Inconceivable

Since my vision prohibits me from driving, getting transportation to appointments can be a challenge as I wrote about in the post Hair Traffic Control. I have several friends who so generously and lovingly offer their driving skills and I have learned to accept with what I hope is graciousness and great appreciation. Yesterday morning, however, scheduling rides for an upcoming event was difficult and stressful. I am happy to tell you that I was able to work it out but there was a delayed reaction to the pressure that I did not expect. 

My husband and I were eating dinner last night and all of a sudden, I felt tears coming on. As I sat there crying and trying to stop, I apologized to my poor spouse and he asked what was wrong. I thought about it and realized I didn't know, and immediately began to triage any emotion I could grab on to.

I wasn't sad, I wasn't mad, I wasn't longing for  my mom more than the constant ache in my heart. I did, however, keep returning to the happenings of the morning, trying to find a way to my appointment. As soon as I recognized that this was the prevailing thought, I said to my husband, who was just trying to enjoy his meal after grilling chicken in the rain, "It is inconceivable that this is my life. But how can it be inconceivable when this has been my life for three plus years? I am living this life so how can I still be in disbelief over it?"

I cried a little more and then we finished our dinner. There was, of course, no answer for these questions but that didn't stop me from still thinking about it 20 hours later. I am aware, every day, every hour, every minute, that I am severely visually challenged. And yet, it still can shock me that I now must live my life without my full sight. My repeating question during this journey hasn't been Why me? but How did I get here?

We all play the hand we are dealt but sometimes I "look" at the cards and simply cannot believe the fact that they are mine. Most of the time I play them with no emotion but sometimes with a profound sense of incredulity. Forget poker, rummy, pinochle and blackjack, this game is called Inconceivable.

Look Hoot's An Early Bird Now, Mom

A lot of things go haywire with our bodies as we age and I get that. Parts wear out after years and years of use and let's be honest: abuse. We don't like it but we can understand it. What is perplexing to me is how a staunch night owl suddenly becomes an early bird in the middle of their life.

I watched my mom seem to require less and less sleep as she got into her 70s but her lifelong early rising never wavered. It was a real bone of contention when we traveled together as I liked to go to bed late and sleep in. Or when I would pick her up at an early hour for a road trip and she wanted to chat the whole way while I preferred to listen it the radio and drink my coffee in silence. It always amazed me that after years of watching me start my homework late at night not because I was a procrastinator but because I did my best then and was also the person who had to battle to get me off to school every morning seemed to be consistently surprised by my behavior.

Now, however, if she was still alive, she wouldn't recognize me in the mornings. I am awake early and once I am there is no rolling over and going back to sleep. I like to imagine sometimes that she and I are on vacation together and I would wake up and get dressed and ready for the day and be the one waiting for her for a change.

Again, I don't know how this happened but it did. It seemed to coincide with my vision loss but because I have some perception of light my doctors don't believe that is the cause. Could it be a psychological issue as a result of all that has happened? I am sure that's a possibility. Is it my age? It could but I don't remember this happening to anyone I know at my stage of life. But I'd like to think it's my mom's doing. Even though she's no longer here with me, we can still have some quiet time in the mornings, when the husband and the parrot are still sleeping (yes, I am the earliest bird in this nest). I can make a cup of coffee and think about her, our many breakfasts together and even those rocky early rides in the car.

No matter what the cause of my new sleep habits it has had an effect on my marriage. My husband likes to sleep in on his days off, so I am stuck waiting for him to get up on the weekends. And whether or not she has had anything to do with my new early to bed, early to rise pattern, she is no doubt enjoying me dealing with my night owl husband. I never had a teenage daughter, but payback comes in many forms.

Piper The Conure And The Blustery Night

Last night I slept on the love seat to be with Piper if the strong, constant wind, which still hasn't let up the following afternoon, frightened him. My little guy did fine, he is tough after living in at least four different states, as part of another family for four years and a bird rescue for two during his ten years of life. But I wanted to be sure he knew I was there, just in case.

He has provided me comfort and made every day since I woke up blind less scary. How can I do anything but the same for him?

A Letter To The Eggitor

Dear Peeps:

Well, another Easter has come and gone. The eggs have all been found and I have eaten so many carrots even my whiskers have turned orange; it is not a good look. The kids are happy and the parents are exhausted as they are after every holiday. 

