Learning to See: Is seeing really a luxury?

"Why am I so nervous," I asked myself as I drove to the VT doctor. What I was going to experience was just a normal eye exam… But the results would have many more implications than just an annual visit to my regular eye doctor.

As I anxiously drove to my appointment, almost absentmindedly, I was surprised to see my van (driven by my husband) directly in front of me! I was coming from a grading session at Starbucks (the joys of long hours of grading that finals week gifts me with) and my husband was coming from home with our boys. Our youngest was getting his eye examined first before my appointment.

Meeting up in the parking lot was a blessing...getting to see the smiles on all three of my boys' faces (my husbands included) brought me much comfort and relief. We all made our way into the building, to the elevator and up to the second floor. I was grateful our oldest was still in "pretty" school so that we did not have to manage all three kids.

We were greeted by the same wonderful receptionist I met a few weeks ago. His warmth made us feel at ease as we settled into the waiting room right next to the train table. All four of us sitting on the floor, enjoying the crashes and bangs of the trains competing for space on the little wooden train tracks.  Before long we hauled all of things (and two kids) into the exam room.

I was asked to sit in the dreaded exam chair, holding our youngest for the brief eye exam. Within minutes my husband and I were told that our youngest would most likely need glasses and same with our oldest son. No surprise given my eye history and dominate genes. Soon after this exam, our oldest certainly needed food as it was nearing 11:30 (his lunchtime). My husband left with the boys to get food as well as to pick up our daughter from school.

After they left Then... the real "fun" began.

For many people, getting an eye exam is easy...something not thought about or dreaded over for weeks prior to an appointment. For me, it is torture. It requires concentration. It requires vulnerability. It requires confession that I cannot do or see the things the doctor is asking me to do or see. It requires so much focus that I can leave with tension headaches and tight shoulder muscles from strenuously focusing on the "smallest line you can see" or trying to get my eyes to see double vision (which I can with much concentration and focus and thought).


 So, it began. My current eye glass prescription was measured before beginning the exam, then the real test came. Throughout the exam, I often felt like I was failing.

"Do you see one or two lights?"

"I don't know," I said confused because my eyes (separately) were fighting among themselves for dominance while my mind was trying to convince them to simply do the job they were made to do. 

Early in the exam, tears started streaming. Seriously, who can't tell if there are one or two lights? Sometimes I see two. Sometimes I see one. Sometimes I see two but for a 1/2 second which causes even more confusion. In that moment, my eyes were constantly shifting and fighting against each other. How stressful.

We moved on from that portion of the exam to the torture brought on by the phoropter. My prescription was dialed in and the exam commenced. It started as you would expect a normal exam to begin. "What is the smallest line you can make out." "Can you please read me the letters." "Which one is the most clear, one or two (the turning of various lens strengths through the phoropter)."

I took several deep breaths knowing that "I can do this part." BUT... soon the exam was directed towards seeing things I struggle to see.... "Can you make your eyes see two?" "Are the images on top of each other or side by side?" "Can you make them horizontally align?" "Can you make them align if I do this (switching around the settings on the machine)." I was beginning to get frustrated. The seemingly easy tasks took so much focus that I felt my eye becoming exhausted as if I just had a personal training session at the gym...the first one in 10 years! Imagine that...just from a "simple" eye exam.

As I got through the far away "stuff," the doctor pulled down the chart that dangles just a foot or two (I'm not exactly sure how far away it is) in front of the phoropter. This is the work that is the most difficult. The thick chart had a triangle cut out in the middle. The triangle housed another chart with rows of small letters. At the base (or the tip) of the triangle, a few inches away, was a white plastic screw made for a flathead screwdriver. This screw was much easier for me to focus on than the letters so this is were my eyes first drifted, as my eyes resisted the letters (until I was called upon to focus on them....not by choice). :)

The same exercise as before was requested..."Can you make your eyes see two?" "Are the images on top of each other or side by side?" "Can you make them horizontally align?" "Can you make them align if I do this (switching around the settings on the machine)." This was the most difficult part of the exam for me. Not only were my eyes tired from the other portions of the exam, seeing the chart up close has always caused a lot of visual stress. It seemed like "ages" until this part was done and I was relieved when the doctor pulled the big eye seeing machine away from my face and said we were all done.

He turned from me, typing heavily on his keyboard near the dreaded exam chair. I tried to peak over to see what he was typing but it was all gibberish to me. A short minute later, he swiveled his chair towards me, clasped his hands together, I'm sure trying to formulate the words he was about to give me. I tried hard to focus on every word he was saying. I cannot remember the exact order of the things he said, but here is what I do remember him saying:

"I have been doing this for 50 years. Out of those 50 years, your eyes are the most screwed up I have seen."

"It is not your eyes that are screwed up. It is your brain."

"You have to be prepared that if you go about this, this will be a journey with a CAPITAL J. It is not something to be taken lightly."

"I could see you doing this [VT] for 12-months, easy, maybe even more. Two sessions a week for the first 2-3 months followed by weekly sessions after that."

"There is a possibility of another surgery to correct your vision." 

"We will have to get you seeing double vision on a regular basis first, before we can start working on anything else."

"Your case will be like opening Pandora's box. We just have no idea how you will respond to vision therapy."

"If you would have come 3-4 years earlier I could not have helped you but technology has made it possible!"

The real kicker, after hearing (and trying to process all of this) was the cost:

"It will be about $14,800 for your therapy. Insurance 'may' cover some of it. We always bill insurance. And if for some reason we decided that the therapy is just not working for you, we can refund a portion of that money."

Okay...wow. Talk about having your life flipped upside down within a matter of minutes. I believe that he was speaking in the kindest heart possible and the news was delivered in a friendly and personable manner. I never felt like I was being made fun of. I left the office with mixed emotions...on one side eager to get started and on the other baffled at the seemingly horror that my eyes really are "that bad".... the worst he has ever seen in 50 years. I should have left the office wearing some kind of badge of honor, right..."the worst eye ever over here?" Instead I left the office feeling conflicted and frustrated at the diagnosis. He did prescribe a new power for my glass, which I took directly my my regular eye doctor. I am hoping this will allow me to see better than my current prescription which is still slightly blurry out of my right eye.

