Op-Ed: Out of the Shadows and into the Light

I used to have two working eyes.  Two detached retinas, a retina fold and a dead optic nerve left me blind in one eye and partially sighted in the other.  A dense cataract would complicate my life further, leaving me mostly blind.    I wore -11.50 lens in one eye to help me see about 20/100 in a darkened world. It’s been years since I could make out blurry letters to read and write.  My vision lost its 3D view of the world and everything turned mostly gray.

Nurse Bailey stood at the side of my bed and asked, “How are you?”  The surgery would replace the lens in my half-blind eye with a power lens. “There’s light. I can see.”  Tears began to roll down my face. “Is it okay to cry?”  “Yes, it’s okay,” she replied.

“Very blurry,” I said.  She told me the dilating drops would last three days, and that things would get better.   The fear began to leave my body — the fear that I wouldn’t make it through.

Leading up to the surgery, tests indicated the potential of the eye.  Earlier that week, I got a report that the refraction could reach sight potential beyond my imagination.   I broke down in the office.  They gave me a few minutes to pull myself together.    For the rest of the week, hope brought tears.

Jim picked me up from the hospital — the world’s kindest man.  He and I have worked side by side for 35 years.   When I saw his face after so many years, I said,  “Jim, I can see you… you got old!”  He laughed. I cried.   During the car ride home I could see the license plates.

The world was alive.  there is so much color.  Peanut ran to greet me and I could actually see her, not just locate her by the pitter-patter of her paws. CNN was on the TV — I could see the faces on the screen clearly.  

Nobody really understands visual disabilities.   Or what it’s like to live partially sighted and take on the challenges of running a retail store — or this publication.  Most people don’t recognize the visually impaired.   People with low vision can walk, talk, dream, love — we just can’t ride scooters.   But we sure do have to navigate around them.  Nobody really understands.

It’s been two days of taking in an amazing world of light.   Driving around the city, I can read the billboards.  The colors of the city are so beautiful.  I can see my shop from across the street — and the rainbow colors.  The grass is green, and the sky is blue.  A new song plays in my head: “I can see clearly now the pain is gone… it’s gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day.”   

At Gelson’s the signs at the deli counter were clear, — no more “What’s that? with my eye or phone magnifier pressed to the glass.  Things most people take for granted were a struggle for me every day.  I’m still blind in my left eye — but vision and light in the other is EVERYTHING and a blessing from heaven.

I’d always wondered how would I age in place without needing others to take care of me… or facing the moment when I’d rather end things than depend on others.  

The surgery had been planned for over a year, but my mom went into hospice.  I wasn’t going to take any chances while she was alive.    But, she was with me all the way.   The nurse told me I was in Bed 6 — a clear sign from the heavens.  I left the hospital with instructions:   Take this drop until this date, that drop until this one…And the last drop? 6/19 — my mom’s birthday.     

If I pause when I see you, or take an extra moment to stare at your beautiful face, please forgive me.  It’s nice to see you.   Everything is new again.   

I’m sure my mom’s with me.   She always said she’d give me her eye if she could.    

Thanks, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.   https://wehoonline.com/oped-mom-hero/.