November Goal Expanded

Learning to Rely on My Cane: A November Goal

My November goal of learning to rely on my cane is still in its early stages. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I can fully adjust to using it. The sound of the cane rubbing against the cement feels rough on my mind, a constant reminder of the change I’m adapting to. The truth is, I really only need the cane in the dark, but even that has been an adjustment.

Then there are the bumps and bruises—small reminders of what happens when I rush. Perhaps they could be avoided if I simply slowed down and focused on honing in on my surroundings. But patience is not my strongest trait, especially when it comes to myself.

This journey is teaching me that I need to be kinder to myself. Learning to rely on my cane isn’t just about mastering its use; it’s about accepting the process, the adjustments, and the time it takes to find confidence. I’m trying to remind myself that progress isn’t always perfect, and that’s okay.

For now, I’ll take it one step at a time, with my cane in hand for those dark moments and a little more patience.

Lost in plain Sight

Finding What’s Right in Front of Me: A Story of Adjusting to Life Without Peripheral Vision

There are days when I swear my keys have vanished into thin air. I put them down just a moment ago, right on the table. I know they’re there, yet somehow, when I look, I just can’t see them.

That’s life when you have no peripheral vision. You start to realize how much you rely on those edges of sight. For me, those edges no longer exist. The world I see is limited to what’s directly in front of me. Everything outside that range is a mystery, hidden from view unless I intentionally turn my head to look. But if I don’t remember where I put something, it’s like it’s disappeared from my world entirely.

It took me a while to catch on to what was happening. At first, I thought I was just getting forgetful. I’d set down my coffee cup or my phone, get distracted, and then spend the next ten minutes searching high and low for it. Friends and family would tell me, “It’s right there!” as if it was just magically invisible to me. And, well, it sort of was.

One day, after what felt like the hundredth round of hide-and-seek with my keys, I realized that I needed a solution. My keys weren’t vanishing. I was simply putting them down and walking away, unable to find them later because they were lost in those edges of my vision.

I started experimenting with “drop zones”—specific spots where I’d place certain items, like my keys, my phone, or my glasses. I started small, creating a small “landing pad” by the front door where I could always set down my keys. After

Learning to Lean on My Cane: A Journey Towards Independence

The past few months have been a whirlwind of new challenges, with stumbles, trips, and even a fall to remind me of the reality I’m facing. I’ve always prided myself on being fiercely independent, so adjusting to this new need for support has been far from easy. For a long time, I avoided the thought of using a cane; it felt like admitting defeat, like I'm letting go of that independence.

When I first met with Amanda, my social worker, we spent time talking about the practicalities and benefits of using a cane. Until that conversation, I hadn’t fully appreciated just how much a cane could offer beyond mere physical support. Amanda opened my eyes to the way it could change not just how I navigate the world but how I experience it. Here are the key advantages Amanda highlighted:

Safety

The cane has become a crucial safety measure, helping me navigate stairs, curbs, and those sneaky uneven surfaces that always seem to appear out of nowhere. Using my cane would offer me security, knowing it would reduce the risk of trips and falls.

Alerting

Acting like an extension of my senses, the cane will offer me a way to “feel” the surroundings I cannot see. It’s a constant guide that will let me know what’s ahead—whether it’s a sudden dip in the sidewalk or a stray obstacle—before I encounter it.

Confidence

This was the point that resonated the most. A cane isn’t just a tool; it’s a pathway to renewed confidence. If I use it, perhaps, I can reclaim a sense of independence, knowing I can navigate safely and on my own terms.

I’ve taken a significant step in my journey toward independence—I ordered and received my cane from the National Federation for the Blind. Now, the real challenge begins: learning how to use it and embracing what it represents.

Getting over the stigma of using a cane feels like the biggest hurdle. The thought of being seen as “different” is difficult, and I worry about the glances I might get. But I’m slowly realizing that it’s not just a tool for others to recognize my visual impairment; it’s a tool that can help me recognize my own strength. This cane is here to support me as I regain my confidence and navigate the world with a sense of security and independence.