I felt overwhelmed (I still do). I don't know what to think about all of this.

Today I received a call from the financial/billing office to discuss scheduling my first VT appointment. Reflecting on the "cost" (or rather sacrifice) that VT would entail, my husband and I are just not exactly sure if the time is right. To be honest, we are both a little hesitant about this. It would not only take a weekly (or twice a week) commitment, it would require time at home to do these exercises. And this does not account for the physical "side-effects" VT may cause as my eyes begin to change.

So, during my chat today with the billing office, apparently the $14,800 cost needs to be paid upfront...UPFRONT. Are you FLIPPIN' KIDDING ME? Yes, let me just reach into my money bag and write you a check. A "perk" of paying with a check...or get this...CASH...upfront is a "5%" discount. HA! Funny. I was given the option of putting the full amount on my CREDIT CARD...okay, I don't know about you but I am not about to MAX OUT my credit card and leave no option in case an emergency happens in my family. That option is out. The third option is like a medical credit card which has no interest for 12-24months (depending on what you are approved for) and monthly payments...roughly $1300/month.

We just do not have that much "wiggle room" in our budget to afford such an expense. Ha. Ha. Ha. It is kinda a joke, right? $14,800 up front and insurance "may" cover some of it. I guess I need to make a call to them?

So here I wrestle.

My vision is what it is. It is what God allowed me to have from infancy. Up to this point in my life, I have done fine. I can do most things I want to do. I am not putting anyone in danger, really, by seeing the way I see. I know my strengths and my weaknesses. I have learned to adapt. Cosmetically, I know it can be hard to look me in the eyes (especially when I am tired) because of my wandering eye.

The other part of me is curious, like a scientist on the verge of conducting a monumental experiment...wondering, if I don't try then I will never know.

Regardless of my curiosity, I think the actual dollar cost has won out and has made the decision for us. If I am not in danger, if I am not endangering anyone else, then this is simply a luxury. A luxury that we cannot afford. So my journey, it seems, has ended almost as abruptly as it began. I am still the same me, yet with a deeper understanding about a part of me that has remained hidden from the public for many years.

So, thank you for joining me in this journey of exploration. Maybe one day, I can continue this portion of my blog, "Learning to See." Until then, I will "SEE" you around...not sure whether it will be with the left eye or the right one, but I will see you.

~B~

Learning to See: My alted view

Around a table with some friends, I vulnerably confessed that I see only in 2-dimensional view. This, of course, brought up a lot of questions (which I was more than happy to answer). Seeing that I was struggling to communicate a few aspects of my vision, my darling husband chimed in.

"Think about a photograph or picture," he said to our friends, "This 'flat' view is what she sees."

Even though I read that description in my recent read, "Fixing My Gaze," it really did not dawn on me that I see things in a 'flat' way. I pondered this for a few days and brought the topic back into conversation around the dinner table with just me, my husband and kids.

After inquiring more about my husband's thoughts, he asked me to look at the pictures on our childrens' placemats. "What do you see?" he asked.

I began to describe to him what I saw, how I knew my son's head was round or that the fence was in the background. I mentioned the shadows on the faces and the obstructions of various items that told me where things were placed.

To my surprise, for the first time, I truly understood how I see this world as flat. My husband began to describe what he saw in the pictures compared to what he saw around him. I was shocked.

Could I really be missing out on this amazing thing called 3-D (or binocular) vision?

The conversation made me realize just how unique God has made me and how He has allowed me to see in such a spectacularly different way. It made me realize that there is something I can gain from this experience called vision therapy. It made me more curious than ever.

So...tomorrow I go in for my initial in-take exam and get "THE NEWS." I thought I would be more nervous than I am. I think talking about it, confessing it, reading that wonderful book about it has made me curious and slightly excited to start this journey. I have no idea what will come of it but I won't know if I don't try! I look forward to posting shortly after my exam tomorrow (well...maybe after all my students' finals are graded). :)

Thanks for joining me!
~B~

Learning to See: Seeing Hope

My "disability" (if you want to call it that) does not define me. It is not my identity. Maybe that is why I have never really talked about it before or taken the time to really process through what it means in terms of my daily life. It is interesting when you "put yourself out there." The one thing that was once unique and private is now very much public.

It is good. It allows me to OWN IT! This is just one aspect of me ... I have a vision problem.

In the light of eternity, however, those typed words (I have a vision problem) really mean so very little.

FEARS DISPELLED
The fear I posted about in a previous blog are real fears but in my fear (as I typed those words, emotions, and feelings) I lost sight of God. I was focused on ME, on MY problem, and on my inability to "fix" the eyes that God has given me.  (I am SO thankful that I can see!)

Scripture COMMANDS us not to worry. As written in Jesus' words:

²⁵ “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life...²⁷ Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?....³³ But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matthew 6:25-34)

Scripture also says that, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139:14). It is about who God is and how HE made me---eye problem and all. This one aspect of my life does not define me rather it is Christ in me, the hope of glory that should define me (Colossians 1:27).

As Jesus was comforting his disciples he said, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me." (John 14:1)

So, I have been ever so gently reminded that God is the ONLY one who can truly restore this area of my life (physically and emotionally). Yes, I have to do my part. Yes, He can use the doctors and therapist to help in this process. But in that, I have to be cautions not to have an unhealthy preoccupation regarding the degree to which "I" can fix my eyes (or how the therapist or doctor can fix my eyes). Instead, I need to see this as an opportunity to: 1) surrender. I need to surrender my fears, anxieties and the thoughts that I can solve this problem separate from Christ; 2) trust. I need to learn from and lean on Jesus. No matter the outcome, God is still good! Despite all the effort I could possibly muster, if God wants (or needs) my vision to stay as is, I need to trust and accept that...even before I truly begin this process; and 3) proclaim who Jesus is in my life and what He has done throughout the process (in my VT session especially), thanking Him for yet another opportunity to know Him in a unique way and proclaim Him to a perhaps unreached group of people....it is my new mission field.

