The Goal? Get to Starbucks.
Kindness & coffee can change more than you think.
When I was diagnosed with lattice degeneration in 2009, I felt like I lost everything. My retinas were detaching rapidly (yes, that’s plural), I had to drop out of my master’s program with just one semester left, I had to put my internship on pause, and my boyfriend dumped me. That all happened in the span of about a month or two.
I was devastated. Less so about the boyfriend, but I digress.
When I woke up from my second surgery on my right eye, I had double vision, no depth-perception, no 3D vision, limited peripheral vision, and a myriad of other complications we don’t need to get into right now. I also had another eye’s worth of surgery to go.
I needed to learn how to do everything all over again and adapt to the fact that my vision was changing all of the time. As things shifted and healed, my sight changed. From the morning to the night, everything would look different. But I still had vision, and that was huge.
Setting Small Goals
I worked my way up from lying face down on the floor to sitting in a special recovery chair to sitting upright for short bursts of time. My mother would set goals for me as milestones changed. Sometimes it was sitting in a certain position for an extended time to ensure the oil in my right eye was placed against my retina in a way that would maximize healing. Sometimes it was just getting a bath (showers were dangerous) in time for mindless daytime television to take my mind off of things.
Eventually, the goal changed to learning how to walk again. In the snowy gray of Pittsburgh’s winter, I’d throw on huge sunglasses and pray no one from college saw me in this state. We’d link arms and set out. Our destination? The Starbucks on Craig Street about four blocks away.
That Starbucks used to be where I’d study or meet up with my Kappa Kappa Gamma sisters for coffee. I’d go on dates, I’d relax, or I’d try to focus on my latest assignment. Now I was just trying to get there.
Creating Normalcy
I can’t remember if we knew each other before this happened, but Tony and David suddenly became people I could rely on when I felt at my lowest. They were baristas at Starbucks, and they treated me like nothing had happened while simultaneously compensating for what actually had occurred.
I picture a pale 20-something stumbling up the stairs to the shop glued to her mother’s side. Her hair has grown out from bright bottle-red to a muddy brown with red tips due to lack of care. But I’m probably overdramatizing it — that’s just how I felt.
I have very distinct memories of these adventures. Everything hurt from being in the same positions for so long. Most of all, the light burned. You know that feeling when you exit a movie theater into the early-afternoon sun? That’s how every moment felt. Leaving the comfort of my dark apartment and venturing out was awful, but David and Tony made it better.
Pure Kindness
If I couldn’t stand upright long enough to go to the bar to order, they’d come to me. If I couldn’t remember what the options were, they’d suggest something. Never too busy, despite the constant crush of people, they always made me feel safe and almost normal some days.
One day after triumphantly making it to Starbucks, I ran into to friends from college. “Why can’t you get laser surgery, like Lasik?” they chirped, acting like I was overreacting. I was just excited to be standing. Interactions like that made me want to hide forever. But I kept trying, and those two baristas kept motivating me.
Eventually, I could make it there on my own, and I was able to get my degree. I still frequented that Starbucks, and they both cheered me on. I can still remember walking in and seeing them — actually seeing them. It felt good.
It’s That Simple
You might not realize it, and they certainly didn’t at the time, but you might be a person’s only bright spot. Tony and David were mine many times during that year of surgery. I did reach out to headquarters and tell them they had two gems, but that would never be enough, which is why I wanted to write this story.
People like Tony and David are the ones that bring me the most hope. When I fear getting yelled at for being visually-impaired and still using a smartphone, or when I answer endless questions about why Lasik won’t work — it’s those kind people that I have to focus on to keep me going.
Now, with the pandemic in various stages of awfulness throughout the world, those bits of kindness are more important than ever. While it was over a decade ago now, I still appreciate what those two Starbucks employees gave me. And I sincerely hope I can be that for someone else from time to time. Because we need it now and always.
