What I Saw When I Went Blind

THE BEGINNING OF MY SECOND LIFE

When I returned to junior high at the start of eighth grade, Pete and I had all the same classes. Unfortunately, I was not in class very much because my shunt failed three times during my eighth grade year. I tried a couple of times to return, but most of my schoolwork that year was done at home with the help of my mom and tutors. When I was at school, I was still getting used to my very blurry vision, so my movements around the building were slow and tentative. But at least I was familiar with the hallways because I had been there for one semester the year before.

I experienced the loneliness of being visually impaired during those first days in the eighth grade at River Forest Junior High. There were only a few times when Pete wasn’t with me, but when he wasn’t, I was surprised to feel so isolated.

It didn’t make sense. Here I was with dozens and dozens of people walking around me, and they were all people I knew—some had been my friends since I started grade school. But now, I realized, I could not recognize anyone. I couldn’t catch someone’s eye and give a wave or smile. I couldn’t spot a friend or two and join in their conversation. Occasionally, I would hear someone say hi or even “Hi, John!” But in the crowded hallway I couldn’t be sure they were talking to me. I would just try to smile and say “hi” or “hey there” as I made my way to the next class. And that had challenges of its own.

On my initial class assignment sheet, the rooms were identified by number. Unfortunately, room numbers on the classes themselves were at the top of the door jamb—way too far away for me to see or feel with my hands. Luckily for me, River Forest Junior High had only two floors, with about ten classroom on each floor. Most teachers had the same room year after year, so it was common knowledge where most classes met, and I was able to find my way around pretty well.

I can’t say that I noticed any big change in the behavior of my friends when I returned to school. But then again, I didn’t expect any big change. Eighth-grade boys are not generally known for a lot of “touchy feely” displays of compassion. I myself was trying all the time to display strength and toughness, and I didn’t expect anything different from my friends and acquaintances. The stand-out exception to this was my twin brother, Pete. He made a huge effort every day to assist with whatever I needed. Ironically, this could have been a reason why others didn’t see the need to step forward and help too.

I remember one time sitting with a classmate who asked me how I was reading my books. I told him my books were read to me by my mom or played on on reel-to-reel tape so I could listen to them. “Oh, you’re lucky!” he exclaimed. “I wish I could just listen to my books.”

I didn’t say anything, but I wanted to tell him it wasn’t as great as it sounded. Listening to my textbooks on tape took twice as long as it would have if I could read the book. And I found out very quickly that there was no way to recline comfortably and listen to a textbook without falling dead asleep! I would have to rewind the tape again and again until I found the last section I remembered hearing, then play the whole thing over again. This added even more time to my homework assignments.

Another time I sat talking with a classmate when I noticed he was consistently shifting his head and body to the left as I talked to him. After several minutes of this behavior, I asked, “Why do you keep shifting to your left while we’re talking?”

“Oh,” he said, “that’s because you keep looking over to my left. I’m just trying to get in to your line of sight.”

Only then did it dawn on me that because all of my remaining sight was peripheral, in the left corner of my left eye, I turned my head to the right when talking to someone so I could best focus on them. From their view point, though, I appeared to be looking to their left, not at them. Great! All this time I’ve not been looking at people. That would be one more thing I had to compensate for when interacting with others.

And it has been, but I’ve since developed a system: When I talk with someone, I first glance at them out of the corner of my eye to find where their face is. Then I point my head at that spot and try to look there, even though that puts their face right in the middle of my blind spot. I know this makes others more comfortable, and it makes me appear more attentive to what they are saying. I do this with absolutely everyone, and I do it now without even thinking.