Was it me or were you everywhere this year? No offense, but there is only one sher-hop in Easterville and it's me. You can add all the new flavors that you want, get stale (as many people prefer much to my dismay) and maintain that same perceived adorable expression, but I am the face of this holiday.

So get in your fancy Twinkie car and don't let the door hit you in the sugar-coated, marshmallowy flat behind on the way out. Take a nice long vacation: perhaps a sauna in the microwave or a nice jacuzzi in a mug of hot chocolate. I hear both are lovely this time of year. 

As I watch you drive away, I can't help but wonder, have I really seen the last of you? And does Santa have this problem? Snowmen have been making a comeback. 
With rabbit carrotempt, The Easter Bunny 

My Reality

In a year's time I watch about twenty reality shows. They include Southern California housewives, quite a few short people shows, boy band families, cheerleaders and couples who are meeting for the first time at the alter. And while my only shame of them all, I will not apologize: anything and everything to do with the name that rhymes with farmashpeein'.

I can feel your contempt and thought about telling you yours is no greater than the disdain I feel for myself but that would be a lie. I like these shows and have been watching them long enough that I have seen their children grow up and a seemingly ultra-masculine Olympic athlete, father of ten become a woman. There are also lots of house buying shows and people living off the grid and a series about treehouses that cost more than my home. And one cooking show. Ok, so maybe my number is closer to thirty.

I could tell you that I watch these shows because I am currently not working and it kills the time. but truth be told, I watched them all when I was jetting around the country.

I do have a line although I can't tell you what it is other than If it makes me cringe, I'm out. Who knows what attracts us to hobbies or certain books or movies or other people or TV shows? We like what we like and our guilty pleasures are just that. Although I think the guilt part in that term is usually the guilt you feel for not feeling guilty.

As I proofread this post I seriously considered deleting it. This never happens when I'm writing this blog, I put it all out there and don't second-guess sharing the topic du jour (told you I watch a cooking show). So I'm going to push the hesitation aside and hit "Publish". Because the reality is, this little ole blog of mine is my reality show. And I can only hope it's your guilty pleasure.

Sometimes You Just Need A Little Bright And Airy

Seeing What I Couldn't See Before

This morning I had an early doctor visit, not vision related. The doctor asked me about my vision and how I am getting along.

When I got home, I was thinking about the appointment and her question. Suddenly I pictured myself in that doctor's office, totally blind and finding my way out of the exam room and to the receptionist's desk.

And then I had a peculiar, out of the blue thought:

Was some of my vision restored because
I would not have survived total blindness?

No matter your beliefs, we have all heard the adage that we are never given more (in life) than we can handle. I don't know if I could have dealt with permanent, total blindness. Some days I'm not sure I'm handling having minimum sight. And maybe that is why I regained some vision after a few weeks spent in total darkness. I suppose I will never know.

Any accomplishment or progress I make in doing something as a visually challenged person, I measure against being fully sighted and, therefore, I never am comfortable accepting praise or congratulations. I certainly know that when I first got sick I couldn't see a thing, and yet I am always comparing whatever this lauded action is to before, when everything was crisp and clear and light and colorful. Those who are encouraging me on my achievements were also there when my optic nerves were swollen, and they conversely, brace yourself for this twist, can see what I can't: that I have come a long, long way.

I spent 47 years as a fully sighted person and a few weeks in the dark. My benchmark shouldn't be those 47 years, but those weeks I struggled to do everything without any vision. I hope that after imagining myself this morning still without sight, adjusts my personal barometer, and I too recognize there is much to be grateful for. Knowing myself the way that I do, a conscious effort will still have to be made to adjust the yardstick, but now I have a whole new perspective, figuratively and more importantly, literally. 

Why Does This Woman Write This Blog?

To Come Out On The Other Side

I have always been inspired by people who have suffered the loss of a part of their physical selves and have not let that stop them from doing what they love. They appear to be more whole than any of us. Bethany Hamilton, the professional surfer who lost her arm in a shark attack. Noah Galloway, the Army soldier who lost an arm and a leg in the Iraq War. Usually when we meet these people on 60 Minutes or in People magazine, they have come out on the other side of their devastating loss and are confidently and comfortably living their new normal, sharing their stories in hopes of reaching others in similar situations.

