Visually Impaired

Being visually impaired means that I have a significant loss of vision that can't be corrected with standard glasses, contact lenses, medication, or surgery, but it doesn't mean I'm completely blind. I still have some usable vision, which means I see things in a blur. When my environment changes, I'm only able to distinguish light and shadows. Once my vision has adjusted with time, I have difficulty seeing at certain distances and around the edges of my vision, with some blur in my central vision.

In contrast, being blind would mean having no vision at all or only being able to sense light without any clear images. As someone who is visually impaired, I often rely on the vision I have left to navigate the world, using aids like magnifying glasses, large-print texts, or screen readers. Someone who is blind would rely more on non-visual methods, such as Braille or auditory cues.

Here we go again

August 16, 2024: Nearly Seven Years Later

Today, we found ourselves in Sinclair, Wyoming—a small town that feels miles away from the chaos of everyday life. Brian had work to do at the refinery, and I was there to relax. But for me, it became the backdrop of something I didn’t see coming.

Taking the puppies out for a walk should have been routine, but as soon as I stepped outside, the brightness overwhelmed me. It wasn’t just the sun; it was as if the world had been turned up to maximum brightness, and my eyes couldn’t adjust. When I came back into the hotel, the sudden transition from the brightness outside to the dim interior left me in complete darkness.

I lay down, closing my eyes, praying that whatever was happening would pass. After almost 20 minutes, I opened my eyes. The room wasn’t dark anymore, but it looked wrong—dim and smoky, as if I were seeing through a veil. Something wasn’t right.

Determined to distract myself, I grabbed my tablet to work on a PowerPoint presentation I’d started earlier. But as I added images, I noticed they weren’t clear. The sharpness I relied on was gone, replaced by a blur that I didn’t immediately understand. I told myself it would pass, that it was just a temporary glitch. After all, I was on vacation. I wouldn’t need to push my eyes too hard for the next few days.

Saturday was the town’s centennial celebration, and I couldn’t wait to attend. There’s something special about holidays in a small town—the kind of charm that stays with you. I fumbled through the day with my crazy vision but still enjoyed the celebration. It was a moment of normalcy in the midst of uncertainty.

The ride home from Wyoming was a new challenge. The sunlight was so intense that my usual sunglasses weren’t enough. I found myself wishing for something darker to shield my eyes.

As soon as we got home, I searched for my prescription eye drops and started using them immediately. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory—I had gone through something similar with my left eye years ago. But this felt different. The fear of the unknown crept in, along with the questions: Would my vision return? Would this be my new normal?

For now, I’m holding onto hope, relying on what I’ve learned from past experiences. Tomorrow is a new day, and while my vision may be uncertain, my determination to adapt and push forward remains steadfast.

Seeing Through My Eyes: A Visual Comparison

I often find it challenging to explain what my world looks like to those who see differently. Visual impairments are hard to put into words, so I thought I’d share a side-by-side comparison to give you a glimpse into my perspective.

In the first photo, you see an actual, clear image of the cityscape—a crisp view of buildings, trees, and distant mountains under a colorful sky. Every detail is in focus, and nothing is hidden in the background.

Now, the second photo represents close to how I see it. The center remains visible, though not as sharply, while the edges blur into obscurity, fading away like a vignette. This effect is what I experience every day: a focused view in the middle, surrounded by a clouded, blurry periphery. My vision often feels as if I’m looking through a narrow tunnel, where the world beyond my direct gaze fades, making navigation and recognizing surroundings much more challenging.

This comparison is just one way to help others understand my reality. It’s a reminder of the adaptations I make and the support tools that help me continue exploring and engaging with the world around me.