PREOCCUPATION
I think preoccupation is another reason why I have not talked about my vision so publicly...because I did not want it to become a preoccupation for me or for others. Once you put something out there into the world through vulnerability, other people can begin to only see you and label you as your "problem" or "disability," forgetting the MANY other aspects of the person who was brave enough to share an area of struggle. 

Personally, I enjoy talking with others about my new found understanding of my vision. It is exciting, scary and invokes a sense of adventure (and unknown). Because of this ability to share, others have come to me and have shared "hidden" areas of struggle. In that, we can mutually encourage each other. It also reminds me that I am not the only person in my circle of contacts who is struggling with something. It brings unity.

However, the danger is still there of preoccupation. Do people see me? Do they see my vision problem? Or can they see beyond that to Christ, the Creator of everything?

I honestly don't know if there is a way NOT to become preoccupied, even in the slightest, with my journey of vision therapy. If I decide to comitt to vision therapy, there will be a slight preoccupation (in addition to a whole lot of sacrifice)...one-45 minute session per week on top of 20+ minutes per day of exercises and activities for 6-12 months. Not a commitment to take lightly.

HOPE LIBERATES US
Fear and preoccupation set aside....Hope!

Hope in the person on Jesus, liberates us. It allows us to confidently move into the direction He is calling us whether it is comfortable or not. In this, it doesn't matter if I succeed or fail at this vision therapy thing...what matters is sharing Christ's transforming work as I move through therapy. That is it. It is that simple.

Everything we do or say...everywhere we move, it is (or should be) our mission to testify to the goodness of God. Because of my limitation, I have been able to experience God's world in a unique way...and I am double blessed *if* vision therapy works because then I will have ANOTHER unique way to see the world God has created...what a gift, right?

My prayer is that this experience will bring me closer to God. I pray that I will see Him move in unexpected way, answering prayers about my vision in unexpected ways. I pray through my testimony of His faithfulness, as I journey through, others will grow in their relationship with Jesus (or perhaps even start one!). I pray that I will be able to commit and persevere (two things that are challenging for me) and in that, set a Christ-like example for my child.

I am about 1-week away from my vision "in-take" exam. In some ways I wish it was here so I can hear the news about the "plan" and in others, I dread the day...wondering if the next 6-12 months of my life will be "preoccupied" with this monumental task... we will all just have to wait and see.

Learning to See: No pity, please

As I lay in bed, after posting my whole-raw-self today on my blog, I became curious as to how those reading these posts may react.

I am still the same person I was prior to posting this "new" news. I am not asking for accommodations. I have never and will never ask for special treatment. Up to this point in my life, I have been (and will continue to be) a full-level contributing member of my family, church and community. I have figured out since infancy how to interact with this world around me despite my "disability."

I am an overcomer. When I need help, I have learned to ask. When I need accommodations, I either find/make a way and if that doesn't work, I ask.

By no means do I want to be treated differently or with "kid-gloves" because of my recent vulnerability to my blog post readers. Again, I am the same person!

We all have our struggles and we all overcome our struggles in different ways. Like me, some keep "secrets" quiet for a while revealing it over time (blogging as a way to process); and others never share. Either way, it is okay. The point is: we all struggle with something. Maybe for you it is a speech impediment your conquered in grade-school yet are still slightly self-conscious about or maybe you struggle with overeating or an inability to do math....what ever your struggle, I pray no one judges you for being open and honest as you share and work at overcoming too.

So, join me. Simply join me in my journey of discovery. Find relatable topics that might apply to your life or to someone you know. Feel free to post encouragements, share these blog posts, ask direct questions to me of things you don't understand or things you might want to hear more about. As you can see, I am more than open to share. :) But please, do not judge (if you do, do so only to yourself...it takes boldness and bravery to be vulnerable).

I appreciate the positive feedback I have received so far. All of these emotions and feelings are so raw. I am glad to have a place to journal them, creating a document to pass along to my children and also a journal that just might encourage others to be bold and brave too.

Good night.

Learning to See: VT- My Fears

How can you explain to someone who has lost a leg that they will be able to walk again? That it is actually possible to walk, run, jump. Perhaps go to places they previously were not able to go to due to a missing limb. How do you explain that performing daily activities could be easier, less complex, even less daunting then they are currently.

It might seem impossible. The accommodations and adaptations have become second nature to this person. Navigating through the world has become bearable. Pathways formed and an understanding, even a full acceptance, of these limitation are now just the norm of life. In some ways it seems more difficult to explore the vast options and possibilities that an artificial limb could bring.

This is the best way I can describe what I am sensing right now.

Is there really a different, perhaps better, way to view the life I engage with daily? What does it mean to see 3D and how is that different from how I see now? Is it possible for my eyes to really work together? Could there really be a day when I don't have to "pull-in" my right eye because someone doesn't know if I am look at them? Could it be a reality that I could ACTUALLY catch a ball? Or even see a fast moving baseball once the batter has hit it (with my current vision my eyes can't keep up with the ball so all I see is the initial contact and then players scrambling to catch what I presume is the baseball [or football])? Will there be a day when I can go see any movie, any time, regardless if it is 3D or not? Will I be able to unlearn the emotional stress my eyes have brought me as I drive to new locations or in the rain?

There are so many unknowns as I begin this journey. Is it really worth it? Will things really change?

I guess I will never know unless I try.

This is not a journey to be taken lightly. It will require a one-45 minute session every week for 6-12 months. It entails daily homework/visual exercises. It requires a financial sacrifice since my insurance does not cover this type of medical therapy. And in the midst of dealing with the medical problems with our youngest, is this the best time? Will I be able to fully commit? Will the outcome be worth it?

More than anything, it is humbling to admit that I cannot do something. It is humbling to learn to see in the same stages that my 7-month old is learning to see as his eyes develop in infancy.

