I’m Secretly a Cyclops
Well, I’ve always had two eyes, so I guess if we’re getting technical here I can’t justifiably call myself a cyclops, but it caught your attention, right? And it sounds a lot more exotic than “I Bet You Didn’t Know I’m Legally Blind in One Eye” and a lot more succinct than “A Brief History of Growing Up With Amblyopia and the Surprising Consequences of Being Legally Blind in One Eye and Also This Cool Backstory You Might Be Interested In,” which is what this post is actually about.
Whenever my half-blindness comes up in conversation, the response I get is pretty much always the same, and follows a sequence of dialogue something like this:
- “No way! You’re blind in one eye!? You’re joking, right?”
(N0, I’m not.) - “Which eye? I totally can’t tell!”
(My left eye.) - “Cover your eye! How many fingers am I holding up?” *holds up some number of fingers*
(*I proceed to get the answer right*) - “…wait, how did you know how many fingers I was holding up if you’re blind?”
And then I launch into some abbreviated version of the following paragraphs:
The “A Brief History” Part (with pictures)
I inherited a condition called amblyopia, which is sometimes (and erroneously) referred to as “lazy eye” but is more aptly described as “lazy brain.” During development, the brain is supposed to learn how to fuse images from both eyes into one image, but this process doesn’t occur for someone with amblyopia. Instead, the brain “shuts off” incoming signals from one eye (in my case, my left eye) and only processes vision from one eye. Since the other eye is effectively being ignored, the connection between the brain and this eye never fully develops.
As a result, without correction, my vision in my weaker eye is 20/400. This means my vision is so bad I can’t even make out the giant letter “E” at the top of most vision charts. This also means that I qualify as legally blind in that eye.
The treatment I had for amblyopia was to wear an eyepatch over my “good” eye for 8 hours a day, which forced my brain to practice interacting with my weaker eye. My parents thought they were providing an incentive by letting me pick out ten or fifteen embellished patches with unicorns or flowers or princess decorations, but in reality we just built up a collection of patches that I would never wear. As a kid, I couldn’t see the logic in imposing blindness upon myself when I could see just fine out of my other eye. Besides, I was already deeply engrossed in the Henry & Mudge series and I wasn’t about to waste my kindergarten free time wearing anything that would prevent me from reading my favorite books.
In hindsight, considering how infrequently I wore my eyepatch, I’m actually pretty appreciative that my eyesight has improved to 20/40 (if I’m wearing glasses). Yet even if my vision improved all the way to 20/20, I would still have amblyopia because my brain never learned how to coordinate eyesight in both eyes at once.
The Trivial Consequences of Being Legally Blind in One Eye
Because I’m accustomed to only seeing out of one eye, it’s hard to really know what I’m missing out on. Nevertheless, here is a short list of activities that sometimes give me FOMO:
- Applying eyeliner: I am told this is quite difficult even when you can see out of both eyes.
- Parallel parking: I like to pretend that my amblyopia is the true cause of my terrible parking skills.
- Watching 3D movies: Remember those old-school 3D glasses with one blue lens and one red lens? You put them on and saw spectacular three-dimensional images; I put them on and saw everything tinted blue.
- Hand-eye coordination: I was that kid who struck out in tee-ball. At least I could blame it on my lack of depth perception.
The Nontrivial and Totally Random Consequence of Being Legally Blind in One Eye
When I try to read with my left eye, blurred or fuzzy vision pretty much comes with the territory. But amblyopia likes to throw a little extra challenge into the mix by also giving me the sensation that I’m dyslexic.
When I performed vision tests during eye examinations throughout my childhood, I would usually focus on identifying one letter at a time (and even then it was still a struggle: “I know it’s either a ‘G’, an ‘O’ or a ‘C’…”). But when I would try to read an entire line of letters, I would guess them out of order. My parents were very concerned when I started displaying this behavior, since it seemed like I had learned to read without any difficulty.
It turns out that having amblyopia very commonly causes a “crowding effect” in the weaker eye. Crowding refers to the loss of focus in clutter, which is also a symptom of dyslexia. When I try to read out of my weaker eye, I can identify almost all of the singular letters on a given line, but as a result of crowding, I can’t discern their order or form them into words.
This side effect is equal parts fascinating and disconcerting. It’s a reading disorder I can turn on and off. If I close my right eye while reading, I’m immediately undergoing a dyslexic experience, but as soon as I open my eye, it goes away. Close my eye, gibberish; open my eye, classical literature. It’s amazing how, in the literal blink of an eye, my brain seems to lose all recollection of the English language.
Fortunately, reading has always come very naturally to me, which can sometimes make it hard to relate to the experience of the struggling student. But the ability to toggle between reading perspectives has made me more empathetic to everyone’s individual experiences and challenges in the classroom. It’s also been a valuable reminder of how lucky I am to be able to read so effortlessly.
And Now I Present, The Cool Backstory
Amblyopia is hereditary, but it skips a generation, so I inherited it from my grandfather. I wouldn’t exist right now if not for him, and he wouldn’t have lived past age 20 if not for his amblyopia.
My grandfather was a teenager during the WWII draft, and he decided to volunteer for the army. When he went in for his physical examination, he was turned away because of his poor eyesight. But because he was persistent and clever, and because technology back then was not as advanced, he realized that he could just memorize the eye chart beforehand and recite the letters when it was his turn. So he went back for a second physical, and after passing the eye exam, he enlisted.
In order to be placed in combat, he had to pass a shooting test. Of course, due to his amblyopia, he didn’t have proper depth perception and couldn’t pass the test. But since he was already enlisted, he became a medic instead.
Had he passed the rifle test, he would have been on the front lines for some of the bloodiest battles of WWII, including most notably the Battle of the Bulge. But because his amblyopia had prevented him from being in combat, he survived the war. He always used to say that having amblyopia saved his life. If he had died during the war, I wouldn’t even exist today. With that in mind, I like to look at my amblyopia as a historical relic instead of as the result of random genetic mutation and circumstantial luck.
So there you have it, a pretty comprehensive discussion of how having amblyopia has affected my life. I may be the worst parallel parker you’ve ever seen, and my eyeliner is most certainly uneven, but every time I look at a motivational poster encouraging people to “see the world differently,” I can be proud of the fact that I follow those instructions quite literally.
