Today’s post starts with a memory, best explained in an extract from my bestselling memoir A Different Way of Seeing: A Blind Woman’s Journey of Living an ‘Ordinary’ Life in an Extraordinary Way.
“It was the evening of my 22nd birthday —10 months since I had been declared blind. We were sitting in the lounge and I was deep in conversation with my beloved grandmother.
At one stage my gran asked me how I was feeling about the year that had just gone by.
I thought back to my 21st birthday. It had been spent in a hospital in a city hours away from my friends and family. I’d just finished a year of seemingly endless treatments and operations on my eyes and had no clue how long those were going to continue. I didn’t know whether the operations I was having were going to help me regain my sight, or if I was going to become blind. And my boyfriend had just dumped me. That was my 21st birthday in a nutshell.
Then I started to think of all that I’d achieved since then. Yes, I’d lost my sight and that had been devastating. I’d lost friends who couldn’t handle the change in my state and that had also hit me hard. But look at all I’d achieved in that year—I’d learned how to live a mostly independent life despite not being able to see. I could dress myself and even usually knew what clothing I was putting on. I could apply my own make-up. I could cook simple meals and pour myself a cup of tea. I’d learned braille and knew how to get around using a white cane. I’d gone back to university and had completed my exams to graduate with a Bachelor of Arts degree. I’d been accepted to study an Honours degree in Classical Civilisations. And by far the majority of my family and friends had gathered round me and offered me more love, encouragement and support than I could ever have believed possible. I was still me, but I was a very different me —a little older, a fair amount wiser, a lot more blind, and a whole lot stronger.
I know those might not sound like huge achievements but consider that I’d had to relearn how to do almost everything in my life. Before my blindness I was much like other sighted people. I gathered most information using my sense of sight because it was simple. Now I had to find ways to do simple everyday tasks using my other senses. So I considered even that modest list of achievements was something I could be proud of.
That was why I felt no hesitation when I told my gran that I felt like it had been my best year ever.”
Ever since then I’ve made a practise of reviewing the year gone by as my birthday draws near. With two days left before that less then auspicious occasion, I have once again turned my mind to reflecting on the year that has gone past. And, for the first time I’m honestly unsure of what to make of it.
In many ways it has been a year that has tested me to the edge of my endurance, and even perhaps beyond it at times. Much of that has been caused by my ever-changing medical situation. With four visits to hospital, starting dialysis and the implications of that, and the ongoing uncertainty of what the medical future holds for me. With my ever-changing targets and the repeated need to reassess what is normal for me, it has been a tough year.
My work life has also left something to be desired. In my heart I feel like I’ve made less progress on building my business and generating income than I could have wished. With one or two exceptions. I have not achieved what I’d planned for myself for this year in terms of my writing and speaking. Yes, I’ve continued with both my blog and my podcast, both of which I count as wins for the year. But somehow they don’t feel like as much compensation as they perhaps should, all things considered.
Which doesn’t leave the year looking all that good does it?
Then I find myself turning to the positives. I recall how humbled I was by people’s generosity when I sent out my appeal for a kidney donor, especially since it appears that the first person who offered is a match. I have felt moved by the love, support and encouragement of all those who are part of my life. Whether it is those who have offered me lifts to where I need to be, or have phoned or messaged to check in with how I’m doing and if I need to talk, those who have reacted, commented on and shared my social media posts, or who have simply taken the time To chat and give me moments of laughter that remind me I am more than just my medical diagnosis. Your love and encouragement have kept me strong, and for that I will be eternally grateful.
Add to that my ongoing hope that all this will be temporary. That, with the eventual kidney transplant, my life will return to a form of normal that I am familiar with. So few people have that opportunity.
Then there have been the moments of peace. The chance to relax and read a book that has given me joy. The opportunity to sit back and listen to music that has soothed my mind and helped me to destress, even if it has a hard, driving rock beat to it. The love and wags gifted to me by all four of my beloved dogs, Onyx, Allie, Avery and especially my beautiful guide dog Normandy. And my incredible husband, Craig, who has put up with my constantly changing energy levels, moods and my occasional wish to hide away from the world, remaining supportive and caring throughout the process. I am a truly lucky woman to have all these things in my life.
So, even though I don’t feel like I can honestly say that this has been my best year yet, it has still been a year that has given me so much that I can be grateful for. It has taught me a significant amount about what can truly be overcome. It has made me tougher, wiser, and overall a woman who has grown to appreciate all that I have in my life.
And that is by no means a bad thing
So, let’s see what next year has to offer…
