Trustingt My Memory vs My Sight

I was asked to introduce one of the two honorees at the recent Foundation Fighting Blindness Dinner in San Francisco. It was the first time I spoke in front of close to 500 people and it was truly a surreal experience. I was just getting over pneumonia and not feeling 100%. My voice was hanging on by a thread, but I managed to pull it off.

I was worried there would not be enough light to see for me to read my speech/introduction, so I asked Ron to print a couple of copies in different fonts (just in case). At the very last minute, I decided to use the copy with the larger font. BAD DECISION. I only practiced with the smaller font copy, so I kept loosing my spot. It was amazing that I did not FREAK OUT or loose my composure. Instead, I took a deep breath, paused and spoke from memory until I found my place again. In the end, it all worked out. The pauses caused a great reaction in the crowd and worked to my advantage. Who knew!

If only my high school speech teacher could see me now. I remember that being one of the most painful classes ever and I was not even remotely close to average at delivering speeches, but instead the classic epitome of awful.
Here is a copy of my speech. Enjoy the read.

**************************************************************************************

Good evening.

My name is Lorie Hirson and it is my honor to introduce Dr. Stephen McLeod. I met Dr. McLeod through my involvement with the Foundation Fighting Blindness and That Man May See, which is the supporting foundation of UCSF Ophthalmology Department.

I am a patient of Dr. Jacque Duncan, who you just heard from, which has allowed my path to cross many times with Dr. McLeod. I was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa when I was 18 years old, but it wasn’t until very recently that I felt comfortable sharing my story and feeling I could make a difference.

The truth is while every one of us can make a difference, which is why we’re here tonight, Dr. McLeod transforms people’s lives every single day in a significant and positive way. He uses his tremendous gift as a doctor to manage and mentor a department of world-class ophthalmologists at UCSF, one the nations premier medical institutions. He teaches and educates a group of talented and up-and-coming residents who represent the next generation of innovators searching for a cure for blindness. And, he is an amazing clinician dedicated to his patients and spends countless hours on his feet in surgery giving his patients back their sight as god had originally intended.

During my first visit with Dr. McLeod, I got a sense of his extraordinary skills and the delicate hand it takes to be an eye surgeon. A small group of us were touring the UCSF Ophthalmology Department and he asked for a volunteer. He sat me down in front of a microscope and introduced me to my cataract patient, which was a bright red tomato. He handed me the needle and guided my hand under the microscope with patience and kind words. His easy coaching manner allowed my shaky hand to complete its first suture. I was terrified and it was only a tomato. I handed over the needle and Dr. McLeod showed us with ease and grace how to suture an eye. We witnessed an artist at work.

I recognize many of you may not have the pleasure of meeting Dr. McLeod personally. In addition for my wish for Dr. McLeod and his team of brilliant clinical scientists to find a cure for RP and other debilitating eye diseases, I wish that you could have the simple pleasure of sharing a conversation with Dr. McLeod. Beyond his surgical brilliance, he is a wonderful husband, father and friend. He is humble, gracious and always willing to lend a hand.

I do not consider myself a star-struck person, but every time I am in the presence of Dr. McLeod, I am in awe of what he has accomplished in the field of ophthalmology and what he is giving back to me personally, as well as for every other individual combating an eye disease.

Thank you for sharing your gift and standing up every day to give back and make a difference to improve the lives of those impacted with eye disease today, as well as reducing the burden of blindness for future generations.
Congratulations Dr. McLeod on your honor this evening.

Normal Is A Relative Word

There are moments when I forget. I forget I am living on the edge of blindness with the possibility of one day living in total darkness. My life is so fulfilling between my husband and two beautiful children that it is easy to forget. I revel in these moments. I choose to let the smiles and laughter consume me versus the fear of the unknown.

It never ceases to amaze me that I forget. I will be walking down the street on a bright, sunny day minding my own business. Suddenly, my world changes. The sun slinks away to the San Francisco fog and my sunny disposition becomes gray as I start to squint and try to see through what now are foggy lenses. My carefree days becomes a little bit more draining as I navigate through the fog trying to protect myself and others around me from a head on collision.

Emotions in my world change on a dime. You would think I am a three-year-old toddler when in reality I am 39-year-old woman.

Bumps and Bruises

I always joke that the doctor is going to think Ron is abusing me. My thighs and hips are the permanent home to a beautiful gray/yellow hue and just as one bruise is healing I am blessed to bestow another one on myself. The bumps and bruises are part of my daily life and half the time I can’t even remember how it got there in the first place.

It’s easy when they are my bumps and bruises, but it is harder to swallow when I am creating the tears on my little guys. I must admit they are tough and fearless as a result, but it still is not fair that they need to learn to live with the burden of a having mother who is going blind.

The other morning my son Ari gave a shout out at his usually waking hour, 6:30 a.m. In a sleep-induced coma, I dragged myself out of bed to make a bottle and grab him from his crib. The first smile and words (if you can call them that since he is 1 years old tomorrow) of the morning are enough to melt anyone’s heart. It was a perfect moment…until the doorframe decided to pick a fight with Ari’s head. He was not impressed and everyone in the building heard him screaming what the F&*K. Immediately, Ron was sitting up in bed confused, but understood as he heard me chanting again and again, “I am so…sorry! Please forgive me.”

Profanitites

When I was a little girl, I remember these words I did not understand slipping out of my mother's mouth. I remember cringing by the sound of her voice because I knew it meant something bad, but it wasn’t until my adulthood that I wrapped my head around their meaning.

My mother was in three terrible car accidents during my childhood and as a result, she lived her life in tremendous pain. She did her best to hide it, but there were days even her heroic bravery got kicked to the curb. These were the days when the pain manifested itself through the profanities.

Although I do not live my life in chronic pain, I experience one-off battles of pain to my body quite often. As a blind person, things sometimes just jump right out in front of you. It could be a tree branch, a telephone pole, a curb, a person, or a dog lying peacefully on the street next to its owner minding its own business.
Without even realizing what is happening, I’m tripping down a set of the stairs, ripping my pants and skinning my knee. I’m stepping off the bus straight into a pole breaking my glasses and cutting my eye. I’m cutting the doorway too close and walking straight into the metal doorframe of my office once again cutting my eye. So what do I do…I result to profanities. They are not pretty or very lady-like, but for whatever reason they seem to help the toxic anger release from my body.

Mom…I am sorry that I judged you all those years and never understand how you were living in chronic pain. Through my minor cuts and physical/emotional bruises, I finally understand.

Friend or Foe?

Right now, I place you in the foe category and you aren’t even in my life. You will attract attention and stares every time we walk down the street. It is unfair to call you foe when we have not even been acquainted, but it is a gut feeling and they say to always go with your gut. Deep down, I know it is uncertainty that makes me lash out at you.
It is inevitable. One day you will be as natural in my life as brushing my teeth and putting on shoes every morning. Maybe then I will grow to accept you knowing you have my best interest and safety at heart, white cane. In time, you will become like an annoying best friend that you just can’t shake…not that you would even want to.