a procedure was performed that has more or less kept things in
check for the past twelve years. The headaches went away. My field of vision
stabilized. My sight was worse off than it had ever been, but at least I
could rest easy that a routine eye exam would not result in my going in for
yet another surgery.

I've never really gotten the hang of explaining visual acuity. How do you
explain to someone the ability to note that someone is sitting next to you
but not the ability to distinguish facial expressions? I transitioned into
my teens with teachers who assumed my eye reports meant I may as well be
completely blind. I met and hung out with friends who made the same
assumptions because of my efficient use of first the white cane and later a
guide dog. I believe this may be true of my own family, and so how do you
begin to explain the loss of something the people around you thought had
disappeared a long time ago?

Every little bit counts. In the sunlight it is still possible for me to make
out some facial features. Others may not get it, but I appreciate the value
of using the sun's reflection off the metal grate to find the escalators to
the subway station near my office. Others may not understand, but I enjoy
the ability to look for the rectangle of light in the otherwise dim station
to find the entrance to the train. I use the contrast of the grass and
sidewalk to keep myself in a straight line, and the contrast of colors
against that sidewalk makes it possible for me to walk around people instead
of into them. I still flip on lights to distinguish between my light gray
suit and the charcoal. These are examples of what I can still see, and they
are stark reminders of what I now find myself slowly losing.

Have I relied too much on my sight? I don't know. I've used my sight to the
extent I am capable, but since I have not been able to read print in years,
I haven't exactly been straining my eyes. I've used what is available to me
and put the rest on my ears, nose and hands to work out. It seems foolish to
me not to utilize what you still possess to navigate unfamiliar
environments--provided you never put too much dependence on any one of your
five senses.

So, what the heck's the point of this latest rant?

Maybe it's a green light for someone in a similar situation to allow
themselves to feel bummed about losing the ability to see. I don't have a
lot of sight left, but yes, it makes me sad to think it is only a matter of
time before this too goes away. Knowing and appreciating the simple concept
of color is something for which I am blessed to have experienced firsthand.

Maybe it's a reminder to myself that despite occasional reports of new
surgeries and medical advances, I could never gamble away what I have held
onto for so long. In my case the point is moot, because my remaining eye has
undergone so much damage from past surgeries that emerging treatments would
likely make my condition worse.

Or, maybe, it's a reminder that despite the gloom, things really do turn out
alright. It has not been lost on me that my life would have turned out
dramatically different if I had never acquired a visual impairment. A gift?
I'm probably too cynical to call blindness a gift, but if gifts are measured
by the value of people and experiences, then yes, I reckon it's one of the
best gifts I've ever received.

As to how you deal with the unavoidable, I think you have to keep
challenging yourself. List the things that make blindness scary, and break
them up into tasks that erode the unknown. Just the other day I went and
found a McDonald's I knew to be near my office. It would be easy to rely on
the cafeteria in my building because it's convenient, because it's familiar,
and maybe because it is safe. I successfully found the restaurant. Once
inside I wandered around a bit but eventually found the counter without
assistance. If I go again, perhaps I will learn the order of the drinks at
the soda fountains. I should probably figure out where the trash goes in
case I ever decide to eat there. These are exercises you force yourself to
tackle as a matter of course, but they are especially important when you
need to overcome change.

What this post is not is a cry for pity. I can afford to feel sad because no
one will experience the change as keenly as me. I think it's healthy to
mourn the persistent loss of a physical ability. I would make a horrible
therapist on account of my no nonsense approach to overcoming challenges,
but even a no BS character like me can now recognize the value of taking a
moment to reflect before jumping to the point of bucking up. Sighted people
wonder why I would be impacted by something I have not fully enjoyed in
years. Blind people would be tempted to point out I can do anything if I put
my mind to it. I am content to know what I had, what I still possess and
what I might use moving forward.

I think about the victims in Boston who are dealing with the loss of a limb.
Life will change in small and large ways. Truth be told, it really sucks,
but after a healthy period of mourning, you have to reacquaint yourself with
the reality that you control the circumstance, not the other way around.