So, here I am, ready to take on this new phase. Wish me luck as I work to see this cane not as a label but as a key to reclaiming my life and embracing normalcy once again. Here’s to taking it one step at a time!

Embarrassing Moment at the Jazz Game

As long-time season ticket holders, my husband and I have our designated seats at Jazz games, which we’ve sat in for years. It's practically our second home by now! Last night was no different – we were settled in, enjoying the game, and at halftime, I decided I’d head to the ladies' room. Although Brian offered to accompany me, I was confident I could manage this solo adventure just fine.

I navigated my way to the restroom with no issues and was feeling pretty accomplished as I made my way back. What I didn’t know was that, after I’d left, Brian decided to step away as well. So, when I returned, I naturally aimed for the familiar sight of white hair in the crowd, convinced I’d found him sitting right where I left him.

I settled back into my seat, feeling victorious – until I glanced down to where I’d left my drink, only to find it missing. A little confused, I turned and asked, “What did you do with my drink?”

But the voice that answered wasn't Brian's. Realizing my mistake, I laughed, apologized to the surprised gentleman, and quickly got up to search for my actual seat. Let’s just say, I got my steps in that night!

Day or Night

As someone who is visually impaired, I've noticed that my days and nights often get mixed up. This happens because my body relies on light to regulate my internal clock, the circadian rhythm, which controls when I feel awake or sleepy. Since I can’t perceive light the way others do, my body doesn’t get the usual signals that help people know when it’s time to be awake or go to sleep.

As a result, my sleep patterns can become out of sync with the typical 24-hour day-night cycle. There are times when I find myself wide awake in the middle of the night or feeling extremely tired during the day, which can be frustrating. It’s like my internal clock drifts and follows its own schedule, leading to unpredictable sleep times.

I’ve learned that this is actually quite common for people with limited or no light perception and is known as "non-24-hour sleep-wake disorder."

Welcome

Welcome to my blog! I’m Kymberlee Heath, and I've been happily married to my best friend, Brian, for 21 amazing years. I'm a proud mom of three sons and an even prouder grandma to five granddaughters and three grandsons—being their grandma is hands down my favorite role in life! By profession, I’ve spent the last 22 years working as a Senior Analyst in WFPA Forecasting and Scheduling at Verizon Wireless. But there’s more to me than just my career. I’m passionate about true crime, crafts, and crochet, and I have a special love for old cars. One of my most prized possessions is my ’71 Karmann Ghia, which I absolutely adore.

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.

Everything is so Loud it Hurts

Heightened Hearing After Vision Loss

Everything feels so loud now. Background noises rush in all at once, making it tough to focus on the conversation right in front of me. Take work, for example—while sitting at my desk, I can clearly hear conversations happening five cubicles away, details I never would have noticed before. At home, it’s the small, constant sounds that drown out the movie I’m trying to watch. The dishwasher hums in the background, water drips from the faucet, the toilet flushes, and I can even pick up on the tumbling sound of clothes in the dryer. There’s a strange duality to it; while this heightened awareness has its perks, it also has its challenges.

Since losing some of my vision, I’ve noticed my hearing seems more sensitive, especially to sounds that are loud or unexpected. It’s likely a condition called hyperacusis, where everyday noises feel amplified. I’ve thought about trying earplugs to muffle some of these sounds, but I’ve learned that could make the sensitivity worse in the long run.

This shift in my hearing isn’t entirely unexpected. When someone loses a sense, the brain often reorganizes to heighten other senses, like hearing, as a form of compensation. This adaptation can happen at any age, though it’s more pronounced when someone loses their vision early in life, while the brain is still developing. For me, it feels like my hearing is finely tuned to details I hadn’t noticed before, as if my brain is making up for what my eyes can’t quite capture.

Dancing Paisleys

When I close my eyes, I'm greeted by brilliant colors swirling in intricate patterns, like dancing paisleys performing just for me. Each vision feels breathtakingly beautiful, a fleeting piece of art I wish I could hold onto forever. But as soon as I open my eyes, it’s gone—only to be replaced by a new, vibrant display the next time I drift into this colorful world. I often lose myself in these visions, my mind joining in the dance until I gently slip into sleep.