Having experienced the loss of working anatomy myself, I now have a different perspective and a complete understanding of what it has taken them every day, sometimes every minute, to make the choice to keep on keeping on. No matter how great their attitude, faith and inner strength, I know their path to acceptance and a focus on the future and not the past is a tremendous challenge not just for them but also the people who love them.

People who know me only casually or meet me and learn of my vision loss praise me for my good attitude and positive spirit. I thank them but always follow that up with the true reality: I still have some bad days. It's my way of letting them know in six words that although I may appear to have survived the worst of it, dropping a bobby pin on the floor and not being able to find it, given the day, really piss me off or make me incredibly sad.

I will never be on Dancing With The Stars but I am here and I will tell you about the bobby pins and not being able to see colors or drive a car. But I will also share with you the joy I feel being able to read again with the help of some amazing equipment and the laughter of eating one of my bird's pellets because it looked like an Apple Jack to me. And I will disclose the plain ole non-vision related facts such as that I am 50 years old and still eating the Kellogg's product of my youth.

Don't judge me. I may like my cereal sweet, but this blog will not be sugar coated.

Slow Cooking, Fast Learning

I am a crock-pot girl. Yeah, that's right. A crock-pot girl.  I try to make at least one meal each week in the slow cooker. As I was peeling and cutting carrots and potatoes at 7 a.m. this morning, I thought: this is a lot of work!

I've always been a quick peeler, and since my vision loss I have worked my way back to top speed. I carefully turn the peelee and have incorporated feel to check if I've removed all the outside of the vegetable in question. When cutting now, the priority is always to keep my fingers back and out of the way to the detriment of some very wonkiky cut carrots. But their taste remains intact and so do my digits.

Regardless of my return to optimum quickness, I kept asking myself how this was saving me any time? Then I realized, it's a basic life lesson: Put the hard work in up front and in the end you'll be rewarded. When all I have to do tonight to get dinner on the table is remove the crock-pot lid and serve, this morning's work will be worth it.

I have no intention of turning this blog into a recipe site, but I do pledge to share anything that makes life easier. So here are the instructions:

Crock-Pot Pot Roast
2-3 lb. chuck or round roast
1 packet Au Jus
1 packet Ranch Dressing
Carrots
Potatoes

Rub meat with both dry packets, both sides. Place in crock-pot.

Peel and slice carrots and potatoes, place around meat.

Add water until everything is covered.

Cook on HIGH all day. 

I mentioned above the idea of putting the time and effort in and seeing the results of that labor. I have an even bigger and more valuable wisdom to impart:

DON'T FORGET TO TURN THE CROCK-POT ON!

Unlike some of the things we learn along the way, this particular teaching will only require one incident. Coming home after a long day, anticipating dinner already made, expecting the mouth-watering smell as you put the key in the door only to find cold raw meat and vegetables has a way of  preventing making that mistake twice. 

Bon Appe-Turn-It-On!

Devilish Behavior

Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, We Really Should Be Snow

My friend has a nasty cough that has been keeping her up at night so she has been taking NyQuil. My right eye has been itching me horribly since dinner time yesterday due to allergies. I wanna pop it out, lick it and put it back in. Gross, but a lot of home remedies are.

So my friend and I were texting this morning and she said she still is feeling the effects of the NyQuil. I told her about my eye and then confirmed what we already know: we are messes! She is Drowsy and I am Itchy. Feminism be damned, aren't we supposed to be Snow White as opposed to one of the Dwarfs???

Resuming The Resume

I met someone recently whose company may have a job opportunity for me. I still don't know where I belong professionally, only that I need to get involved in something vision loss-related. This possibility fits that bill. It is surreal to the billionth degree to be dusting off my resume after being on the Disabled List for three and a half years.

After wanting nothing more than to have my old life back, I feel strangely disconnected from that document which represents thirty years of my life's work. But what it doesn't depict is the years since I became legally blind.

How do you capture the life you have led outside of the workplace? The life that truly shapes your character and reflects your daily decision to fight or give up. When I think about the last three and a half years since my sight went haywire versus the thirty years that is my career, I almost feel nothing for the thirty and everything for the three and a half. Perhaps it's time we added a personal biography to our professional credentials. Maybe we should tell our potential employers what else has formed us besides our profit/loss margins or our proven ability to manage and lead a team. I take pride in my career accomplishments but I am more proud of the last 1,278 days. It will be interesting to see how this manifests itself as I promote myself to hiring decision makers moving forward.

