An open letter on behalf of the almost-blind or those with low vision

The photo above is the cover page of a research paper I did when I was a senior in high school. Severely nearsighted and having worn glasses since I was nine, vision was a mystery to me. I was seeking knowledge. Little did I know that the condition that caused me to wear those thick glasses would someday rob me of my sight while still fairly young. I am not completely blind, and my retina specialist said I will always be able to see something. But legal blindness is very debilitating and devastating. It takes adjustment, adapting, changing your mindset. Those of you with loved ones who  have macular degeneration, retinal atrophy, advanced glaucoma, diabetic retinopathy, and other conditions cannot fully understand the condition if you don’t have it yourself.

That is why I’m writing this letter. For others, not for me. I am legally blind in one eye but not yet legally blind in the other (I hope I never am). Legal blindness is not being able to see better than 20/200 while wearing contacts or glasses. My “good” eye has low vision due to atrophy of the retina. I struggle with many things. I have a tremendous support system, the chief of whom is my husband followed by my sons and daughter-in-law, friends, and other family members. It is my hope that this letter will help others dealing with low vision or legal blindness to get the support they need.

Dear Loved One:

I know my condition is not easy to understand. You don’t understand why I can’t see the dial on the stove or read the digital clock yet can spot a piece of lint on the floor. You don’t understand why I am very careful as I go down steps or why I cry sometimes from frustration. It’s okay that you don’t understand. There is no way you could unless you experienced this yourself.

Losing my vision has robbed me of so many activities I enjoy. I can’t read magazines and books. I can’t sew or do arts and crafts. I can’t even raise my vegetable garden anymore because I can’t see the weeds, and I’m definitely fearful of encountering the snakes I have encountered in my garden in the past.

You may notice when I’m watching television that I’m not looking at it. I’m looking above it or below it. Why? I’m using my peripheral vision. You see, if I look straight at it, there is a grayish-brown fog that covers much of the screen, and the images that I am able to see are more gray or brown because I have lost color vision in some areas. That peripheral vision is why I can spot the lint on the floor sometimes, but that loss of central vision means I can’t see your facial features unless I am about a foot away from you. It is embarrassing to go out and have people talk to me that know me while I have no idea who they are unless I recognize their voices.

One of the worst things is no longer being able to drive. I hate asking people to take me places. I walk where I can, but how nice it is if you call me up and offer to take me to the store or out to eat! Don’t worry, I’ll pay for my own meal. I just need to get out. You see, many people with vision loss are otherwise healthy, as I am. That means I have lots of energy and am limited in how I can use it. I just need to get out of my home, if only for a little while. Such a treat when you help me do that.

I appreciate you listening to me when I need to talk. I try to be upbeat around you because I know it makes you uncomfortable, and I try not to complain. Really, most of the time I’m just explaining, not complaining. But sometimes I can’t help but break down and cry. When I do, don’t feel like you have to fix things, You can’t. But thanks for letting me cry and listening to me. That’s all I need. A caring, compassionate heart.

This handicap has robbed me of so much, but if I have you for support, I can handle it. I count my blessings and try to find activities I am able to do instead of moaning about the ones I can’t. I try not to think of how I won’t be able to read to my grandchildren, if I have any, or how I won’t be able to see their sweet faces. I try not to borrow trouble by wondering how much more vision loss I might have. I try to be strong, and most of the time, I succeed. I’m human, after all, not Superwoman.

Technology is a wonderful tool, and because of it, I can write this letter. This is yet another blessing for me. Even though I can’t see well, at least I can see enough to do this. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not easy. My reading speed has slowed considerably. I have a new empathy for people with learning disabilities. It takes a long time to get anything read, even with magnifying aids.

I think everyone who shares my plight would tell you that we don’t want or expect pity. We want to be self-sufficient and independent. It really bothers us to ask for help, so when you volunteer it or just do it, we are extremely grateful. We know things could always be worse, which is why I count my blessings and feel very fortunate in so many ways, And you, dear loved one, are the biggest blessing of all by giving me your love, support, and effort to understand.