It is scary to think about living in a world that is visually different than what I have known all my life. In my previous VT experience, my life was disrupted. It was just me, living alone in all of my singleness. I could "afford" to look stupid doing my daily exercises. I wasn't endangering anyone if I fumbled down the hallway, running into doors, or stumbling out of bed because I misjudged where the floor was. Now the stakes are higher. Can I afford these same type of "mishaps" with an infant or toddler on my hip? Am I emotionally strong enough to face the ridicule of my toddlers as I wear an eye patch around the house? Once my eyes begin to work together, what if my new 3D vision "clicks in" while I am driving my kids around and I become disoriented?

These fears are real.

After reading several accounts of adults who had monocular vision and completed vision therapy, they describe anywhere from 6 months to a year of re-learning how to live in their worlds after VT was complete. How I would love to talk with them and ask them if it was worth it. Some experienced my fear of having their 3D vision "click-in" at inopportune times. Others commented on taking leave from work or reducing their workload, even laying with eyes shut for most of the day, so that their eyes and minds could make sense of their new worlds or simply recover from the new stresses of using both eyes.

Up to this point in my life, I feel like I have been the medical exception to everything. Taking a new medication? Of course I will have EVERY side affect no matter how small. Going in for a medical procedure and there is a 1% chance of a complication happening...yup, that is me. I will experience it. This is yet another reason why I am so fearful of starting this journey. No one can predict how my brain and eyes will react (and at what rate) to this new therapy. Maybe I am making a bigger deal out of it than it needs to be. Maybe I am obsessing over it too much. I just don't know. It is exciting, scary and unknown all at the same time. I am curious, intrigued yet afraid.

So, the next step? I have an official exam in early December. At that point the doctor will have a better idea about the condition of my eyes and how drastic my monocular vision really is. We will hopefully discuss a treatment plan. Then the decision...should I begin VT and embrace all it might bring...the good, the bad, and the seeing.

Now, I wait. I pray. I seek God for direction. I give thanks to God and his use of Dr. Ford who performed my initial surgery to help me see when I was a toddler. I wonder. I ponder.

Just like you, I have no idea what the ending will be. If you are following me in this, I invite you to pray too. This is a big, scary leap I am about to voluntarily take. I hope I don't fall, fail or force myself into something just for the sake of trying it again. Yet if I don't try will I always wonder?

...Stay tuned. Next blog post after my exam in early December.

Learning to See: VT- My 1st appointment

So, there I sat. Waiting for the daunting consultation with the optometic physician to discuss my well kept secret about my eyes and the notion of once again trying vision therapy (VT). It is not a topic I discuss often. I presume most of my friends, even the closest to me, don't know much about my wandering eye or my avoidance of driving, avoidance of engaging in certain activities or why after an all-nighter with one of my kids my eye seems to just "check-out."  I often wonder what my online students think when I post an online lecture or announcement. No matter how many times I record and re-record, my right eye always seems to bounce back and forth or it stays in right-field, so to speak.

I pondered all of these things as Dr. Kadet approached me with his warm smile and friendly face. My heart leapt out of my chest as I stood up and walked back to his office. Almost immediately I started to cry. Dealing with my eyes since I was an infant has always been an emotional thing...especially filtering the horrific comments of my school-aged friends growing up or addressing the stares and looks as I tried my hardest to physically appear to give someone eye contact (even though I was despite appearances).

I sat myself on the edge of the seat against a bank of windows in Dr. Kadet's office. I was near the horrifying phorother machine, which just by sight brought so many hard emotions. The doctor closed the glass door as I took a deep breath and held tight onto the water bottle given to me by the receptionist. The doctor sat across from me and asked me to tell him about my eyes. Just at the words, tears started to stream down my face. As he passed me a box of tissues, I briefly mentioned my preemie son and the stress that the last 7+ months had entailed. I mentioned the recent trip to the eye doctor as she reported my newest prescription was "as good as it can get."  I mentioned my fear of going blind in my right eye because it has become less engaged and can hardly focus nowadays and when it does it tires easily. I told him my fear of being only 35 and the unbearable thought that I could lose my vision if I did not do something now...the fear of missing out of seeing my kids grow up, the fear of not seeing my grandkids one day, the fear of living in total darkness if blindness was my fate.

He became very interested in my preemie son and began asking questions. I guess preemies are at a higher risk for vision difficulties and given my history, he offered a free screening at his office through the Infant See program. Discussing this initially helped redirect my anxiety and surprisingly calmed my nerves. It was wonderful to have the attention taken off of me as I discussed my son. I agreed to bring my son in before we again addressed the initial reason why I came, my vision.

I gave a brief history and background. He asked me if there are things I want to do in my life that I am unable to do now. I paused. Hot tears streamed down my face. I told him about my two sons and my daughter...how I want to be able to play catch with them or basketball, even soccer. Perhaps even ride a bike. I mentioned the instant stress the occurs when someone tries to toss me keys or any other object. I mentioned the recent increase in stress driving at night, in the rain and on the freeway...all of which requires so much strength, energy and focus I can often end up in neck spasms and tension headaches. I wear my "ugly mad face" most days resulting in my husband asking me if I am mad...no, I tell him, I am just trying to concentrate.

Over the years I have found ways to adapt, avoid or just plan make fun of myself as a way of dealing with my monocular vision. Without consciously realizing it, I have given up on or avoided many things simply out of fear.

I told the doctor that I feel ashamed about how I see and how I avoid certain situations; how I feel dumb or stupid because I cannot perform certain tasks (even as simple as looking at someone in the eyes). No one understands, I told him, I feel alone in this. He graciously listened with great compassion and empathy. He then proceeded to tell me story upon story of other adults with monocular vision, their experiences, stresses, and successes from VT.  For the first time, I did not feel alone in my lifelong struggle of dealing with my eyes. I was not weird! Someone else gets it! Understands it! Can put words to what I have been feeling all of these years! I think he could visually see this revelation. As he did, he stepped out quickly and handed me a book, "Fixing my Gaze." Within a few days of my appointment, I had the whole book read. I could not put it down! This writer, who also dealt with monocular vision from infancy to middle-age, experienced almost to a "T" all of this things I am still experiencing! Upon completing the book, I felt empowered yet afraid to start the journey of VT.