They say your profession is not who you are, but what you do. My identity has always been wrapped up in my career and that's been a huge hurdle to overcome since my optic nerves became compromised. But as I review my resume, I almost don't recognize myself. As a result of the last three and a half years, I have never been less what I do and more who I am. And no one is more surprised than I.

Fifty Ain't Nifty

Dear Universe:

Since I am unable to pluck my eyebrows because of my vision, I get them waxed when I get my hair done. Since I am 50 3/4, I also have my "upper lip" waxed. My stylist calls it "upper lip" but we all know it's a MUSTACHE.

I can deal with this. I saw The Lion King, it's The Circle of Life and all that happy lion poop. But what I can't handle is having my "upper lip" waxed and a scab from a pimple coming off with my mustache hair! 

Mustache or acne, Universe. Mustache or acne. One or the other. You don't get to hand out both!!!

Whiskered and pimply and none too happy about it, 
Sister Rain 

IF YOU ARE LOW VISION, I BEG YOU TO READ THIS

Tattoo
I must share with you something I recently found out about that could, quite possibly, change your life in the most wonderful way if you have low vision as do I.

It is eSight eyewear. eSight works for legally blind and low vision people suffering from many different eye conditions including:

• Macular Degeneration
• Diabetic retinopathy
• Stargardt's Disease
• Ocular albinism
• Optic Nerve Hypoplasia
• Optic Atrophy
• Leber's Hereditary Optic Neuropathy
• Cone-Rod Dystrophy
• Nystagmus
• Retinopathy of Prematurity
• Some forms of glaucoma
• Some forms of retinitis pigmentosa (RP)

Here's how eSight works:

I went for a personal demo last week and was very impressed with my demo-er, the product and the company. The glasses really improved many aspects of my vision, including distance and being able to read with them anywhere (as opposed to my CCTV that keeps me stationary). Also, I may very well be able to watch my nephew's baseball games without my husband's play-by-play. Being able to see people's faces alone is a huge thing!

Click here for their website. eSight is a Canadian company and the glasses have been available for a few years from what I understand. The glasses I demoed were second generation and software updates are sent out every few months. The software resides on an SD card!

In keeping with the full disclosure policy of this blog, the cost to purchase the eSight glasses is $15,000. I want to make it clear that eSight tells the cost upfront and they will provide you a price breakdown sheet so you know exactly what the pricing will be and you won't get hit with any surprises when it comes to funds needed to purchase eSight. I once worked for a company who provided a medical procedure and they were not open and forthright with the cost associated with this operation. That turned a lot of people off, understandably, (including me as an employee) which was a real tragedy because the service they were offering was legitimate and also life changing. I respect eSight's complete opposite approach. This, to me, says a lot about the company.

There is currently no insurance coverage available. eSight can help you figure out the best way to raise funds. Please don't let the cost stop you from trying eSight. As with losing your vision and learning a new normal, take it one step at a time and see where this journey goes. Check out eSight's website, schedule a demo, keep your expectations in check, and go see for yourself. Literally.

Hundredsie Is The New Onesie

I would like to petition for a name change of the onesie. I propose the name "hundredsie" to reflect the amount of aahing that went on at the baby shower I attended yesterday with the unwrapping of each and every little hundredsie.

Here is my favorite of the day:

Piper Wants Some Gandhi

"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress
can be judged by the way 
it treats its animals."

-- Mahatma Gandhi

No Height Restrictions For This Ride

I have heard people say that they aren't ride people or that they don't do roller coasters. The fact is, we all ride a roller coaster whether we want to or not. Starting fresh out of the womb, our parents lovingly strap us in, and we ride until our last breath. During the scary parts, we hold on tight, close our eyes and scream. We might even throw up. When we are having fun, we laugh and we throw our arms in the air to enhance the experience. We look around and enjoy the view. The rare, flat straightaways are spent catching our breath, righting ourselves for the next hill, the next drop. 

Your ticket for this ultimate roller coaster? A birth certificate. 

