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.
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