As the appointment continued, the doctor began to ask about the many ways I make accommodations in my life as I navigate my world. I had mentioned how I follow my husband through a restaurant holding his hand (instead of letting him be a gentleman by letting me go first). I discussed my fear of opening unknown doors, knobs or gates. Without spatial reference, I often miss new knobs or perhaps it takes me a few extra seconds to examine the handle and the hinges before being able to open the door. Inserting keys into locks is another daily task I struggle with...not with the car so much but on the mailbox, front door or shed. These seemingly simple tasks take extra focus and concentration. When opening up a locked door in front of people, most people don't even notice the extra few seconds. If they do, I have learned to distract with conversation, pausing, while trying to force the key into the proper position. This creates an instant "hot" feeling flushed throughout my body...maybe I will be "found out" or maybe they will notice and make fun of me....silly, I know. These are just a few examples of how my monocular vision effects my movement in life. More examples are posted in my previous blog post, "Learning to See: The Back Story."

The doctor validated everything I have experienced from birth to present. Quickly, I felt free to share the "stupid" things I do to manage my world daily. He laughed at the appropriate times. Showed concern at others and kept reassuring me that it is not my eyes that are messed up...it is my brain. For some reason this made me laugh. After our 30-minute consultation, I stood up to walk towards the door. I went to shake his hand in gratitude. Instead he reached over and hugged me saying, "we hug in this office." It was the best hug. In that hug, I felt empathy, compassion and a friendship that was forming. It felt safe. It felt authentic. It felt like we were in this together.

For the first time, I left an eye doctor's office feeling hopeful. His love and passion for his field of study is evident. He, along with the book he gave me, is one reason these words are typed in this blog. He encouraged me to write a "book" about my journey, to document where I have come from and what I am going through as I begin VT. He made me feel that all the accommodations or "tricks" I have learned over the years are amazing...that I am somehow amazing for overcoming monocular vision and being successful despite this disorder or birth defect.

Although I am fearful as I move ahead, I am also curious. What does it really mean to see in 3D? What does it feel like to drive without fear or what does it feel like to confidently open a new gate or door without even thinking about it?

...stay tuned. More to come. 

Learning to See: The Back Story

From birth I have never viewed life with binocular vision (seeing out of both eyes at the same time). My parents made this discovery when I was 2-years old. Having rearranged the furniture in the household, I suddenly began to run into things, cried often, become quickly agitated. My whole demeanor changed instantly. As a young mom, my mother knew something was wrong but in her youth many doctors did not believe her. At one point they even sent in a psychologist to have HER evaluated. I passed the typical vision tests and my case was quickly dismissed. Clearly, something was wrong with my mom and not me...was the thought of many of the doctors. My mother, age 18, however, kept persisting until she was finally referred to Dr. Robert Ford, an ophthalmologist in Chehalis, Washington. After a short exam he broke the news to my parents:

"Your 2 1/2 year old daughter is legally blind." 

I can only imagine the thoughts going through my parent's minds. Could she really be? How did we miss this? What now?

Up to that point in my life, my life was a series of routines: I got dressed the same way everyday, sat in the same chair at the dining room table, took a bath in the same order, I would easily snuggle into my mom for story time and "read" with her...everything was predictable until the furniture was moved.

Shortly after my diagnosis, I was taken to the hospital between the ages 2 1/2 and 3 for a surgical procedure in which one of my eye muscles would be shortened. The goal was to "restore" my vision from seeing blurbs and blurs to seeing actual shapes and outlines.

Even at that young age I remember being in the hospital...board stuck to my arm; watching "sleepy" cartoons (which I now presume they had me watch as they put me under). I remember the blue Care Bear blanket my grandmother brought me. It was blue with a blue satin ribbon at the top. On that blanket, I remember the brown Tenderheart Carebear with the red heart on his chest. I remember receiving the baby doll that cries when you flip it over onto its back...which I still have. I remember red curtains and the hospital bed with rails. I remember feeling confused as I laid in the hospital bed and looked up to see my grandma and mother looking down over me.

Although I do not recall the moment I saw actual images for the first time, the surgery was a success. I could see.

My parents worked hard at catching me up in terms of learning the world around me. For example, from birth my parents talked about the trees, leaves and flowers...the colors, textures and shapes. So theoretically I knew what these things were. I just never experienced it for myself until after the surgery. In essence, I had to re-learn about the world around me and engage with it in new ways.

Although I always loved school, it proved to be difficult for me. I had to spend extra time focusing on a task because my eyes do not coordinate. Even now, I suppress the vision of my right eye and my left eye does most of the seeing. You could imagine how difficult it would be to learn how to cut paper following a line or trace a line without the use of one eye. This also effected my comprehension and my ability to learn how to read. I spent lots of extra time in the chapter reading lab or being pulled to the back of the classroom to work on "special" exercises separate from my classmates. Although it might sounds awful and difficult and strenuous, it was all I knew. My little eyes and brain learned how to adapt to the world around me. I knew nothing else but seeing with monocular vision.

In second grade I was almost held back but my parents stood by me and encouraged me to progress with my classmates to the third grade. I did fine! In fourth grade as we learned more complex math I had a wonderful teacher-aid who realized that I simply was just not getting "it." She taught me "touch math." It made ALL the difference in the world. To this day I use this strategy when counting, paying a bill or adding a tip to a receipt. There is no other way I can do math.

Moving forward, I have been able to succeed at most things in life, despite taking a unique approach or even taking a little longer than someone with binocular vision. I graduated high school and college on-time and with honors. I completed my graduate degree in a year and a half while working multiple jobs and earning high honors. Everything just take more effort, but I do it.

