Success is Blind

*ring* *ring*, *ring* *ring*, *ring* *ring*, *ring* *ring*, *ring* *ring*, *ring* *ring* *BANG* "The time is now Six. Thirty. One. A.M".... Uuggghh, I hate my alarm clock, that up and done synthesized woman's voice is becoming a pain in the ass.

I roll my way out of bed, stand up, fling the curtains open and throw up the window. I can feel the sun on my skin, the ever so slight breeze and the lack of humidity in the air. All very promising signs for a beautiful day. I love these days, nobody in sunglasses ever looks out of place.

I set about the usual morning routine, bound down the hall to the kitchen and open the fridge door, get the milk, stroll over to the cupboard and get the cereal. My home is my domain, I could measure the house in steps from any object to any wall, sideways or diagonally. My home is my domain, I could measure the house in steps from any object to any wall, sideways or diagonally. But while I mull over my choices, I place back the mug I've picked up and decide on a glass of oreange juice instead. Soon after I lost most of my sight, I gave up coffee. I was just back from the clinic, eager to prove that I was as independent as ever to my mother, but I mishandled the cup and it spilled into my lap. Luckily, no "vital organs" were injured. I know that I could easily handle a cup now but that incident has always stayed at the back of my mind and it's the one stigma I have left. My insulin shot is already prepared, 3rd shelf from bottom of cupboard, one hand space from the left hand side. Mom comes on the weekends with the coming week's supply ready, always making sure I'm okay... I don't think that she ever really got over my...situation.

I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when I was in my early teens. I hated it, hated the burden I had become, hated the routine that was imposed on me, hated the way I felt if I even went a little bit off my diet. My mother read every resource available on the problem, consulted every doctor. My father... well... I think that he was the yin to my mother's yang. He lied to her about where I was going when I was going out with friends. "Oh he's at the football game love, he just rang me, he's having a great time." Of course he knew that I was at a some friend's party or out until all hours with the guys around town. The warning to me was always the same, "You know your limits, but don't play it safe all the time. Take your insulin, watch your diet... and for fuck sake don't come back looking like shit or get anybody pregnant." This was always followed by the usual cheeky wink... I really miss that.

Diabetic retinopathy... The blindness was always going to be something to be looked out for with a condition like mine. Long story short, I bled into my eyes. My eyesight got steadily worse as the years went by. I got into college and studied law but had to take medical leave after a year. It was like those blotted pictures that are shown to people and then asked what they see... Well those blots were there all the time for me, until eventually they consumed my vision. With good treatment most people with this problem have their vision restored... well I'm not like most people. When the doctors said that the treatments had failed, my mother was inconsolable. She stayed in the house for days, started going to church even more regularly than usual, was frantic in her search for new, experimental treatments. My father on the other hand, there was no cheekiness, no jokes, no boys will be boys attitude anymore. It's true that blindness heightens the other senses... He was all the way out in the back garden, and yet, I heard him crying for the first time that night.

There was no wallowing in self pity this time like there was with the diabetes, not after what I had just heard. That was the moment I knew that I was not going to be beaten down by this little "sonofabitch". I wasn't really bothered or enthused about the phrase, but to my father, to be able to call it something besides a disease or condition, a disability or a handicap, it seemed to put a measure of control in our hands. I never let him know that I heard him that night, and he never let me see anything but a strength and determination so powerful that it was infectious. So my blindness became the "sonofabitch" and then, as seemed natural, my diabetes became "the bitch". Even now that he's dead I still call them that and it still brings a smile to my face without fail.

I took a year out of college and attended special classes to learn the variety of things to assist me in my living. I eventually got my mother to quit her fruitless search and help me while I made the transition. I had no shame in saying to her that I needed help because I knew that by her helping me cope, I was in turn helping her cope. The white cane, braille and the talking computers all eventually became familiar. I've always wondered since I had to start using braille whether I could really be said to be reading a book or feeling a book. I always end up comparing it to whether someone eats or drinks soup. It makes no difference and yet people can be staunchly in favor of one phrase or the other. Speaking of which I really need to draft a letter to the braille publishers, the rate that the law books are translated is painfully slow. I make my money doing research for think tanks on current legal issues and resulting comparitive studies. The operative word in that sentence was "current".

Sure I miss the poker games that I would play, or going clubbing with the guys, or watching a Michael Bay movie. One of my friends before recommended that I go see the "Passion of the Christ". I remember trying not to laugh as I could hear the soft blows of feet off shin as all the other people at the table were kicking him. But the internet is still there, I blog and chat with hundreds a day. I get a personal shopper and a few trusted friends to help me shop for clothes and choose haircuts in order to stay with the times. It's surprising how vain I have become now that I cannot see myself in the mirror. I would seem that I am a form of narcissist paradox. While such a thing as buying clothes seems basic, even the most basic things like remembering the faces of people are what I'd miss the most. While memories of people fade, most can merely look at a photo, I have no such luxury.

But unlike most I have had to overcome great adversity, and I have had to work harder than most to get where I am. I may have lost my sight, I may have a life threatening condition, excuse me, "sonofabitch" and "bitch" respectively, but I am not like most other people in the best way possible. I live on my own with only the smallest of assistances required, I can do all my work from my home for great pay and I entertain for my friends and colleagues frequently. After all, my sense of humour and candor have not been affected. Have no pity for me, pity only those who have no excuse for their failure, while I have a greater cause to celebrate and tout my success. Besides, woman love a guy in Ray-Ban sunglasses... On second thought, I would really like that cup of coffee.












(NOTE: I did not do a lot of research into this and I'm sure that a person with knowledge of diabetes and diabetic retinopathy could poke a hundred holes in this. Please accept my apologies if my assumptions are totally wrong).





Word Count: 1,317