Changing Focus 

When I was a little girl, I couldn’t see a thing out of my right eye because it wasn’t in my head. It had been removed when I was eighteen months old because I had a form of ocular cancer called retinoblastoma. In its place, I have a prosthetic eye made of acrylic. As a little kid, I wasn’t always very responsible with my fake eye; it was all a big game to me. Getting it dirty or losing it was an easy way to make my mother frantic and spazzy, which I found hilarious: I’d roll the eye across the floor in Walmart, or put the eye in my mouth, or use the eye to play hide-and-seek: I hide the eye, mom goes to seek it. My favorite hiding spot was in the toilet. I had to learn that most little girls did not put fake eyes in their mouths, and that I needed to take care of it. I had to clean it every day so that I would look nice, especially during allergy season. Like most kids with allergies, I got a runny or stuffy nose, but I also got a runny, crusty fake eye that needed to be cleaned.

I get a new eye every four years or so because I’m still growing. It’s actually a pretty cool and relaxing process, and the man who makes my eyes for me is truly remarkable. Glenn Reams is a highly regarded ocularist, and his prosthetic eyes are his art. He’s also an extremely caring individual and a blast to talk to. Glenn’s office looks just like an eye doctor’s room, with a chair that raises and reclines. When I was a kid, I’d always sit up in the chair and demand that my mom hit the pedals to make it rise and fall as we waited for Glenn. He’d come in, take out my current eye and examine it, prod around in my eye socket for a bit, and then the magic would start.

The stuff that he poured into my often-swollen eye socket felt cool and glorious. He’d let the goo sit for a while to firm up, and then stick a toothpick in the center to remove it. Mom and I would leave for a few hours while the eye was glazed and baked. When we came back, Glenn would stick the new eye in to make sure everything fit, then he’d take it out and start on my favorite part. Looking at my real eye, he would paint the fake one right in front of me. It’s amazing to watch, and when he is finished my prosthetic looks totally realistic. The eye has to be glazed and baked again, then polished, and then I walk out with a new eyeball.

I’ve been told that my eyes are hazel, but my sister Brooklyn tells me that my left eye, the real one, turns blue when I’m angry, and green when I’m relaxed. My fake eye always stays hazel. I have zero vision in my fake eye (obviously), and only about 40% vision in my left eye. I can’t make out details and I have no depth perception. Stairs blend together and look like part of the floor, so when I go down stairs, I do it by feel.

Visual impairment is all I’ve ever known. I have never been sad or ashamed of being blind; it’s a part of me, just like my red hair and my freckles, and I know I am just as capable as anybody. Since I was a child, people have asked me if one day there was some technology that could make me see perfectly, is that something I would do? I always say no. I love myself and I love the people I have come to meet through my blindness and the opportunities I’ve had as a result. My blindness doesn’t define me: I define how I let it affect me, and I have never let it affect me in a negative way. Never will. 

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 When most people see a person walking down the street with a whitecane, they are probably amazed that a blind person is out walking on their own. Then again, most people are amazed that blind people can tie their own shoes.