Despite these successes, life for me is not without challenges. Often people don't think I am looking at them (only using one eye at a time, my suppressed eye can and does often wander out making it unclear if I am indeed looking directly at someone). Driving is painstaking. I avoid it at all costs. It requires so much focus, attention and strain on my "seeing" eye. My peripheral vision is compromised. I can only see about one or two cars in front of me so things seemingly come out of nowhere and easily scare me. This is why I take the same driving path (even if it takes longer) and why I stay in the same lane on the freeway (even if it is going 20 mph slower than the posted speed limit). Driving to new places terrifies me because I am unsure where I am physically in relation to a new space. Either I worry, study the map, go the day before (or make excuses why I can't go) so I know for sure how to navigate to the new place...or better yet I have my husband drive me past it or if possible just have him drive me. Parking garages? Forget it!! Unless there are three or four open spots all next to each other I don't even try. I know for sure that if there are 3-4 open spot together I can get my car parked in one of those spaces without damage to myself, my vehicle or those around me.  On a similar note, I will park four blocks away from where I need to go just to have a "safe" parking spot to place my car. Walking up and down the stairs I tap my heels or toes to ensure I don't miss a stair. I use shadows and shade to determine where it is safe to walk or drive. The recent solar eclipse threw off my spatial awareness so much. One of my reference points, the shadows cast by the sun, was gone. Most recently, my husband asked me to clip our son's toenail while he held his foot. I realized I could not do this without touching the toe its self... a physical point of reference. My sense of touch has helped me overcome my monocular vision. After thinking about it, subconsciously in many ways I use strategies that many blind people use. I use my sense of touch as a way of "seeing" and navigating though my physical world. Up to this point, I never realized this. Once I did, I started noticing how much I rely on physical touch to help me in everyday tasks that most people with binocular vision can't even imagine.

It amazes me how the human body adapts and how the brain makes accommodates to operate in the world when one of the senses isn't fully functioning.

In the mid-2000's I decided to try out vision therapy (VT).  I was a 23-year old graduate with a master's degree and I was fed-up with the occasional double vision and migraine headaches. I heard that VT could help, especially given my history. I remember walking into my first session. I was emotional, terrified and felt stupid for not being able to perform simple tasks that most other can do... like catch a ball. My therapy seemed haphazard and disorganized. Maybe I didn't fully understand the purpose or maybe I just didn't connect with my therapist but either way it was a stressful experience. I had maybe 5-6 sessions. I was asked to hold a pencil to my nose while I held out a string with beads on it. The goal was to get both of my eyes "turned-on" and working towards the same goal of only seeing one bead. I had to wear a black pirate like patch over one of my eyes, making me feel more stupid than I already did. One exercise required me to put black blinders on the lenses of my eye glasses. There were other exercises like pointing to objects on a moving field or looking into a teal colored lamp. One of the last session, I was taken to a dark room with an old-school overhead projector. The therapist displayed nursery rhyme characters (again, making me feel like a child), yet the purpose of this activity was to get both eye working at the same time, fixated on the same object, to see three-dimensional...something I have never seen before. After several frustrating attempts, my eyes and brain connected. I saw Nate King Cole's belly jump right out towards me. It was the first and last time I have knowingly seen 3D. It was the strangest, most disorienting feeling. Over the course of my treatment, my life was disrupted. The headaches remained. My stomach was upset from the shift if visual perception. I found myself running into doorways in my house (which I had never done before) or stumbling out of bed because I "missed" the floor. Everything I knew, all of the visual information I used, was changing. My body struggled to adapt to this new way of seeing. Although I did see progress and saw 3D for the first time, my therapy did not continue after those initial sessions. I felt like a failure. I felt defeated and the "stupid" feeling remained. This time with an altered perception of the world. I felt like I was worse off.

Over time I forgot about my VT experience and continued to live life as I always had---going on to get married, travel Europe, earn a lecturer position at a university and in the past three years start a family (three kids ages 3 and under).

My most recent pregnancy was difficult which led to the premature birth of our third child. Six-months postpartum I realized that my prescription glasses no longer offered the clear view of the world as they once did. I blamed my recent pregnancy and went to the eye doctor for an exam. Everything was routine. I was given a new prescription which was available in a few weeks from the exam date. Having picked up my new lenses, the world around me still was not clear especially out of my right lens. I went back for a re-exam. We decided to switch to another prescription which, a few weeks later, led to adding prisms back into my lenses (something I had about a decade ago). This still did not fix my seeing problem. I went back for a fourth time. After tweaking my prescription again using the phoropter machine I was given this news from my eye doctor:

I'm sorry Brandi. This is as good as it gets. 

It was still slightly blurry and unfocused out of my right eye. As of current, this is my "new" prescription, as frustrating as it may be.

In previous seasons of life I would have written this off as tiredness (I mean, come on, having 3-kids so close together, who wouldn't be tired). But this news felt different. It reminded me of the words Dr. Ford spoke to my parents more than three decades ago as he told them that their daughter was legally blind.

I could not accept this new "diagnosis."

So, I prayed. I researched. I internalized all of my past feels and emotions. I became brave. I found a vision therapy office that happened to be near my home. I made a late-night decision (what good comes from late night decisions...from an exhausted mind that is not clearly thinking) and I signed myself up for a free consultation with the local optometic physician. It was two-weeks out. I dreaded this appointment more than an appointment for a root canal. It brought on so much stress and anxiety. The day after making the appointment, I sheepishly told my husband...like I had done something bad or was confessing some horrible offense against him. Not fully understanding the bravery it took for me to even THINK about VT again, he shrugged his shoulder and said, "good. Go for it. Let me know how I can support you." Really?! That was it? Wow! Some tension was release but I was still anxious for the pending appointment.

The day of the appointment finally arrived. I pretended all day that it was not happening until about 45-minute prior. My husband looked up the address for me, coached me on how to get there and assured me everything would be fine. He stayed home with all three kids.

I found the building, first entering through the wrong doors (STRESS). I quickly found the correct set of doors, located the elevator and made my way to the second floor...10 minutes early.

The office was locked! Oh boy.

The staff was out to lunch and promptly arrived as stated on the "We will return at" sign. 2pm.

Deep breath. Here we go.

