July 30 - Counting Fingers

Do you remember your last eye exam? What kinds of vision tests were you given? Does your optometrist ask you to read a line of letters on a chart or to follow a little light around as he/she examines your retina? These kinds of tests don’t work for me. I have long ago given up the idea of finding letters on an eye chart. When I go to the optometrist, I don’t do any of these types of tests. Instead, the test for my central vision is to try to see and count the number of fingers that my optometrist holds up in front of my eyes.

Sometimes I try to do this test for myself at home. Of course, I have the added advantage of knowing how many fingers I am holding up, but I still try to see if the number that I see matches what I know to be there. I also have the advantage of trying this test in various lights as opposed to the dimly lit room of the optometrist office.

There are also times when I wonder if I will always have all my fingers to count. I was thinking this just the other day when I once again jammed my thumb into a splinter of wood.  I had been reaching down to a lock on our deck door but somehow misjudged where I was reaching and suddenly ...OW! The splinter jammed itself right under my thumbnail. Even then I couldn’t see exactly what I had done. After Lyle pulled it out with tweezers, he told me that I shouldn’t put the chunk of wood in the garbage. When I asked why not, he responded with unusual and mostly unappreciated humour that the splinter might just be big enough to add as kindling for our woodpile.

Because I can’t see the ends of my fingers, I have had several past accidentals pokes, slices and jabs. Last fall, I put my hand down to lift up our apple slicer. Unfortunately, it was upside down on the counter and I ended up with a deep slice in my left thumb.

These little misadventures have reminded me of how little I really do see with my central vision. I often find myself reaching and touching things that I can’t see. Most of the accidents are minor – a spilt glass of water for instance. Minor accidents are frustrating but the issue can usually be resolved without too much fuss. The others, where I end up hurt, take a little more time. My thumb is still bruised and hurting although I count myself fortunate that I will likely keep the nail. Basically, if I hope to continue to count fingers I need to take more care when I am handling sharp objects.  I need my hands and fingers with their accompanying sense of touch to help me see.

July 15 - Mini Golf and Other Games

Last week on our family summer holiday, we played mini golf. It was a swelteringly hot day but we were on holidays and playing mini golf was somewhat traditional.

As we played, I realized that my sight had deteriorated from this same time last year. This year, I wasn’t able even to glimpse the end of the little track to the hole. I had no chance of seeing the hole itself. After the first two holes, Lyle pointed out that I wasn’t even holding my golf club correctly. I had been trying to hit the ball with the short end rather than the longer end of the club. I stumbled a bit walking from one hole to the next. I certainly missed my white cane, but I had left it behind, reasoning that holding one stick was going to be enough for me to handle. A golf club and a white cane at the same time would have been just too awkward.

Now you might be wondering why I had decided to join the family for what sounds a bit like torture. Actually, in spite of my difficulties with the practicalities of the game, it was fun and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Our five year-old granddaughter was a huge help in assisting me in finding my ball after each shot, and one member of the family usually helped in lining up my initial putt. When the scores were tallied, we sat under a shady tree to hear the results. I “won” with the highest score – being at least twenty strokes more than the next person on the scoreboard. (In case you are unaware, in golf the player with the lowest number of strokes is the winner.) We all clapped for my incredibly high score. Daughter Jenny received an ovation for her three holes in one. We clapped for Lyle for his sportsmanship and for Andrew for his skill in keeping the scores. Of course, Lexi received an enthusiastic applause for being the absolutely cutest player on the team. Now I ask you, how could I have missed all that! It didn’t seem to matter that I couldn’t see to play well. It just mattered that I was part of the family team.

We are hoping to play a number of other outdoor games this summer. Again, I know that I will be the poorest player when it comes to skill and seeing, but my family is great. I don’t plan on missing out on the fun because of my limited sight. No, it won’t be the same as if I had twenty twenty vision, but I am going with what I have and making the most of it. Summer games can be so much fun!

July 2 - Photographs

My friend, Ron, is getting ready to put his home on the market and downsize to something smaller. Consequently, he is in the process of clearing out the excesses from his home of umpteen dozen years. The most difficult of the decisions he is making in this process is the sorting through of old photographs. Which ones should he keep and which ones go to the discard pile?

Ron has sight challenges. He told me that most of his photos are very blurry and this is not due to the lack of skill of the photographer. Ron’s eyes just don’t see detail any more.  However, of the few pictures that he can make out, they bring back memories.

I understand Ron’s difficulty. I have a shoe box full of old photos. I can’t really see any of them and yet I hate to throw them out. I know that many have special memories...but which ones? When Lyle describes the picture to me, I can usually remember the occasion. This is often what happens when I post old travel photos on this blog.

I think that the best photos are photos where I keep the image in my mind.  Maybe when COVID is behind us, I will arrange a family day where everyone can sort through my old photos. The ones that family choose not to keep might well end up in my own discard pile.