If You Love Her Then You Have To Put Her Rings On You

When my mom passed away in 2012, her mom's wedding rings became mine. My nana, as I called her, was married in the 1920's to my pop pop and they were together for over 50 years until his death.

I have always been a believer in displaying or using things that are mementos from the people we have loved and lost.  I want to honor them and incorporate their things into my daily life. I display my pop pop's American flag, which was presented to Nana at his funeral to mark his time as a Marine in World War I. We also framed the last lottery tickets my dad-in-law purchased before his sudden death and I am having my mom's t-shirts made into a quilt. These are just some of the ways we keep them front and center.

However, I have not followed my credo when it comes to my nana's rings. They have been in my drawer since they became mine. They have been in their original box, from a jeweler in Philadelphia, since my nana passed in 1996. Recently, I decided to have them cleaned and looked over by a local jeweler to see what I could learn about them. I don't remember Nana wearing them often, only on special occasions, and we never talked about them. She always wore a plain, thin silver band. This seems to have been the practice of that generation. I remember when I was a little girl and would visit  her, I was fascinated by her wringer washing machine. She used to let me turn the crank to squeeze the water out of the clothes, but put the fear of God into me about not getting my fingers or arm crushed by the rollers. No wonder the beautiful diamond rings were spared the daily chores of housewives back then!

Turns out the rings are the real deal. I assumed that they were but the fact that my pop pop was a printer and by no means affluent left just a 1/4 carat of doubt in my mind. They are so special I wouldn't have cared if they weren't. When they cleaned the rings, they became even more spectacular. Even with my limited vision, I can see them sparkling.

I had told my husband I was thinking of having them sized to fut me. I asked the jeweler what the cost of sizing up would be and my husband and I told them we would be back.After we got in our car, my husband and I looked at each other and we both knew what the other was thinking. We both unhooked our seat belts, got out of the car and headed back into the store. What was the sense of leaving, only to come back in a week or so? I left them to be sized from a 6 to 6 1/2.

The rings were ready for pick up a few days later and now they fit perfectly. I have made a vow to all of them -- Mom, Nana and Pop Pop -- to wear them often. I vow to love, honor and cherish them as long as we all shall live. Because that's what we do, you know. When we lose someone, we take them with us. And that's how they go on. Through us. Through me. And now through these rings.

I Haven't Feathered My HaIr Since The 80's

You know you're visually impaired
when you know that your bird is downstairs with your husband

but you round the corner into the bathroom 

and you think your hair dryer is your bird.

"JUST" Is A Four-Letter Word

I recently met an acquaintance of my husband's and as we chatted, her recent heart attack and my vision loss came up. We exchanged our medical summaries and our current cardiac and optic status, respectively.

She told me her story first, then I followed suit. After I explained that I was completely blind for a few weeks and now am legally blind, she countered with, "Oh, you're JUST legally blind now."

My neck still hurts from the recoil. No one is more grateful than I that I have some degree of sight, but how dare this woman I have only met minutes ago minimize my experience every single day since I woke up blind?

You may think I am being way too sensitive and maybe I am. But someday I will write a post about all the things people have said to me that I was able to take with more aplomb.

Do me a favor, dear readers: think before you speak. If you don't, let's hope the recipient of your "just" thinks before they punch.

Thank Goodness It's Not Brussels Sprouts!

This is Bassetts Ice Cream located in the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia. Their ice cream is the best ice cream I have ever had and always a part of visits to see my Nana when she was alive and/or any trip to the city. Although they offer many flavors and continue to add to their offerings, for me, chocolate is always my choice. It is creamy and delicious. It is the taste of my childhood. 

This is a must do if you ever find yourself in Philly

For Bassetts' website, click here.

For Reading Terminal Market, click here

A Premium 6 Ply Friendship

My friend and I were at CVS pharmacy picking up diapers and prescription medications. I commented to her that in another twenty years we will be picking up the same. The medications will still be for us but then the diapers will be too (as opposed to for her grandson).

Bad news? It's true.

Good news? Twenty years from now my dear, cherished friend and I will have been soul sisters for over forty years. How will we celebrate? With cake, of course!

 

Taking A Load Off, Literalky

There is no doubt in my mind that the couch in my therapist's office isn't for her clients but for her to lay down when we leave. And it has to be something much stronger than coffee in that mug.

#haveyouhuggedyourtherapisttoday