Once the doors opened, I walked up to the front counter, handed over my paperwork as I held back tears and my anxiety. The wonderful receptionist offered me a bottle of water, which I gladly accepted. It was a great distraction and it "gave me something to do" as I waited. Shortly after I was checked in the doctor came out...with a big smile, friendly face and eager to hear me story.....

to be continued...

Growing a boy: Emotions are still high

Daily, I recount the story of my son's birth. It is increbile to me how personal and how emotional it still is seven months later.

To see my son withing in pain; to see him not reaching the set "milestones" according to his adjusted age; to carry a heavy 20+ pound baby around the house (up and down the stairs multiple times a day); to pray moment by moment for wisdom; to keep records, charts, and details of everything he eats--when, how much, how often.

I am blessed by our sweet youngest but his situation often creates such heartache deep in my soul. Everything about it is emotional.

Just recently we had to switch from breastmilk/formula mix to just formula (since I ran out of dairy-protein-free breastmilk). We stopped mixing in rice cereal because we thought the formula would be thick enough. A sleepless night for all of us because of his SCREAMING, kicking and uncosulable emotions and three bottles later (over a 24-hour period...not a lot of food in-take) we ended up at the doctor's office.

Up to the appointment, Oliver was withing in pain...such terror and confusion in his tear filled eyes as he screamed endlessly for over 3 hours at a time before passing out from exhaustion...hands-tied as parents, not knowing what to do.

The doctor we met had such compassion...even sitting next to me hugging me as I cried my mother-emotional tears as I processed through my son's pain. We resolved that the solution was adding back in the rice cereal into the formula and increasing one of his reflux meds once again. And refraining from solids.

Since our appointment yesterday at 4:15pm, thankfully Oliver is doing much better.

I am so incredibly thankful that the Lord restores my soul. I am so thankful for those gifted and talented medical professionals who show compassion not only to our son but to us...using their knowledge to meet us in our desperate times and in our greatest needs. Parenthood is never easy but I am so thankful I have the Lord, those who join us in prayer and the technology/knowledge to make my son well.

I have nothing but praises and thanksgivings on this day.

Growing a family: Blood, Boogers & Boys

Three years ago, I started the life long journey of motherhood. My darling daughter entered the world in a very unexpected way stealing a part of my heart in the process. We had 16-months of bonding, just her and I (and her Daddy, of course), before our second child, a son, was born. When I thought my heart could not possibly love another little human as much as I loved the first, I embraced our first born son and rejoiced to God, for this little creature was an answer to so many prayers. To our delight, when our son was 15-months old, we experienced the birth of our three child, another son.

Although a small part of me longs for the days of bonding with just my darling first, now my life is rich and full having the responsibility of caring for two other children... my sons. I was shocked and surprised that God thought I would be a good "boy mom." Just recently, I saw a post for activewear with the logo #BOYMOM. Then it dawned on me....I AM A BOY MOM! I some how never put those terms to my role as a mother or accepted that identity for myself...wow! I am not just a mother, but a mother to not one but TWO boys!

Seriously though, what do I know about being a "boy mom."

My oldest son is a month and a half shy of being two. My youngest son is 7-months. In just this short time, I have experienced more blood, boogers and blenches from these two little human than from my first child. These boys are rough and tough; they like to rumble, be loud, be thrown. They like to be tackled, headlocked and wrestled with. Everything is about kicking and throwing. (Okay, this is mostly describing my almost 2-year old....my 7-month old can hardly sit up by himself). :)

Just the other day, my aggressive second and I were jumping on the trampoline out back. He laughed loader and harder the higher I launched him. At one point he bit either his lip or tongue (I couldn't tell). I, of course, stopped. I pounced over to him, scooped him up into my arms...and he began to laugh, blood lining the outer outline of his lips. He locked eyes with me, wiped the boogers from his nose onto his sleeve and then from his sleeve on to my arm. Then he shouted, "more, more." To my amazement, he got into the bouncing position and was quickly ready for more bouncing fun despite his bloody injury and extremely runny nose.

Today we spend a good hour crashing trucks into each other...seriously, what fun is that? But I obliged and joined in the smashing fun. The light in his eye was astounding. It brought him a joy that I will never understand.

I will not begin to pretend I know what I am doing, raising two sons. They are so different than me. They stretch me, growing me, make me think about the world around me in a different way. They cause me to pause and thank God for the creativity, tenderness and compassion growing in their spirits along with their ability and drive to play hard, laugh enormously, and compete fearlessly. I pray through all the blood and boogers that they will find peace, joy and strength in Jesus. Until then, I will try my best to love them with Jesus' love, embracing who God has created them to be...blood, booger and all. 

Growing a boy: It is finished

It has come. The end of a season. It has been a laborious six months. Something consuming my life for up to three hours a day… Having to sneak away 8 to 12 times per day no matter where I was or what I was doing. It required me to plan ahead, pack and prepare for any given situation...batteries, ice packs, cover, extra bottles, sanitation wipes. This was my life.

It has been challenging to come to a resolution about exclusively pumping for my preemie son. It has been more emotional than I ever thought… Deciding when to stop providing nourishment  for my baby, my last born.  In the past month, I have slowly let my milk supply dry up. At first it was a complete relief to not be tied to my breast pump 24 hours a day while managing life… My three babies, household, and full-time work among other things.  As I would reduce the number of pumping sessions, I would wonder how in the world I pumped so many times throughout the day while keeping all of my kids happy and safe.  I am not going to lie, it was a tough routine to develop at first. But somehow we all managed and I was able to successfully pump breastmilk for my son.

In many ways I felt guilty for wanting to stop pumping. I actually started the process mid August and realized I had so much guilt over it that I just couldn't continue. I quickly picked up my former pumping schedule and decided to pump until he was six months old. Another difficult and emotional part of this decision includes the fact that my son cannot tolerate dairy protein.  Having stopped dairy in my own diet mid May, I have a plethora of breastmilk that he currently cannot consume because of his severe reaction to this protein. In some ways I feel like my pumping was all in vain.  I have a chest deep freezer full of breastmilk but I am praying one day he will be able to consume it. (Join me in prayer?). We have had to introduce formula in the last few weeks to supplement since I currently do not have enough dairy protein free  milk available for  him....at the cost of $40 per can.