These mesmerizing lights and patterns are known as phosphenes—small, flickering lights or swirls created by the electrical activity of the retina. Phosphenes are a natural part of how our eyes process visual information, even when they’re closed. For some people, particularly those with vision impairments, these visions take on even deeper and more personal meanings. Some describe a “visual tinnitus,” an internal landscape of shifting colors and shapes that fill the spaces left by lost sight.

Whether you have full vision or not, these "dancing paisleys" offer a glimpse into the mystery of the mind’s ability to create beauty, even in darkness.

Managing Light Sensitivity During Easter Jeep Safari

It’s so bright it hurts, and I can’t see. To keep the light out of my impacted eye, I wear an eye patch. Whether I’m at work or out in public, I often wear dark sunglasses indoors as well, just to find some relief from the overwhelming brightness.

This year, it’s Easter Jeep Safari time in Moab, Utah. Being out in the great outdoors all day, I’ve opted to wear the eye patch. Even though it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable with the stares and questions from others, I found a moment to make light of it—no pun intended.

A young boy approached me and asked, “What happened to your eye?” I couldn’t resist and simply responded, “Red Rider.” The look of surprise put a little fear in him and a little smile on my face.

Field of Vision

(Left Eye): This image represents the visual field of my left eye. The black sections indicate areas of significant vision loss or impairment, suggesting reduced sensitivity in those regions. The white sections show areas where vision is relatively intact

(Greyscale Visual Field Map): This image gives a more detailed greyscale representation of my left eye's visual field. The darker areas represent regions with severe vision loss, while lighter areas suggest relatively better vision. Showing a central loss of vision with peripheral. regions maintaining some visual sensitivit

My AION Journey

On October 17, 2017, I woke up to something that would change my life. I noticed my vision had shifted dramatically, like I was looking through a migraine haze but without the pain. I knew something wasn’t right and decided to head straight to urgent care, feeling that this time, it wasn’t going to be a simple fix.

The clinic gave me a migraine cocktail shot, hoping it would help, and I was out for the rest of the day. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, my vision was still off—if anything, it felt like it was getting worse.

The next day, I returned to the clinic, only to receive another shot that did nothing to change my sight. By day three, I told my husband that it was time to go to the ER; I just had a gut feeling that this was more serious.

After a series of examinations and an ultrasound, the ER doctors suspected a torn retina and sent me to an ophthalmologist the following morning. That wait was agonizing, but when I finally got in, the ophthalmologist had a different theory—he believed I was dealing with something called Anterior Ischemic Optic Neuropathy (AION).

He referred me to a neurologist at the Moran Eye Institute for further testing. It was on October 23rd that I finally met with Dr. Warner and her PA, Irina. After numerous tests, scans, and long discussions, they confirmed it—AION had taken part of my vision.

It was a lot to process, but I knew I had to adapt and face this new challenge head-on. This experience has become a part of who I am, and it’s another chapter in my journey of resilience, strength, and embracing life’s unexpected twists.

What is AION

Anterior Ischemic Optic Neuropathy (AION) is a condition that occurs when there is a sudden loss of blood flow to the optic nerve, which is the nerve responsible for transmitting visual information from your eyes to your brain. This interruption in blood flow leads to damage and swelling of the optic nerve, resulting in sudden vision loss, typically in one eye.

There are two main types of AION:

1. Non-Arteritic AION (NAION)

This is the most common form and is usually related to issues like high blood pressure, diabetes, or sleep apnea. It occurs when blood flow is reduced, often due to narrow blood vessels, and can happen without any warning.

2. Arteritic AION (AAION)

This less common but more serious form is associated with giant cell arteritis (GCA), an inflammatory condition that affects the arteries, particularly in the head. This type requires immediate medical attention because it can lead to permanent blindness and can affect the other eye if left untreated.

People with AION often wake up to find their vision is blurred, dim, or has blind spots, particularly in one eye. The vision loss tends to be painless but is usually permanent, although sometimes partial recovery is possible.

AION primarily affects people over the age of 50 and is a significant cause of sudden vision loss in older adults.