Was Blind: The Gift of Cataracts (part 1)

Doctor, My Eyes… 

“You are only a few numbers from losing your driver’s license  ” 

My ophthalmologist was addressing my concerns about having  surgery. 

“I’m worried I’ll have this surgery but find cataracts aren’t the cause. I’ll be making a lifelong choice for glasses.”  I explained. 

He gently took the reins of the conversation. His answer, both figurative and literal, was resolved: “Oh, it is the cataracts. We’ll take them out and you’ll see. 

“I respect your expertise… “ I meant it “I just don’t understand why the cataract specialist didn’t operate at the beginning of all this.” 

“Because you’re young and there’s a bigger chance of retinal detachment when you’re young. But, it’s still a very small likelihood” he was completely convinced  “you’ll need readers, yes, but how are you seeing without using glasses now?“  

His smile elicited a mental touche’ from my place in the oversized exam chair.  I smiled back and took the financing information from his hands. 

I’d  devoted a lot of time and energy to finding other possible causes after cataract surgery had been ruled out.  

Previously, doctors detected cataracts but felt other factors should be explored. So, they sent me through a battery of diagnostics from ophthalmology to neurology.

For the past two years, I had chased down every cause and cure imaginable – and some beyond imagination. 

But, my inability to judge depth perception and oncoming traffic was very real, and getting progressively worse. 

And now,  I had come full circle, back to a cataract diagnosis, but this time with surgery not only recommended but urgently emphasized. 

An Unexpected Birthday Present (flashback)

I failed my first eye exam on my 40th birthday.  I’d started to notice that my vision wasn’t only blurry when looking at slides from the old overhead projector in my massage therapy classes, but also when I was reading the text book, then pretty soon,  outside the class; when driving and trying to read labels in the grocery store. 

I hadn’t expected an eye chart in hieroglyphics. I had expected a pricey eyeglass prescription and a few jokes about getting older. But the exam was harder than reading and there was no joking. In fact, the tone grew rather serious. 

I began to suspect things were worse than anticipated  when no lens could help  me see the chart “in English”.  I was certain of it when the ophthalmologist gently patted my arm and explained the referral process. The gesture was at once comforting and terrifying. Shocks of stark realization patted down with genuine motherly concern,  like the back of a crying baby. 

“I can’t help you” the pat seemed to say “but here’s the name of someone I hope can” 

 I wondered how many patients she’d patted into reality over the years. 

Afterwards, I sat in my car in the eye center parking lot for a long time. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Everything was supposed to be fixed today. Splurging on the full-price appointment (no health insurance) and inevitably the expensive glasses was to have been a sort of birthday present to myself (with a nod to all single moms and other parents who stand their own needs at the back of the line when necessary)  Instead I got arm pats and a cataract specialist referral . 

Shooting  In The Dark  

It was the first long car-sit in a season of long car-sits. I was plunged underwater and walking upside down. 

I misplaced the information to make the referral appointment for awhile.  Though it looked like a lost scrap of paper and a healthy dose of procrastination, I know now it had to be a deep, subconscious hesitation.  If plotted on one of my beloved “cycle of change” charts, it would fall under “Denial”. 

The time it took me to find the number and make that first call was time necessary to screw up my courage. I didn’t know what the journey would look like (I was going blind, after all) but, it had already started out as an over-the-mountain-not-through-it sort of trek. There’d be no turning back, plenty of forks in the path and, as always, at least one dragon to conquer before ‘The End’

At the appointment, the cataract specialist saw cataracts but said they weren’t far enough along to warrant surgery. She referred me to a retina specialist. The retina specialist didn’t see what he looks for in troubled eyes. He assured me I didn’t want him to. 

Though I was grateful he did not issue a hard to live with diagnosis,  I proceeded for a long while without any diagnosis at all. I bounced between more eye specialists, an optometrist and my family doctor who thought we may need to test for Multiple Sclerosis. 

Look For The Helpers  (and be a helper, too) 

My hero’s journey ended – at least for a time – when the money bag was emptied and the specialists ran out of eye tests to perform. You should know of the many generous people who stepped in then, to help me without expectation of having their money or kindness repaid. It was unclear where to direct their generosity. I was unsure which diagnostic path to choose.

One lady, a long-distanced online friend, herself an ophthalmologist, offered funds meant for her work in third world countries. She was unable to use what she had set aside due to the unforeseen travel restrictions during 2020’s  “national emergency”. She still wanted to use the money to bring sight- and hope- into people’s life; my life.

I hadn’t known she was an eye specialist before then. I didn’t know about her mission work.

If finding you have a friend that regularly restores sight to weak eyes doesn’t flood your heart with joy, you’ve probably never been blind – or thereabouts.  

But, I could not shoot at question marks with money meant to help others see.  There weren’t a lack of tests, rather there were way too many.   

Looking For A Reason  

I started to do my own research. I used the  process of elimination, starting with treatments that were free or low cost to try. 

Some vision trouble stems from neck misalignment, so I began to see a chiropractor and had my atlas reset. 

Another possibility was nutrient deficits, so I took a medley of supplements and juiced beets ‘til my kitchen looked like a murder scene. 

One possibility that kept resurfacing was convergence, so I did eye exercises, juggled scarves and used a Brock string, amongst other things. There were eye patches and a veritable smorgasbord of eye drops.  I even attempted sound therapies suggested by one alternative medicine guy that required a level of looking silly I was uncomfortable with (but tried anyway, in my room, after the kids were well asleep) 

When desperate for answers, we lower the bar for absurdity.  In perplexity, our pride learns to bend the knee. 

I Can See Clearly Now

Consider me, in the argument for easy absurdity, reporting to work as Roy Orbison.

During one of the last eye tests before my funds ran low, I experienced a glimmer of hope; a pinprick to be exact.  

For the first time in over a year, I could see clearly through the pinhole in a specialty lens. 

It wasn’t much (literally), but by hope’s standards, it was more than enough. I was amazed. 

Bartimaeus came to mind, and those stories of old where men once blind could suddenly see.  It felt miraculous –  truly,  textbook miraculous.

I had forgotten what crisp, clear vision is like. Somewhere along the line, I ‘d stopped believing it was possible.

I immediately ordered a pair of pinhole glasses, and despite their unappealing aesthetic,  wore them everywhere I could, including work. My only regret was there was no safe way to drive in them. 

Groping in the Dark  

One thing about trying to figure stuff out on our own is knowing whether or not we’re on the right trail. Hope is good trail mix, but we crave the sustenance of confirmation.  Whether to keep trying one approach a little longer before attempting a new one becomes an epic catch-22 . What if I stop a day or drop shy of what is needed ?

Had I found the right cause ?  I doubled down on tracking exercises but only saw improvement when wearing the glasses. If my vision seemed to improve one day, it would be worse the next. I would set about trying to figure out what had caused the difference. Diet? Sleep? Caffeine intake? Lighting? 

No doubt, my search history from then is wild and random poetry: “low vision /symptoms // better on cloudy days” 

As my vision worsened, so too, my sense of detachment and despair. It is often true that people  with a diminished capacity in one sense will find their other senses sharpened. Many people without clear sight have unique musical abilities; a heightened sense of hearing and touch. This is a remarkable gift of adaptation which allows a person to thrive in environments  that are  not naturally accommodating to them. 

But it is not an instant, standard-issue gift. Those with growing cataracts or starting to go a little hard of hearing inhabit a staticky world with no time to adjust our antenna.

Good things take time.  Finding good after significant loss or life change takes even more time. 

I’ll unpack more from the unlikely Gift of Cataracts in part 2 … {stay tuned}