When I was told, in 2001, that I might be going blind, it came as a bit of a blow. Thankfully, after more than six months of tests, I found that my condition was not the one my eye doctor originally thought it was. Also, It was discovered that tho' I have lost a very marginal amount of vision, the condition is relatively dormant, and seems to be only effecting my right eye. So, outside of having to be more cautious in dim lighting conditions (for some reason, I see better in the dark than in low light), no worries.

My eyesight is very gradually failing, but by such a degree in will "probably" be another decade or two--if ever, before anything significant happens. Outside of me having to remove my glasses to read fine print more than I used to, and not being able to see this screen as well as I'd like (someday I'll get a proper desk and chair again), I really don't think much on it, any longer. But, just in case, I've made an appointment with my eye doctor. Haven't been in nearly a year and a half--and I'm supposed to go every six months...I'm a bad girl. ;)

My great-grandmother, on mum's side, went blind, and she was okay with it, from what mum told me. She still managed to knit and even helped gran in the kitchen. My paternal grandmother was a deaf-mute who barely understood English, and yet raised dad and all his brothers and sisters alone, during the height of the depression. So, I'm in good company, I reckon.

I think I'd adjust okay, to being blind. As long as I still had my hearing. We depend on our sight so much, don't we? But sounds can tell us a lot, as well. Given time, any one of us would probably easily be able to tell the difference between the sound of two different types of coins, dropping on the floor.

Familiar sounds can comfort us.

There are so many sounds that I love to hear, I put them in a poem

Sounds that Comfort

A contented cat, purring in my ear.
A lawnmower on a Sunday afternoon.
The gentle trickle of a stream in summer.
Fast water racing through rocky streambed.
The regular lapping of waves on a shoreline.
The chuck-chuck sound of water against a boat.
A fish rising from the water and slapping down again.
A bullfrog echoing across still waters.
Canadian geese calling as they fly across stormy skies.
Kids laughing, playing in a pool.
The whoosh and sighing of leaves or pine boughs in the wind.
The skittering of autumn leaves across a sidewalk.
A single engine plane, humming through a distant blue sky.
The lazy clop-clop of hooves walking on pavement.
Popcorn popping.
The snap and crackle of a wood fire.
Sleet hissing on the windows when I'm in a warm place.
Rain falling on a metal roof.
Raindrops dripping from the leaves in the woods.
The soft melodies of the rain on a quiet afternoon.
The squeak of my footsteps on hard-packed snow at night.
My mother's laughter.
A friend's voice in quiet conversation.
The quiet--then joyous tune the church organ played at end of service.
The sound of a choir, singing in harmony.
The Doctor Who theme.
A good pipe band playing.
A waltz played on a fiddle.
An actor's voice, alone upon a stage.
Crickets at dawn.
A robin's contented chirping at sunset.