 Our feeding routine has now become a scientific concoction… Mixing breastmilk with rice cereal and then mixing formula separate to ensure consistency. Then the final step is mixing the two together so that it is an equal and complete blend. I started making almost a days worth of milk at one time  which has greatly saves time and the stress of not getting that mixture just right.

In all of these emotional struggles, my desire is to find joy and to give thanks. I am grateful for our son. I am grateful for all of the medical professionals who have encouraged us these past six months, giving us wisdom, guidance, and a stack full of literature to read. I would not say our life is easy by any means, but whose life really is? We are all given struggles and emotional challenges in which will either draw us closer to the Lord or drastically push us away from him. I choose to draw closer to him, embracing all of this that the season holds. I am grateful for the gift of life

I know one day I will look back on these times fondly. Thankful that we were able to provide for our son and our family in so many ways that others cannot. I am blessed to hold my son because of his reflux screaming fits. I am blessed to have stairs to run up to so that I can hold him in his room.  I am blessed! No matter how long the days are or how little sleep I get each night, I. Am. Blessed.

Growing a family: What does it matter

It is still hard to believe that I am a mother to three children. Even typing out those words it seems foreign.

I often wonder what makes me qualified for this role. What did God see in me to grant me such responsibility?

To be honest, most days are a blur. Only through His strength am I able to endure the daily demands of a 3 year old, 22-month old and 6-month old. Wild.

Removing myself, it seems overwhelming. How can anyone handle such chaos and still exude love, patience and kindness? How can one manage life: housework, cooking, cleaning, bill-paying, friendships, work, and sleep-deprivation to top it off.

Jesus.

By no means am I saying I have it all together. I am blessed if I am able to remain "cool" throughout the day and react in love rather than frustration or annoyance. 

Some days I feel like I just go through the motions, not fully engaging with those around me or cherishing the moments of snuggles or hugs. This saddens me.

My friend's mother passed away earlier this month from cancer. I have know her since I was in 8th grade...practically a lifetime. What are the things she treasured the most? A clean house or basking in the warmth of a happy family? If she could answer, I am most certain she would say family.

In the light of eternity, what on earth really matters? This is a challenging and convicting thought. How would you answer it?

I'm sure like many of you, I get caught up in my to-dos, my social media, making things perfect or clean, well organized. But what does it matter? Do I spend time sharing Jesus? Breathing in each moment of my chaotic and sometimes overwhelmed life? What can I remove (mentally or physically) to make my life less overwhelmed and focused on the things that truly matter?

The practice of being present, no matter what my "present" looks like, clean , dirty, happy or fitful...it is my present. The one God has granted to me. In the chaos-- in the unknown--in the overwhelming--- GOD.

God. He is the only one who qualifies me for this role of motherhood. And I am blessed.

Growing a family: Getting rid of it all

It has been a process over the last 2 1/2 + years. It has been painstaking, forsaking things that once brought me so much joy. It has been a process of reclaiming my mental space in the midst of my physical world: decluttering.

I go through phases of my "get rid of it all" rampage. Yesterday was one of those days. I boxed up half the toys and up to the attic they went for future sorting/donating. And did my kids notice today? Not at all.

My closet is another one of "those" spaces. Only 6-months postpartum I still have high hopes that I will fit into my old "skinny" jeans (a reality I am not sure about after having 3 kids!) yet I still have a plastic tote stored away of my "when I am healthy and back in shape" clothes. The remaining items are things that kinda fit...maybe if I squeeze in, don't eat or better yet don't move. Others have small tears or snags from the laundry machine while other just don't fit me properly anymore but for the lack of anything better they take up valuable drawer space.

Oh, the kitchen! How many gadgets and trinkets have collected over the 7 years we have lived in this house. Do I really need that lemon squeezer thingy. What about old knives that no longer cut but were given as a gift. The countless unused plastic bowls and utensils. To be honest, I only use a handful of tools because, lets face it, with three kids aged 3 years of age and under plus working full-time while being a full-time stay at home mommy does not lead itself to much cooking.

So in order to create some type of control over my physical stuff, I purge. I am finding that the less material possessions I have, the more thankful I am for what I do have...the more I appreciate it, use it and enjoy it.

As I go through my clothes, I find that the struggle and stress of getting ready in the morning is slowly shrinking the more the number of items in my closet shirk. I have found that I also do less laundry too! Both a perk!  My eventual goal is to create a capsule wardrobe consisting about 50 items...if anyone wants to come over and help me with this one, I am more than willing to accept!

The toys feel like an endless battle, though. Almost like something that is not mine for the taking... yet also something the little creatures in my house don't always pick up after or take care of. Although the amount of toys has been reduced, it seems like a losing battle. We have become more selective on what we bring into our house and have created an easy organizational system which allows toys to be easily stored and retrieved. I have tried the "rotate the toys" thing but for me it feels like move the clutter from one spot to moving the clutter to the attic. I think this is an area we will always have to work on.

Keeping a "get-rid-of-bin" in an easily accessible location has helped this process greatly. I no longer have things piles in the car, attic and the basement. There is a one-point collection.

Throughout this process, God has been teaching me and reminding me that He is more than enough. That my abundance is a blessing from Him and in my abundance, I need to share. These lessons transfer well into the conversations I now have with my children...not only teaching them gratitude for what they have but also generosity as we share what He has given us. It brings up many points about need vs. want. It reminds me that God wants me to not just give from my abundance but to sacrifice to Him. It helps me check my motives and desires before I purchase something. Decluttering and purging creates space for me to spend more time with my family rather than just managing, cleaning, folding, and putting away stuff. I recently asked myself what I spend the most time doing in my daily life....the honest answer what shocking. How can I refocus on what REALLY matters, spending less time managing my stuff? Getting rid of it.