Seeing Life Differently and Loving It Anyway
Thanksgiving 2006 started like any other day on the bus, armed with a mental checklist for the supermarket: bread, milk, maybe some cookies I didn’t need but absolutely wanted. Everything was normal… until it wasn’t.
A massive headache decided to move in without notice, pounding behind my eyes like a bad drum solo. And then my right eye… just quit. Half my vision disappeared. One minute I was a fully functioning human, the next I was starring in my own poorly directed horror flick: everything on the right side of the world simply vanished.
Watery eyes, pounding headache, and me trying to act casual like nothing was wrong spoiler alert: not fine. I ended up at the hospital, bracing for the dreaded words: “Multiple Sclerosis.” Plot twist: not MS. Instead, I got to meet the quirkiest villain of all Optic Neuritis. At the hospital, they gave me a cocktail not the kind to get you drunk, but the kind that makes you wonder if cocktails should always come with a side of an IV bag.
“I am not repeating any of my classes!”
I was in college, approaching finals, and all I could think about was passing my classes. It was a small saving grace, though, because it gave one of my toughest professors the ability to show me grace toward her class, something I desperately needed at the time. Suddenly, what felt like a disaster had a silver lining.
If you’ve never heard of Optic Neuritis, don’t worry I hadn’t either. Essentially, it’s an inflammation of the optic nerve, which transmits visual information from your eye to your brain.
By the numbers: Approximately 5 per 100,000 people in the U.S. develop Optic Neuritis each year, most commonly adults between 20 and 45.
In many cases, it’s linked to autoimmune conditions like multiple sclerosis, though not everyone with Optic Neuritis develops MS. Symptoms usually include sudden vision loss in one eye, pain with eye movement, and sometimes watery or blurry vision all of which I experienced firsthand.
Living with Optic Neuritis is humbling, but it hasn’t stopped me from achieving my goals or living life to the fullest. I’ve learned to appreciate the little things: clear vision in my good eye, colorful sunsets, and the daily triumphs that come from not letting a health condition define me. Most people would never know I can only see out of one eye if I didn’t tell them and that’s just how I like it.
Doctors gave me the expected spiel: sometimes it resolves on its own, sometimes treatment helps, and in rare cases it’s linked to multiple sclerosis. For me, the vision in my right eye never returned. But while I lost sight in one eye, I gained something far greater: resilience, patience, and a deep understanding of how adaptable humans can be.
Living with Optic Neuritis also taught me to notice the eyes around me. How often do we take them for granted? Eyes that smile, cry, roll, or widen in surprise. Eyes that let us connect with people and the world. One day, your vision might be “perfect” in every sense, and the next, it might be your right eye that’s running its own rogue adventure. It’s a reminder to pay attention, to care for ourselves, and maybe even to thank our eyes for the unsung heroes of daily life.
I don’t know if my story will make anyone an expert on Optic Neuritis, but I do hope it makes one thing clear: health experiences don’t have to be grim to be meaningful. They can be awkward, funny, frustrating, and even a little magical in the lessons they leave behind. My “perfect vision” might have disappeared that day on the bus, but I’ve continued to live, work, and achieve my goals without letting it slow me down.
“So, here’s to imperfect eyes, perfect lessons, and the occasional headache that makes you see the world a little differently sometimes literally.”
-Zaqia Kenlaw
