They Don’t Always Buy It

By Kim Bell
Author, Sister Rain

You cannot tell by looking at me that I am visually impaired. I am able to track very well when in conversation with someone, and I also walk unassisted unless in difficult terrain. People’s reactions to my informing them of my blindness has been one of the greatest surprises of my life.

I don’t hand out my optic deficiency like candy on Halloween but in those instances when I need help with the color of an item, working a credit card machine or finding something, I explain why.

If I am in a crowd, an unfamiliar place, or am going to be walking a long distance, I will use a white cane. However, if I am just going out to eat or into a store, I do not always take the cane with me. I understand it would alleviate a lot of these situations, but sometimes, for me, it is more efficient not to use it.

I go to lunch every week with my friend at a local eatery and often have the same server. She serves hamburger after salad after wrap after crabcake, unaware that I do not know what she looks like or that I cannot read the menu. Finally, one afternoon, I tell her. She has been stunned and seemingly uncomfortable for several weeks.

A few months later, out to dinner with my husband, Keith, at this same restaurant, the hostess I speak to every time I am there was waving to me from about 6' away. I, of course, did not see her, but when Keith told me she was trying to get my attention, I vigorously returned the gesture. The next time I went to lunch, I told her why it appeared I was acting like I did not know her that evening. I learned my lesson that night, now I let acquaintances know that they may see me somewhere, but I will not see them. That I cannot share a smile with a stranger or a warm hello with someone I know, especially when they don't know why, is a very odd way to live.

The #1 reaction to my lack of sight confession, though, hands down, is a nervous laugh followed by the person not believing me. I tend to joke around a lot, and this, coupled with my not looking like I am unable to see properly, makes them think I am kidding.

There have also been countless instances where, because I am over 40, it is assumed that what I mean is that I need reading glasses. When this happens, I am often offered someone’s pair of cheaters. I let them know that glasses do not help me.

I am sure that my delivery of my anatomical difference does not help others process my disclosure. I say it so nonchalantly, wanting to get the information out there so we can all get on with our lives. I need to work on the way I share the news and also learn to allow time for the recipient to take in the unexpected revelation. In my mind, it is such a part of who I am, just like the fact that my eyes are hazel and that I am 5'2". I do acknowledge, however, that most people do not meet a person with a physical disability as they go about their days, let alone one they cannot immediately identify as such.

The other aspect I must recognize is the fear my story can evoke. One morning, at the age of 47, I woke up completely blind in my right eye, the following morning, my left eye was dark as well. After about a month, I regained a little sight but remain legally blind. I can sometimes sense the realization that if this can happen to me, it can happen to them. It is sobering, I am sure, to know that although it is rare, it is possible. When I was fully sighted, I too would have been upset to be faced with the fact that seeing is not guaranteed.

Recently, I was in a Michael Kors outlet store, talking my friend into buying a handbag that was both beautiful and a steal at its discounted price. As my mother-in-law would have said, "She would LOSE money if she didn’t buy it.” A salesperson was standing nearby, watching us as well as the rest of the space, while listening to our exchange. I was pouring it on thick to seal the deal of the purse purchase. My friend was admiring the red color of the leather, and as she always does, asked what it looked like to me. She was surprised when I told her tan despite our frequent playing of this game.

The salesperson joined our discussion, and my friend explained that I am visually impaired. The woman asked, “So are you color blind?” I replied, “Color is one of my issues, but I have very little vision in general.” “I don’t know what to say,” she said, which was the single-most honest reply I have ever received upon telling someone about my sight. I told her that I very much appreciated her truthful response. She then asked, “What happened?" to which I provided the abridged version of my story. I am happy to answer anyone’s questions, I am touched by their interest.

Our attention went back to the red beauty, already looking very much at home on my friend’s shoulder. After she bought the bag, we said goodbye, continuing on to other shops, discussing how gracefully the store associate had handled my “see-cret” compared to others we have both observed over the years. My friend has a unique vantage point when I casually make my “vision statement." My friend reported to me she saw empathy, disbelief, plus curiosity, adding that she got the distinct impression that this young woman was wondering what it would be like to have my limited sight. I know that if the optic nerves were on the other brain, I would definitely do the same.

I do find, in a bit of irony, that when I do use my cane, no one will ask me about my vision, mostly, they will ignore me altogether.

I have no way of knowing if there are lasting effects as a result of my blind truth when we part, but I hope there are. I want those in the know to remember that if I was a handbag, my tag might say “damaged" yet the real truth in all of this is that I live my life just like everyone else: out in the world with friends, laughing, needing a little help sometimes and capable of detecting a bargain a mile away.