by Barbara Borgmeyer
When I was 9 years old and an innocent, carefree fourth-grader, I relished the thought of recess, when for 20 minutes after lunch I would be free to run and play and see everything going on outside, as long as it was within view of the lower parking lot of St. Charles Borromeo School.
One day, one of my friends told us about palm-reading. She said we could tell from our health lines how long we would live and how healthy we would be. I was pleased to see that my health line was the longest.
I was not surprised. I knew nothing of sickness. I was familiar with colds and coughs and remembered having mumps in a past winter; but to me being ill meant lying around uncomfortably for a few days and possibly having to visit the pediatrician. Barring the small and infrequent inconveniences of childhood illnesses, I was able to fully enjoy my life, and my body worked the way it was supposed to work.
At 15, I was an energetic, self-conscious high school sophomore. For two months, I had been eating voraciously, drinking constantly, and sleeping whenever I could. Then my parents noticed a significant weight loss, and Mom scheduled a doctor’s appointment.
I remember sitting in the small examining room with Dad, swinging my legs and thinking about what I was going to do during the next summer. He stood, silently, staring out the window at the nearby highway. At least, that was where his eyes were focused. Now I think his anxious thoughts were focused on me.
My parents had suspected my grandfather’s serious illness had been passed down to me. Their fears were confirmed when the doctor said, “You have diabetes.”
I began sobbing. I thought, shots! I would have to take shots. I knew little more about the illness than that.
I spent 10 days in the hospital and learned how to inject insulin, how to choose low-sugar foods, and how to recognize an insulin reaction. I was told about the importance of good foot care and warned about the complications of diabetes, which could include infections, neuropathy, kidney failure and blindness.
I listened to everything with half an ear. I was feeling much better, having achieved good blood sugar control while in the hospital. I was sure that none of this would ever happen to me. I was too young and healthy.
I entered into a state of denial that would last for several years. I told myself that if I ever did face blindness or amputation, I would just kill myself. I couldn’t bear to live that way, I thought. But I was not worried; I still looked and felt fine.
I am now 33, a determined but often tired volunteer and aspiring writer.
Two weeks ago, I went to pick up a donation for the annual state convention of the Missouri Council of the Blind. As I entered Main Street Books, I commented to myself on how quaint and tidy the shop was. One of the owners pointed to a low-standing shelf of books and explained that I could choose one for a convention attendance prize. I bent over to study the titles and suddenly saw what appeared to be a large cobweb right in front of my face. I was horrified, as I have feared spiders all my life. I stood up to escape the cobweb and its unseen inhabitant and was shocked to see cobwebs everywhere. What was happening? Instinctively, I reached up to wipe away the wispy strands, but nothing was there.
Then I knew what was happening: my left eye was bleeding internally.
I was still able to see, so I took the first book I could grab, quickly thanked the store owner, and went to my car. I can safely drive home, I thought. Small hemorrhages like this one have happened before and never severely limited my vision.
I made it to my driveway taking a route that passed my childhood playground on the parking lot of Borromeo School. As soon as I walked into my house, my vision began to worsen. I recall thanking my guardian angel for helping me get safely home. I had a terrible headache, so I decided to lie down for an hour or so.
When I awoke two hours later, my vision was considerably worse. I didn’t panic, as this scenario had been described to me as a possibility several years before, when I was first diagnosed with diabetic retinopathy. Clumsily dialing my eye doctor’s phone number, I started to cry. My left eye was full of “cobwebs.” I have had no central vision in my right eye for more than five years, but now I was relying on the peripheral vision in that eye to distinguish my surroundings. I was heartsick — my eyesight had changed drastically in a matter of hours.
That afternoon, as I sat waiting to see the retinal specialist, I was surprised at myself. I was not falling apart, and I definitely did not want to die. In truth, I have never considered suicide. Promising myself to “end it all” was an immature and childish response to obstacles not yet encountered, at a time when I was ignorant of options open to me and my own ability to adapt amazingly well.
For the past six months I have been involved in the planning of the state convention of the Missouri Council of the Blind, which will welcome more than 300 members from all over the state. Is it fate that I experienced a severe vision loss just a month before attending the convention? Is it sweet serendipity that I have belonged to the St. Charles County Council of the Blind for almost eight years? God provides me with what I need, just when I need it. I couldn’t think of a better place to be than at the convention, where I will be with friends and supporters who truly understand vision loss.
I never truly understood what it meant to be visually impaired or blind until it happened to me.
Still, just being a member of the Council of the Blind the past few years has afforded me an opportunity to make good friends, both sighted and blind, and to learn of many services and programs available to people with less than perfect sight.
I pray all the time, and I believe God is truly my help in all that I do. But friends and family are my earthly support and I am so thankful that they are here.
