Karen's Journey

I don't remember when my grandmother's macular degeneration began. I do remember her as a seemingly normally sighted person. I have memories of riding in the front seat of her tank of a Ford Fairlane car while she was driving -- I was five, maybe six, sitting in the middle where there was no seatbelt, and she cautioned me that if we were to crash or stop suddenly, I was to keep myself from flying out the front window by bracing my hand and arm against the dashboard. She was a master seamstress -- I'm not quite sure when I got my first store bought dress -- I remember my other grandmother taking me to the Big N and buying me one when I was in first grade or so, probably feeling terribly sorry for me. But Grandma Whitman's sewing skills were second to none, and our dresses were top quality. We had dresses that were hand-smocked. Even in her day, no one did that by hand -- other than her. And her work was exquisite. On my first day of kindergarten, Big Sis and I wore m...

It started on a Thursday afternoon in July. Something didn't seem quite right about how I was seeing my computer screen. I occasionally have ophthalmic migraines, so I thought I must be coming down with one. Usually the first sign is realizing I'm missing a tiny part of my field of vision. I can't quite read a word or a number. It's not that there's a black spot; there's just nothing where something should be. I closed my eyes and looked for the telltale pinprick of light. It wasn't there. I looked at my screen again and tried to find an area of vision that was missing, but I couldn't pick one out. I was busy, so I shrugged it off and went back to work. The next morning I opened my eyes while in the shower washing my hair. Directly across from me was the white fiberglass wall of the tub. And a circular shaped burst of rays of shimmering light, like prisms sparkling in the sun. Great. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet and here was the ophthalmic migr...