This morning I had an early doctor visit, not vision related. The doctor asked me about my vision and how I am getting along.
When I got home, I was thinking about the appointment and her question. Suddenly I pictured myself in that doctor’s office, totally blind and finding my way out of the exam room and to the receptionist’s desk.
And then I had a peculiar, out of the blue thought:
I would not have survived total blindness?
Any accomplishment or progress I make in doing something as a visually challenged person, I measure against being fully sighted and, therefore, I never am comfortable accepting praise or congratulations. I certainly know that when I first got sick I couldn’t see a thing, and yet I am always comparing whatever this lauded action is to before, when everything was crisp and clear and light and colorful. Those who are encouraging me on my achievements were also there when my optic nerves were swollen, and they conversely, brace yourself for this twist, can see what I can’t: that I have come a long, long way.
I spent 47 years as a fully sighted person and a few weeks in the dark. My benchmark shouldn’t be those 47 years, but those weeks I struggled to do everything without any vision. I hope that after imagining myself this morning still without sight, adjusts my personal barometer, and I too recognize there is much to be grateful for. Knowing myself the way that I do, a conscious effort will still have to be made to adjust the yardstick, but now I have a whole new perspective, figuratively and more importantly, literally.