The Author’s Update
May 2001
(Editor’s Note: I discovered the wonderful story above amid a “to do” pile of paperwork which had been accumulating over time, when my daughter came to work with me on “Bring Your Daughter to Work Day,” in April and read me this wonderful story which we found near the bottom of the pile. I called Barbara, and she was still eager to share her story with readers of “The Braille Forum.” Here is her “Update” which tells us that she is still doing quite well coping with diabetes and getting on with her life.)
It has been five years since this article was written and published in my hometown newspaper. I am now almost 39 years old. I am still a volunteer, with my church and the County Division of Family Services. I am pleased to report that I am more than an aspiring writer; I do write. Although fame and fortune still elude me, I have had several items published, and I just keep writing ... with dreams of someday having a book of short stories on the bestseller list.
I attended the 1995 Missouri state convention mentioned in the above article. It was my first state convention, and I recall it as a fantastic experience. It boosted my spirits and did wonders for my outlook to be among fellow MCB members. Since then, I have attended every state convention, and even managed to make it to the ACB national convention in Louisville in July 2000. What an awesome experience!
In early 1996, about six months after the hemorrhage in my left eye occurred, the vision in that eye slowly began to improve. My visual “fog” was lifting. Throughout 1996, I gradually gained back enough acuity in my left eye to be able to once again read with a magnifier, distinguish some colors and recognize people’s faces. The vision in my right eye has not improved, but I am very thankful for what I have regained and been able to maintain. The doctor explained it simply: The blood which had leaked into my vitreous had drained away. My doctor was quick to remind me that “it happened once, it can happen again,” and so I live with a healthy respect for my retinopathy, and I remember that most of what we think we “own” is really just on loan to us.
My volunteer activities are still quite important to me, especially since I am presently job-free. Since helping to organize the 1995 Missouri state convention, I’ve become more active within my local chapter, helping with numerous projects and fund-raisers. We’ve held info days and candy sales in front of area supermarkets. I’ve been involved in providing Christmas assistance to blind children and their families and to blind seniors who are in need. Over the years, I’ve been lucky enough to arrange for several informative and entertaining speakers to come to meetings and share their expertise. And when Missouri became the first annual recipient of the ACB quilt, I organized the month-long display of the quilt in the public library in my hometown, St. Charles. I’ve served on the executive board of my local chapter, most recently in a two-year position as treasurer.
Although I am less physically active with my chapter now, due to health problems, I still remain as involved as possible. I make frequent phone calls to new and prospective members, encouraging them to attend meetings, where they will find understanding supporters.
I’ve always been an organized and motivated person, but when I was struggling through several months of blindness, I was at first dismayed at the lack of control I had. At times I felt desperate and guilty; I was ashamed that I had wasted so much time as a sighted person. I thought that there were several things I should have accomplished while I was still “able.” I was sad because I wasn’t seeing myself as an able person, but as a victim. I was very unsure of myself as a blind person, and, in the beginning, I felt like I was less of a person than I had been before the sight loss. I was angry and frustrated that I didn’t know how to proceed with my life, and I wondered what was in store for me. Then, I took control.
It was after witnessing the actions and attitudes of MCB powerhouses (like Edna Freeman and Ken Emmons) during that first 1995 state convention (and at subsequent state conventions I attended), that I decided not only to become more active in my local chapter, but to become more goal-oriented in my personal life as well.
Over these past five years, I’ve set several goals for myself, some short-term, others not so easily reached. And one by one, I’m achieving them.
I’ve been able to lose weight, and still work every day on reaching my goal weight.
I decided that my life was too cluttered with “stuff,” so over the course of the last two years, I’ve unloaded lots of insignificant life-filler. The rooms of my home, and more important, my life, are no longer filled with meaningless things, and I am able to focus more easily.
Along those same lines, I’ve learned what is most important to me, and what I can easily allow to fall away. I am better at saying “no,” and I have more respect for myself as I pursue those things which make me feel happy and fulfilled.
For a long time, I’ve felt frustrated (and somewhat embarrassed) that I was computer illiterate. Everyone I know seems to be jumping successfully on the computer bandwagon. So I am now learning to use a PC; it is an ongoing process, but I am becoming better and better at doing all sorts of tasks on my computer. In fact, this update was e-mailed to Penny Reeder at the ACB office!
My next goal: employment. Even though I will always write, I would like to be bringing in more money than free-lancing provides. Issues concerning my health will need to be addressed when I consider any job, but I am open-minded and eager. There will be a job fair at the area Division of Workforce Development in mid-June, and I’ll be there. I may not get the job of my dreams, but then, I don’t expect to achieve all of my goals at one time. Like a good friend in my local chapter often says, “Start with baby steps.”
Someday, I know, I’ll be running.