Category Archives: Blindness

The Chasm Between Sickville and Wellville Bridged by Imperfect Language

I wonder what K makes of the blur of images as she swings from a tree swing at a Memorial Day pig roast.
I wonder what K makes of the blur of images as she swings from a tree swing at a Memorial Day pig roast.

We all think we understand and are speaking the same language, but I suspect words only loosely convey experience. What’s more, words seem less likely to maintain their conductivity of meaning when used to describe experiences that one or both sides have not experienced. I think this chasm of experience is part of what leads to the perceptions I see expressed on MS message boards between the lands of Wellville and the sometimes wasteland of Sickville. I encounter this gulf every time I try to explain the blindness I have experienced most often of late. We all think we know what “blind” means. Even at the disability conference at my work, they had an attempt to train people with sight what it is like to be blind. They blind folded us and walked us from the cafeteria down a hall and gave us a cane. We could use our ears and the cane to tell when hallway opened into the cafeteria. I have thought of this as traditional blindness ever since, but I think it misses other types of sensory interruptions which lead to effective blindness.

My first attempt to describe my sight interruption was years ago when I was trying to relate some of the humor that I find necessary to live with MS:

This is from my first Christmas with MS where I got together three presents to wrap, tape and paper.

First present: put present down, cut paper, fold paper, tape – tada! One down two to go.
Second present: put present down, cut paper, fold paper, ummmm where is the tape? I have not stood up. It must be within arms reach.

Why the heck can’t I remember where I put the tape or see it…a 5 min curse fest ensues until boredom with repeating the same curses allows me to realize there was more tape. So I go and grab another roll to finish. Tada! Two down.

Third present: put present down, cut paper, fold paper, ummmm where is the tape? Seriously? I cannot remember where the heck I put it. Thankfully, this time boredom hits faster so after only 2 minutes I remember there was more tape. Tada all done.

I saw the tape neatly stacked one on top of the other only the next morning, but for the night I just had a block. I could not see the tape.

http://thelifewelllived.net/2012/03/01/ms-humor/

This inability to recognize what my eyes saw as tape rendered me blind to it. I could still see colors and movement. I have little doubt I would have been able to read an eye chart as well as ever, but I could not “see” the tape. Sadly, this disturbance seems ever more common of late. My wife has pretty much given up on sending me to go find something that I know only by her description. “Go get the razor lubricant from under the bathroom sink” was the latest frustration. Looking under the sink, I saw the extra razors, shaving cream, cleaning supplies, etc. I could not find for what she sent me, and I suspect thirty minutes would not have helped. When I encounter these episodes, the only way I have found to work around them is systematic search involving physically moving everything until I am holding the object of my search. It is a method that works but takes a long time, especially if one counts cleanup time. The irony is I believe our youngest, K, has a brain doing the opposite of mine.

Where my mind takes in the stimuli but fails to interpret it properly, hers seems to do an exceptional job interpreting the limited stimuli her eyes receive. Where I cannot find something in a drawer, she can pick out classmates from photos, see the ground to navigate running, and even find toys amongst rubble of thrown objects in a basement. Her mind has adapted well to the point where people who do not know us cannot believe she has problems seeing. Her blindness is probably matched more closely by the cafeteria/hall demonstration at my work, but her ability to interpret limited sensory inputs gives her a huge edge over our bumbling with a cane.

Therefore, as we attempt to describe our symptoms, whether it is recognition issues, traditional blindness, headaches, spasticity, or any of a myriad of other MS symptoms we should realize the problems with the imprecise language we have at our disposal. Often what we think is obvious may miss the tiny bit of information which would convey truly our experiences, and others who have not gone through the same thing may find themselves with only an idea formed watching from afar, across the chasm between Sickville and Wellville.

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Miracles Abound, But We Probably Miss Them

If you need to be this close to the TV to see it, you just might be legally blind.  K is, but if she is this close she enjoys watching races.
If you need to be this close to the TV to see it, you just might be legally blind. K is, but if she is this close she enjoys watching races.

Recently, my daughter was made fun of at school and began to feel awkward having a water bottle with her in class. “Dad, when will I be able to stop drinking water during class?  It’s bad enough I fart, but I feel them all looking at me when I drink.” The perils of second grade can be hell on emotional well being.

I told her to remember she is a miracle. She has lived through more than most of them ever will. She needs to remember she has lived through 4 or 5 (depending on how some exploration is counted) heart surgeries to deal with her pulmonary atresia, and she had a stroke. She has been sick enough to die multiple times. She has the scars to prove her courage and toughness.  What’s more, she has bowels which aren’t moving food like they should. So she has a choice, either take the chance given to her by multiple miracles and drink the water or let the stupid things thought by 2nd graders rob her of the life she is lucky enough to live.  I told her she is given a chance so many would love to have, but it’s her resilience which will make the rest of us look to her for inspiration.  Then I had to explain “resilience.”

The irony is I ask her to be tougher than I am all the time. I tell her she and her siblings are my miracle, keeping me alive. We called the school to make sure the teacher is aware what is going on and how dangerous it would be for somebody with her heart condition to become dehydrated. We are debating as she enters a new school after our move next fall whether to schedule a class with her new school to explain disabilities and hers in particular.

It is hard to mention people’s lack of ability to see what others go through without pictures of K.  Of course I find it hard to mention “not seeing” without pictures of her.  There is hard to define justice in the joy I take from “looking” at her looking at the world around her.  I wonder what and how much she sees.  Then I marvel at the speed she chooses to live with reckless abandon.

"OK I see a change in the ground.  I don't know how far, but lets jump."
“OK I see a change in the ground. I don’t know how far, but lets jump.”

On a somewhat related but funny vein, O’s class must have had somebody mention Nazis.  He said he was thinking about them again when he heard about them in the Sound of Music.  Then on Saturday morning, he said, “Dad, I think I know why they were called ‘Nazi.’  I think they could not see the goodness in different people.”  I told him he can be very insightful at times, and I was glad for a morning of the thoughtful O (leaving out the “instead of the grumpy O who usually graces us in the morning”).

Cinco de Mayo, Boy Scout style.
Cinco de Mayo, Boy Scout style.
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